Advent Calendar Day 11

 

I'm so happy to have our witty and talented friend Haldis back in the Advent Calendar this year! 

Haldis wrote, "Your question about which Christmas songs for which character on yesterday's advent post got my little brain whirling away singing at me, and it wouldn't shut up..."

Guess what earworm of a song got her thinking? 😂

Enjoy this delicious little peek into the lives of Kit Holmes and his better half... 

All I Want for Christmas

I finished the final sentence of the latest chapter, saved the document, and sat back with satisfaction. It took some doing, but I finally figured out how to get poor Miss Butterwith and Mr. Pinkerton out of the corner I had backed them into.

            It felt good to be writing again. Well, mentally and emotionally anyway. Physically, not so much, as my back threatened to spasm. Maybe I could talk J.X. into giving me a message. Though truth be told, he never needed much convincing,

            Over the soft sound of Christmas music, I could hear the clatter of dishes, so I figured J.X. was in the kitchen. I left my office and was wandering down the hall when the volume of the music went up. Considerably. That song was playing. You know the one.

The smell of sugar cookies hit me before I came around the corner, but that was from the scented candle burning merrily on the table, not from any baking.

 J.X. was in the kitchen making a peanut butter sandwich, bopping and swaying as he sang along. He resorted to humming as he sucked some peanut butter off his thumb.

            “mmm mmm mmm underneath the Christmas tree. There is just one thing I need…”

            J.X. could move, no doubt about it. And he had a rather nice singing voice. I leaned against the wall and just enjoyed the show. There may even have been little hearts in my eyes.

            And then J.X. looked up and saw me. He gave me one of his mischievous grins that never failed to make my knees go weak. He never paused in his singing as he danced over to me holding out his hand. I took it and he spun me around once before pulling me in close.

            I could feel his warm breath as he whispered in my ear, “’All I want for Christmas is you’.”

            Well damn, I thought, as Mariah hit the high notes, I might just have a new favorite song.

Holiday Fiction from Haldis!

 I burst out laughing when I saw this submission from our dear, dear talented pal Haldis. :-D :-D :-D But you might not get the joke, if you've forgotten a particular coda. So here's Coda 35 to refresh your memory. 

And here's a delirious bit of holiday madness from Haldis. 

A Coal Miner’s Son’s Christmas

“There’s Mooses in the holly,

And squirrels in the tree.”

Ricky Joe put his ripped and teared heart into every word, trembling hands on his guitar.

“There’s birds nesting in the pine boughs,

But there ain’t no one fer me!”

Ricky Joe took a shuddering breath, put aside the guitar, and picked up his pencil to make a couple of notes. He turned towards the door as he heard it open.

“I’m home!”, called Don as he stepped into the room.

“Donnie! You came back to me!” Ricky Joe jumped out of his chair and flung himself at Don.

“Course I came back to you, Ricky Joe! I’ll always and always come back to you! Shorely ya know that!”

“But you gone up to the coal mines! Them black pits suck yer soul and leave yer bones nothin but dust!”, wailed Ricky Joe. (He made a small mental note to put that in one of his songs)

“Ah, Ricky Joe,” said Don, sounding awful fond. “I just gone up to the mines to drop off my pa’s afternoon libation of Christmas cheer.”

“Meow.”

Don pulled away from Ricky Joe, staring in confusion.

“Did you just meow at me?”

“Weren’t me,” said Ricky Joe.  They both turned to the still open door and saw the cat sitting there.

“We seem to have a visitor of the feline persuasion at our threshold, Ricky Joe.”

“We shorely do, Donnie.”

“How can we help you, uh….” started Don.

“Meow,” filled in the cat.

“Mr. Pinkerton,” finished Don.

“Meow,” said Mr. Pinkerton.

“Reindeer!”, exclaimed Ricky Joe.

“Meow meow. Meow,” added Mr. Pinkerton.

“In the bonsai orchard,” cried Don.

“We barely survived last year’s fiery conflagration! One munch and our wee charges will be but a memory in the shadow of yonder coal mine!” (Ricky Joe made another mental note to put that in one of his songs)

Before Don and Ricky Joe could follow Mr. Pinkerton out to the bonsai orchard, a man appeared in the doorway. Just ‘poof!’ Appeared. He was dressed in red leather pants, tall black boots, and a black leather harness on his otherwise bare torso. He had a red and white fur cap sitting on his head at a jaunty angle and a red silk scarf tied loosely around his neck.

“I understand you have my reindeer,” said the man in a low, throaty voice, waving around a white peacock feather as he spoke.

“Santie Claus?!” said Ricky Joe and Don, together, in disbelief.

“You can call me J.X.”, said Santie Claus with a mischievous grin and a twinkle in his eye.

 

Christopher Holmes sat bolt upright in bed, stifling a scream half of terror, half of mortification, and half of absolutely what the fuck. As he laid back down and got his breathing back under control, he realized there really wasn’t any terror, or mortification for that matter, since J.X. in leather was practically a work of art. And J.X. being all Bossy, well, sometimes Christopher found it annoying, and sometimes…he didn’t. So that only left… 

“Bad dream, Kit?”, J.X. mumbled sleepily, as he snuggled a little closer into Christopher.

“More bizarre. I think it will be hard to get some of those images out of my head. Although one of the images, I don’t think I want to get out of my head.”

“Yeah?” J.X. must have heard something in Christopher’s voice, because he had raised his head to look at Christopher, and he seemed much more awake.

“Oh, yeah,” answered Christopher. “How do you feel about silk scarves and feathers? And a Santa hat? And maybe a little leather thrown in for variety?”

J.X. laughed as he rolled over on top of Christopher. “I don’t think I dare ask what you were dreaming, but yeah, I think I can get on board with that.”

And then he proceeded to kiss that dream right out of Christopher’s head.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advent Calendar Day 21

 

Happy Solstice!

I'm delighted to share with you this last minute surprise offering from Haldis. I'm not going to spoil this by telling you anything more than that (but I think it's so funny and charming AND WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT IT, IT MAKES PERFECT SENSE). ;-D

Mr. Pinkerton looked back over his shoulder to Miss Butterwith standing at the door to their cozy cottage.

“You go ahead, Mr. Pinkerton,” said Miss Butterwith. “I’m sure you will have a much nicer time with Pyewacket, then at my Orchid Society meeting. I’ll be fine for one evening. I promise not to find any dead bodies without you.” She waved cheerily to Mr. Pinkerton.

Mr. Pinkerton turned forward and walked through the falling snow, wondering idly if Miss Butterwith ever found bodies that weren’t dead. He joined Pyewacket where he waited by the swirling portal, and together they stepped through to a dark hallway.  

Mr. Pinkerton followed as Pyewacket led the way down a set of stairs, the bannister decorated with fresh pine garlands, to the living room below, lit only by the fire in the hearth and the white, twinkling lights of the tree in the corner. It was very warm and comfortable, with soft holiday music playing, and Mr. Pinkerton tried to remember every little detail so he could share it with Miss Butterwith when he returned home.

As they headed for the rug in front of the fire, Pyewacket pointed out his two people on the couch: John, sitting on the couch, and Cosmo, who was lying on the couch with his head on John’s lap. Well, Pyewacket clarified, Cosmo was his. John apparently belonged to Cosmo. Pyewacket had told Mr. Pinkerton earlier that if they wanted the room to themselves, all they had to do was start staring at John. He wasn’t a cat person. But Cosmo liked him, so Pye was willing to tolerate him. For a time.

Both men were reading, but Cosmo turned his head, noticing Pyewacket’s entrance, and sat up when he saw Mr. Pinkerton.

“Hey, Pye. Who’s your friend?”

“Meow”, answered Pyewacket.

“Meow”, greeted Mr. Pinkerton.

“Ah, British,” said Cosmo. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Pinkerton.”

“Uh,” John whispered to Cosmo. “How do you know his name is Mr. Pinkerton? And that he’s British?”

“The accent,” answered Cosmo. “And he said his name was Mr. Pinkerton.”

“Is he like yours?” John continued to whisper, as if Mr. Pinkerton and Pyewacket wouldn’t be able to hear him. “Does he have a witch?”

“Meow”, answered Mr. Pinkerton.

“Oh yes, I see,” acknowledged Cosmo. “Botanist,” he whispered to John.

John seemed to think about that for a moment, shook his head, leaned back into the couch, and lifted his book to continue reading, while mumbling something about witches and botanists.

Cosmo smiled fondly at him before settling himself back in his original position, also lifting his own book to continue reading.

Mr. Pinkerton stretched out with Pyewacket in front of the fire, Pyewacket rolling over onto his back. He was such a little flirt. Mr. Pinkerton thought about making him wait, maybe contemplate the flames for a bit, but in the end, he decided he did not want to wait, and snuggled in close to Pyewacket, enjoying the warmth and the music and the quiet companionship.

              

Mr. Pinkerton was awoken from a light doze by a snort from the couch. He was pretty sure it came from Cosmo, who was shaking his head and looking with disbelief at his book.

               “I don’t know why you’re even reading that,” muttered John, without lowering his own book.

               “Jinx wanted to know if the witches were accurately depicted,” answered Cosmo.

               “I take it they’re not.”

               “Yeah, no, it’s the boyfriend. He’s a shifter, and a…”

               “Shifter?” asked John.

               “Yeah. And a homicide detective and he is going on about his wolf said this, or his wolf thought that, or howled or whatever. Like it’s a separate identity, or he’s got multiple personality disorder or something. And like ten paged ago he was just explaining to his witch girlfriend,” he grinned up at John. “Who happens to also be an amateur sleuth because trouble always seems to find her.” He batted his eyelashes up at John. John scowled. “Anyway, the good detective was just saying how he was the exact same whatever shape he was in, so same personality, same identity, right?”

               “He’s a werewolf?”

               “Yeah.”

               “Why didn’t you just say werewolf, then?”

               “That’s not very inclusive. What about tigers, or foxes, or penguins?”

               Mr. Pinkerton had not thought about penguin shifters before. However, there was a constable up in Ingleby Barwick that was said to be a platypus.

               “Penguins? You know what, never mind.” John went back to reading his book for a moment. “It’s probably a euphemism.”

               “What is? Oh, yeah, ‘his wolf’. Cosmo snorted a laugh. “Of course it is.”

               John whacked him with his book.

               “Hey,” Cosmo protested, but continued laughing.

               They went back to their reading.

               Pyewacket was purring next to Mr. Pinkerton, kneading his paws into Mr. Pinkerton’s fur. It was very soothing. And very…. other things. Mr. Pinkerton thought it was about time to send the two humans elsewhere. Time to start their staring campaign.

It took about a minute and a half.

               “Now I have two cats staring at me,” muttered John.

               “You’re worth staring at,” Cosmo replied.

               “Why don’t we call it a night?” said John.

               “But,” answered Cosmo. “They just found an undead body.”

               Mr. Pinkerton perked up at these words. So, there were other bodies that weren’t dead bodies.

               “All the more reason. And I can assure you that my little wolf has a lot more to offer than their undead body,” John said

               “Little wolf?” Cosmo had lowered his book and was grinning up at John. “Big bad wolf, I’d

say”

               “If that gets you upstairs quicker.” John stood up, dislodging Cosmo, and then held out his hand to help him up. “Although, if you bring up Little Red Riding Hood, all bets are off,” John practically growled as he pulled Cosmo up the stairs.

               “Nice to meet you, Mr. Pinkerton,” Cosmo called over his shoulder as he trailed John. And then they disappeared upstairs.

               Mr. Pinkerton turned to Pyewacket. Pyrwacket stared back. They were alone. He touched his nose to Pyewacket’s.

               Merry Christmas, Pyewacket.

               Merry Christmas, Mr. Pinkerton.

              

              

 

              

                

              

 

Advent Calendar Day 6

 

Today a special treat. Haldis wrote a bit of fiction for the Adrien English 20th Anniversary Celebration. Well, as you know, the celebration got a little bit lost in current events, as I didn't want to lose this wonderful little bit of backstory, so I've folded it into the calendar. 

Cloak and Dagger

Haldis

               Angus was sitting in his dark room, enthralled by a shiny, jeweled dagger when the call came in from the employment agency.

               The thing was, Angus hadn’t been looking for daggers when he noticed the catalogue left by one of the gang after last night’s get together to watch the latest episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. No, what he really wanted was a cloak. One that said he was serious, but totally cool, while casting a spell, or working a circle, or summoning a demon. The black hoodie he had been using wasn’t ideal, but he wasn’t desperate enough to make a cloak out of a black trash bag and electrical tape like that one guy last semester. He was willing to wait until he had the money to afford a real cloak.

               Angus had picked up the catalogue off the milk crate that he used as a table and started flipping through the pages. Most of the stuff was crazy new age stuff like weird jewelry and prisms.

He flipped a page. Crystals.

Flipped a page. Oh, cool, panpipes.

Flipped a page. Finally, cloaks.

And there were a lot of cloaks. Gauzy, flowery cloaks, Maid Marion cloaks, red cloaks, purple cloaks, green cloaks. And they were made with a variety of different materials. Nylon, cotton, velvet. One of the velvet cloaks was black with a satiny red lining that reminded him of a Halloween vampire. Angus was pretty sure that if he ever became a vampire, he would never wear a red-lined velvet cloak. No, he would be like Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, wearing a leather jacket, and be all confident and say the coolest things, and not all broody and mumbly like Angel.

               Angus flipped another page and found a plain black cloak that looked pretty cool, but he would need to get a job before he could afford it.

               He flipped a page. Candles, in red, black, white.

               Flipped a page. Wow, a stuffed raven. Some goth that used to hang with them, (Amy? Allie? Rachel?) used to quote some poem about a raven. It was a famous poem. Rapping and tapping. Reminded Angus of a knock knock joke.

               Knock knock.

               Who’s there?

               Flipped a page. Staffs, wands.

               Raven.

               Raven, who?

               Flip. Oh, cool, skulls.

               Raven lunatic.

               Angus snorted at his joke.

               Flip. Swords, knives, and oh wow. Daggers. 

               Maybe he should get a dagger. Something in silver. You could control a demon with silver. Or was it kill demons with silver? Or maybe that was werewolves? Regardless, silver sounded like a good choice. With a red ruby jewel that looked like the blood of his enemies.

               There were a variety of daggers on the page, with names like athame, boline and…. How did you even pronounce sgian dubh? Many were simple blades with either black or white handles. Some had elaborate, curved blades. Others had fancy hilts and shiny blades.

               He wondered if there was a class he could sign up for next semester to help him chose. Blades 101.

               And then he noticed the bright silver dagger with the runes etched along the blade, and a brilliant blue sapphire in the hilt. It was amazing. It held Angus befuddled. Bewildered? Bewitched? Yes, he was definitely bewitched.

               The ringing of the phone startled him out of his bewitchedness.

               “’lo”, Angus answered the phone. It was the employment agency.

               “K”, he mumbled in response. He wrote down the address of a business in Pasadena.

               “K, bye”, he finished the call and hung up the phone.

               He looked down at the name of the business he had written down and a small smile touched his lips.

               Cloak and Dagger.

 

Advent Calendar Day 18

Another fictional (OR IS IT???) offering from Haldis! Woohoo!

"For my second story, well, I thought I would go with the whole 60's sitcom thing using My Favorite Martian. The hard part was picking a side character to use in the story. I had several that I outlined, and here's the winner. Hope y'all enjoy it." 

(No worry there!)

Let's see if you can guess who the David is in this story and what series he belongs to. :-D 

=============================================

David and The Martian

David knew the song “It’s Raining Men”. He’d even heard it a few times, but it wasn’t a song he ever thought about, or even sing along with, and yet it was the first thing that came to mind when the man fell out of nowhere practically on top of him. Luckily the fresh snow made for a relatively soft landing as he stumbled to the ground, the man a dead weight above him.

               The man was smaller and slighter than David, so David was able to shift him off easily and then he rolled up onto his knees to assess the situation. Where the hell had he come from? There were a couple of twigs in the guys hair. Maybe he fell out of a tree.

               “Hey, sir? Can you hear me?” David asked loudly as he took in the guys appearance. His skin had a sort of silver cast to it, or maybe it was just a reflection off the strange silver outfit the guy was wearing. Or maybe he was hypoxic. Was he breathing? David leaned down close to the guy’s nose and mouth as he laid a couple of fingers to the guy’s neck.

               Nothing.

               “Fuck, no”, David said. “Not on my watch.”

               Why the hell did he decide to spend his leave alone, in the middle of nowhere, instead of sharing the holidays with his family, David thought to himself as he started chest compressions, counting quickly. It was really a spur of the moment decision. After all, Paris was months ago, and it wasn’t as if they broke up. Hell, they weren’t even together, but that small moment of “what if”. And, yeah, David’s family was great. He loved his parents, he really did, but he didn’t think he could face his mother and her good-intentioned questions about his love life and offers to introduce him to the son of so and so, who worked as an accountant. He felt again for a pulse while leaning in to check for breathing.

               “Come on, Buddy,” David muttered, right as the guy opened his eyes and stared up at David. There was less than an inch separating them and the eyes looking up at him were violet, nearly purple, with silver streaks blazing out from the pupil, and …. David should probably move away.

               The guy smiled and raised up, touching his lips to David’s. David felt a hand on the back of his head, gripping his hair, holding him in place as he kissed him. Completely. Deeply. Thoroughly.

               Merry Christmas to me, thought David.

               The guy loosened his grip and leaned back down into the snow.

               “Greetings”, the guy said, his voice soft as starlight.

               “Yeah”, David agreed. He sounded funny to his own ears. Breathless, like he had run a marathon, or had the soul kissed out of him, or fallen from the sky. “Greeting” He felt himself grinning. One of the twigs in the guy’s hair shifted forward and David wanted to reach out and comb it from the…. He looked a little closer.

               “Is that….are those…. antennae?”

               “What?! No!” The guys sat up suddenly and slammed both hands down over the antennae. “Of course not! Earthlings don’t have antennae. And I am an Earthling. So, absolutely no antennae.” When he removed hands, there was no sign of the antennae in his jet-black hair.

               “Riiight”, said David, nodding his head. You’re an Earthling. And not,” he started shaking his head, “oh, say, a Martian.”

               The guy started shaking his head as well. “No, definitely not a Martian”

               David took a better look at the guy sitting in the snow with his crazy metallic jumpsuit, and his purple eyes, and his silver skin that actually had a kind of pink pearlesscence which seemed to glow that somehow he hadn’t noticed earlier.

               “This is cold,” said I’m-Definitely-An-Earthling-And-Not-A-Martian {yeah, right}, touching the snow around him.

               “It’s snow. Uh, frozen water,” David added at Not-A-Martian’s blank stare.

               “Ah, yes, of course. I have heard of this,” answered Not-A-Martian.

               “Hey, I have some friends in San Diego who have never seen snow, so….” And where were they before this whole conversation took a galactic detour? “Were you hurt? When you fell?” Out of fucking nowhere. From the sky. Ok, this whole situation started out as a galactic detour.

               Not-A-Martian seemed thrown by the change of topic. “What, uh, no? I mean, I don’t think so, but I seem to have lost my ship…No! Not a ship! An automobile. Definitely an automobile, yes, and, um, it seems to have left without me.

               David couldn’t think of a single thing to say about that last bit so he figured he would just pretend like he hadn’t heard it.

               “Do you think you can stand?” asked David, standing up and then offering a hand to help Not-A-Martian to his feet. He really needed to find out this guy’s name.

               He stepped back and looked at the smaller and definitely otherworldly man before him and decided What the heck. In for a penny and all. And this certainly had the potential to be very interesting.

               David held out his hand again to the Martian.

               “Hello. I’m David Bradley. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

               “Greetings,” said the Martian, gripping his hand and smiling up at him, violet galaxies swirling in his eyes. I am Fenrynjonstar Aeles. It is very nice to meet you, David Bradley.”

               “You can call me David.”

               “Thank you, David. You may call me Jon.”

               Jon seemed to be blushing a deeper shade of silver-pink and his antennae reappeared, peeking shyly up from his dark hair, leaning slightly towards David.

               David just about melted. Right there in the snow. This guy -Jon – was an alien, for Christ’s sake, and David was military. A very laid back, take things as the come, kinda guy in the military, but guys in the military did not find aliens absolutely and utterly adorable.  Unless it was in a sitcom, and …. Ok, maybe he was in a sitcom. It was really starting to feel like one.

            

   “So, since your, uh, automobile seems to have abandoned you, you’re welcome to come back to my cabin. I’ve rented it for Christmas. And I’m by myself this year. But I have all the fixings, you know, turkey and pie and potatoes…” shut up, David, you’re rambling. “Eggnog. I also have eggnog. And a tree. I still need to decorate that. You could help. If you want to, that is.” David slammed his mouth shut to prevent any more crazy form pouring out.

               “Christmas!” Jon smiled. “I’ve also heard of Christmas! It sounds so bright and giving, with colored lights and sleigh bells, and elves, I think, and reindeer that fly! And snow, and trees, with tiny…. You said you had a tree, and potatoes, and eggnog… I don’t know eggnog, but if you have one, I am sure it will be wonderful, and….and,,,” Jon had turned a rather hot shade of pink pearl. Apparently, Martians could also master the fine art rambling. He lowered his head, his violet eyes peaking out under black lashes as he looked shyly up at David. “Thank you, David. I would love to join you for Christmas.”

               “Uh, great! That’s great. That’s….this way. My cabin is this way” David turned back down the trail he had taken before a Martian had fallen from the sky.

               “So,’ David asked over his shoulder as he led the way through the snow. “You don’t happen to have someone special waiting for you back wherever it is you’re from, or, you know, you’re not pining for your partner, or anything like that.

               “No, David,” answered Jon. He was blushing again, “There’s no one.” He gave David a brilliant smile. “At home, anyway.”

               “Good,” said David. “I mean, me neither. I mean,” David stopped and turned to face Jon. “I mean, I hope that I can show you a very Merry Christmas.”

               “Thank you, David.”

               David grinned at Jon before turning back towards his cozy rented cottage and a Christmas that was starting to look a whole lot brighter, even if it was a bit out of this world.

               Hallelujah.

              

Advent Calendar Day 9

What better way to start off a cold December Monday than with a bit of fresh fiction from the ever-witty Haldis.

Regular viewers will recall that back in 2017, Haldis wrote Mr. Pinkerton and The Christmas Cake wherein Fraser Fortune and Drew Lawson from Mummy Dearest (which I accidentally deleted from my site???) request an interview with Miss Butterwith and Mr. Pinkerton.

Well, here is that interview.   (At this point, I think Haldis has written more about Mr. Pinkerton than I have!) :-D :-D :-D

===============================================

 Mr. Pinkerton and the Interview

Mr. Pinkerton had an itch. It was right below his left ear. He tried an ear flick. No, it didn’t help. He lifted his hind foot and twisted to give a good scratch, and the man across from him leaned forward.

               Mr. Pinkerton froze.

               The man Froze.

               The man, Mr. Pinkerton had been introduced to him the previous evening at the bookstore’s annual Christmas party, was named Fraser Fortune. He had requested an interview with, in his words, a ‘crime solving cat and a botanist’ for his mysterious show. He had been sitting here, across from Mr. Pinkerton for nearly half an hour and he had yet to ask a single question. Mr. Pinkerton was beginning to think that Fraser Fortune had actually just wanted an interview with the botanist.

However, Miss Butterwith was busy organizing the evening’s festivity of wassailing. And Mr. Pinkerton was quite capable of giving an interview. He was perfectly capable of paying attention and answering questions.

               Mr. Pinkerton twisted and scratched the annoying itch, and then faced forward again to continue his staring match with Fraser Fortune.

               There was a small glass ornament sitting on the table next to Mr. Pinkerton. He wondered if he could just reach his paw out and just nudge…. 

               “Hey,” said another man, Fraser Fortune’s partner, Drew, as he came to sit down next to Fraser Fortune. “I told you you didn’t need to wait for me to start the interview.”

               Fraser Fortune turned to Drew and hissed, “He’s a cat.”

               “Uh, yeah,” answered Drew. “But he’s a ‘crime solving cat’. What’s more mysterious than that?”

               “I would much prefer a talking cat”, muttered Fraser Fortune. “I thought we would be interviewing the botanist.”

               “Meow,” said Mr. Pinkerton, indignantly. How could this man sit across from him and say he was not worth interviewing? And that he didn’t talk. Of course he didn’t talk; Fraser Fortune had yet to ask him any questions!

               “I think you insulted him,” said Drew.

               “He’s. A. Cat.” Fraser Fortune hissed, again.

               Mr. Pinkerton stood up, turned around, and sat down again, his back to Fraser Fortune. It seemed a good time to groom. Mr. Pinkerton licked his paw and then rubbed it behind his ear, down his cheek, and then licked the paw again.

               “Yep,” Drew said, laughing. “You definitely insulted him.”

               “Fine. You do it then,” Fraser Fortune grumbled.

               ‘Um, ok?” Drew cleared his throat and then raised his voice. “Thank you so much for meeting with us, Mr. Pinkerton.”

               Mr. Pinkerton turned around to face Drew. He seemed like a nice man.

               “Meow,” greeted Mr. Pinkerton.

               “So, uh, Mr. Pinkerton, how did you and Miss Butterwith get started assisting the police in solving crimes.

               Ah, thought Mr. Pinkerton, their first case. It was a very exciting time that introduced Inspector Appleby to their acquaintance. It started out as a job, but quickly evolved to a long and lasting friendship.

               “Meow, meow, brreow, mew.” Mr. Pinkertons began his tale. He started kneading his paws as he got more into his story. He told of gorgonzola, cat nip, tiny fish, and finally finding the man who grew the gorgonzola.

               A gruff laugh sounded behind Mr. Pinkerton. Inspector Appleby was standing, practically bent double from laughter. He straightened up, wiping a tear from his eye.

              

Mr. Pinkerton glared at Inspector Appleby.

               “I’m sorry, Mr. Pinkerton,” said Inspector Appleby. “I do love listening to you tell that story.” He turned to Fraser Fortune and Drew. “He means gongora, not gorgonzola. It’s an orchid. Also, there were no tiny fish. It was microfiche. Mr. Pinkerton tends to think in terms of what he finds important. Like cheese, and fish, and catnip. And Mr. Pinkerton, you got that catnip mouse at the village fete. It didn’t have anything to do with the case.”

               Mr. Pinkerton was inclined to disagree with that as Mr. Pinkerton found that catnip mouse to be very important. Especially during the boring parts of the case.

               Fraser Fortune and Drew were now staring at Inspector Appleby as if he had just sprouted whiskers. Cat whiskers, not that fuzzy caterpillar that currently lived above Inspector Appleby’s upper lip. But then Fraser Fortune seemed to rally and stood up to face Inspector Appleby.

               “Good evening, Inspector Appleby,” greeted Fraser Fortune, flashing what he probably believed was a killer grin. “I’m so glad you’re here! I’m wondering if you could elaborate on what Mr. Pinkerton just reported?”

               Inspector Appleby rocked back on his heels and gave Fraser Fortune a rather assessing look. He offered a grin of his own.

               “You didn’t understand a word he said, did you? No, you didn’t.” Inspector Appleby laughed again.

               “No, I mean, yes, it was just….” Started Fraser Fortune.

               “His dialect,” finished Drew. He was grinning. He seemed to be enjoying his flustered partner.

               “What are you laughing at?” Fraser Fortune grumbled at Drew. “You didn’t understand him, either.

               “I readily admit to not speaking cat,” laughed Drew. “Now if it was antient Egyptian cat….”

               “Meow,” said Mr. Pinkerton.

               Drew’s jaw dropped.

               “Well, there you have it,” stated Inspector Appleby.

               “What?” demanded Fraser Fortune, looking between Inspector Appleby, Mr. Pinkerton, and Drew. “What did he say?” He asked his partner.

               Before Drew had a chance to answer, Geoffrey came up behind Inspector Appleby. “We’re about ready to go. Did you ask Drew and Fraser if they wanted to join us? We’re going wassailing,” he added for Fraser Fortune and Drew.

               “Meow,” said Mr. Pinkerton.

               “Well of course you’re coming, Mr. Pinkerton. Up you go.”

               Mr. Pinkerton jumped up and settled on Geoffrey’s shoulders.

               Drew looked at Fraser Fortune, who shrugged. “Might be fun. We’d love to join you.”

               As they headed for the door, Mr. Pinkerton heard Fraser Fortune whisper to Drew, “What did he say?”

               “Uh, well, taking into account the accent, and the question about pronunciation, and….”

               “What did he say?” Fraser Fortune repeated.

               “Such is the curse of Amon-Ra, king of all gods,” answered Drew. Then he laughed. 

“Apparently Mr. Pinkerton enjoys the same old movie I do.”

               Fraser Fortune grinned back at his partner and snorted, “Cats!”

               Exactly, thought Mr. Pinkerton.

              

              

              

Advent Calendar Day 3

Good morning! It's Monday, but that's okay. Grab a cup of coffee or cocoa. We have a bit of fresh fiction for you from the wonderful, witty Haldis Grummel. 

Bell. Book. Candle.

It was the rumble of an automobile and not the melodic jingle of sleigh bells that disturbed my enjoyment of a steaming cup of wassail and my book, surrounded by my paltry attempt to recapture my memories of Christmas magic. I indeed was expecting someone, but not yet, and certainly not by automobile. I rose quickly and started to extinguish the candles throughout the room and reaching the last one was suddenly arrested by the sight of a bead of wax spilling over the side like a drop of blood, deep dark red and viscous. I was so hungry. As I heard the slamming of two car doors, I blew out the candle and retreated into the darkness.

The front door creaked open letting in a cold December wind. A single set of footsteps approached my sitting room and a single person entered. The stranger lit a match and held it out in front of him. He noticed the candle on the table beside him, held the flame to the wick, and then lifted the candle to view the room. The sparkle of the silver thread in the dark blue bows decorating the room glittering in the candle light. Midnight and moonlight. What my life had become.

“Wow. This certainly looks fest…”, he broke off as he turned and saw he was alone. “Damn it, Mike. I guess I should have expected that,” he muttered under his breath.

I watched as the man moved farther into the room, praying that I would remain hidden from all human eyes, nothing more than the figment of a child’s imagination. I still possessed my magic from before I was turned, though I needed to replenish it every year by feeding from another Elf. I did not feed from humans.

Every year, on this night, he came to me.

And every year, on this night, I could see him. Be with him. Finally, feed from him. 

The man approached where I had been sitting and felt my still hot cup. He then lifted the book. He put down his candle and started flipping through the pages. He replaced the book and picked up my old Elf hat, the small silver bell at its tip tinkling softly in the still air. The man laughed. A small laugh very like the small bell.

Memories of my life before flooded me at the sound. Hot cocoa and peppermint and gingerbread.  Arctic winds and falling snow, reindeer and sleigh bells jingle jangle.

The entrance of the second person, most probably ‘Mike’, brought me back to the present. He was a little larger than the first man and he moved like a hunter. This man was a Slayer. I wrapped my magic more firmly around me, seeming nothing more than a far off hymn on a cold winter’s night.

 “Anything?”, asked the first man.

“No,” Mike answered, eyes sweeping the room.

“Well, this drink is still hot so he can’t have gotten far. Oh, and look what he was reading,” He held up the book again. “A Visit from St. Nicholas. I never would have thought of vampires celebrating Christmas. Just look at all this stuff. This is someone who really likes Christmas. Even if it is a bit somber.” As the first man was speaking, he had moved much closer to where I stood frozen.

“Barry!”, Mike hissed out what sounded like a warning. I had the feeling that he knew, somehow, that I was here.

“What?”, Barry asked, suddenly looking around him in fear and reaching into his coat, for a weapon perhaps. “Do you think someone’s here?” He retreated back toward the door, picking up the candle on the way.

“I don’t know. There’s something cold,” answered Mike, sounding unsure. “But not dead cold. More like….an iceberg, or, maybe, a…a snow drift.”

Barry just stared at him for a moment. “A snow drift? Are you saying we’re here to slay Frosty the Snowman?”

I could barely hold back the peal of laughter that wanted to escape my lips. I loved that song about a snowman come to life by Christmas magic to play with the children. I missed children. Seeing their joy on Christmas morning. I missed mornings.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Mike, though he too looked like he was trying not to laugh. He failed. He laughed, shaking his head. “Ok, I admit it. I don’t know what’s here. Honestly, I can’t even tell you if the reports I’ve heard even add up to a vampire.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Barry said. “It’s Christmas Eve. We might make it home in time to see Santa Claus come down the chimney. I might even let you open your present.”

“Yeah, ok,” Mike laughed. “If this guy is a vampire, I’m sure the only thing he’ll be able to bite tonight is Santa.”

He did not know how right he was. It was all I lived for.

I waited until I heard the motor of their automobile fade into the night before I moved. The man, Barry, had left the candle on the table where he had found it and I lit a few more to brighten the room. I sat back down in my chair and picked up my book. And again froze. And smiled. I could hear sleigh bells.

I felt him appear beside me, by the fireplace. He stood there in his blood red coat with white fur trim, black belt and gold buckle. There was a twinkle in his eye, a half smile playing on his lips.

“Have you been good this year?”, he asked me.

“Yes,” I answered. “I have.”

He grinned at me, unbuckled his coat and let it slip to the floor.

“Come here and get your present.”

I dropped the book and stood. The candles flickered. I slipped on my hat and  walked into his embrace to the sweet memory and music of sleigh bells.

Advent Calendar Day 23

Happy TWO DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS! 

We have another offering of fiction this morning. Haldis has outdone herself this year with a second scrumptious morsel of story.

I was going to mention that this takes place within the world of Lone Star... let's call it the prequel. ;-)

 Under a Lone Star

Marty gazed up at the lone star shining bright in the clear night sky and sighed.  How did he get himself into this situation? It wasn’t as if he had mixed all that much hot sauce into the red sprinkles on Toby’s sugar cookies. And Toby was acting like he was all hot stuff at the toy factory, so Marty felt the hot sauce was appropriate. Marty chuckled remembering the steam pouring out of Toby’s pointy ears after that first taste.  Unfortunately, Mr. Claus also sampled the cookies….And that’s how Marty found himself half a world away from his home in the North Pole chasing a randy reindeer across the cold, foreign landscape of Texas. Although he supposed as far as punishments went, it could be worse.

Marty heard the jingle jangle of bells and picked up his pace, jogging past odd prickly trees and short scrubby bushes. Twin lights to his right caught his attention and he realized he was approaching a roadway. And now Marty could see Blitzen trotting along on the other side.

“Blitzen!” called Marty.  “By Jack Frost’s nose, if you do not come here right now, I will eat your gingerbread!”

Blitzen looked back over his shoulder at Marty and made a questioning grunt.

“That’s right! Stop with these silly reindeer games right now, or else,” said Marty as he pulled a fragrantly wonderful cookie from his pouch. “I’m going to eat it. All of it.  Unless you come here this very second.”

The headlights were getting closer. He may have to wait until the vehicle went past hoping Blitzen wouldn’t take advantage of the distraction to keep on with his moseying, as the locals said. At least he thought that was what they said. He wasn’t sure. This was his first time in Texas. 

Across the roadway, Blitzen lifted his nose to sniff the air. He turned back around towards Marty and made another inquiring grunt. He stepped out on to the road.

“No, no, no, no,” said Marty, quickly waving his hands, trying to signal Blitzen to stay.  The car was too close.

Blitzen watched the gingerbread in Marty’s hand wave back and forth. He kept walking out into the middle of the road directly in front of the oncoming car. It swerved to avoid Blitzen, skidded, spun out, and away it flew like the down of a thistle…ok, no, it crashed and rolled like Santa’s sleigh after a couple of rowdy elves took it out for a joy ride during a particularly boisterous New Year’s Eve party.

“Good King Wenceslaus!” exclaimed Marty as he debated whether he should assist the human in the car. Blitzen had finally reached him and was nibbling at the gingerbread in his hand. Marty noticed more headlights coming down the road and decided it was best to leave humans to other humans. He grabbed Blitzen’s harness and pulled him further away from the road, bells jingle jangling all the way.

“I could really go for a double shot of peppermint,” muttered Marty to himself, as he tried to hide behind a crazy looking tree with Blitzen happily munching beside him.

Marty watched as the person from the wrecked car climbed up to the road. He appeared to be okay. The other car pulled over and a cowboy got out and approached. They were talking to each other, but Marty could not hear what they were saying. He could use his magic to get closer, see if there was any potential danger, but neither human even looked in his direction. Eventually the two got into the cowboy’s vehicle and drove off.

Marty waited until the red tail lights had disappeared into the distance before coming out from his hiding spot. Blitzen nuzzled his pouch, looking for more gingerbread.

“That was all I had, Blitz,” said Marty as he fondly rubbed Blitzen’s muzzle. “Let’s say we head home, get some more? Mrs. Claus promised a fresh batch as soon as we arrive.”

Blitzen tossed his head in affirmative and then positioned himself so Marty could scramble onto his back. He got a running start and leaped into the air, straight towards the lone star shining like a beacon in the night sky and Marty couldn’t stop himself from shouting, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

They were going home.