The following was a short story I originally wrote for the Paid Stories 2019 Christmas Anthology.  It is a modern retelling of the Little Match Girl from Hans Christian Anderson with a character from my 'Redemption' series, Sonny.

Mattie was the only one working on that cold December night after her manager went home sick. Despite the temperature, she wore a tight skirt and an even tighter tank top. Not that it was her preferred wardrobe, she was more comfortable in a hooded sweatshirt and leggings, but it was the best way to get tips in the rundown bar on the wrong side of the tracks. Besides, she wouldn't be able to wear such form-fitting clothes much longer given her condition.

With only a half-hour to go until closing time, she was counting the minutes until she could lock the door and turn off the outside lights. Her feet were killing her and all she could think about was curling up on her couch with her cat, a blanket, and a cup of hot chocolate, but first, she had to get rid of the last four customers.

None of them were her regulars who must have decided to drink at home rather than face the cold winter storm that promised to drop several inches of snow on them by morning. Too bad, these men couldn't have done the same.

Near the door were three loud guys who must have been former frat bros given their obnoxious behavior and stupid inside jokes. They had stupid nicknames for each other that she'd heard countless times but promptly forgotten, in their place she'd taken to calling them Huey, Dewey, and Louie.

At the corner booth with his back to the wall sat a grizzled man in a faded red coat. He had long blond hair and a scraggly beard, both with streaks of grey. The man finished his short glass of whiskey, not saying anything as he cautiously eyed the room. In fact, he'd said the same two words to her all night; whiskey and neat, which was fine by her. Though she tried to be professional and friendly with all her customers, occasionally they crossed the line past playfully flirting and got touchy. She'd have none of that and from experience had smartly kept her distance from the three frat bros, much to their disappointment.

She'd just dropped off another whiskey at the corner booth. The man had nodded his thanks when Huey called her over.

"We'd like to cash out now."

"Sounds good." Internally, she sighed in relief. She fished the check pad from her tiny apron and tore off their bill. "Here you go."

Without looking at it, Huey retrieved a credit card from his wallet and held it out to her. "I trust you."

"Great. I'll ring you out."

The card slipped from his hand as she went to grab it.

Huey said, "Oops. Sorry."

"No problem." She bent over to get it.

As her fingers grasped the edges of the card, a stinging slap landed square on her butt. She yelped involuntarily before she could clamp her lips tight against the pain. Crap, that hurt. Unfortunately, it wasn't the first time that happened to her in this hell hole, and it probably wouldn't be the last, but god damn she hated it each and every time. Why did everyone have to suck?

The three guys covered their mouths and giggled like schoolgirls as she fought the urge to rub her sore backside.

Instead, she raised her hand to slap Dewey back across his stupid face. "Asshole."

But before she could, the biggest of the three, Louie, snatched her hand in his big meaty paw and squeezed. The bones in her knuckles ground together like ice in a blender.

She succeeded in not cry out this time. "Let go of me."

"I will once you calm down. We were only having a little fun."

"Fun? I'll show you fun." She tried to jerk her arm away so that she could go behind the bar and get the wooden baseball bat the owner kept there, then they could have some fun.

Louie shook his head. "Stop it! Or the next slap you get won't be across your little butt."

"Screw you." She fought harder but couldn't free her hand. It was no surprise, she was barely a hundred pounds while this goon easily weighed two hundred and fifty, and his friends weren't much smaller.

"No, screw you!"

Her heart raced and she broke out into a cold sweat. If she didn't get away from them, this situation was going to get ugly real fast and she had more than herself to think about. With her free hand, she punched wildly, connecting with the side of Louie's head. It didn't have the desired effect, quite the opposite, in a rage his eyes bulged from their sockets, and he yanked her towards him, nearly pulling her off her feet.

"You bitch."

She could barely keep her balance let alone strike him again. She was in serious trouble.

From the corner booth, the man with the scruffy beard shouted, "Take your hands off the girl. Now."

Laughing, Dewey shouted back, "Mind your own business, Santa Claus."

The old man stood up. "Santa Claus?"

"You heard him," Huey said, getting to his feet. "So, unless you want to eat your next meal through a straw, I suggest you beat feet out of here."

The man in the red coat took a step forward, his hands balled into fists. He was more sure on his feet than Mattie would have expected. He was also bigger and more fit than she gave him credit for when he was slumped over his whiskey.

"I have a better idea. How about you get the hell out of here, and I'll forget that you called me Santa Claus."

Huey broke his beer bottle on the edge of the table. "Fuck you, old man, it's your funeral."

Smiling, the man in red said, "I was hoping you'd do that."

Louie dropped her wrist. Flanked by Huey on one side and Dewey on the other, they advanced on Mattie's protector who didn't flinch, only smiled wider. Mattie scrambled behind the bar to retrieve the baseball bat, hoping to prevent the man from being stabbed to death. She need not have worried.

When Louie was three feet away, he cocked his arm back and threw a giant haymaker. The man ducked underneath it, popped back up, and punched Louie on the chin. Hard. It caught Louie cold, his eyes fluttered, and he fell backward, straight as a board. His head cracked loudly on the floor.

Using the distraction, the man pivoted and connected with an elbow to the side of Dewey's neck. He gagged and coughed and gagged some more. The man grabbed the broken bottle from Dewey's hand and jammed it into Huey's thigh.

Huey screamed like the stuck pig. He flailed and yanked it out, leaving shards of glass jutting out from his pant leg. The bottle clattered to the ground. As Huey continued to scream, the man punched him in the chin as well, before turning and slamming his fist into the spot right below Dewey's ear, both guys slumped to the floor next to their friend.

Mattie stood there dumbfounded, the bat hanging limply at her side. In a span of ten seconds, the man in red had succeeded in knocking the three drunk guys out cold.

"Do you want to get the door?" the man asked.

"What?" Mattie asked.

"The door. I'm going to take the trash out."

"Definitely." She returned the bat to its spot on the hidden shelf and ran to the door.

Opening it, she stepped outside and propped it in place with her leg. The winter wind whipped at her hair, and goosepimples rose up on her exposed arms and legs. An inch of snow had already collected on the black asphalt of the parking lot, and a huge flake landed on her nose and melted. She caught the next one with her tongue.

The man dragged Louie out first by a handful of hair and a belt loop. Louie groaned but offered no resistance as he was deposited on the cold wet ground. Huey and Dewey followed in the same manner, with Dewey leaving a trail of dark red blood in his wake. With the three jerks lined up like match sticks, the man motioned for Mattie to go back inside.

"We're just going to leave them out here? Shouldn't we call the cops?" she asked.

"Do you want to sit here half the night while they take our statements?"

"Not really."

"Me either." The man took her by the arm and led her back in the bar.

"Lock the door."

She flipped the deadbolt as she studied the men through the porthole pane of glass. Louie was the first to show signs of life. He fought to sit up while he rubbed his chin and took in his new surroundings. Guiltily, she turned off the outside lights and walked away from the door.

The man said, "We're doing them a favor by letting them off with only a beating. They'd be charged for assault with a deadly weapon. That'll get you two to four years at least."

"Really?"

'Yes. It's a felony. Trust me, you're doing the right thing."

"I guess."

The man noticed the credit card laying on the dirty floor, picked it up, and shoved it out the old-fashioned mail slot in the door. A cold gust of air blew in before the metal hinge slapped shut. He said, "I can stick around while you clean up, then walk you out to your car to make sure that they're gone."

"I'd like that." Not caring that Mattie would have to cover the jerk's tab, she cleared the remaining bottles off their table and set them in a tub behind the bar. "Thank you for saving me."

"I wouldn't be much of a man if I sat by and did nothing."

"Still, you beat up three of them without breaking a sweat. Where did you learn how to fight?"

The man shrugged and returned to his corner booth. He slammed down the double shot of whiskey in one gulp. "I've led a rough life."

She bet he had led a rough life, most people that came to this part of town had. She pointed to the empty glass. "Do you want another one while you wait?"

Shaking his head, he said, "No. I'm good."

"It would be on the house."

"No, thank you." From an inside pocket in the natty old red jacket, he pulled out a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill and handed it to her along with his glass. "This should cover my tab and theirs."

She frowned. "You don't need to do that."

"No, I don't. But I am."

He gracefully slid into a chair by the door and watched her count the money in the register. Surprisingly, he didn't pull out a phone and stare into like a zombie, something she was usually guilty of. No, his eyes stayed on her, but not in a creepy way where he focused on her tits and ass, it was fatherly and sweet. It made her feel safe and protected.

She asked, "Can I ask your name?"

"Sonny."

"Sonny?"

"It's kind of a nickname, but it's what my friends called me. What's yours?"

"Mattie. Actually, it's Madelyn after my grandmother, but I don't go by that either."

"It's nice to meet you, Mattie."

"Likewise."

"Do you want me to sweep up while you finish behind the bar?"

She laughed at her good fortune. Where had this saint come from? "No. We have a guy who comes in the morning to clean. I just need to put the money in the safe and put the garnishes in the fridge."

"Sounds good. No rush."

When those tasks were done, they both headed outside with Sonny taking the lead. The three men were gone. The only thing left behind were footprints and some pink-tinged snow which was quickly being covered up by the storm. He walked her to her car. She saw the lot was empty except for her own vehicle.

Concerned, she asked, "Do you have a place to go?"

He pointed down the road. "I saw a motel a couple of blocks away on my walk in. I'll get a room there."

Grimacing, she said, "They close at midnight to keep away the riff-raff, not that I'm suggesting that your riff-raff."

"Is there another motel or a shelter nearby?"

"Not that I know of."

"Damn." He looked skyward. Heavy droplets of snow collected in his hair and beard.

Without giving it a second thought, she found herself saying, "Do you want to come home with me?"

He looked aback. "I couldn't. You're young enough to be my daughter."

Her hand went to her belly. Relieved, she said, "No. I have a couch you can sleep on. It's kind of lumpy, but it'll get you out of the storm."

"Are you sure?" His eyes cast down to his feet.

"It's the least I can do. Who knows what those guys would have done to me."

"Well, thank you." He went around to the passenger side of her Civic and climbed in.

She started the engine and cranked up the heat. The wiper blades tossed off the thick wet snow that had accumulated on her windshield. Sappy Christmas music played through the car's speakers. The tune was one of her favorites. It stoked a melancholy spirit in her, and with the holiday only a week away, she sang along with John Lennon. She thought she heard Sonny hum softly too.

Her place was a five-minute drive away, and with everyone shuttered inside their cozy homes, she made the slippery drive without incident. Sonny followed her up the stairs to her second-floor apartment, and she shut the door behind them. A scrawny tabby with one ear chewed off was waiting for her by an empty food bowl. The cat came over and wound its body in a figure-eight pattern around Sonny's boots.

"That's Addy. She was a stray that I took in."

Sonny reached down and scratched the cat's head. "So, tonight's not the first time?"

Mattie nodded. "My grandmother taught me to help those less fortunate than you because someday you may need help yourself."

"Sounds like a smart lady."

Mattie smiled. "She was. I really miss her."

"I'm sorry."

Pouring a cup of dry cat food into Addy's bowl, she said, "Yeah. It was over ten years ago, but I can still hear her voice inside my head."

"I've lost people close to me too, but it's good to know that they can live on inside us."

Mattie leaned against the kitchen counter and sighed. "You're right. I never thought about it that way."

Sonny bobbed his head as he took in her sparse apartment. Outside of the aforementioned couch, there was a ratty recliner, a small television on a stand, and a tiny end table that held a two-foot plastic tree decorated with a string of lights and glass bulbs from the thrift store. He took a seat on the end of the couch and rubbed his hands together. Now that their bodies had adjusted from being out in the cold, she guiltily knew that the temperature inside her apartment wasn't much better, it was just warm enough to keep her and Addy from freezing to death.

"I apologize. I have to keep the heat down. I'm on a tight budget."

"No problem. I'm just happy I didn't have to sleep in a cardboard box tonight."

The man was a case study in irony. He was able to pay his tab with a hundred dollar bill, but he slept on the streets. He was well-spoken and passed on the chance for free alcohol yet looked like he hadn't seen a barber in ages and shopped at the same thrift stores she frequented.

She had so many questions, but it was not her place to pry. "Let me get you some blankets and a pillow."

In her bedroom, she tossed her coat on the floor and peeled out of her clothes and bra but left her thong on. She twisted around to look at herself in the mirror that hung from the back of her door. Damn it, the jerk had left a mark. A big red handprint was raised against her skin, going across both cheeks. She touched the spot gently; the skin was warm and tender. From experience, she knew it would be gone in a day or two, unlike the scar on Dewey's leg. Good. Maybe, they'd think twice before assaulting another unsuspecting woman.

From the pile of clothes on the floor, she found sleep pants and a big bulky sweater. In a set of plastic drawers by her bed, she pulled out a pair of fuzzy socks and slipped those on her feet before she scooped up a spare pillow and several blankets off her bed. She returned to the living room to find Sonny fast asleep, still sitting up.

Placing the stuff on the couch next to him, she pulled on the sleeve of his coat and said, "Here you go. Get some rest."

He rubbed his eyes. "Are you sure? Do you need to unwind and watch some TV before bed?"

Her hand went to her stomach. "No. We need our rest too."

"We?"

She dropped her hand down to her side. "Umm ... Me and Addy."

Sonny closed his eyes again. "You're an angel, Mattie."

"I wish. Good night." She retreated down the hall.

Inside her room, she climbed under her massive pile of blankets. Addy joined her, curling up against her side, the cat's warmth was a welcome treat. Mattie's breath wasn't visible by the light in the hallway, but a few degrees colder and it would be.

Angel. How had Sonny known to call her that? It must have been a coincidence because that's what her grandmother had called Mattie, her little angel.

Her grandmother was the only constant in Mattie's life, not her alcoholic mother or her drug-addicted father, both of whom had died when Mattie was just a girl or the loser musician boyfriend who'd spilt town the second he'd found out she was with child. It was that woman who had taken Mattie into her home at the age of eight who had always made Mattie feel safe and secure just as Sonny had tonight.

She drifted off to sleep with visions of Christmas' pasts at her Grandmother's house, one of Mattie's favorite times of the year. Each image flashed across her tired head, bringing her such joy. The dining room table set with the china and white table cloth, a golden turkey at its center surrounded by mashed potatoes, stuffing, and all the fixings. The Christmas tree with twinkling lights and fancy glass bulbs, the floor around it covered in beautifully wrapped presents with big shiny bows. A fireplace with glowing red logs that crackled and popped. And her grandmother in a floral print dress and her white hair done up just so, who with her strong arms would pull Mattie in for a giant hug, squeezing her until she thought that she would suffocate. Mattie would give anything to have one more Christmas with her grandmother. If only her baby could have known her. She intended to give it the same memories, but she didn't know how. But she'd figure out a way.

She was still thinking of her Grandmother when she woke up the next morning. From the kitchen, she could hear Sonny running water in the sink. Trying not to disturb Addy, she climbed out of bed and stuck her head out the door.

"If you give me a minute, I'll make breakfast. I have a loaf of bread and some eggs. Do you like French toast?"

"Yes, but I can make it if you want?" Sonny offered.

"No. It's not often I get to cook for someone."

"Fine, but I'll wash the dishes in the sink for you."

The man truly was a saint. She bounded across the hallway and into the bathroom. Her hair looked like a bird's nest, so she ran a brush through it when suddenly the first waves of morning sickness hit her. That feeling of boiling acid mixed with chunky soup bubbled up from her stomach like the rising tide and hit the bottom of her throat. Covering her mouth with one hand, she dived for the toilet. She barely had time to kick the door closed behind her before she released the contents of her belly into the white porcelain bowl.

Embarrassed, she continued to retch until her body was completely drained. Sonny definitely could hear her, how could he not? It must sound like an exorcism was taking place, not twenty feet from him. She spit twice to remove the last bit of junk from her mouth and flushed the toilet. This morning sickness better end soon, or she and the baby could be in trouble, she didn't have much weight to lose.

Hearing movement from the kitchen, she rinsed her mouth out with cold water and took a swallow to see if it would stay down. It did, so she brushed her teeth and gave herself another quick look in the mirror. She was pale but presentable.

She left the bathroom. "Sorry about that."

The front door of her apartment closed.

"Hello."

No response.

"Sonny?"

The kitchen was empty. On the counter was a stack of one hundred-dollar bills with a note on top. She'd never seen that much money in one place before outside of TV shows, certainly not in her current world of poverty. She raced to the door, flung it open, and stuck her head out into the dimly lit hallway but found that vacant as well.

Uselessly, she called out his name again but the only thing that answered her was a hollow echo, so she closed the door and locked the deadbolt, before returning to the kitchen. She picked up the note. It read:

Consider this an early Christmas present for your kindness last night. I'd nearly lost my faith in humanity, but you helped me find it and that is worth more than all the money in the world. Please don't try to find me. Sonny.

The bills sounded like playing cards as she slapped them onto the table. Her heart was racing when she reached a total of five thousand dollars. Five thousand dollars! That much money was a game-changer for her. She could put money down on an apartment in a better neighborhood when her lease ran out next month. She could buy a crib and some clothes, diapers, a few toys, and even start a college fund for the little guy as well as a college course for herself. And it was a little boy. Call it mother's intuition, but she knew that the baby growing in her belly was a boy, and she had a pretty good idea what she would name him.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She cried joyfully and unashamed. Her grandmother had been right. There was kindness in the world, it only took a little faith to find it.