By John Leatherman
After my brother Barney and I complete the second wrapping of tinsel, we spread out Mami’s lock-lid ornament tubs.
Barney nudges me. “So, Arnold, any thoughts on the job offer? I know, you’re an”—faux crystal bell in each hand, he air-quotes—“entrepreneur. You can still be your own boss. A boss that reports to me.”
“Sorry, my boss says no.”
Greased black pompadour glistening, he hangs the bells. “Full dental. Annual bonuses.”
Eyebrows arched, I survey the open tubs with increasing concern. “No, that can’t be everything.”
“It’s not. There’s a profit-sharing plan…”
I tweak Barney’s nose. “In the tubs, Barn-smell.”
He winces. “No nose-nurkles, Arnold-opholis!”
“I oughta deck your halls.” I grab a hodgepodge of pipe cleaners, rubber cement, and bark from the tissue paper. “Here’s your pinecone nativity star—talk about manger danger—but where’s mine? Mami!”
Mother Carmen Montes stomps into the living room, her graying brunette beehive bobbing. “Arnold Guillermo Montes, porque you make me pause 90-Day Santa?”
“Where’s the pinecone nativity star I made in first grade?” I slam Barney’s monstrosity onto the coffee table. “Like this hairy Christmess, but nicer.”
Mami’s brown eyes sparkle. “Ay. Forgot to mention the surprise.” She darts out and returns with an earthy-smelling shoebox.
I scowl. “What’s this?” Flipping off the lid, I find it full of pinecones and art supplies.
Mami smiles. “Hasta tiempo you make a new pinecone nativity. Couldn’t find rubber cement—I think it’s a controlled substance now—but you’ll love these glue sticks. Non-toxic!”
As Barney sets his star atop the tree, I confront Mami. “What happened to the old one?”
She sighs. “It broke when I stowed the ornaments last year.”
“You broke it?”
“Not exactly. Barney’s fell on it.”
Shifting my gaze between Mami and Barney, I struggle for words.
Mami reaches out to me. “Lo siento, Arnie, but you know your brother has always been better at building things to last.”
I shove away her attempted hug. Snarling, I charge into the hallway and shut myself into the linen closet. Feels a bit smaller than I remember.
My family’s voices carry through the air vents.
“Well, Mami, you wanted a traditional Montes family Christmas. Wouldn’t have that without an Arnold tantrum.”
“Let’s cheer him up. We’ll recreate the ornament from old photos, then say we put it back together. It’ll be a Christmas miracle.”
“Should we do something like that on Jesus’s birthday?”
“Barnabas Benjamin Montes! He was a carpenter and a healer. It’s what he would have done if he had glue sticks.”
Creeping out of the closet, I begin crafting an apology when a loud crash shakes the walls.
Through the fragments of our picture window strides a tall, slender, albino-white-haired woman sporting a furry green bodysuit with a dangling red tassel cap. A bulging bag hangs over her shoulder.
The Scrinch!
Scrinch reaches into the bag. “Scary Christmas! Here’s some sugarplums to dance in your heads!” She hurls two small spheres at my family. An explosion of mist bursts forth, and they slump to the floor. Eggnog-out Gas!
Swiftly, I don my purple-and-orange super suit and bound into the living room.
“You’d better watch out, Scrinch, and I’m telling you why—Super Gus has come to town!” Yes, I’m Super Gus, alias Arnold Montes. It’s called a secret identity.
Scrinch gasps. “Well, there’s no room for you at this inn—unless you want some manger danger!”
“Scrinch, you’re making this nativity very un-stable. There’s still time to get on the nice list!”
Snickering, Scrinch yanks out a red-and-white-striped bazooka. “This won’t be a silent night. I’m ready to raise cane!” She launches a shower of candy canes. “I’ll have your chestnuts roasting when I open fire!”
Before I’m peppered with peppermint, I leap like a lord into a turbo-flip. I soar toward the vixen and kick the candy cane Kalashnikov into Kringle come.
But since I can’t stop mid turbo-flip, I fly into an in-fir-iating flop. It’s beginning to look a lot like the Christmas tree trapped me, tangled tightly in tinsel. “I needle little help here…”
Scrinch shouts out with glee. “Since this is the season of giving…” From the bag she produces a small rocket. “I’ll give you an O Tannen-bomb!”
“Oh, figgy pudding! A guided mistletoe!” This may be the last yule see me.
She shoves it into a launcher. “It’s the end of your reign, dear! Nyah-ho-ho-ho!” She fires.
The mistletoe inbound, I grab through the branches for anything that might shield me—and find Barney’s pinecone nativity star.
I fling it at the mistletoe, praying that the favored son can save us from elf-destruction.
The projectiles collide, and I brace for impact.
“Wanted for burglary, mayhem, and controlled sugarplum possession, 29-year-old Holly Falala, aka ‘Scrinch.’” Officer Wenceslas leers as his police cohorts remove the handcuffed hellion. “Attended Kringle Prep. Auditioned for Mary in her senior year nativity pageant. Got ‘Sheep #3.’ Snapped. Never married, pledged her life to destroying Christmas.”
Mami nudges me. “Arnold, she’s single…”
Wenceslas addresses Barney. “You called this in?”
Barney nods. “Called 911 on my cell before passing out.” He pats my shoulder. “Good thing Arnold was sulking in the closet the whole time. He would’ve spazzed from the excitement.” He nudges Mami. “Know what would boost his confidence? A new job.”
Wenceslas scribbles on his pad. “All right, we’re done here. You folks are lucky to be alive. Guided mistletoes are usually lethal. But this one struck something so solid, it crippled the guidance system, returning the projectile to its point of origin and blasting Falala into that roll of Christmas lights we found her tangled in.”
He surveys the living room, scattered with tinsel, peppermint, and fir fragments. “We may never know what saved you because it disintegrated in the blast.”
It’s a Christmas miracle after all.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ho ho ho! Mary’s Christmas disaster! You’re a mean one, Ms. Scrinch, with enough Christmas puns here to brighten any fruitcake. Loved it!
Thank you! Your appreciation is a great Christmas present!
John’s stories always make me laugh! Very clever!
Thank you! Merry Christmas!
What if Jesus had a glue stick? Now, there’s a thought!
I’m glad Super Gus brightened your holiday. Merry Christmas!
This story was so unpredictable and hilarious! Great job.
Thank you so much! Merry Christmas!
Love the family dynamics here! And the ending is hilarious.