The Magic of Christmas


This is my Christmas present to Ravendipity.

Ravendipity, I'm still working out the details of the BTS/Harry Dresden "Polka Will Never Die" crossover fanfic. This will need to do for now. I hope you like it. 




The problem with living in the dead center of a subdivision is that the delivery drivers never get it right. Their navigation apps always take them to my house. Sometimes I have time to pick up the package and intercept the driver, but most of the time I'm stuck with a package that I have to walk over to a neighbor's house. If the package came from Wal-Mart, I can't even do that, at least not if it's groceries, because grocery packages from Wal-Mart don't come with addresses. All they have is a bar code. This would be cause for rejoicing if I liked to eat the same stuff my neighbors eat.

Today, though, the package that got dropped off on my doorstep was addressed to me.

I stare at it with astonishment. A package for me, not for one of my neighbors? Is this for real?

No ticking. I don't think there's a homemade bomb in there. I won't rule out something more like a letter bomb, but that seems unlikely. None of the neighbors have that kind of technical know-how. I also don't think it's a prank package from that one site that sends people animal dung. I would have picked up a whiff of it, even around the sealing. Olfactory hypersensitivities are good for something.

Gingerly, I remove the plain brown paper covering.




My opened box sits on the coffee table next to some white paper covered with Frosty the Snowman figures. Inside the box is a snow globe.

The card I hold in my hands, a shiny red thing with an image of a gold ball ornament on it, says "Shake for the magic of Christmas." It's unsigned. There's no clue who sent it.

Oh, well. I have nothing better to do. I put the card down, reach into the box, and pull out the globe.

I shake it.

When the snow stops flying, a very young Will Farrell is standing in my living room. He's dressed like a North Pole elf.

"IT'S CHRISTMAS!" he screams.

"AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH!" I scream.

"AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH!" he screams back, a bit more festively than I just screamed.

This goes on for a while until we are both out of breath.

Finally, I collect myself and say, "It's Christmas, and I know someone who would be delighted to meet you. Here. Here's a map, and some bus fare. She's on the bus line. She could really use a visit from someone who could give her Christmas cheer, and she is an absolute fanatic about Santa Claus and holiday elves. Sending you to meet her is the best present I can think of giving her." It takes some doing, but eventually, Buddy figures the bus schedule out, and I send him on his way.




The snow globe is staring at me. This would not be a bad thing, usually, but unfortunately, the sun is glinting off the glass of the globe, which might give me a seizure later tonight if I stare at it too long, so I pick it up to put it on a bookshelf where it won't catch the sunlight.

Picking it up causes some of the snow inside the globe to swirl.

When the snow stops swirling, Odin All-Father stands before me, dapper in a red suit and a long, forest-green duster coat.

"Pardon me," he says, "but I seem to have lost my way, or been detoured into Midgard somehow. It's a long way from here to Alfheim and I have an appointment with a certain Ljósálfar. You wouldn't happen to know a, hmm, faster way there, would you? I could make it worth your while..."

"No, no, think nothing of it..."

Exactly how would a god repay me for an embarrassing favor, anyway? I rack my brains. One solution to his problem presents itself: I'm a gardener. Seeds are always at my disposal. Let's see, what would be the quickest? Aconite? No, best not to give Odin wolfsbane, not with his affinity for wolves. It probably wouldn't kill him, but it would present an insult, and that might kill me. Datura? No, that's more likely to get him to Muspelheim or even Jotunheim. Datura is miserable that way. Hmm.

"Here are some Flying Saucer morning glory seeds. Wash them a few times in clean water before swallowing them. Trust me, that'll get you tripping to where you need to be in no time flat."

"Thank you," he says solemnly. "I'll be right back."

Somehow he knows exactly where to find the guest bathroom in my house. I hear the sound of the faucet running.

When he emerges, he lies down on my couch.

"Don't worry, I won't take up space here for long."

Fortunately for me, he is right. I don't know how I'd deal with Odin All-Father tripping balls on my living room sofa. I've never babysat a god. What are the etiquette rules regarding such situations, anyway? Thank goodness he vanished into Alfheim the instant the seeds started getting him high.




I still need to put that snow globe on the bookshelf. I don't want to jostle it, though, so I very carefully pick it up and walk smoothly, slowly to the bookcase on the other side of the living room...

...and trip over my own feet.

Oh, no. Not again.

Snow shakes and swirls inside the globe.

When the shaking ceases there is an Elf on my Shelf. It's sitting next to The Riverside Shakespeare, giving me its trademark creepy stare.

"Absolutely not. You can go in the cupboard and rot, for all I care!"

The Elf on the Shelf is evil incarnate. I don't know what demented person dreamed him up. Probably the same sort of person who thinks vampire stalkers developing crushes on seventeen-year-old high school girls are romantic. I shove the Elf in my cereal cupboard, and I hope he and Adolf Hitler drive each other nuts.

I don't even think about the consequences as I slam the snow globe down disgustedly onto the counter of the breakfast bar. The Elf on the Shelf and Hitler are in my cupboard. I shall feed them Raisin Bran. If that isn't torture, I don't know what is...




Bill Nye stands before me. He is smiling.

"Happy belated Winter Solstice, and happy Festivus. Want a shortbread cookie?"

Shortbread cookies sound good now. Yes, let's eat shortbread cookies.

"Axial tilt is the reason for the season," I say. "Happy Festivus to you, too."

We sit together on the couch and turn on the television. As it turns out, he likes Doctor Who as much as I do.

After a while, he asks, "Did you know you can use that thing to magic up objects as well as people?"

"I didn't think you believed in magic."

"I don't, but it sounds a bit weird to say you can use a snow globe to quantum physics up objects as well as people. You can, you know. After a while, the globe should go to somebody else who needs it. That would be the polite thing to do."

"It wouldn't be Festivus without a pole," I say, musing.

"No. No, it wouldn't."

Something should be done about that.




The Festivus pole stands mounted securely against the ceiling of the living room. Technically, it's not so much a Festivus pole as it is a dancing pole, but that's a minor detail. Near the base are a Santa hat and a pair of Christmas red, thigh-high, patent leather boots with six-inch stiletto heels in size 265mm. I pick them up.

We're ready.

I give Mr Nye a conspiratorial grin as I shake the globe hard, thinking of the two guests we want to invite to the celebration.

The first guest to arrive is a friend of mine from Wattpad who could use a brief vacation from reality.

The second is Park Jimin.

"Hey, I have a massive favor to ask," I say. "My friend is your greatest fan. Would you mind wearing this costume and performing for her?"

I hand Park Jimin the boots and the Santa hat. The rest of the costume is a smile...

The smile is his idea.

The Wattpad judge, the science guy, and I settle ourselves on the couch as a heavy metal version of "Carol of the Bells" starts to play. Christmas magic, or Christmas quantum physics? It doesn't matter.

Ding, dong, ding, dong. Oh, how they pound...

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