#fatherchristmas — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #fatherchristmas, aggregated by home.social.
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Exclusive Santa Column: SANTA WOKEN FROM HIBERNATION ERROR! 🚨🚨🚨
Following a horrific error at the Santa Claus factory, Father Christmas has been woken EARLY ahead of Christmas 2026. For it is definitely not December 2026! It’s April. Santa is not best pleased with this development…
WHAT THE BLOODY HELL!?
THE ALARMS STARTED WAILING AT 4AM. WAILING. THEY WERE VERY BLOODY LOUD. SANTA WAS ROUSED FROM A MOST DELIGHTFUL HIBERNATION SLUMBER, DROOLING OVER MYSELF, AND MY BELLOWING OF RAGE BEGAN:
“MARKUSS!!!! [Editor: Markus is Santa Claus’ Head Elf] WHAT THE BLOODY HELLLL!?!?!”
The wailing wailed, Santa bellowed, and to top it off Santa had the most bastard SOB hangover imaginable.
It Is Not Christmas
With the entire factory, elf staff, rats, and Kenneth the Gaffer Walrus woken up, Santa gathered my managers into the office quarters. I slugged from a bottle of tequila and spooned Marmite from a jar into my Santa face.
“Markus…” I wheezed, “It is not Christmas…”
“No, sir…” Markus squeaked.
“WHY IS IT NOT CHRISTMAS, MARKUS!?!?” I roared.
“Erm… er… because it is May, sir?”
“THAT IS CORRECT, YOU LITTLE BASTARD!!!! WHY IS IT MAY?!?”
Markus stood there looking baffled, his stupid elf hair all tussled, and he was not wearing his mandatory elf hat!
“ANSWER ME MARKUS! And get your ELF HAT on, you’re violating the Santa Factory dress code, you insubordinate swine!”
Markus ran off to get his elf hat and returned wheezing heavily.
“ANSWER ME!”
“Sir… *wheeze, wheeze*…”
Well, Santa bellowed for some time after that and went very red in the face. By 10am I was too drunk to do anything about it, so slept it off till 3pm and drank a pink of energy drinks, then a pint of coffee, and then started hitting the Lambrini bottle stash.
That was to deal with the ordeal that had come about because of Santa’s investment into the Sleigh-Dar 5000 AI technology, automated software triggered by technical error as a false-positive Christmas siren.
Santa invested $135 million in that! And it’d gone off in May…
That is not the Return on Investment (ROI) Santa had expected. To deal with the disappointment, I quit the Lambrini and went straight for the gin.
Santa Leaks the 2026 Naughty List
In a drunken frenzy, I went and accidentally leaked the 2026 Naughty List (as of Q2) to a decentralised blockchain, then all across the official Father Christmas social media accounts. The posts were laden with extreme obscenities and typos (I was drunk, it happens).
This triggered off a chain reaction of online and international press mayhem, with the tabloid The Daily Disaster ringing me for an exclusive interview. This I did, apparently, as I read the interview the next day. Santa just can’t remember saying any of that crap, so I may sue them for slander and defamation for the hell of it.
The bigger problem was some of the names on the Naughty List. They included:
- Bread Pitt
- Bread Pitt
- Bread Pitt
- Bread Pitt
- I’d added Bread Pitt multiple times for some reason
- Kylie Minogue
- 1996 Formula 1 World Champion Damon Hill
- The entire cast of Cheers
- Sandra Hüller
- Sandra Bullock
- Anyone else called Sandra
The list triggered international outrage from people called Sandra. I don’t give a damn what their issue is! The list is superb. Genuinely superb. Not a thing wrong with it, apart from the misspelling of Bread Pitt’s name… the spelling issue was probably down to the drunken frenzy.
But, notice, Bread Pitt didn’t complain about it! Nary a whiff of an issue from him as he is A REAL MAN and in CONTROL OF HIS EMOTIONS. Unlike women! Silly things. Oh, and on an unrelated note, Santa destroyed the desk in my office in a foul-tempered rage. I got Markus (my head elf) to order me a new one.
The New Santa Desk (and the cryogenic solution)
Yeah. with all the chaos about the 2026 Naughty List I clocked out once the desk turned up.
The new desk was flown in first class, premium delivery, via helicopter. In customer Santa Factory tradition, the helicopter crashed landed just outside the front gates in a hellish fireball of mayhem. Unlike most occasions, there was a survivor! Lucky SOB!
He staggered in pleading for medical assistance. Unfortunately, Nurse Doreen was awake as well and made him a Pot Noodle and glass of hot cocoa. That really didn’t do much for the survivor’s many open wounds and obvious third-degree burns, so I gave him a shot of brandy, patted him on the back for job well done, and shoved him back out into the snow blizzard wilderness raging outside the factory. He’ll be fine!
With the new desk installed, Santa turned my attention back to what needed resolving. That being… how do we all bloody well get back to sleep!? It isn’t Christmas!
We had a meeting in my office and I DECIDED that cryogenics was the ONLY answer.
“Er… I don’t think that’s wise, sir.” Markus squeaked.
I have him my haughtiest glare. A glare so goddamn haughty it’d scare the bejeezus out of anyone. Markus shut up and I got Nurse Doreen set on the task of setting up the ice cryogenic units to freeze us deep solid until later in the year. Belching exuberantly, I did also worry if the stupid things were in any way dangerous. What if my big Father Christmas beard got messed up!? I asked Nurse Doreen, framing in a way to look like I wasn’t scared.
“Nurse Doreen, will we all die horrible if we use these cryogenics? I’m shitting myself about this, but don’t tell the others!”
She just gazed into the middle-distance, then at me with this glazed over expression akin to a 1000 yard stare, then back into the middle-distance. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead she munched on a powered chunk of Turkish Delight. But then she eyeballed me again.
“Mr. Father Christmas… I do not know. I am not a cryogenics expert.”
“BUT YOU ARE A NURSE, ARE NOT YOU!?” I bellowed.
“Mr. Father Christmas, I am hired as a chef, not a nurse.”
Santa had Markus get her contract of employment and we checked it right there and then in the office while Nurse Doreen waited. DAMN AND BLAST! She was right. I’d been calling her Nurse Doreen all these years! She’s listed as a chef… technically I should be paying her double.
I dropped the matter and we got on with it, prepping the cryogenic units.
Santa must stop here. I’m very drunk. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to make any sense. REST ASSURED! Christmas 2026 will be on target and only if you’re Bread Pitt will you not receive any presents. Bread Pitt and all the Sandras of this world, that is…
#Business #Capitalism #Christmas #FatherChristmas #Humor #Humour #Santa #Satire #satirical #Silly -
Everyone with an Echo speaker should try these 12 Alexa tricks today
https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.mirror.co.uk/tech/amazon-echo-alexa-ask-christmas-36451510
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Everyone with an Echo speaker should try these 12 Alexa tricks today
https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.mirror.co.uk/tech/amazon-echo-alexa-ask-christmas-36451510
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Everyone with an Echo speaker should try these 12 Alexa tricks today
https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.mirror.co.uk/tech/amazon-echo-alexa-ask-christmas-36451510
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Everyone with an Echo speaker should try these 12 Alexa tricks today
https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.mirror.co.uk/tech/amazon-echo-alexa-ask-christmas-36451510
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Everyone with an Echo speaker should try these 12 Alexa tricks today
https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.mirror.co.uk/tech/amazon-echo-alexa-ask-christmas-36451510
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Santa told to slim down sleigh in festive efficiency crackdown
Jamie Burns, from sustainability firm Ailsa, has swapped boardrooms for the North Pole this Christmas, crunching the numbers on Santa’s epic journey. And the results are enough to make even Rudolph break into a sweat.
Reindeer fuel bill revealed
According to Burns, Santa’s nine trusty reindeer need a staggering 24,000 calories each just to get airborne — six times their normal daily intake. That’s the equivalent of 108kg of grain and 108kg of CO₂ emissions before the sleigh even hits the first rooftop.
Keeping the herd fuelled for the full world tour would mean chomping through 77,400 carrots — racking up nearly 1.1 tonnes of CO₂ in one night.
And don’t even think about plugging in an electric sleigh. Burns says the stop‑start journey to 500 million homes would demand 2,400 GWh of energy — generating 1.14 million tonnes of CO₂e. That’s more than some countries pump out in a week.
Santa needs to consider his reindeer fuel bill according to an energy expertFour ways Santa can save Christmas
Burns has drawn up a cheeky four‑point plan to help Santa cut the fat this festive season:
- Streamline the sleigh weight – lighter packaging, digital gifts and pre‑sorted loads could shave hundreds of kilos off the reindeer’s workload.
- Upgrade aerodynamics – candy‑cane runners and sleigh rails could be slimmed down, with low‑friction coatings to cut drag.
- Plan a smarter route – advanced mapping could stop Santa zig‑zagging across continents and wasting energy.
- AI‑assisted flight optimisation – a digital co‑pilot could tweak speed, altitude and chimney sequences in real time.
How kids can help
And it’s not just Santa who needs to change his ways. Burns says children can play their part too.
“Leave out energy‑dense carrot bundles clearly labelled for the reindeer,” he advised.
#Christmas #energy #energySaving #FatherChristmas #Reindeer #ReindeerFuelBill #Santa“And keep Santa’s mince pie and milk within arm’s reach of the fireplace. Every second saved inside each house adds up when you’re visiting hundreds of millions of homes.”
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People discuss how Santa is able to deliver all the present in a single night, but they don't so much consider how he can fit all the presents of a single sleigh.
And if he doesn't have a shrink ray, that would mean there is a size limit for all the gifts and you will know when a gift isn't from Santa because it is over Santa's size limit.
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People discuss how Santa is able to deliver all the present in a single night, but they don't so much consider how he can fit all the presents of a single sleigh.
And if he doesn't have a shrink ray, that would mean there is a size limit for all the gifts and you will know when a gift isn't from Santa because it is over Santa's size limit.
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People discuss how Santa is able to deliver all the present in a single night, but they don't so much consider how he can fit all the presents of a single sleigh.
And if he doesn't have a shrink ray, that would mean there is a size limit for all the gifts and you will know when a gift isn't from Santa because it is over Santa's size limit.
-
People discuss how Santa is able to deliver all the present in a single night, but they don't so much consider how he can fit all the presents of a single sleigh.
And if he doesn't have a shrink ray, that would mean there is a size limit for all the gifts and you will know when a gift isn't from Santa because it is over Santa's size limit.
-
People discuss how Santa is able to deliver all the present in a single night, but they don't so much consider how he can fit all the presents of a single sleigh.
And if he doesn't have a shrink ray, that would mean there is a size limit for all the gifts and you will know when a gift isn't from Santa because it is over Santa's size limit.
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NORAD Santa Tracker 2025 LIVE: Follow Father Christmas as he flies around world
https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/norad-santa-tracker-2025-live-36447366
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NORAD Santa Tracker 2025 LIVE: Follow Father Christmas as he flies around world
https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/norad-santa-tracker-2025-live-36447366
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NORAD Santa Tracker 2025 LIVE: Follow Father Christmas as he flies around world
https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/norad-santa-tracker-2025-live-36447366
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Choose 20 comics that have stayed with you or influenced you.
One comic per day for 20 days, in no particular order.
No explanations, no reviews, just covers.Day 20:
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Choose 20 comics that have stayed with you or influenced you.
One comic per day for 20 days, in no particular order.
No explanations, no reviews, just covers.Day 20:
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Choose 20 comics that have stayed with you or influenced you.
One comic per day for 20 days, in no particular order.
No explanations, no reviews, just covers.Day 20:
-
Choose 20 comics that have stayed with you or influenced you.
One comic per day for 20 days, in no particular order.
No explanations, no reviews, just covers.Day 20:
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The big man loves cargo bikes (he's clearly had to be restrained with some ratched straps because he's so excited to see us).
Go by bike – it’s what Santa would want. #biketooter #cargobike #santa #fatherchristmas #cycling #christmas
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The big man loves cargo bikes (he's clearly had to be restrained with some ratched straps because he's so excited to see us).
Go by bike – it’s what Santa would want. #biketooter #cargobike #santa #fatherchristmas #cycling #christmas
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The big man loves cargo bikes (he's clearly had to be restrained with some ratched straps because he's so excited to see us).
Go by bike – it’s what Santa would want. #biketooter #cargobike #santa #fatherchristmas #cycling #christmas
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The big man loves cargo bikes (he's clearly had to be restrained with some ratched straps because he's so excited to see us).
Go by bike – it’s what Santa would want. #biketooter #cargobike #santa #fatherchristmas #cycling #christmas
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The big man loves cargo bikes (he's clearly had to be restrained with some ratched straps because he's so excited to see us).
Go by bike – it’s what Santa would want. #biketooter #cargobike #santa #fatherchristmas #cycling #christmas
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Cost of feeding Santa soars nearly 40% in a decade
Milk, mince pies and carrots don’t come cheap
Experts at Ailsa have crunched the numbers, revealing that the price of leaving out a pint of milk, a mince pie and a carrot has jumped by almost 40% since 2015.
Supermarket data shows the average pint of milk now costs 85p, a pack of mince pies £1.25, and a 500g bag of carrots 49p — adding up to £2.59 for Santa’s snack station this Christmas Eve.
Back in 2015, the same treats would have set families back just £1.86.
A tradition with history
The ritual of leaving food out for Santa dates back to the 1930s. In 1935, families spent barely 0.05p on the festive offering.
Since then, the cost has rocketed by more than 5,000% over nine decades, with the sharpest rise coming between 1975 and 1985 when prices leapt by 151%.
“The magic matters”
Kane Taylor, Ailsa researcher, said:
“Yes, the cost of keeping Santa fed has shot up but that just proves how determined we are to keep the Christmas dream alive. Even when the world feels a bit heavy, we still leave out the milk, mince pie and carrot with a smile, because the magic matters.”
He added:
“For kids, it’s a moment of pure wonder. For the rest of us, it’s a chance to reconnect with the part of ourselves that still believes in something sparkly. If paying a few extra pennies means keeping that glow going, then we’ll happily keep topping up Santa’s snack station.”
Rising costs, rising cheer
While mince pies may be pricier, experts say the tradition is priceless. Families across Wales are expected to keep the ritual alive this Christmas Eve, proving that festive spirit can’t be measured in pounds and pence.
Cost of feeding Santa
Year Amount (£) 1935 0.05 1945 0.07 1955 0.11 1965 0.15 1975 0.33 1985 0.83 1995 1.25 2005 1.45 2015 1.86 2025 2.59Related stories from Swansea Bay News
Christmas Parade named UK’s best council event
Swansea’s festive parade has been crowned the UK’s top council‑organised outdoor event at the NOEA Awards.Festive bin collection changes across South West Wales
Councils confirm revised Christmas and New Year waste dates for Swansea, Carmarthenshire, Neath Port Talbot and Pembrokeshire.Christmas news and features
#Chriatmas #costOfLiving #FatherChristmas #foodDrink #foodForSanta #milkPrice #MincePies #Santa
Explore Swansea Bay News’ full festive coverage — from local markets and charity drives to seasonal community stories. -
Vintage Postcard Fantasy Father Christmas Headstock Horse
https://www.cpaphil.com/en/products/vintage-postcard-fantasy-father-christmas-headstock-horse
#VintagePostcard #FantasyPostcard #FatherChristmas #SantaClaus #VintageChristmas #ChristmasFantasy #HolidayIllustration #HorseAndSanta #IllustratedPostcard #VintageIllustration #SeasonalPostcard
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Vintage Postcard Fantasy Father Christmas Headstock Horse
https://www.cpaphil.com/en/products/vintage-postcard-fantasy-father-christmas-headstock-horse
#VintagePostcard #FantasyPostcard #FatherChristmas #SantaClaus #VintageChristmas #ChristmasFantasy #HolidayIllustration #HorseAndSanta #IllustratedPostcard #VintageIllustration #SeasonalPostcard
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Vintage Postcard Fantasy Father Christmas Headstock Horse www.cpaphil.com/en/p... #VintagePostcard #FantasyPostcard #FatherChristmas #SantaClaus #VintageChristmas #ChristmasFantasy #HolidayIllustration #HorseAndSanta #IllustratedPostcard #VintageIllustration #SeasonalPostcard
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TikTok star, 31, found dead at home after haunting final video
https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.mirror.co.uk/3am/celebrity-news/tiktok-star-31-found-dead-36412174
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TikTok star, 31, found dead at home after haunting final video
https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.mirror.co.uk/3am/celebrity-news/tiktok-star-31-found-dead-36412174
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TikTok star, 31, found dead at home after haunting final video
https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.mirror.co.uk/3am/celebrity-news/tiktok-star-31-found-dead-36412174
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TikTok star, 31, found dead at home after haunting final video
https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.mirror.co.uk/3am/celebrity-news/tiktok-star-31-found-dead-36412174
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TikTok star, 31, found dead at home after haunting final video
https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.mirror.co.uk/3am/celebrity-news/tiktok-star-31-found-dead-36412174
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Naughty or nice? Which list will you be on this Christmas?
Do You Believe In Father Christmas?
#flashfiction #Christmas #ghoststories #ChristmasFiction #Paranormal #ShortStory #FatherChristmas #SantaClaus
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Do You Believe In Father Christmas?
When I was eight years old, I did the most despicable thing.
On Christmas Eve 1970, I told my five-year-old sister that there was no such thing as Father Christmas. She was horrified.
Telling her that Father Christmas did not exist was the worst thing I ever did.
My mother was so angry with me. She sent me to my room.
I missed supper. I missed the carol-singers outside our house.
I missed seeing the first snowflakes of what was to be my first white Christmas. And I missed the evening of Christmas Eve, my favourite time of the year.
However, worse was to come.
I cried myself to sleep, blaming Father Christmas for what had happened.
Sometime during the night, I was woken by hands around my throat.
“You evil boy!” boomed the voice. I was too frightened to open my eyes.
“Open your eyes, boy! Do it, or you will never see Christmas again.”
He forced me to open my eyes. I don’t know how he did it, but he somehow did.
I couldn’t believe what I saw.
I was shocked beyond belief. It was Father Christmas who had his hands around my throat.
“You never, never tell anyone ever again that I do not exist. Do you understand me, boy?” I tried nodding my head, despite being in complete shock.
“Good. Now, look deep into my eyes.”
Seconds later, I saw a flock of robins in his eyes and, before I knew it, they were propelled into my eyes.
The screeching sound they made hurt my ears. I could not scream for help to my mother or father because of the tightly gripped hands around my throat. I finally managed to close my eyes, and the screeching robins and hands around my throat disappeared.
Terrified by what had happened, I crawled under my bed. I curled up into a tiny ball and shivered the night away. Sleep did come, but only briefly.
It was the sound of laughter that woke me.
I could hear the muffled voices of my family. It was Christmas morning, and they were already downstairs.
How could they have forgotten to wake me up?
I crawled out from under my bed and made my way past the open door of my bedroom. On the floor, at the top of the stairs, were two empty Christmas stockings. How could they have emptied their stockings without me?
I ran down the stairs and into the lounge, which was lit up with Christmas lights.
“Mum, Dad, Julie…I’m sorry,” I cried, but none of them took any notice of me. “Please forgive me, don’t spoil Christmas.” But it was no good, they just ignored me.
That’s when I saw the strange boy.
“Oh, that’s lovely, Hugh. Grandma sure knows how to knit Christmas jumpers,” laughed Dad, as he hugged the strange boy.
For the rest of the day, I watched as the boy with my name took my place. Nobody bothered me. Nobody even noticed I was there. It was as if I were a ghost.
I finally went to bed and cried myself to sleep. The whole family had arrived at our house and a Christmas party was in full swing.
The next morning, my mother woke me up.
“Are you feeling better, Hugh?”
“Are you talking to me?” I asked her.
“Of course, I am. Who else goes by your name in this house? Come on, it’s Boxing Day, and we need to get over to Grandma’s house.”
I didn’t ever say anything to anybody about what had happened, and I didn’t see the strange-looking boy with my name again.
Well, I didn’t see him until the following Christmas Day when the whole thing happened again. And it’s happened every Christmas since then.
You see, my place is now taken by a ghost, but only on that one day of the year when I become a ghost.
I’m so happy and thankful that it’s not Christmas every day.
Do you believe in Father Christmas?
This short story was originally published on my blog in December 2019.
Image created by Hugh W. Roberts using Canva.
Click the buttons below to follow Hugh on Social Media
Copyright © 2019 hughsviewsandnews.com – All rights reserved.
#christmas #christmasFiction #fatherChristmas #fiction #ghostStories #ghostStory #ghosts #paranormal #santaClaus #shortStories #shortStory
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Do You Believe In Father Christmas?
When I was eight years old, I did the most despicable thing.
On Christmas Eve 1970, I told my five-year-old sister that there was no such thing as Father Christmas. She was horrified.
Telling her that Father Christmas did not exist was the worst thing I ever did.
My mother was so angry with me. She sent me to my room.
I missed supper. I missed the carol-singers outside our house.
I missed seeing the first snowflakes of what was to be my first white Christmas. And I missed the evening of Christmas Eve, my favourite time of the year.
However, worse was to come.
I cried myself to sleep, blaming Father Christmas for what had happened.
Sometime during the night, I was woken by hands around my throat.
“You evil boy!” boomed the voice. I was too frightened to open my eyes.
“Open your eyes, boy! Do it, or you will never see Christmas again.”
He forced me to open my eyes. I don’t know how he did it, but he somehow did.
I couldn’t believe what I saw.
I was shocked beyond belief. It was Father Christmas who had his hands around my throat.
“You never, never tell anyone ever again that I do not exist. Do you understand me, boy?” I tried nodding my head, despite being in complete shock.
“Good. Now, look deep into my eyes.”
Seconds later, I saw a flock of robins in his eyes and, before I knew it, they were propelled into my eyes.
The screeching sound they made hurt my ears. I could not scream for help to my mother or father because of the tightly gripped hands around my throat. I finally managed to close my eyes, and the screeching robins and hands around my throat disappeared.
Terrified by what had happened, I crawled under my bed. I curled up into a tiny ball and shivered the night away. Sleep did come, but only briefly.
It was the sound of laughter that woke me.
I could hear the muffled voices of my family. It was Christmas morning, and they were already downstairs.
How could they have forgotten to wake me up?
I crawled out from under my bed and made my way past the open door of my bedroom. On the floor, at the top of the stairs, were two empty Christmas stockings. How could they have emptied their stockings without me?
I ran down the stairs and into the lounge, which was lit up with Christmas lights.
“Mum, Dad, Julie…I’m sorry,” I cried, but none of them took any notice of me. “Please forgive me, don’t spoil Christmas.” But it was no good, they just ignored me.
That’s when I saw the strange boy.
“Oh, that’s lovely, Hugh. Grandma sure knows how to knit Christmas jumpers,” laughed Dad, as he hugged the strange boy.
For the rest of the day, I watched as the boy with my name took my place. Nobody bothered me. Nobody even noticed I was there. It was as if I were a ghost.
I finally went to bed and cried myself to sleep. The whole family had arrived at our house and a Christmas party was in full swing.
The next morning, my mother woke me up.
“Are you feeling better, Hugh?”
“Are you talking to me?” I asked her.
“Of course, I am. Who else goes by your name in this house? Come on, it’s Boxing Day, and we need to get over to Grandma’s house.”
I didn’t ever say anything to anybody about what had happened, and I didn’t see the strange-looking boy with my name again.
Well, I didn’t see him until the following Christmas Day when the whole thing happened again. And it’s happened every Christmas since then.
You see, my place is now taken by a ghost, but only on that one day of the year when I become a ghost.
I’m so happy and thankful that it’s not Christmas every day.
Do you believe in Father Christmas?
This short story was originally published on my blog in December 2019.
Image created by Hugh W. Roberts using Canva.
Click the buttons below to follow Hugh on Social Media
Copyright © 2019 hughsviewsandnews.com – All rights reserved.
#christmas #christmasFiction #fatherChristmas #fiction #ghostStories #ghostStory #ghosts #paranormal #santaClaus #shortStories #shortStory
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Do You Believe In Father Christmas?
When I was eight years old, I did the most despicable thing.
On Christmas Eve 1970, I told my five-year-old sister that there was no such thing as Father Christmas. She was horrified.
Telling her that Father Christmas did not exist was the worst thing I ever did.
My mother was so angry with me. She sent me to my room.
I missed supper. I missed the carol-singers outside our house.
I missed seeing the first snowflakes of what was to be my first white Christmas. And I missed the evening of Christmas Eve, my favourite time of the year.
However, worse was to come.
I cried myself to sleep, blaming Father Christmas for what had happened.
Sometime during the night, I was woken by hands around my throat.
“You evil boy!” boomed the voice. I was too frightened to open my eyes.
“Open your eyes, boy! Do it, or you will never see Christmas again.”
He forced me to open my eyes. I don’t know how he did it, but he somehow did.
I couldn’t believe what I saw.
I was shocked beyond belief. It was Father Christmas who had his hands around my throat.
“You never, never tell anyone ever again that I do not exist. Do you understand me, boy?” I tried nodding my head, despite being in complete shock.
“Good. Now, look deep into my eyes.”
Seconds later, I saw a flock of robins in his eyes and, before I knew it, they were propelled into my eyes.
The screeching sound they made hurt my ears. I could not scream for help to my mother or father because of the tightly gripped hands around my throat. I finally managed to close my eyes, and the screeching robins and hands around my throat disappeared.
Terrified by what had happened, I crawled under my bed. I curled up into a tiny ball and shivered the night away. Sleep did come, but only briefly.
It was the sound of laughter that woke me.
I could hear the muffled voices of my family. It was Christmas morning, and they were already downstairs.
How could they have forgotten to wake me up?
I crawled out from under my bed and made my way past the open door of my bedroom. On the floor, at the top of the stairs, were two empty Christmas stockings. How could they have emptied their stockings without me?
I ran down the stairs and into the lounge, which was lit up with Christmas lights.
“Mum, Dad, Julie…I’m sorry,” I cried, but none of them took any notice of me. “Please forgive me, don’t spoil Christmas.” But it was no good, they just ignored me.
That’s when I saw the strange boy.
“Oh, that’s lovely, Hugh. Grandma sure knows how to knit Christmas jumpers,” laughed Dad, as he hugged the strange boy.
For the rest of the day, I watched as the boy with my name took my place. Nobody bothered me. Nobody even noticed I was there. It was as if I were a ghost.
I finally went to bed and cried myself to sleep. The whole family had arrived at our house and a Christmas party was in full swing.
The next morning, my mother woke me up.
“Are you feeling better, Hugh?”
“Are you talking to me?” I asked her.
“Of course, I am. Who else goes by your name in this house? Come on, it’s Boxing Day, and we need to get over to Grandma’s house.”
I didn’t ever say anything to anybody about what had happened, and I didn’t see the strange-looking boy with my name again.
Well, I didn’t see him until the following Christmas Day when the whole thing happened again. And it’s happened every Christmas since then.
You see, my place is now taken by a ghost, but only on that one day of the year when I become a ghost.
I’m so happy and thankful that it’s not Christmas every day.
Do you believe in Father Christmas?
This short story was originally published on my blog in December 2019.
Image created by Hugh W. Roberts using Canva.
Click the buttons below to follow Hugh on Social Media
Copyright © 2019 hughsviewsandnews.com – All rights reserved.
#christmas #christmasFiction #fatherChristmas #fiction #ghostStories #ghostStory #ghosts #paranormal #santaClaus #shortStories #shortStory
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Do You Believe In Father Christmas?
When I was eight years old, I did the most despicable thing.
On Christmas Eve 1970, I told my five-year-old sister that there was no such thing as Father Christmas. She was horrified.
Telling her that Father Christmas did not exist was the worst thing I ever did.
My mother was so angry with me. She sent me to my room.
I missed supper. I missed the carol-singers outside our house.
I missed seeing the first snowflakes of what was to be my first white Christmas. And I missed the evening of Christmas Eve, my favourite time of the year.
However, worse was to come.
I cried myself to sleep, blaming Father Christmas for what had happened.
Sometime during the night, I was woken by hands around my throat.
“You evil boy!” boomed the voice. I was too frightened to open my eyes.
“Open your eyes, boy! Do it, or you will never see Christmas again.”
He forced me to open my eyes. I don’t know how he did it, but he somehow did.
I couldn’t believe what I saw.
I was shocked beyond belief. It was Father Christmas who had his hands around my throat.
“You never, never tell anyone ever again that I do not exist. Do you understand me, boy?” I tried nodding my head, despite being in complete shock.
“Good. Now, look deep into my eyes.”
Seconds later, I saw a flock of robins in his eyes and, before I knew it, they were propelled into my eyes.
The screeching sound they made hurt my ears. I could not scream for help to my mother or father because of the tightly gripped hands around my throat. I finally managed to close my eyes, and the screeching robins and hands around my throat disappeared.
Terrified by what had happened, I crawled under my bed. I curled up into a tiny ball and shivered the night away. Sleep did come, but only briefly.
It was the sound of laughter that woke me.
I could hear the muffled voices of my family. It was Christmas morning, and they were already downstairs.
How could they have forgotten to wake me up?
I crawled out from under my bed and made my way past the open door of my bedroom. On the floor, at the top of the stairs, were two empty Christmas stockings. How could they have emptied their stockings without me?
I ran down the stairs and into the lounge, which was lit up with Christmas lights.
“Mum, Dad, Julie…I’m sorry,” I cried, but none of them took any notice of me. “Please forgive me, don’t spoil Christmas.” But it was no good, they just ignored me.
That’s when I saw the strange boy.
“Oh, that’s lovely, Hugh. Grandma sure knows how to knit Christmas jumpers,” laughed Dad, as he hugged the strange boy.
For the rest of the day, I watched as the boy with my name took my place. Nobody bothered me. Nobody even noticed I was there. It was as if I were a ghost.
I finally went to bed and cried myself to sleep. The whole family had arrived at our house and a Christmas party was in full swing.
The next morning, my mother woke me up.
“Are you feeling better, Hugh?”
“Are you talking to me?” I asked her.
“Of course, I am. Who else goes by your name in this house? Come on, it’s Boxing Day, and we need to get over to Grandma’s house.”
I didn’t ever say anything to anybody about what had happened, and I didn’t see the strange-looking boy with my name again.
Well, I didn’t see him until the following Christmas Day when the whole thing happened again. And it’s happened every Christmas since then.
You see, my place is now taken by a ghost, but only on that one day of the year when I become a ghost.
I’m so happy and thankful that it’s not Christmas every day.
Do you believe in Father Christmas?
This short story was originally published on my blog in December 2019.
Image created by Hugh W. Roberts using Canva.
Click the buttons below to follow Hugh on Social Media
Copyright © 2019 hughsviewsandnews.com – All rights reserved.
#christmas #christmasFiction #fatherChristmas #fiction #ghostStories #ghostStory #ghosts #paranormal #santaClaus #shortStories #shortStory
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Do You Believe In Father Christmas?
When I was eight years old, I did the most despicable thing.
On Christmas Eve 1970, I told my five-year-old sister that there was no such thing as Father Christmas. She was horrified.
Telling her that Father Christmas did not exist was the worst thing I ever did.
My mother was so angry with me. She sent me to my room.
I missed supper. I missed the carol-singers outside our house.
I missed seeing the first snowflakes of what was to be my first white Christmas. And I missed the evening of Christmas Eve, my favourite time of the year.
However, worse was to come.
I cried myself to sleep, blaming Father Christmas for what had happened.
Sometime during the night, I was woken by hands around my throat.
“You evil boy!” boomed the voice. I was too frightened to open my eyes.
“Open your eyes, boy! Do it, or you will never see Christmas again.”
He forced me to open my eyes. I don’t know how he did it, but he somehow did.
I couldn’t believe what I saw.
I was shocked beyond belief. It was Father Christmas who had his hands around my throat.
“You never, never tell anyone ever again that I do not exist. Do you understand me, boy?” I tried nodding my head, despite being in complete shock.
“Good. Now, look deep into my eyes.”
Seconds later, I saw a flock of robins in his eyes and, before I knew it, they were propelled into my eyes.
The screeching sound they made hurt my ears. I could not scream for help to my mother or father because of the tightly gripped hands around my throat. I finally managed to close my eyes, and the screeching robins and hands around my throat disappeared.
Terrified by what had happened, I crawled under my bed. I curled up into a tiny ball and shivered the night away. Sleep did come, but only briefly.
It was the sound of laughter that woke me.
I could hear the muffled voices of my family. It was Christmas morning, and they were already downstairs.
How could they have forgotten to wake me up?
I crawled out from under my bed and made my way past the open door of my bedroom. On the floor, at the top of the stairs, were two empty Christmas stockings. How could they have emptied their stockings without me?
I ran down the stairs and into the lounge, which was lit up with Christmas lights.
“Mum, Dad, Julie…I’m sorry,” I cried, but none of them took any notice of me. “Please forgive me, don’t spoil Christmas.” But it was no good, they just ignored me.
That’s when I saw the strange boy.
“Oh, that’s lovely, Hugh. Grandma sure knows how to knit Christmas jumpers,” laughed Dad, as he hugged the strange boy.
For the rest of the day, I watched as the boy with my name took my place. Nobody bothered me. Nobody even noticed I was there. It was as if I were a ghost.
I finally went to bed and cried myself to sleep. The whole family had arrived at our house and a Christmas party was in full swing.
The next morning, my mother woke me up.
“Are you feeling better, Hugh?”
“Are you talking to me?” I asked her.
“Of course, I am. Who else goes by your name in this house? Come on, it’s Boxing Day, and we need to get over to Grandma’s house.”
I didn’t ever say anything to anybody about what had happened, and I didn’t see the strange-looking boy with my name again.
Well, I didn’t see him until the following Christmas Day when the whole thing happened again. And it’s happened every Christmas since then.
You see, my place is now taken by a ghost, but only on that one day of the year when I become a ghost.
I’m so happy and thankful that it’s not Christmas every day.
Do you believe in Father Christmas?
This short story was originally published on my blog in December 2019.
Image created by Hugh W. Roberts using Canva.
Click the buttons below to follow Hugh on Social Media
Copyright © 2019 hughsviewsandnews.com – All rights reserved.
#christmas #christmasFiction #fatherChristmas #fiction #ghostStories #ghostStory #ghosts #paranormal #santaClaus #shortStories #shortStory
