Never Fear (39 page)

But his mother had ruined
everything—like she almost always did. He had pointed at some
peanut cookies, only to be told, in a very harsh manner, that those
cookies made Santa unhappy. This was all her fault. He had made a
simple suggestion to her, that could help make him happy, and all
she did was get angry and tell him no. He had forgotten about this
until now. He could have had a week or so to think of what else to
get Santa, but no, now he had mere minutes. His mother was the one
who had caused this problem, so she would have to pay to fix it,
but what did she have that Santa would want?

“
Jewelry!” The thought
leapt into Ryan’s mind with such intensity that he couldn’t help
but say it out loud. His excited utterance made him flinch, and he
quickly glanced up at the top of the stairs, but to his relief he
neither heard nor saw any signs that his parents had heard him.
Ryan spoke in faint tones to himself, it always helped him to think
outload. “Ok, where is Mom’s jewel...” His gaze once more went to
the stairs. His little fists clenched and his feet stomped the
carpeted floor.

Mom kept her jewelry upstairs, hidden
somewhere. She had moved it after he had taken her ruby bracelet
and emerald necklace and hidden them. But he had only done that in
retaliation. She had taken some of his toys because of an issue
with another kid at school. She had soon given his toys back once
she realized the errors of her ways and what her mistake was going
to cost her. But afterwards, once he had returned her jewelry, she
had taken them out of her jewelry box and hidden them elsewhere.
Ryan shook his head. He had to focus on the matter at hand. He only
had a little while before Santa came. Ryan began to pace again,
pondering the subject of what could he get of any value. His eyes
searched around the color-filled room until they landed on the
perfect solution: His mother’s purse sat there on the hutch against
the wall.

Ryan tore through the purse after he
had retrieved it from the hutch. Finally, after combing through
tons of random junk, he found his mother’s wallet. Opening it, Ryan
frowned, as he found only twenty-three dollars. Exasperation filled
Ryan’s voice, his eyes downcast. His little hands tightened,
crumpling the cash. “It will have to do.”

He quickly made his way over to the
small plate of cookies and glass of milk. He placed the money down
and quickly smoothed the wrinkled bills as best he could, before
putting them under the glass of milk. He knew Santa could not miss
them there. He then ran into the kitchen, grabbing a marker and
sheet of paper left next to the fridge for his parents to leave
notes to one another. Quickly, he scribbled:

Money is for you
Santa

Please give me good
gifts

I am sorry for marbles
last year

It was my parents’
idea

He slipped the note between the
cookies and milk. Ryan rubbed his hands together, a small devilish
grin on his face. Little joy-filled skips took him up the stairs,
his previous worried thoughts of being silent now replaced with
anticipation for what would no doubt be a mountain of wonderful
gifts, just for him. His door slammed loudly just as his parents
opened theirs.

Mark stuck his head outside of his
room, looking around. He had heard the loud footfalls on the stairs
and wondered what his son was up to. A soft sigh escaped his dry,
cracked lips. He looked back at Julie, who had just finished
wrapping the last of the gifts. There were not many this year, but
their little boy’s behavior this season had not been as bad as
previous years, and this gave them hope that he would not be too
upset.

“
Well, he’s in his room
now, but I have no idea what he was doing.” Mark turned and began
to gather the assorted, scattered gifts lying on the bed. Once
gathered, he carefully made his way out of the room, stopping only
for a moment at the doorway.

“
Be right back, babe.
Hopefully, there are no surprises this year.” With that thought in
mind, Mark made his way slowly down the stairs and into their
festively lit living room. After a careful and thorough look
around, Mark saw nothing out of place. He quickly went about
separating the gifts and placing the largest pile in the front so
Ryan would see it when he ran down the stairs. They had always done
that.

Mark was finally finished setting out
the gifts and was about to head upstairs when he remembered his
favorite treat.

“
Time to get me some
cookies and milk.” A joyful tone filled his voice. He was a fan of
sweets, as was his son, but Julie did not allow many confections in
the house. But as he approached the tray to indulge in his sweet
tooth, his joy became confusion. His brow furrowed when he saw the
crumpled bills placed under the milk, along with a note. He reached
out, picking up the note and read the sloppy hand-writing. Then his
eyes glanced upward and his mind tried to process this
all.

His gaze fell upon Julie’s purse,
lying on the large oak hutch, its contents disheveled after having
been hastily jammed back inside. Her wallet was at the top of that
pile, still unzipped. Mark’s face reddened, his hand clenched,
ripping some of the paper as it crumpled in his massive, calloused
hand. Mark spun around, the large vein on his forehead pulsed
prominently, both hands now clenched. He had had enough. Not only
had Ryan stolen money from his mother, but then he’d tried to bribe
Santa with it. This was going to end now!

“
I am gonna spank his ass
until he...” Rage melted as his anger met a force it could not
overcome or ignore. Julie stood on the stairway. She had seen the
whole thing and was shedding large tears.

“
Just... please put the
money back, baby. Please, it’s Christmas.”

Her voice so soft and sweet, yet so
sad, had snuffed out his rage.

Julie had made her way slowly down the
stairs as she spoke, and with her final words she reached her
husband. Her small hands rested upon his. Her touch washed over him
and his muscles relaxed. A deep breath that Mark had not even
realized he had been holding was released. His chest
ached.

Julie stretched up onto her tiptoes
and kissed him ever so gently, her words, a hushed whisper, spread
across his skin like a gentle summer breeze. “Please, baby, just
put the money back and let it go.”

“
Babe, I... we can’t let
this go. He stole this money. He is trying to bribe Santa with it,
for God’s sake.” Anger flared once more, struggling to stay alive
inside of him. His wife’s mere presence quelled that attempted
resurgence of rage. His body slumped slightly, but his face relaxed
and a small smile appeared as he gazed into her eyes.

“
Ok, I won’t say
anything... or do anything to him... but Santa will.” He gave Julie
a quick but loving kiss before he turned and gathered up the
money.

“
Go upstairs. I’ll be up
soon. Santa has to leave our little boy a note, one I am sure will
make it so he never does this ever again.”

Julie reached a hand out to stop him,
but at the last moment hesitated and withdrew. She once again felt
that gnawing in her gut, warning her that this was not a good idea.
But she said nothing. Her husband knew what he was doing. She had
to trust in that. He had been right about the note last year,
despite her warning. This year, instead of trying to hurt, he had
tried to steal and bribe. Stealing and then trying to bribe Santa
was an improvement from trying to harm him, wasn’t it?

Julie banished her worries
and made her way to her room, a small prayer sent heavenward as she
lay down to rest.
Please God, let
everything go well tomorrow.

Stealing and bribery are
naughty

No toys for you,
Ryan

Santa

Little chubby hands
gripped the unrolled parchment paper as Ryan read the note, his
confusion evident on his face as he had run downstairs, only to
freeze upon seeing such a small pile of gifts. The rolled up
parchment had been set neatly on the tray with the empty milk glass
and cookie crumbs. The note was dropped hastily, and Ryan lunged
for his gifts. He did not open them, but shook each one. He had
developed the ability years ago to be able to tell just by shaking
a box if it had toys or clothes in it. One by one, he shook each
box, grabbing more frantically for the next, when the one he held
revealed it only had clothes. He
hated
clothes. And when the final
box dropped from his little hands, Ryan sat there, a look of numb
shock on his face. Santa had given him nothing but clothes. He had
come into his home, eaten his cookies, drunk his milk, taken the
money—and then punished him. Santa stole from him! He didn’t want
the money, but he still took it, Santa was a thief—No, Santa was
a
Monster.

Julie and Mark watched as their son
sat there amid a pile of unopened gifts. The toys they had bought
were hidden in their closet. Mark had taken them back upstairs as
punishment. But there was no screaming, no tantrums. Ryan just sat
there, eyes blank, as he stared at the fireplace. The entire day
had made Julie’s feelings from last night worse, her motherly
instinct warning her that something was terribly wrong—and getting
worse—but she did not know what. Her son was upset, but he had not
screamed or thrown things, so that was good. Yet, she felt that
gnawing in her gut, in her soul. And she could ignore it no longer
once Ryan had stood and walked past her, his little body seeming to
shake as if he was cold, while the room was nice and
toasty.

“
Baby, are you all right?
I’m sorry Santa...” She paused to glare at her husband for a
moment. “...didn’t leave
any
gifts. I am sure he will leave a lot next year to
make up for it.”

Ryan turned suddenly, body whipping
around faster than she would have thought possible. His response
chilled her to her very core. She could hear the venom in her
little boy’s words and saw a strange feverish look in his
eyes.

“
Santa... will
pay. H
e will
learn.”
Ryan turned, and
disappeared upstairs and into his room.

Julie and Mark held each other, her
eyes locked upon the empty space where her little boy—her one and
only child—had for a moment become something that terrified her.
Mark’s normally confident gaze was shaken, eyes downcast, doubt
filled him. Both parents sat silent, wondering the same thing. Was
their son getting better with age... or getting much, much
worse?

The Year of Joy

Julie walked slowly inside the local
GIANT grocery store. With only a few days until Christmas, she
needed to buy food for their dinner, before the store ran out of
the food she knew Ryan would expect for his Christmas dinner. Most
years, Christmas brought only sadness to Julie, thanks in part to
the little terror that walked beside her. Her sweet boy Ryan. This
year was different though. Julie walked with her back straight, a
warm, almost infectious smile across her face. She felt the
slightest bit of joy this season, and that joy brought along hope.
Her little boy, Ryan, walked next to her, and this year had been
the first of what she hoped would be many better years. Yes, her
son still asked for things. Yes, he had his little tantrums, but
his mind always seemed to be somewhere else, blunting his actions.
She secretly hoped that he was finally growing old enough that they
could have a good Christmas—like the ones she used to have as a
child. Plus, her loving, but sneaky, husband had been in such high
spirits the last few weeks. He was up to something, but she could
not figure out what. But the fact that he seemed overly happy just
added to the joy of the season, the first joy she had felt after
many, many years.

New sneakers squeaked on the cold
floor of the store while Ryan pondered and plotted. Another year
had almost gone by, and soon enough he would have his revenge. He
knew Santa had magic, but surely his magic had limits. Ryan planned
to test those limits this year. But attempting to do so had been
harder than he had expected. He had needed to keep his parents out
of the loop. Too many times they had foiled his plans, scolding him
on his ideas. How could they not understand his plight? They
watched him suffer year after year at the hands of Stingy Claus,
and yet they seemed apathetic to him. They were his parents, and
they were meant to provide for him, to protect him and take care of
him, till he no longer needed them. Most of the year they did a
barely passable job, especially the last few years. But he could
not really do anything about that. They were his parents and he
needed the things they gave him.

Ryan meandered away from
his mother, his thoughts turned toward the plastic containers down
the next aisle. He always loved the free candy tubs in the store,
all different candies he could just reach in and take. He walked up
and frowned. There were different tubs now. Some still had candy,
but the others had dried fruits and nuts.
Disgusting!
Pure revulsion masked
his face, until, unbidden, a memory from a Christmas past slithered
into his mind. A wide and devilish smile spread across his face,
and he began to stuff his pockets full of the free
gifts.