Holiday Short Story - Fiction

We're excited to share the stories that have been submitted for our Holiday edition of the Writes of Winter contest! We received seven submissions:

There is Magic in Bower Mall - Amanda Mason

A Red Deer Christmas Story for the Young and the Young at Heart - Jana Olson

Sing Gloria - Heidi McFadzean

Santa's Reindeer - Paige, age 8

Mrs. Grimsby's 50th Christmas Eve Storytime Program - Jeremy Robinson




There is Magic in Bower Mall

by Amanda Mason

“Santa will see you now,” the friendly elf said, gesturing to where Santa sat in the center of the mall. A Christmas tree towered behind him, it’s star almost touching the domed roof.

“It’s ok,” my mother said, gently nudging me forward and I nervously sat down.

“What’s your name?” Santa asked over the noise.

“Cora,” I answered, glancing at the line of children waiting for their turn while shoppers carrying an impossible amount of bags rushed past.

“What would Cora like for Christmas?” His voice bringing my attention back to him.

“I just have a question,” I answered, watching his confusion turn into amusement.

He let out a jolly laugh that shook his belly.

“What’s your question?”

I took a deep breath before asking, “Is magic real?”

“What’s your favourite Christmas treat?” His eyes twinkled,

I scrunched my nose, confused what that had to do with magic.

“Gingerbread cookies,” I replied.

“Good choice! Close your eyes,” he instructed.

I glanced at my mother, she nodded and I let out the breath I was holding, lowering my eyelids.

“Imagine yourself baking gingerbread cookies with your mom, you lick the spoon as you watch the cookies bake.”

Suddenly the smell of gingerbread filled the air as a breeze rustled my hair. I opened my eyes expecting to see cookies, but there were none. I stared at him confused but he just smiled.

“Close them again.”

I shut my eyes so quickly that Santa chuckled.

“You’re tobogganing down Michener Hill with your dad.”

The magic cooled my cheeks like I was really sledding.

Santa continued before I could grasp what was happening.

“You’re wrapping presents but can’t stop laughing because Dash keeps getting in the way.”

My eyes snapped open, how does he know about our cat Dash?

“If you want the answer, you have to keep your eyes closed”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, shutting my eyes.

“It’s Christmas morning, you race downstairs to find the presents I left under the tree,” Santa described, “You rip open the last present, it’s the pink Polaroid camera you wanted.”

I imagined my parents smiling blissfully at me as I thanked them with a giant hug.

I opened my eyes to see my mom standing there with that same smile, tears well up in my eyes as happiness overwhelms me.

“Magic isn’t just how my reindeer fly or what helps me deliver presents all over the world in one night,” Santa said gently as he wiped away my tear, “It’s the memories we share with loved ones, that is the true magic of Christmas.”

“Smile!” The elf said.

A warm, magical breeze encircled me as the camera flashed.

“Merry Christmas Cora,” Santa said, giving me a candy cane.

“Thank you,” I replied, “Merry Christmas.”

My mom took my hand, leading me away as she handed me the photo and I gasped! In the picture, Santa was eating a gingerbread cookie while holding my pink camera.

I looked back at Santa and he gave me a wink.




A Red Deer Christmas Story for the Young and the Young at Heart

by Jana Olson

Not so long ago, in this very city, a little mouse named Holly was out exploring the city streets.

Holly scurried along the street in the shelter of the buildings. Tonight there were many groups strolling along the sidewalks, and Holly was nervous about being seen. Luckily, everyone was caught up in their own chatting and laughing, and it was easy for a little grey mouse to blend into the shadows. Holly paused once or twice to gaze up at all the colourful lights wrapping light poles and strung along rooves and windows facing the outdoor street patio. She thought they looked simply magical.

“Oh, no! Oh, no!” A little sparrow cried from a bare tree branch. “I’ve dropped the cookie I was carrying, and I can’t get in between those bins to get it back!”

Holly dashed between the garbage bins, picked up the colourfully iced cookie and carefully brought it out and laid it on the snow for the sparrow to swoop down and retrieve. The little sparrow chirped a thank you and flew off to his family with the cookie in his beak, and Holly skittered across the street and into the big park beside city hall.

“Oh, no! Oh, no!” A small brown squirrel cried from the shelter of a garden bed in the corner of the park. “I found this lovely mitten to add to my nest to keep my children cozy and warm, but it’s caught on these branches and I can’t get it free!”

Holly scrambled over the small snowbank ringing the base of the tree, and quickly chewed through the strands of wool that were hooked on branches while the squirrel tugged on the mitten until it popped free. She chittered a thank you to Holly and quickly climbed up a tree in the park to her nest, and Holly scampered across the park and through the open doors of the library.

“Oh, no! Oh, no!” A tiny black kitten cried from behind a bookshelf. “I came inside because I was curious about what was happening, and now I can’t get out again without anyone seeing me! I just want to go home to my family–I don’t want to be caught!”

Holly gave the kitten a wink and ran squeaking into the middle of the floor. People quickly spotted her and exclamations rang out through the library lobby. While everyone was watching Holly, the kitten was able to slip unnoticed out of the sliding doors into city hall park and melt into the night. Holly gave a burst of speed and wove between the feet of people and out of the building herself.

Just as Holly reached the safety of the enormous tree near the street, it burst into a tower of twinkling lights. The people chasing after Holly forgot about her as they looked upward in awe. Holly picked up a candy cane from in front of the beautiful tree and hurried home to share the special treat with her family.




Sing Gloria

by Heidi McFadzean

I step out of the car and move towards the square, the frigid air nearly taking my breath away. Others were wiser than I, waiting for warmer weather to see the thousands of lights decorating the park at City Hall. But I couldn’t wait. Things were too crazy at home, and even worse in my head. I had to get out, and this seemed like as good a place to go as any.

Barely noticing the decorations and brightly lit trees, I stamp along pathways and under arches. A canned rendition of ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’ infuses the frozen night, competing for space with the angry thoughts chasing around my mind. As I make my way closer to the center of the square, I see that I am not, in fact, the only one to brave the wintry night. Standing in a small clearing in the centre of the decorations is a man, all bundled up for the weather. Unlike me, he’s not wandering the paths. He’s singing. I stop momentarily, surprised to realize that it is not recorded music I’ve been listening to, but a live rendition. The man’s voice is sure and powerful. His ability to project is as impressive as his stamina.

I fumble through my pockets for some change to drop in the bucket he has in front of him, then continue my wanderings. The solitude gradually settles on me, slowing my steps, my breathing, and my thoughts. I start to see the lights now, wound around trees and metal frames of presents, ornaments and other symbols of Christmas time. There are thousands of lights, some brightly colored, others more muted. Each light pushes back the darkness of the night, and nudges at the darkness in my heart.

The song changes to a rendition of ‘Angels We Have Heard On High’. Unbidden, the lyrics flow through my mind and out my mouth. My voice is quiet; I doubt the man can hear my harmony. As we continue our unplanned duet, my feet pause. I look around. It’s too bright for me to see any stars, but in the quiet stillness, surrounded by a multitude of twinkling lights, I feel the echo of the long ago angels’ song. My frustrations and worries slink back to the corners of my mind, daunted by the hope flowing in. I turn back towards the centre of the square, drawing nearer to the man, and let my voice ring out. “Gloria, in excelsis Deo.”






Santa’s Reindeer

by Paige, age 8

One time, Santa came to Red Deer on Christmas to deliver some nice presents to families for Christmas. He feared the weather because there was a snowstorm, and his reindeer might hit it. So, Santa said, “lets go!” and his reindeer pranced ahead to a house with sparkling lights, but his reindeer hit a blizzard and they came down… down… down! All the presents fell with him, and he could not find a single present. So, he and his reindeer had to look.

After two hours, 25 kids came to Santa to help look for the presents. They looked at Bower Mall and they couldn’t find them. Then they looked at Bower Ponds and they couldn’t find them. Then they looked at Three Mile Bend, and they thought they would not find the presents but then one of the kids found all the presents under a tree, and everyone thought it was a Christmas miracle! Everyone sang Christmas songs like “Jingle Bell Rock” and “Feliz Navidad” and after that Santa and his reindeer delivered the presents. The End.






Mrs. Grimsby's 50th Christmas Eve Storytime Program

by Jeremy Robinson

It was the fiftieth year of Lois Grimsby’s annual storytime program at Spring Creek Public Library. Yet it was the first time in its history that nobody showed up. The program, which started promptly at 3:00pm on every December 24th, had been a mainstay in the small hamlet since Mrs. Grimsby inherited the title of head librarian.

When she started, the people didn’t know what to make of her. No one paid much attention to the library before then, but she wanted that to change. She thought the library should bring people together so their stories could be shared. And pretty soon, it became a hub for the community to live and learn. All were welcome in Mrs. Grimsby’s world.

However, not everyone was happy to have her around. There was one instance, her position was threatened. A group of anonymous citizens under the guise of masks approached her one night. They accosted Mrs. Grimsby with

ominous threats.

“We would appreciate it if you tried not to influence our children with books,” demanded one of the anonymous. “We’d prefer you take your ideas and leave this town.”

This may have upset Mrs Grimsby but she was not afraid. She paused a moment before she took off her reading glasses, showing her full face as the others dared not to.

“Please understand,” she began, “that the library is for you and me, and everyone who enters. It doesn’t matter where you are from, or where you will go. I will not close it to anyone. And it is only when they stop coming, that I will leave.”

As she looked upon the empty library in her fiftieth year as custodian, she remembered that day, and pondered if her time truly had passed.

“Perhaps,” she thought, “there is no longer a place for people to share their stories. Perhaps that is for the past. And perhaps I am too.”

Mrs. Grimsby walked alone to her humble home as the short day turned into night. The streets were alarmingly dark. Not one iota of Christmas light shone through her whole neighborhood. But as she came closer to her house, something

remarkable happened. There were people outside singing loudly, and it flourished as she moved forward. Finally, she saw the commotion. Everyone from Spring Creek, old, and young were flooded from her lawn to her front door. People who had long ago moved away, and others who were new to the neighbourhood. Parents with their children, grandparents with their grandchildren, and great grandchildren even. All have formed together for Mrs. Grimsby’s 50th Christmas Eve storytime. Overwhelmed with emotion, Mrs. Grimsby was speechless. She tried in vain to hide her tears, but they were in full view of the whole town. She was worried she no longer mattered, and the power of her stories were diminished. But her wondrous community, who she welcomed with open arms, had proved her wrong.

Then suddenly a small child walked up to her with a book in hand. It was a new book to her, something undiscovered. To her that was the best type of book. The child handed it to her and as she bent down to grab it, he said, “Won’t you read

to us Mrs. Grimsby?” And with that, the old librarian took the child’s hand as the townof Spring Creek followed her in. She looked on to her growing family and said “Everyone is welcome.”

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