Not Even a Mouse
A spooky Christmas Eve story
A last sliver of sun left the London skyline before a figure flitted across a moonlit lawn. It knelt to a stop, beneath a dark window, with cold metal then being jammed between sash and frame. After a moment, the sash finally shot up — with Stanley Atkins waiting a moment before he put the crowbar into a sack, and then slipped into Baylock Hall. Sparking a cigarette lighter to life, the burglar then began creeping through a large, murky space… the lighter’s tiny flame letting him pick out any detail.
God bless the war thought Stanley, as he stopped to pick up a golden candlestick and lit the wax within. Well, it was true… the now nightly blackouts, after Blighty had declared war on old Adolf, were perfect for creatures of the night like himself.
Moving about again, the burglar then quickly came to another stop; this time by a magnificent Christmas tree. Stanley smiled as he crouched down by a sea of beautifully wrapped presents. Carefully setting the candlestick aside, he then reached for a random gift. Stanley paused briefly, before he shook his head and touched wrapping paper. Perfect he thought, this could be great for —
“Are you Father Christmas?”
Nearly leaping into the tree, Stanley then whipped around to find a small boy in spotted pyjamas staring up at him — a door now open beyond. “Oh you are,” said the child, on seeing the burglar’s sack. “You are him!”
“Hush boy,” said Stanley reaching for the crowbar. “Now look, don’t — ”
With the boy suddenly hugging him, Stanley froze.
“Oh Santa,” said the child. “My sister said you weren’t real, but I told her she was a liar.”
“Well it’s true Nathaniel,” said someone leaving the shadows opposite. Another candle flickered to life to show an older girl, with a face as pale as her nightgown. “And this certainly isn’t Father Christmas either.”
“Oh be quiet Hyacinth,” said Nathaniel releasing Stanley, “And look, he’s just left us our presents.”
“Mother left those. And besides, Santa doesn’t wear black.”
“Well… well he just got dirty coming down the chimney. Grandfather — ”
“Should be awake by now. As should Mother.”
Nathaniel’s scowl gave way to an excited smile.
“Yes, yes, go and get Mother. Then we can open our presents.”
Stanley hurried for the window — the burglar gasping to a halt when Hyacinth re-appeared from behind a curtain.
“You’re a thief aren’t you?” she said, and slammed the sash down.
“Move girl,” said Stanley producing the crowbar, and then using it to try and raise the sash… the burglar only grew red-faced as Hyacinth kept one finger pressed against wood.
The girl then tittered to make Stanley bare teeth, and push a hand towards her — with Hyacinth doing likewise.
“Oh stop it.” Nathaniel wailed.
Stanley flew past the Christmas tree.
Hyacinth smirked before fading into shadow. Stanley groaned as he got up off the floor, the burglar about to stagger back towards the window when Nathaniel grasped his left hand.
“Oh please don’t be mad Santa,” the boy said, maintaining a gentle grip of steel. “Hyacinth was just being silly.”
Stanley fought back raising tears.
“N-no boy,” he spluttered, “I’m not angry, but you need to let go now, or… o — or all the other little ones won’t get their presents in time.”
Nathaniel smiled and nodded before releasing Stanley, the burglar then glancing between door, window and tree.
“Well,” said Stanley wiping his eyes, “Maybe I’ll take your sister’s presents because… b — because she’s been so naughty.”
Surprised when Nathaniel again smiled and nodded, Stanley then stuffed two random gifts into his sack and moved towards the window — only to have Hyacinth suddenly reappear in front of him.
“Mother is awake now,” the girl said with a fresh smirk.
“Hooray,” cried Nathaniel as Stanley then hurried out the sitting room door. The burglar found himself at the end of a candlelit corridor, Stanley about to race forward before the biggest dog he had ever seen turned a corner beyond; the beast’s yellow eyes seeming to blaze before it snarled. Stanley hurried back into the sitting room and slammed the door shut, Hyacinth giggling whilst her brother frowned. “Why don’t you just use the chimney Santa?” Nathaniel said shrugging.
“Yes Santa,” sneered Hyacinth, before her brother gently pushed Stanley into the oversized fireplace. Dropping the sack as he smacked against brick, the burglar groaned yet again, and then gasped when he felt a thin, if definite ladder propped up against the shaft wall.
“Thank goodness for chimneysweeps,” said Stanley and began to climb, a pub conversation from the night before playing back through his fevered mind.
Stay away from the Baylock place Ernie Suggs and Bill Chapman had both grumbled, when Stanley had drunkenly mentioned his plan to them. Their spooky stories hadn’t scared him off then, and had made him even more determined. but now he —
Stanley paused as something suddenly tickled his nose. Scratching the itch away, the burglar then sparked his cigarette lighter to life and gasped. Three upside-down faces hung from above — the central one ancient and chalk white, with its long, silvery hair hanging like cobweb. The other faces were corpse-grey, and their mouths open in frozen screams. The middle face then opened its red, glowing eyes, and Stanley fell with a shriek… the burglar stopping within an inch of breaking both legs before he was wrenched from the fireplace. Stanley was slammed against wallpaper — the most beautiful woman he had ever seen fixing him with eyes like polished gold.
“Who are you?” she said in a harp-like voice, the whole room now lit by a plethora of candles.
“Oh Mother, it’s just Santa,” said Nathaniel frowning by the presents, with Hyacinth tittering to make her brother’s eyes flash red. “Oh Hyacinth, you knew Grandfather was sleeping up there again!”
“Enough,” said Mother, after her children snarled at each other. “Now again sir, who are you?”
“S-Stan-” began Stanley, before Mother showed teeth like those of the dog in the corridor, “Aaggghhh!”
“SAN-TA! See? Can we open them now?” said Nathaniel before his mother sighed, and nodded — with Stanley suddenly dropped to the floor.
“Explain yourself Santa,” Mother sneered, as her children began unwrapping two of their presents.
“P-please Miss,” said Stanley clasping hands as he cowered, “I just… j — just need a few quid to — ”
“Ah, another thief? Like those fools who climbed down our chimney last night. Most amusing too… until they disturbed my father.”
“Ernie, Bill… oh my g-god. Oh please Miss! I just need a few quid so I could buy my kids presents before morning! Times are so hard now with the — ”
“Enough,” hissed Mother, before she briefly regarded her own offspring. She looked back to Stanley, the fire fading from her golden eyes. “So, you did this for your children then. Admirable… and very well then Stanley, presents you must have. But there is a price.”
With Stanley nodding in terrified obedience, Mother then clicked fingers to make her children pause, before the burglar’s world turned black.
“Now arise and away before your children awake…”
Stanley awoke outside the gates of Baylock Hall, the sound of fading wingbeats making him at first glance about a now dark-blue sky. The burglar then noticed his sack lying beside him, Stanley checking its contents before jumping to his feet and racing away with a newfound, almost youthful vigour. He eventually reached a row of terraced houses — the burglar quietly letting himself into the very last building, and entering its small sitting room. There Stanley thought, as he laid the sack’s contents beneath a tiny Christmas tree. Now they’ll know Santa didn’t forget this year.
Backing towards the fireplace, Stanley never noticed his lack of reflection in an adjacent mirror. He merely smiled before the first ray of sunlight pierced between the curtains.
“Santa’s been here!” said Rosy Atkins halfway across the sitting room, the little girl stopping to kneel by the Christmas tree.
“Oh leave it out sis,” said Danny Atkins trudging through the door, the older boy’s eyes then growing wide as they settled on the tree.
“Now I’m sorry Rosy and Danny, but Santa — ” said Muriel Atkins entering the sitting room last, the plump woman then pausing to gawk at the two, beautifully wrapped presents her children were now ripping open.
“Was here! Yes Mum,” said Rosy pointing at the fireplace, while Danny nodded in ignorant bliss. “See? He came down the chimney.”
“Yeah love,” Muriel murmured before she left the sitting room.
She checked the kitchen, all upstairs, and then the kitchen again… before finally returning to her children. Rosy now played with a fine china doll, while her brother put together a large train set.
“Oh, Stan you old villain,” sighed Muriel, and wiped a tear away. She then scowled, before taking her broom to a small mound of ash by the fireplace.
Copyright © Emlyn Boyle 2022
I started this story many years ago, but was never happy with it and put it away. So, being a much better writer now, I’ve both finished and re-edited it. I think Christmas is a perfect time for supernatural stories — with those long evenings and the winter atmosphere. So it’s a very different tone to Halloween spookiness. I wanted a story that was dark and humorous, but also (oddly) touching. Thanks for reading, and Happy Christmas to all who celebrate it.
