We challenge you to write a Christmassy science fiction story featuring a spunky heroine.

**

Clara was opening and closing her kitchen cabinet doors with increasing frustration. It was impossible that she had forgotten vanilla extract when she went shopping. She could feel the looming catastrophe bearing down on her, inevitable and inescapable. Where could she possibly buy vanilla extract or vanilla sugar on Christmas Eve? Everything had gone according to plan—the holiday dinner was ready; only the dessert remained to crown her perfect festive meal.

Her husband was in the living room, reading a book in his favorite armchair. When she went in for something earlier, she noticed him nodding off occasionally. Everything was perfectly prepared, every decoration in its place. If she could not bake the cake, she would be the one to ruin the perfect Christmas. No, she couldn't let that happen!

She washed her flour-covered hands, tossed her apron onto the kitchen counter, and quietly slipped into the hallway. The car keys were on the counter, exactly where they always were, neatly and orderly. In this perfectly crafted little world of theirs, she couldn't be the one to make a mistake! And yet, their favorite dessert without vanilla would be an error they would talk about for the rest of their lives.

She'd be so quick that her husband wouldn't even notice she'd gone to the gas station. But did the gas station's 24-hour shop even carry vanilla extract? She doubted it, running through her mental checklist of shelves to search: the chocolate aisle first, then back to the bread and baked goods. If it weren't there, she'd check the refrigerated section by the milk, her last hope being some vanilla-flavored milk or anything vaguely vanilla-related. If she was clever enough, they might not even notice the dessert wasn't made with the usual flavoring brand.

Like a madwoman, she parked at the seemingly deserted gas station, practically tearing the door open as she rushed inside. She began navigating the carefully planned route in her head: chocolate aisle, bread aisle, milk. She repeated it to herself like a mantra, not daring to think about the possibility that she wouldn't find anything.

As she stormed in, she didn't look around—though perhaps she should have—because her entrance drew everyone's attention.

Most notably, it startled David in the ski mask, who almost dropped the pistol he was pointing at the cashier, Leonora. He also watched the two women lying on the floor, ensuring they stayed down with their heads bowed.

"Hello!" Leonora shouted, raising her hands high, hoping for a miracle—that the police had picked up their silent alarm signal. But she wasn't very optimistic since she wasn't sure she had even managed to press the emergency button. She was new here, a fill-in for her sister, and when she saw the intruder darting around the aisles like a maniac, all hope drained from her.

"Hello," Clara replied, not looking up, still focused on her hunt for vanilla. "Do you happen to have vanilla sugar or vanilla extract?"

"I think we have vanilla pods, over by the baked goods... we usually don't, but everyone's baking cookies these days," Leona replied helpfully. She watched as the robber hesitated, unsure whether to aim at her or the new customer.

Meanwhile, Clara squealed with joy as she headed for the counter but tripped over Greta, who was lying on the floor. Greta let out a loud yelp and unintentionally tripped Clara, who then toppled onto Riley.

David grew visibly irritated. "Everyone stay down, face down, yes, that includes you!" he barked.

Now sitting on the floor, Clara clutched the vanilla pod in her hands while glancing desperately at the clock on the wall. She rubbed her aching knee and pleaded, "I need to get home quickly to bake my cookies. I don't care what you're doing here; just let me walk out that door, and I won't even look back..."

David looked surprised at first but then pressed the gun to Clara's head. "I said face down and stay quiet! No one will get hurt if everyone cooperates, and we'll be out of here quickly. Now, where were we? Oh, yes—put all the cash in the bag!" he snapped at Leona, who was fumbling under the counter but couldn't find the panic button.

Clara remained seated on the floor, tears welling in her eyes. "If I don't get home to bake my vanilla cookies in one minute, it will be an absolute disaster! Do you understand? I don't care about anything else, just my Christmas cookies, and I will bake them tonight, no matter what!" Her voice cracked as she nearly shrieked, looking more like a five-year-old throwing a tantrum over chocolate in a store than an adult woman.

As Clara's shrill protests grew louder, and the robber turned the gun back toward her, the door burst open, and another woman stepped inside.

Zara Kross, the most notorious galactic bounty hunter, stood before them—a figure feared equally by criminals and law enforcement. She was on a mission to capture a dangerous space fugitive but had disguised herself as an ordinary Earthling rather than a storm in with blazing weapons. With dizzying speed, Zara disarmed the robber.

As she pinned him to the ground and prepared to open a portal for their escape to claim the bounty, she dramatically declared, "I told you, no one messes with Zara Kross!"

"What the hell are you doing here, sis? I thought you said you had something important to do!" Leona shouted. "And where the hell did you learn to fight like that?"

"Who?" Zara asked, fumbling with the portal device as she struggled to input the correct codes with one hand while keeping the fugitive pinned to the ground. Then she remembered she was in disguise. "Oh, uh, don't worry, ma'am. I just assumed the shape of your sister. I ran into her this morning outside the motel. I'm a bounty hunter, and this here is a highly sought-after galactic criminal. But don't worry, we'll be out of here in a moment, and you can carry on with... whatever this is."

"Galactic what?" Riley asked as she sat up, and Greta decided it was probably safe to stop lying on the floor—after all, it was becoming quite uncomfortable.

"I'm not some fugitive!" David sputtered, gasping for air. "I was just trying to rob this deserted gas station! But of course, this is my luck..."

"I think he's telling the truth—I recognized him by his shoes. He's David, the librarian at our school," Riley said.

"The disguise is deceiving you. We can take on any form," Zara replied.

"But I'm just here to rob the place! I'm not some fugitive. And anyway, if you're in disguise, how do you even know it's me you're after? It could be one of the others!" David groaned, still amazed that a woman could pin him to the ground with one hand. He couldn't fathom how Mary, someone he knew from high school two grades below him, had so much strength.

Clara was initially mesmerized by the captain's sudden appearance and combat skills. She watched, mouth agape, as Zara confidently disarmed the robber with ease. Then reality began to sink in, and she started feeling as though she'd stumbled into a surreal movie. "Alright, I've had enough of this!" Clara shouted. I'm going home now, and I'm baking my cookies."

She stood up and was about to leave when Zara finally released David and blocked the door, holding his gun.

"Okay, I misjudged the situation. Sorry, David, I let appearances fool me. But one of you is my fugitive because the trail led me here. So now we're going to figure out who it is."

Clara recoiled when Zara aimed the gun at her. Then she looked at Mary—the girl she had only known in passing but now seemed completely different. Her presence and movements were utterly captivating.

"The gun's fake. No point in aiming it at us," David whispered behind her.

Zara—still in Mary's form—examined the gun in her hand before placing it on the counter. "Doesn't matter. I can take all of you down in half a second, so no funny moves!"

"Dear alien lady," Clara began, trembling, "I need to get home and bake my Christmas cookies. Please, let me go!" She was on the verge of tears again, thinking about her cookies, teetering dangerously close to another tantrum.

"So, we have a cookie baker, a librarian-turned-robber, a clerk... and who are you two?" the disguised captain asked, pointing at Riley and Greta, who remained seated on the floor, deciding it was safer not to stand up.

"Well, we were here to buy candles," Riley said, glancing at Greta.

"Candles? For what?" Clara asked impatiently, desperate to find a way to leave and get home.

"For a ritual," Greta answered, breaking her silence. "A love spell. I'm a witch."

"Oh my god, that's the biggest nonsense I've ever heard!" Clara slapped her forehead in disbelief, stunned that the others seemed unfazed by this revelation. Then again, no one had batted an eye at the alien bounty hunter or the fugitive story.

"It's not nonsense—she's the best witch I've ever met!" Riley defended her friend.

"I've heard about her too—she's a talented witch. She summoned a coworker's dead father," David chimed in, pulling off his ski mask since he felt the robbery was a lost cause and his identity was already exposed.

"So, does everyone here know each other?" Zara, the alien, asked. The others exchanged glances and nodded.

"Well, this isn't as straightforward as I thought. None of you see anything suspicious or unusual about one another?"

"Like how you look exactly like my sister Mary but don't act like her?" Leona rattled off, leaning against the counter to keep searching for the emergency alarm underneath it.

"Exactly that. Thank you, darling!" Zara said, then pointed at Clara. "For instance, is she always, how do I put this... I don't want to be rude... like this?"

Leona nodded, and the others agreed as well.

Clara's eyes widened in shock. She stomped her foot, clearly ready to lash out at someone, and since Riley was the closest, she became Clara's target. But before anything could happen, David stepped between them.

"Calm down!" He placed his hands on Clara's shoulders, gently trying to push her away from Riley. "No need to prove again how impulsive you can be."

Clara realized this wouldn't get her anywhere and glanced at the clock in despair, frustrated at how much time she'd already wasted. But something about the clock's display didn't make sense. She clapped a hand over her mouth, feeling a scream coming on, and pointed at the clock with her other hand.

The others followed her gaze. At first, they didn't understand why the hysterical woman freaked out. Leona caught on first.

"Did it stop at two?"

Clara shook her head emphatically. "No, it didn't stop—I've been watching it the whole time! It was four just a moment ago. Now it's gone back. How is that even possible?"

Zara stepped closer to the clock, examining it with concern, then began fiddling with her small device. "No need to panic, but we're caught in a time loop. These two hours will keep repeating until we find a way out."

Once again, Clara felt like she was about to faint. Leona, growing tired of all the cookie drama, finally snapped.

"Clara, get it through your head—nobody cares about your cookies. And by the way, your husband? That old pervert? Do you know where he was this morning? The whole town knows he's fooling around with my sister. What do you think she was doing at that motel earlier today? You said you ran into her there while you were shapeshifting, right?" Leona asked, turning to the galactic detective, still tapping away at her device.

"Uh-huh, yeah. He came out of room 104," Zara confirmed without looking up.

"What do you mean the whole town knows?" Clara snapped, trying to picture her sluggish husband with Mary—or the other Mary- since the one standing before her seemed far more agile.

"Was your husband home this morning or not?" Leona asked nonchalantly, though she was starting to feel guilty that Clara had to hear about her husband's affair from her.

"No, he went out for a run early this morning..." Clara began, and the pieces started falling into place. She grabbed onto the counter for support as she felt faint. A few bags of chips fell off the shelf onto the floor. David bent down to pick them up and then supported Clara by her arm.

"This time loop... is it serious? I mean, are we stuck in these two hours?" Greta asked.

"Pretty serious... but I don't get it. Was there anyone else in the building besides us? Because I think my fugitive caused this loop."

"Oh, now that you mention it, before the robber—before David—came in, a guy showed up and went to the restroom. I completely forgot..." Leona started heading off to check if he was still there.

"No point. We're earlier now... and with this time loop, he's already long gone."

"Wow, this is exciting! So, if we step outside, does everything rewind too?" Greta asked enthusiastically, holding Riley's hand hopefully.

"Yep, but it doesn't matter what you do—you'll always end up back here," Zara sighed heavily. "But I've found a way out," she said, looking around expectantly. "If you don't mind, I'll leave you all here. Maybe I can still catch my fugitive in time. I can take two more people with me if anyone wants to come."

The two girls shook their heads, clearly indifferent, as they seemed eager to be elsewhere. Leona was back behind the counter, pressing the emergency alarm.

"I can't believe I've been hitting this thing all day, and the cops still aren't here. Does it even work?"

David stepped forward, pale as a ghost. "I'd like to come with you. Please, let me go with you."

Clara was regaining her composure, pondering whether a hedge trimmer or some other sharp tool was around. She could already picture going home and stabbing that peacefully napping old pervert, as the cashier girl had called her husband. Then her gaze fell on Mary—who wasn't Mary anymore but some captain—and realized she was about to disappear with the robber to catch a fugitive.

Hmm, that sounded interesting—more exciting than baking vanilla cookies. Why did she even have to bake cookies? Rat poison suddenly came to mind, and she started to scare herself. Quickly, she straightened up and raised her hand like a school kid volunteering to answer a question. The gesture looked silly, but Zara smiled and nodded.

And so it happened that the three of them—Zara Cross, the captain, David the librarian-turned-robber, and Clara, the cookie baker—found themselves in the Cave of Man pub.

Zara didn't bother explaining the essential details, like how they'd arrive in different bodies, because she was rushing to catch her fugitive and couldn't waste a second.

So, when they teleported and suddenly found themselves sitting at a table in a dimly lit room with a strange blue-and-yellow jukebox nearby, Clara and David panicked at seeing their new bodies.

"Relax, nothing to see here! We're in different bodies, and my fugitive is in this room. Try to act natural," Zara instructed. She now looked like a platinum-blonde businesswoman in a tailored suit. All three appeared to be businesspeople taking a break after a meeting.

David looked the most comical with his thick, high-prescription glasses and balding head. Clara, however, was quite pleased with her new look, suddenly having dropped several clothing sizes.

"Hello! Would you two cut it out? We need to avoid drawing attention!" Zara leaned closer, trying to hush the other two, who were busy touching their new bodies and looking around as if they had just landed there—which, to be fair, they had, but no one else needed to know that.

Their hushed conversation was interrupted by a bald waitress who set three glasses of champagne on their table, then turned to close a high, open window with a long pole. With interest, Clara watched the waitress's efforts, then wandered to the green walls covered in strange drawings. It had been ages since she and her husband had gone anywhere together.

She picked up her champagne glass, clinking it with David's. He seemed unusually calm—perhaps relieved to have escaped the police or whatever trouble had driven him to rob that gas station in the first place. Zara, however, was on edge, furiously tapping at her small device.

"Just a moment ago, it showed he was here, and now he's moving farther away. Let's go!" She jumped but noticed the others looking at her questioningly, glasses in hand. Sighing, she grabbed her glass, clinked it with theirs, and downed it in one go.

"You can stay here if you want, but you should know we're in the past—fifty years ago, to be precise. I'll return you if you come with me after we deliver the fugitive. But we have to move quickly!"

Without waiting for a reply, she put her glass down and hurried toward the exit. Clara quickly followed, her curiosity and sense of adventure growing with every step. She felt a strange, long-lost strength within her. David hesitated for a moment, then decided to follow the women.

Outside, the drizzle hit Clara's face, and she squinted against the rain. She watched Zara Captain move incredibly fast toward three men arguing on the street. By the time Clara reached them, Zara had already handcuffed one and beaten the other two, who were now slinking back toward the pub, their faces bloodied.

Clara realized she could never return to her dull kitchen and monotonous life with her husband—whom she would most certainly kill in her rage if she ever saw him again. She admired Zara Captain's strength and decisiveness, and she wanted to be just like her.

So, when Zara completed her mission and was assigned a new one, Clara didn't hesitate to agree, saying she could delay going home because the mission was more important. She was ready to dive headfirst into new adventures without a second thought. And so was David.