Donald Weaver hated Christmas, especially Christmas Eve, almost as much as he hated himself. It was supposed to be a time of joy and rejoicing. For the last two years it meant anger, frustration, supreme guilt and utter desolation. As he sat covered in the falling snow in front of the headstones of his family he took another swig from the rot-gut booze that was rapidly destroying his emaciated body. But on this horrid anniversary, even the booze couldn’t dull his pain. Two years... it seemed forever.

“I wish Gabs was here,” Juliette sniffled.

“We all do luv.” Jen pulled her eldest closer, Dave in turn gripping his wife’s shoulder in support.

They hadn’t used the car, it wasn’t worth the hassle, and the memorial after all was less than a kilometre from Bond Acres, near the junction with the main valley road. They weren’t the only ones headed there, the events of that night nearly a year ago affected a lot of folk in Dernau and round about, the memorial being unveiled today a physical reminder of that. So it was that they joined the subdued procession of townsfolk heading to the ceremony.

 
 
"Well girl, they'll be here any minute," I said to my cat Cleopatra, who sat lazily between presents under my modest tree.

I walked into the kitchen, checked the oven.

Chapter 27

The fireplace had been fed some more logs and was still crackling merrily.
While we had been out collecting Cathy at the airport and then going to the store for her winter clothes, the guys who had stayed here started the fire and brought in more wood, stacking it over in the corner on the flagstones which made up the storage area of the extended hearth.

While waiting for the annual visit from Santa, Anya witnesses a near-accident with the old man and his sleigh. Only quick magic can prevent a disaster — but with what consequences?

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Special Dedication:
Grandmother and I would like to thank Elrod for his efforts at bringing our stories to life. We've used a bit of magic to help inspire his tales of our special park and people. We know things haven't gone well for him this past year. Perhaps a bit of Christmas magic will help restore his happy spirits and free his wonderful creative imagination to continue writing (and hopefully more of our tales!)

Merry Christmas to all!

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Note from Elrod: One morning near Christmas, years ago, I found this story on my computer. I claimed to the group that I didn't remember writing it - naturally, no-one believed me. Was it Anya and Grandmother channeling their magic through my computer, or through sleep-writing, as a gift to me and the group? All I know is that I believe in Christmas magic, then and now. Merry Christmas, Happy Hannakuh, and Seasons Greetings!

Antifreeze…Finale.

The rest of the day was spent setting into mom’s at the guest room and us getting to take some time to rest before we all head out for the few things going on at evening and night here in town at memorial day.

Chris wears his uniform and so does Uncle Rothman who was in Vietnam. It’s interesting they’re both doing things together getting ready, watching the sort of regimined way they do everything is just. Well it’s really defining them in a good way for me. And Ben…I’m sitting on the couch hugging Stacy while we have some more chocolate and coffee and Uncle Roth and Chris are both answering his questions…they’re not graphic but they’re still honest and he’s got such a little-man look there.

We both kind of melt when they’re showing him how to shine his shoes. Oh my god he’s such an adorable little guy. He has this little boy look of concentration when they're doing the spit and polish thing.