Maggie’s father had named her after the song Maggie May right before he died. He’d left her with her mom, who was nineteen and now a widow. She did alright, at least as far as Maggie could tell. At least, until she took a whole bottle of sleeping pills one night.

Maggie found herself in the system, which wasn’t a good place for a fifteen-year-old girl. After a month in a foster home that cared more about the check they got from the state than they did about taking care of her she’d headed out on her own. As far as she knew, they were still getting the checks. They must be thrilled.

It was Christmas Eve, and a growth spurt in the months since she’d headed out on her own meant that her jacket no longer fit. She was long past the point where she could just force it on and make it work; she needed a new one.

She’d heard from one of the other kids, because the streets were always full of lost children, that there was a mission that handed out clothes and food this time of year. He wasn’t sure if they’d have anything left, but it didn’t hurt to check. So, Maggie found her way there, hoping that she might get some dinner out of it, too.

The mission was busy, with sisters going in and out of the dining hall. When one saw Maggie, she ushered her over. “Come on, Honey. We’ve still got some room left.”

“Thanks,” Maggie said, “Um, I didn’t know if you guys had anything left, but someone told me you had coats?”

The sister gave her a soft smile. “I think we might have run out. But we can go see. Come with me?”

“Um, sure, yeah,” Maggie said, feeling wary. She followed the woman, ready to dart if she needed to.

The sister led her to a room full of clothing donations. Old shirts, pants, tattered shoes and other things filled the tables.

“Help yourself to anything else you need, while you’re here,” the sister said. She was bustling towards a table at the back of the room.

“I’m good, thanks,” Maggie said, looking around. Most of the stuff here looked to be in worse shape than what she already had. She lifted a sweater and found a collection of cigarette burns on the sleeve.

“Well,” the sister said, “looks like we do have one left, but it might be a little too big. What do you think?”

Maggie looked up at the coat. It was a man’s coat, brown canvas with a hood. It looked like whoever had owned it before was prone to spilling things on the sleeves. It would almost certainly be too big.

But it would be warm, and that’s all she needed.

“It looks perfect, thanks,” Maggie said, taking the coat when the sister offered it.

“Of course,” she said. “Make sure you get something to eat before you leave, alright?”

“I will, thanks,” Maggie said, shaking her hand gently.

True to her word, Maggie headed right to the dining hall. She stopped a moment at the door, sniffing. It smelled like the school cafeteria, the day before Thanksgiving vacation when they’d served a turkey dinner.

She’d nearly run into the room when she spotted Candie sitting at one of the tables. She’d managed to avoid Candie, ever since she’d accidentally made her drop her wallet down the sewer grate. Candie swore that there were over one hundred dollars in there, and she’d gut Maggie for making her drop it. Maggie believed her. And so, with a last wistful look at the room, she headed the other direction.

Back out on the streets, Maggie headed towards the bridge where she’d spend the night. After a few blocks, Craig joined her. “Hey,” he said, “You got your coat?”

“Yeah,” Maggie said, giving him a smile.

“Well,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “I got these!” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and took one out. “You want one?”

“No thanks,” Maggie said, shaking her head. “You shouldn’t smoke those.”

“Why, they’re bad for me?” Craig chuckled. He was digging through his pockets, the cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

“No, they’re expensive and addictive,” Maggie said. She couldn’t see spending money, so hard to come by, on a cigarette. That wasn’t going to help her when she was hungry.

“Eh,” he said, “I found these anyway, so it don’t matter. Do you have a light?”

“I don’t think-,” Maggie said, shoving her hands in her pockets, but stopped. There was something in her pocket. She pulled it out, finding that it was a small, black lighter.

“Huh, guess I do,” she said, offering the lighter to him.

“Thanks,” he said, taking from her to light his cigarette.

“Weird, I swear that wasn’t there before,” she said.

“Second-hand clothes,” Craig said, giving her the lighter back. “People are always leaving shit in the pockets.”

“Yeah,” Maggie said. But she had been sure that the pocket had been empty before.

The streets were clearing, as the night grew later. Craig went on his way, presumably to find somewhere to squat for the night. Maggie figured she should try to find some food, and headed for a strip of stores and restaurants.

The scents from a diner made her stomach growl. They served real food, at all hours of the day. And they didn’t shoo away the kids in the area, either.

Something scratchy was rubbing her hand in her pocket. Wondering what it might be, as there hadn’t seemed to be a tag or anything in the pocket before, she pulled at it. It came out of her pocket easily. Maggie glanced down, surprised to see that she was holding a $20.

“Wow,” Maggie said. She wasted no time in hurrying into the diner and ordering a large burger and fries. With a slice of pumpkin pie for dessert.

She was just tucking into the pie when a man ran into the diner. The waitress looked up, surprised, as he glanced around frantically. “Lookin’ for something?” she asked.

“Yes, um, well, no,” the man said, “Not really, but-.”

He looked over and saw Maggie. He made a beeline for her.

“You have my coat,” he said, pointing at her.

“I didn’t steal it,” Maggie said quickly. “I got it at the mission.”

“I know,” the man said, “It got thrown in with a bag of donations. I didn’t mean to get rid of it.”

He stopped and gave her a puzzled look. “You, how long have you had it?”

“Just a couple hours,” Maggie said. She could feel tears welling up, and willed herself to not let them fall. He’d given the coat up, after all. Why should she be cold because of his mistake?

The man sat down at the booth. “Has anything weird happened to you, since you had it?”

“No,” she said quickly.

“Don’t lie,” he said, “I can tell, and I don’t like it.”

“Okay, fine,” Maggie said, “I found some stuff in the pockets, too. But it was weird. Like it wasn’t there until I needed it.”

“Found some stuff,” the man said. “But it shouldn’t have worked for you unless you’re-.” He stopped, looking around the diner.

“Unless I’m what?” Maggie asked.

“Not here,” he said quietly. “Listen, keep the coat. I think we might have a lot of things to talk about.”

“Like what?” Maggie asked.

The man smiled and pulled something from his pocket. It was a small amethyst. He sat it on the table between them, and it began to glow. Maggie, named for the song Maggie May, whose father hadn’t lived long enough to tell her many things, reached for it. It started to hum.

“Many things,” the man said, “Many good and wonderful things.”

Copyright © 2017 by Nicole C. Luttrell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

The following story takes place in between the events of Broken Patterns and Starting Chains. Lenore, heavy with her twin girls, is missing her brothers. The city of Septa is preparing for the winter holiday, Darkest Night. It’s celebrated with friends and families by praying to The Creator to thank Her for the days that Her Female face shines longer. People give each other gifts and enjoy days of feasting and parties by the fireside. Lenore, however, is not feeling much of the holiday spirit. And so she’s going to visit her common friends, Maggie, Sally, and Emily.

It was just past the noon hour when Lenore reached Maggie’s pub. The dining area was empty at the early hour, save for Maggie herself and their friend, Sally. They were sitting at one of the freshly scrubbed tables, sipping tea and nibbling on biscuits that were so warm that steam was rising from them.

“Hey, there,” Maggie said, “Where’s Victor?”

“At the palace, having a meeting with Mamma,” Lenore said, as her bodyguard, Anthony, came into the bar behind her.

“I bet he’s thrilled,” Maggie snorted.

“He’s happier about it than she is, actually,” Lenore chuckled.

She sat down at the table, setting her basket down and pulling out a loaf of brown bread.

“Anthony, do you want to join us?” Sally asked.

“Thank you, no, Miss,” Anthony said, taking up a position next to the door.

“Anthony doesn’t believe he should socialize with me,” Lenore said, pouring herself some tea.

“Well, look what happened when your last bodyguard did,” Maggie chuckled, “That’s how you wound up pregnant.”

“And married,” Lenore said.

“Both situations I’d like to avoid,” Sally said, cutting herself a slice of the bread Lenore brought. “Did Ramona make this?”

Before Lenore could answer, the door opened again and Emily came in. Her eyes were red, but she had a smile on her face. “It is cold out there, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Three days before Darkest Night, it ought to be,” Sally said, but she was giving her friend a searching look.

As Emily put a plate of cold sausages on the table, likely freshly made from her butcher shop, Lenore said, “Have you got a cold?”

“No, Princess,” Emily said, “Why?”

“Because your eyes are red and you sound stuffy. I actually believe you’ve been crying, but I thought I’d rule out cold first,” Lenore said. “What happened?”

Emily sighed and sat down next to Sally. “I’d just as soon not talk about it, to be honest.”

“Your meeting with your father went poorly,” Maggie said.

Emily’s head snapped up. “When I said I didn’t want to talk about it, I didn’t mean that I wanted other people to talk about it.”

“I didn’t know you were talking to your father,” Lenore said.

“She’s not,” Sally said, “Not on the regular, anyway.”

“Are none of you going to listen to me?” Emily cried.

“No,” Maggie said, “Not when you’re acting ashamed over something your papa should be ashamed of.”

Emily turned to Lenore imploringly. “It’s nothing, really,” she said.

“Truly,” Lenore said, “it’s nothing that’s got your eyes red with crying? I won’t press you if you don’t want to talk about it. But don’t insult my intelligence by lying to me, please. It’s insulting.”

“You’d better just tell her, or I will,” Maggie said, and Sally nodded in agreement.

“Fine,” Emily said, sighing. “I wanted to ask him if Tom could have our family name. He’s about to be blessed into the church, and I didn’t want him to be a Grace.”

Grace, Lenore knew, was the last name given a bastard child not recognized by their father’s family.

“He had to give his consent, or the church can’t bless him under your family name,” Lenore said.

“Aye,” Emily said, “But he won’t allow it.”

She was tearing up again. Lenore pulled out one of her handkerchiefs, embroidered in her own glowing light thread. Emily took it and dabbed under her eyes. “It shouldn’t matter,” she said, “but d’you know what he said to me? He said that he ought to be glad he hasn’t disowned me. That Mamma’s got to go to social events with Eugene’s wife, and that’s a humiliation. That a man they were really keen on marrying Liza won’t even make an offer, because of Tom. Here I’ve been, working in that butcher shop until my fingers bled until Master Owen’s wanted to retire and sold the place to me. I made my own life, bought my own house, own my own shop. I’ve never asked Papa for a single oct, but I asked him for our name. And all he can say is how I’ve embarrassed the family.”

Maggie moved closer to put an arm around Emily. “Anyone with sense would be proud to have you as a daughter, you know,” she said, “Just shows what a fool he is.”

Lenore leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knee. “I’m so sorry, Emily,” she said, “Isn’t there anything Elder Brother John can do?”

“I don’t think so,” Emily said. “And anyway, I’d hate to ask him. Monica, she’s one of the daughters-,”

“Monica and I know each other,” Lenore said, nodding.

“Well, she and I grew up close. She said Elder Brother John brought Papa and Eugene into his office and gave them a loud talking to. Said a man who couldn’t be a good papa wasn’t a good man. I don’t know what he expected that would do, but it didn’t do anything.”

“I expect they both told him the same thing,” Sally said, “They’ve got other children to think of. They can’t darken their prospects for a whore daughter and a bastard son.”

When the other women looked at her, she shrugged. “I don’t have to like or agree with the minds of wicked men to understand how they think.”

If Lenore had hoped that her visit with the girls would brighten her spirits, she was wrong. She went back to the palace, feeling lower than she had when she left.

She found Victor and her father, King Samuel, in the games room brooding over a chess board. Both men looked up when she and Anthony came in.

“Bug,” Samuel said, smiling at her. “Did you have a good time with your friends?”

“Not really,” Lenore said, taking a seat next to Victor.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, putting an arm around her waist. “Are the girls alright?”

“No,” Lenore said, “They’re not. Emily’s son is about to have his blessing, and he’s going to be a Grace. She wanted her father to let him have their family name, and he wouldn’t.”

She looked at her father and reached across the table for his hand. “This girl, she did the same thing I did, you know. The only difference was that the man didn’t want to marry her.”

“It’s hard, to see someone treated so unfairly,” the king said, nodding.

Then, his face brightened. “But, dear, you know that she doesn’t have to give her son her father’s name. Women can inherit now. She can give her own name to him.”

“What do you mean?” Lenore asked, “She doesn’t have any other name to give him. She has her father’s name, and he’s the patriarch of their family.”

“Well,” Samuel said, “maybe there’s something we can do about that.”

The day before Darkest Night, Lenore again made her way down to Maggie’s pub. She carried a basket full of gifts for the girls and their families. Victor was with her, sitting by her side.

When they arrived at the pub, Maggie and her husband <?> were there, with his daughter, Rosie. Sally was there, with her father Otis. Emily and Tom were there as well. Tom and Rosie were running around the bar, shouting for each other. They didn’t even notice when the prince and princess walked in.

“Look at them,” Victor said, warmly. “Soon our little girls will be running around with them.”

“Yes,” Lenore said, smiling.

“Hello,” Maggie said, coming to give them both hugs. “A peaceful Darkest Night to you both.”

“And you,” Lenore said, giving her a tight hug. “Shall we start with the presents?”

“I think the children would like that, yes,” Maggie said, laughing, as both children in question stopped in their tracks at the word presents.

“You must both sit down at the table and be quiet, though,” Lenore said. They both scrambled to get into a chair.

The adults took out wrapped gifts for the children first. Both children received a rubber ball, a jump rope, and a wooden soldier. They thanked each adult politely, then fell to playing in earnest.

Lenore let Maggie, Sally, and Emily give out their gifts first.

Maggie had a bottle of sweet wine for each of them.

Emily gave them all jars of garlic stuffed olives that made Lenore’s mouth water when she opened hers.

Sally gave everyone thick leather date books that looked very much like her own.

Finally, it was Lenore’s turn.

“For Maggie,” Lenore said, reaching into her basket, “I’ve made you a shawl.” She handed her friend a soft knitted shawl that shone softly with her magical yarn.

“Oh, it’s so lovely, Lenore,” Maggie said, putting it over her shoulders.

“For Sally,” Lenore said, “A set of silver candlestick holders, to commemorate you taking over the business.”

“And they’ll look quite handsome on my desk, thank you,” Sally said, taking the holders with a smile.

“And Emily,” Lenore said, reaching into the basket. “Oh, but it’s empty.”

“Lenore, you did not even forget Emily’s gift,” Maggie gasped.

“Wait, no,” Lenore said, “I have it. It just didn’t fit in a basket.”

She stood up. “Emily, as princess heir, it is my privilege to give titles to citizens that have earned them through good or brave works. When you had your son, you could have given him up to the church and gone back to a life of comfort as a wealthy man’s daughter. But instead, you committed yourself to him and creating a life that was all your own. For that, I’d like to give you your own family name, Fleischer. This is your own, and your son’s. No one can ever take it from you.”

Emily’s eyes widened. “Wait, d’you mean it? Can you do that?”

“I can,” Lenore said, “and I should.”

“Oh,” Emily said, “this is the best gift I’ve ever gotten, Lenore, thank you!”

“That’s hardly a gift, it’s something you’ve earned,” Sally said, putting a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Personally, I think Lenore still owes you a present.”

If you loved this, be sure to check out Broken Patterns. And keep an eye out for Starting Chains, coming soon.

Copyright © 2017 by Nicole C. Luttrell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

“Dinner’s ready,” Liza called, turning the stove off. She heard her little brother, Bruce, running from the living room as she started ladling servings of beef stew and mashed potatoes onto plates.

Bruce, ten years old and three years Liza’s junior, careened into a seat at the kitchen table, looking at her expectantly. His face fell when she sat a plate in front of him.

“I hate mashed potatoes,” he said, “why did you have to make them?”

“Because it’s what I know how to make,” Liza said, sitting down in her own seat and grabbing the pepper.

Bruce sighed. “It’s Christmas Eve. We’re supposed to have something good for dinner.”

“Santa’s hearing you complain, you know,” Liza muttered. She was sick to death of hearing him complain about everything!

Bruce picked up a bit of his stew with his spoon. “Why’d Dad have to work tonight? He said he wasn’t going to have to.”

“I know, but someone got sick,” Liza said, “He’ll be here in the morning.”

Bruce scoffed, as though he didn’t believe her. As though their father keeping a promise was unbelievable.

Recently, it had been, though. Ever since their mom took off. Even her thirteenth birthday, two days earlier, had been lackluster at best.

But now wasn’t the time for her to be depressed. When Mom took off, Dad had to pick up the pieces and do what had to be done. She was old enough to do the same.

“Come on,” she said, “Let’s eat dinner in the living room. We can watch tv.”

“We’re not supposed to,” Bruce grumbled.

“I think we’ll probably be okay,” Liza said, “It’s Christmas Eve.”

This perked him up. He grabbed his plate and went into the living room. Liza followed him and grabbed the remote to find a Christmas movie.

When dinner was over, and the plates left on the coffee table, Liza turned the light off and settled down into the couch. Bruce was nodding off, he probably wouldn’t be awake when Dad got home. Yawning, Liza realized she might not be, either.

She was nearly dozing when she heard something at the back door. Someone was rattling the doorknob.

Liza sat up, trying to be quiet. A quick glance at the clock told her it couldn’t be her dad, it was too early.

The rattling continued. Liza stayed quiet, hoping that whoever it was would go away.

Then, she heard the lock snap, and break in the door.

Liza slid down further on the couch. There were no lights on but the twinkling Christmas tree lights. She hoped that whoever it was wouldn’t come into the living room.

She heard things rattling and moving around in the kitchen. The freezer door opened and closed.

Then, heavy footsteps headed down the hall. They came into the living room.

A thin, tall man came into the living room, his tangle of dark hair pulled back in a dirty ponytail. He looked at Liza and Bruce on the couch, startled. It was clear that he hadn’t expected anyone to be there.

Frightened, Liza got to her feet. “Get out of my house!” she cried. Her shout woke Bruce, who sat up with a start. “Who are you?” he asked.

The thief fumbled at his belt, trying to pull what looked like a gun. Liza felt her hands grow warm. A book flew from the shelf next to the tv, hitting the man in the back of the head.

“What the hell?” he cried, turning around to see who had thrown it. Another book hit him in the face.

Liza grabbed Bruce and pulled him into the corner of the room. Books and knickknacks were flying, hitting the thief over and over.

“What in the hell is going on?” he screamed.

Suddenly, the couch began lifting off the ground. The thief, apparently thinking that it was going to launch itself at him as well, took off. Liza could hear him running through the kitchen and out of the door, which slammed itself shut behind him.

Liza crumpled against the wall, her whole body shaking. “I’ve never moved so much before,” she said.

“Wow,” Bruce said, “I can’t wait until I can do that.”

“You’ll turn 13 soon enough,” Liza said, thinking how thrilled her dad was going to be to have two witches in the house. It had been bad enough when her mom was moving things around.

“Come on,” she said, struggling to her feet. “Let’s get all this cleaned up. It’s bad enough Dad had to work Christmas Eve. I don’t want him to come home to the house being a wreck.”

Copyright © 2017 by Nicole C. Luttrell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

It was Christmas Eve, and Marjory had been baking for two days. She was baking cookies, hundreds of them. Snickerdoodles, gingerbread men, chocolate chips. All of the favorites from her own childhood. She took care with the ingredients, making sure that they were all as good as she could make them. She packed them into a few baskets, put on her coat and gloves, tucked the baskets in the back of her car, and headed for the poorer side of town.

Here, the Christmas cheer wasn’t as thick as in her own neighborhood. If there were Christmas lights, they were broken or only half put up. The houses themselves were sullen, broken and dirty.

These poor children, Marjory thought. Their parents were poor, destitute. They couldn’t afford to buy gifts or create a proper Christmas Eve for their children. The children must not have seen many Christmas cookies.

A group of the children was playing in the playground in the neighborhood. It was a broken down place. Maybe it had been nice once, but now it was shabby. The swings were either yanked down or swung up around the top pole. The seesaws were covered in graffiti.

The kids themselves were playing on the baseball court, kickball by the looks of it. Marjory pulled up next to the court and took a basket from the trunk.

The children were watching her, poor little things. Their coats were old when they had them at all. Many of them, she was sad to notice, were dressed in only hoodies.

“Would you like some cookies?” she called, holding out her basket.

The children looked confused, glancing around at each other. She supposed that it was a rare thing for them, to be offered sweets.

“Come on,” she said, “It’s Christmas Eve. You should have a cookie.”

One of the boys looked around at the others, then said, “Okay, sure.” He came up to her, his dirty baseball cap pushed back. He took a cookie and took a bite. “They’re good, thanks,” he said.

Soon the others crowded around, taking cookies. “Take more if you want,” she said, smiling at them. “I have enough.”

When the basket was empty, she bid goodbye to the children and got back into her car. She looked back at the children in her rearview mirror. One of the girls was coughing, and looking woozy. Even as she watched, the girl fell to her knees.

She wasn’t likely to rise, she’d eaten three of the cookies.

Marjory hummed a Christmas carol. There were so many of these poor children. Too many. But Marjory had lots of baskets left.

Copyright © 2017 by Nicole C. Luttrell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Snow was falling hard outside when Bernard pulled his car into the driveway. His little sister, Cassie, was in the back, buckled into her car seat and looking grumpy. She was four, and that was a pretty understandable way for her to look at ten at night, after sitting in the back of a grocery store for hours with nothing but an old tv and DVD player with a stack of videos. Bernard was feeling pretty grumpy himself, after a morning of homework and a night at the store.

“Come on,” he said, opening her car door to undo the buckle on her car seat. “Let’s get you inside and into bed.”

“You don’t have to work tomorrow, do you?” Cassie asked.

Tomorrow, Christmas Eve. The first Christmas Eve they’d had since the fire.

“No,” he said, “No work tomorrow. Or the next day, either.”

Cassie got out of the car and stumbled towards the apartment door. They walked all the way up to the top floor. Bernard hoped Cassie didn’t notice the condom wrapper on the stairs. She was the only child in the apartments, which normally only house students who didn’t want to live on campus. But Bernard couldn’t afford to move, and his parent’s house was gone.

His parents were gone too, for that matter.

Those dark thoughts in his mind, Bernard was surprised to see a package sitting in front of the apartment door. He picked it up, a little surprised at how heavy it was.

“Is it a Christmas present?” Cassie asked.

“Maybe,” Bernard said, looking at the return address. It was a jumbled mess of foreign looking stamps.

“Looks like Uncle Richie sent us something from the base,” he said.

“Oh!” Cassie cried, “Can we open it tonight?”

Bernard thought of the paltry excuses for gifts he’d been able to afford for her. A doll from the dollar store and some play food. A pair of shoes that she needed anyway.

“No,” he said, “We’ll wrap it up and save it for Christmas morning, okay?”

“Oh, okay,” Cassie said.

“Go get ready for bed,” he said, setting the box on the table. He’d wrap it later, he thought.

On Christmas morning, Bernard was woken by Cassie landing on his stomach. He sat up quickly, hoping to stop her from kneeing him anywhere tender. “Get up, get up, it’s Christmas!” she cried, shaking him. “Come on, I wanna see if Santa was here!”

“Alright, hold on!” he said, sitting up. “Let me get my glasses on.”

Cassie jumped from the bed, bouncing excitedly as Bernard pulled on his glasses. She waited impatiently as he went to the bathroom, then almost pulled him into their tiny living room.

Bernard braced himself. When she saw that there were only three gifts, one of them from Uncle Richie, she was sure to be upset.

But instead, she plopped down and started looking through the gifts. “Santa didn’t bring you anything,” she said, looking up at him.

“No,” Bernard said, “Santa doesn’t send presents to grownups.”

“Well, why not?” she asked.

“Because he just doesn’t. He only brings them for kids,” he said, “Open your presents.”

Cassie pulled the wrapping paper off of the doll and plastic food. She seemed delighted by both of them. Then, she picked up the present from Uncle Richie. “Here, you open this one,” she said, holding it out to him.

“Okay,” he said, taking the box from her. He ripped through the paper he’d wrapped the gift in, then pulled off the wrapping that held the box closed.

Inside he found a book with a dark leather cover. The words “Story Time” were embossed onto the cover in gold.

“Oh!” Cassie said. Holding her new doll, she crawled into his lap. “Can you read me a story?”

“Sure,” he said, opening the book to the first story. He read her one, then another. Both simple fairy tales, with beautiful illustrations. Flipping through the book, he saw that it was filled with them.

Cassie spent most of the day playing with her new toys. Bernard was amused that she was able to make up so many games with so little. They ate dinner and watched some Christmas movies on tv. Cassie seemed perfectly happy when she went to bed.

Bernard was less so. He had to go back to work tomorrow, which meant Cassie would have to go back to the break room in the grocery store. He couldn’t afford Christmas for her, couldn’t afford a decent sitter or daycare.

Uncle Richie helped as much as he could, Bernard knew. But he was overseas, and he was only about five years older than Bernard himself. Much like Bernard’s parents, there’d been a wide gap between the first child and the second.

The storybook was still sitting on the couch. Bernard picked it up, thinking that he’d check the table of contents to see if he knew any of the stories.

But there wasn’t a table of contents at all. How had he not noticed that before?

Instead, the book simply started with a story. But it wasn’t the same story he’d read earlier.

This story started with a young woman, standing in a living room of a tiny apartment. There was a little boy, pushing a toy car along the carpet.

With a jolt, he recognized himself, and his mother. He started reading. It didn’t take him long to realize that he was reading the story of his own Christmas when he’d been five.

He remembered, though he’d forgotten before, how sparse that Christmas had been. His mom had scraped and scrounged to get him a car, and a little set of blocks that might have come out of a happy meal. He wouldn’t have known, there were few luxuries like eating out at that time.

He remembered, as though it was happening then, how much he’d loved that toy car. How excited he’d been, having a whole day at home with his mom to make cookies and watch Christmas movies on their staticy old tv.

It seemed like such a mirror image of the day he’d just spent with Cassie.

Bernard looked at the image again. How had the story changed?

Just then, his cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. It was Uncle Richie.

“Hey, Uncle Richie,” Bernard said, “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” Richie said, “Did I catch you before Cassie went down?”

“No, sorry,” Bernard said, “but we got your package the day before yesterday. Thanks for the book, but I have a question about it.”

There was a moment of silence on the line. “Um yeah, me too,” Richie said finally. “I didn’t send a gift. I sent a card with some money. I don’t know what you kids need.”

“Well, then who sent this book?” Bernard asked, picking it up.

For the first time, he noticed an inscription on the front cover. It said, Sometimes, we all need to be kids again. SC.

Copyright © 2017 by Nicole C. Luttrell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Lola sat in her living room, in her armchair next to the Christmas tree. Her tv was turned to a picture of a fire crackling, with carols playing over it. She had her cordless phone sitting on the table next to her. She was expecting a call from her son. In fact, he should have called by now.

The fire was a silly thing, more of a reminder of her childhood in Pennsylvania than anything. The temperature in Texas that evening was anything but chilly. In fact, she had her living room window cracked open to let in any cool air that might decide to come by. She sat, listening to the Christmas music and reading on the tablet her daughter in law had sent as a gift.

From out in the street came the sound of singing. Lola sat down her tablet, listening.

It came clearer, what sounded like teenagers, singing a Christmas carol.

“Sleigh bells ring, are you listenin’. In the lane, snow is glistenin’.”

Enchanted, Lola turned the volume off on her tv. She glanced out the window and saw a collection of teens coming down the street. They were dressed in hoodies, with scarves and hats. Apparently, they’d been raised in the south and this warm night was a little too chilly for them. Or, maybe they just wanted to make believe that it was cold.

The group made their way up to Mr. Willis’s house, across the road. They went up onto the porch and knocked.

Lola was highly amused. She didn’t think kids went caroling anymore. Hoping that they’d come to her house as well, she turned to watch. It was so quaint, they even had hymn books.

Mr. Willis answered the door. The teenagers began singing a song.

“God rest, ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay.”

Mr. Willis started smiling. He tucked his thumbs into his belt, as the kids finished the song.

The young man standing in front closed his hymn book at the end of the song, and hit Mr. Willis with it hard, on the side of his head.

The older man fell to the ground. Before he could get up, one of the girls kicked him hard in his stomach. He grunted and tried to get to his feet. But they kept kicking him. Some began hitting him with their books.

Lola gasped, stepping back from the window. She could hear Mr. Willis screaming out in the street for a few minutes more. He was calling for help. But Lola was sure she was the only one with her window open.

Then, the screaming stopped, with a sickening crunch.

Lola heard footsteps coming across the street. She rushed to lock the front door, then headed to the window to shut it.

Someone was knocking on her door. Lola reached for her phone, still sitting next to her chair.

She’d let it sit too long, the battery was dead.

From the door, Lola heard a carol. “Oh come, all ye faithful. Joyful and triumphant.” The knocking went on and on.

Copyright © 2017 by Nicole C. Luttrell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Snow swirled through the air, circling Meryl and kissing her face as she walked down the sidewalk. It wasn’t cold enough for the snow to stick when it hit the sidewalk, even though it was Christmas Eve, but it was chilly enough for her to be wrapped up in a red scarf and hat.

Her hands, however, were bare. She carried a small stone in one hand, a simple piece of quartz.

As she walked through the street, she listened. Someone was playing Christmas music from a nearby store, it got louder and quieter as the door opened and closed. People were chatting happily all around her. Shoppers, grabbing some forgotten ingredient for Christmas dinner or a last-minute gift. Workers from the shops and restaurants, excited for the end of their shifts so that they could go home and enjoy the holiday. Everything appeared pleasant and peaceful.

Of course, that couldn’t be the real truth. Meryl listened carefully until she heard someone who sounded distressed.

“But you had them just yesterday,” a man said, inside the toy store. Meryl stopped, listening carefully.

“I’m sorry,” the clerk said, “but those dolls were very popular this year. We must have sold out.”

“But it’s all my daughter wants for Christmas,” the man said, “and her mom just, well she left, and-,”

Meryl stopped, standing just outside the door of the shop. She clutched her stone and waited.

“I’m sorry,” the clerk said, “but I-, oh, wait.”

There was the sound of rustling.

“There was this one under the display! It must have fallen. The box is a little dented, is that alright?”

“It’s fine,” the man said, sounding elated. “Thank you so much, I can’t tell you what this will mean to her.”

Meryl continued on.

A little while later, she saw a young woman, pushing a stroller. The child inside was dressed in a warm coat, but the woman had only a hoodie. She was shivering in the cold. Meryl noticed a shopping bag hanging from the stroller’s handle, spotting baby cereal and a loaf of bread through the clear plastic.

Again, she clutched the stone in her hand as she walked past.

A few moments later, she heard the young woman gasp. She glanced back to see her pick up a fifty-dollar bill from the ground.

Further down the road, she came upon a teenage girl with a small boy trailing after her, brother and sister from the look of them. “What if we don’t find her?” the boy asked, looking back at the girl.

“Don’t be stupid, we’ll find her,” the girl replied, but her brow was furrowed.

Meryl waited a moment until she heard a small mew coming from a trash bin near her. There was a kitten there, gnawing on a discarded hot dog. She waited a moment, holding her stone in her hand.

The smaller boy went closer and closer to the bins, then moved farther away. Meryl sighed and tried a little harder. The boy, however, seemed highly unmotivated to listen to a small voice inside his head.

Finally, Meryl crossed the street and scooped the orange kitten up from behind the bin. “Are you kids looking for this little guy?” she asked.

“Oh, yes!” the girl cried, running over to grab the kitten. Meryl handed the cat to her, and went on her way, thinking that magic could only do so much, even on Christmas Eve.

Copyright © 2017 by Nicole C. Luttrell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Episode One, Episode Two

Thursday, AC April 6

Sennett was laying upside down on her couch, feet propped up on the headrest and her head just brushing the floor. She was watching the news, trying to figure out how they could make station life seem so boring.

No one knew better than a police officer how many stories there were to tell on any given day. Where were the stories of muggings and people finding their life’s savings that had been hacked just in time? What was this crap about what tie Marshal Howard was wearing, or how many times he’d worn it before? Why did they spend so much time talking about one missing boy, when dozens more were missing, had been missing? Was it just because he was an adorable little boy that was easy to put in front of the cameras? And what the hell did Sennett care if some celebrity on Station Central was gaining weight?

She was watching the news, but she was also watching the clock. She still had three hours and eight minutes until April got out of school and she could go pick her up. Maybe they’d go to the shopping district and replace April’s sneakers. Maybe they’d go down to Level One, get some frozen yogurt and people watch. Literally, anything would be better than what she was doing then.

Which was nothing.

Liam’s bedroom door opened. He came out into the living room, still dressed in a tank top and sweatpants, scratching his head vigorously. He stopped when he saw her, sitting upside down. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

“Watching the news,” Sennett muttered.

“That ain’t healthy,” he replied, shuffling towards the kitchen.

“I don’t have anything else to do,” Sennett replied, “I don’t know what you do all day.”

“Mostly I run the vacuum and read,” he called, “I do some research on the Core, what little there is to do. I clean my guns, and I rest up. This quiet thing, it ain’t goin’ to last, Sen. You might want to enjoy being bored while you can.”

Her wrist pad started beeping. She tapped the screen, still upside down on the couch.

It was Schultz. “Montgomery,” she said, then hesitated, a look of surprise on her face. “What in the hell are you doing?”

“Being bored out of my damn mind, Commissioner,” Sennett said, not bothering to sit up. She wasn’t on duty, after all.

“I’d hoped you’d get some rest. Which is why I don’t like having to ask you a favor,” Schultz said. “Can you come up to the barracks?”

“I will be there in fifteen minutes,” Sennett replied. She was on her feet an on the way to her bedroom before she even disconnected the call.

Sennett tried not to skip as she walked into the barracks. She couldn’t believe that she’d missed the smell of burned coffee and vomit that often permeated the place, but she had. In the waiting room, people sat on hard benches, waiting for any number of things. Two uniforms watched over them, a pretty young blond man at the desk and a wide, rough looking woman standing at ease next to it. They both waived at Sennett, then went back to their charges.

Past the entryway, where civilians only went if they’d been in trouble or were about to be, sat the desks of the detectives and ranking uniforms in neat lines. Sennett spotted Patty, recently promoted to street supervisor, and waived. Patty gave her a warm smile and a wave, then went back to her work. She had gray in her hair and lines around her eyes that hadn’t been as prominent before her partner died.

Joyce, recently promoted to detective, spotted Sennett. She was a solid woman, with her hair pulled back from her face severely.

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on bereavement,” she said.

“Schultz called me in for something,” Sennett said, “I actually don’t have any idea what it’s about.”

“For someone who’s being called into the bosses office unexpectedly you look surprisingly happy,” Joyce replied.

Sennett chuckled and headed for the commissioner’s office.

It was considerably more crowded than she’d expected. Five people, two men, and three women stood around the room. They all wore black fatigues with their symbol, IHP in silver surrounded by one hundred stars, on the arms of their jackets.

Sennett did a quick check for rank. Both of the men wore a single line of white on their shoulders, indicating corporeal rank. One girl, who couldn’t have been more than nineteen and was bouncing a bit, wore no ranking at all. Another, with a long braid and a studious expression, had the double lines that marked her a sergeant. The last woman, with short cropped black hair, observing Sennett from next to Schultz’s desk, wore the four lines of a commander.

“Montgomery,” Schultz said, “thank you for coming. Please come in and shut the door behind you.”

Sennett pulled the door shut with a snap. She was suddenly less happy about the situation.

“This is Commander Evelyn Greenwood, originally from Station 68,” Schultz said, indicating the frowning woman next to her. “She’s from the IHP.”

“I thought IHP was on Earth,” Sennett said, reaching out to shake Evelyn’s offered hand.

“I was on a recruitment mission when the order went out, along with my second, Narumi Holms, Station 63,” Evelyn said, nodding to the woman with the long braid. “By the time we were in range of Earth no one was responding to my messages. I didn’t want to take green recruits into an unknown situation. So I decided to keep patrolling the stations. Turns out, that was a good decision.”

The younger girl was bouncing still, looking from Schultz to Sennett, then back again to Schultz.

Sighing, Schultz said, “This is my niece, Fernie.”

“It’s so amazing to meet you,” Fernie said, rushing forward to shake her hand. “As soon as I found out that we were going to be meeting you I just about died!”

“Thank you, why?” Sennett asked.

“Because you’re a hero, of course!” Fernie said.

“I’m not, really,” Sennett replied.

“Since we’re doing introductions,” Evelyn said, “This is Lee and Wesley, from Stations 7 and 6 respectively.”

She indicated the two men at the back of the room. Lee was a broad man, who seemed to take up more room than any other two people that Sennett could think of. His hair was cropped short, nearly shaved on the sides. He gave Sennett a respectful smile and nod which she returned.

Wesley was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. He’d taken his uniform jacket off, revealing his arms. Somehow, Sennett was having trouble looking away from his arms, which were well defined. His dark hair curled and fell slightly around his ears. When he noticed her looking at him, he gave her a shy smile. She smiled back, then turned to Evelyn. “Nice to meet all of you,” she said, “What can I do for you?”

“We’re looking into a situation on another station. Fernie suggested that you might be of assistance since you’ve been instrumental in taking care of some strange situations here,” Evelyn said.

“That’s not how I would describe it, but sure,” Sennett replied.

“Have you heard about Station 16 going dark?” Schultz asked.

“Yes ma’am,” Sennett said, “I didn’t hear much, but I know it was in a few news feeds.”

“We got a garbled SOS from them before they went dark,” Evelyn said. “Fernie has a friend who lives there, Etta Simpson. She sent something out to her.”

She nodded to the younger girl. Fernie reached over to Schultz’s desk and tapped it.

The wall screen lit up with the face of a woman. Thick dark hair was flowing around her face, and a smudge of mascara was running from under her eye down to beside her strangely circular nose. She seemed to be in what looked like a dorm room, with messy looking bunk beds and a small table covered with bowls and coffee cups. The shades were drawn, and she hadn’t bothered with the light.

“Hey,” Etta said, whispering. “I know you’re off learning to be a superhero and all, but we might need some help here. Normally I’d go to Station security, but they’re not really around anymore. They’ve been replaced by these guys.”

They could see her open the window shade, then she held the camera up to the glass. There were soldiers, marching in battalions. They were armed with weapons that looked more lethal than crowd control. Black, with long muzzles and thick handles, they resembled the ancient two barrel shotgun.

“Pause that, please,” Sennett said. Fernie obliged.

With her new roommate being a gun runner, Sennett’s knowledge of weapons had increased dramatically. “That’s a Winchester Honorarium, second edition,” she said, “Based on those clips, they’re firing acid rounds. I thought the IHP banned the use of those on Stations.”

“They’re not banned on Earth, though. At least not all of Earth,” Schultz said. She came to Sennett’s side, inspecting the image. “I don’t see any insignia. But, I assume you agents have already checked for that.”

“Yes,” Evelyn said, “And we knew it was a Winchester.”

“We hadn’t identified the ammo, though,” Lee said, “That was pretty good.”

“Go ahead and play the rest of the message, please,” Sennett said.

Etta brought the screen back to her. “The mall’s been shut down, but no one’s explaining why. The weird thing is, there hasn’t been an outbreak. At least not one we know about. The lab’s open, we’re all still going to work every day. And if there had been an accident, even a little one, that wouldn’t be happening. You remember what happened when Qa broke that beaker, and it was only a sulfur mixture.”

“They shut the whole building down for three days,” Fernie said, pausing the video. “Actually, that was fun. They shut everything down, but still paid us.”

“This doesn’t sound like a normal station,” Sennett said.

“Station 16 is a disease research facility. It’s a company station, the only people who live there are people who work at the lab and their families,” Narumi explained, “Fernie was working security there with Etta before she signed up for IHP.”

“She was higher rank than me,” Fernie said. She started the video again.

“Listen, the soldiers aren’t the worst of it. There’s a woman on your home station, Sennett Montgomery. I’ve been hearing about some of the crazy shit that’s been going down there. Seems like the only reason that place is still in the sky is because of her.”

“What the hell kind of rumors have been running around?” Sennett muttered.

“Get her, get anyone you can think of, and come. Please, we’ve got people here who are scared. These soldiers are saying that they’re here to protect us, but they’re not saying what from. If it were just me, I wouldn’t ask you, but-,”

In the background, there was a knock. Etta looked up, and the video ended abruptly.

“The station went dark a few days after Fernie received this,” Evelyn said.

“And no one’s gotten any other word?” Sennett asked.

“Nothing,” Fernie said.

“We need to investigate the situation,” Evelyn said. “And, as Etta mentioned you specifically, Fernie thought it would be a good idea to ask you to come with us.”

She turned to Sennett, her eyes sharp. “Do you have any idea why Etta would have asked for you? I mean, besides you be a hero and all.”

“I’m not a hero,” Sennett said, “Lots of other officers and civilians did as much as me and more during the AI attack and the Core assassinations.”

“I agree,” Evelyn said, “That’s why I’m wondering if you know why she would ask for you.”

“Not a clue,” Sennett said.

“I think it’s a good idea for you to go,” Schultz said.

“You want me to go to a station that studies diseases and has gone dark?” Sennett asked. “What did I do to you, Commissioner?”

“It’s just a recon mission,” Evelyn said, “There are only five IHP agents not on Earth right now.”

“Our plan is to get into the station on Level One, and release drones to scan the rest of the levels,” Narumi said.

“How long would all of this take?” Sennett asked.

“The trip’s a few days, but we don’t intend to be there more than one or two,” Evelyn replied.

“So, I’d be off station for what, a week?” Sennett shook her head. “I have a kid, I’m not leaving her for that long.”

“April will be fine with Mason while you’re gone,” Schultz said. “If you’re worried, I’ll send some uniforms around from time to time to check up on her.”

“Commissioner,” Sennett said, “I really don’t think now is the right time for me to be leaving the station.”

Schultz sighed. “Evelyn, can you and your people meet us at the gun range? I think Detective Montgomery and I have a few things to discuss.”

“Alright,” Evelyn said. She headed for the door, her people forming a line behind her. Wesley lingered just for a moment, giving Sennett a short wave. Surprised, she returned it.

Schultz waited until the door was closed before speaking. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t a request. This is an order.”

Sennett turned to face her. “And why the hell is it an order, Ma’am?” she asked.

“I would think that my reasons for wanting you to go on this mission are clear.”

“I know why you want me to go,” Sennett said, “Your niece is going and you don’t trust her team to bring her back alive. But what I don’t understand is why you think that would be more important to me than my daughter.”

“Because I don’t think that these people are who they say they are,” Schultz hissed. She glanced toward the glass door, making sure that the IHP agents were far enough away. “This woman says she was recruiting new people just as the rest of the IHP was called o Earth. It’s too coincidental.”

Schultz reached into her desk and pulled out a bright blue handgun with a silver handle. “Since I can’t really send you off station just because some scientist we’ve never heard of asked for you, the official reason for your trip will be to test these new pieces. It’s called an icer.” Sennett lifted the weapon. “What’s it do?”

“It traps the perp in a gel casing, freezing them in place safely,” Schultz said, “The very latest in crowd control. The only problem is that the gel is a little unstable.”

“Unstable, how?” Sennett asked.

“Unstable in the time it keeps someone frozen. Sometimes it’s thirty minutes, sometimes it’s, well, not as long.”

“So you want me to go to a dark station that’s got a bunch of illnesses in little jars, and arming me with a weapon that might be faulty?” Sennett asked.

“I know it’s bad. I don’t like any of this. I don’t know why this scientist that we’ve never heard of is asking for you. I don’t like that my niece is tied up in this. I’m sure that she’s not lying to me, but that just makes me wonder who’s involved in a conspiracy and who isn’t. Sennett, I’m asking you to go as a friend. Fernie’s father was my baby brother. I don’t want to lose her too.”

Sennett crossed her arms over her chest, thinking. “This could be Core related,” she said.

She turned to Schultz. “You’ll make sure April and Mason are okay?”

“I promise,” Schultz said. “I can’t imagine anyone on this station will let anything happen to them. You’re a hero.”

“I’m not,” Sennett said, “especially if heroes get stuck doing crap work like this.”

Virus is now available, including an extended ending never before published. Get it here now.

Copyright © 2017 by Nicole C. Luttrell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

It was Christmas Eve, and Roman couldn’t sleep. His four-year-old brain was buzzing with excitement for the morning. He wanted it to come as soon as possible, but he h

ad a problem. Even with his eyes shut as tight as they would go, he couldn’t seem to drift off.

Then, something happened that made it even harder to fall asleep. He heard something, a creaking, squeaking sound coming from the living room down the apartment hall.

Roman sat up in bed, wondering what the sound was. His older brother, Russell, was snoring in his room next door to Roman’s. It couldn’t be him.

Thinking that it might be his parents still up, he crawled from his bed. They’d told him that they were going to sleep just as soon as he did! If they weren’t in bed, Santa wouldn’t come. What were they doing?

The temperature was much colder outside in the hallway. He shivered in his pajamas, and continued toward the living room. He was fully prepared to tell of his parents in the most four-year-old manner possible.

When he reached the living room, though, he didn’t see his mother or father. Instead, standing in the light of the Christmas tree, was a tall man, dressed in a red, furred suit with white trim.

He was bone thin, his suit hanging from a skeletal frame. The suit itself was far from clean. It was covered in tears and burn marks and stained with something that had caused the fur to stiffen up and darken. Parts of the white trim were red as well.

There was a foul smell coming from him, sweet in a way but wrong. The man turned around when he heard Roman come into the room. He was holding a black trash bag. Something was squirming inside of it, making a faint whimpering sound.

“Ho, Ho, Ho!” the man said, grinning at Roman. “Merry Christmas, little boy! Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

His face was as thin as the rest of him. His eyes and cheekbones were protruding, his skin stretched over the bones like a sheet on a bed.

“You, you’re not Santa,” Roman said.

“Not Santa?” the man asked. His voice was high pitched, almost enough to hurt Roman’s ears. “What do you mean, I’m not Santa? Who else would I be?”

“Santa’s fat,” Roman said.

The man laughed again and reached into his trash bag. “But if I’m not Santa, why do I have a present for you?”

He pulled out a shoebox, old and wet. There was a red bow on top that looked like it was stained as well. “Here you go,” he said, holding it out for Roman.

The little boy took the box and pulled off the tattered lid. Inside was a black handgun, shining in the light of the tree.

“Merry Christmas!” the man said, grinning.

And without another word, he went to the open window and climbed out onto the fire escape.

“Wow,” Roman said, pulling the gun from the box. It was heavier than any of the other toys guns he’d owned.

From down the hall, he heard his brother’s bedroom door open. Russell stumbled out, scratching his head. “Hey, little man,” he said, “Who were you talking to?”

“Santa!” Roman said, excitedly. He held up the gun and pointed it at his brother. “Look what he brought me!”

He pulled the trigger.

Copyright © 2017 By Nicole C. Luttrell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Obviously, I love reading. In fact, Christmas books are one of the things that I look forward to most this time of year.

Christmas books take me back to being a kid. My grandmother would read them to me, and I would read them myself. Now that my kids are older, these books remind me of when they were little babies, curling up on my lap to hear a story. It’s a strange double memory, seeing back into my past twice.

Today, I wanted to share with you the books that my family reads for Christmas. I really don’t intend to give you a breakdown of these books because you’ve probably already read them.

Santa Clause and His Elves by Mauri Kunnas

This book is one that my grandma read to me when I was a kid. Because of this, I read it to my kids exactly the same way she read it to me.

 

 

 

 

 

The Polar Express, by Chris Van Allsburg

I do enjoy the movie, despite the uncanny valley issue with the characters. But there’s nothing like reading this beautifully illustrated book to your kids. Mine will still let me read it, even though they’re 13 now.

 

The Joy of a Peanuts Christmas, by Charles Schultz and distributed by Hallmark

This was literally a holiday book that Hallmark put out and I found at a second-hand store. It’s just a collection of strips from through the years.

 

 

 

Letters from Father Christmas, by J.R.R Tolkien

If you’ve never heard of this one, it’s a collection of letters that Tolkien wrote for his children. It’s quite touching.

 

 

 

The first few chapters of Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott.

“Christmas won’t be Christmas without presents,” muttered Jo. And it just gets better from there.

 

 

 

 

 

The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, by Barbara Robinson

Did anyone get through elementary school without reading this book? Does anyone else start crying at the last line? “Hey! Unto you, a child is born!”

 

 

 

 

A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens

Nothing can be said about this book. It’s the perfect Christmas book, and I start reading it every Black Friday.

 

 

 

 

 

What Christmas or holiday book makes your season complete? Let us know in the comments below.

And don’t forget, the 12 Days of Short Stories starts tomorrow! I’ll be posting welve short holidays stories, one every day until Christmas Eve! They’re all origional, never posted anywhere else. I hope you enjoy them, as my Christmas gift to all of you.