Santa Claus is coming to town

My writing groups have been writing Christmas stories, inspired by song titles. Here’s one of mine. Happy Christmas. x

Santa Claus is coming to town

He’s making a list and checking it twice. And then he checks it three times just to be sure. Three is a lucky number after all. He likes to do things three times. It gives him a sense of order and God knows he needs it, especially at this time of year.

He has it colour-coded and printed (in triplicate) but still he feels his heart flickering like faulty Christmas lights, anxiety rising in his body like someone has left a tap dripping.

‘What’s the worst that can happen?’ she’d said, hoping it would help him to face his fears, dismantle the obstacles. But thinking about it just brings on a full blown panic attack. If Jimmy doesn’t get the train set that he’s asked for he’s going to stop believing. And what if Jemima gets the wrong kitten when she’s allergic to fur? He can already see the ambulance, hear the sirens getting louder as she goes into anaphylaxis, her windpipe constricted like an overstuffed stocking. Dead as a turkey on Christmas Day and all his fault.

He takes a deep breath, checks his list again.

He feels a warm hand on his arm. ‘Just leave the naughty list behind, love,’ says Mrs Claus. ‘That way, at least you know that you won’t get them mixed up.’

But he likes to be able to check and cross-reference the names just to be sure. He has the children alphabetised by surname, first names, addresses, identifying features, gift requests. The naughty list is written in red just to be clear. He has taken all the precautions. He will be fine. He puts it in his back pocket and slips the nice list into the weatherproof plastic pouch that he wears around his neck. He packs one back-up list in his lunch box and puts the other in the trunk in the bottom of the sleigh.

And then it starts. The pressure on his bladder. He checks his watch. He still has ten minutes before take-off. If he goes now, it will all be ok. He has to go three times before he can leave the house, even though the doctors have told him that going too often will only give him an over-active bladder, even though he knows it just exacerbates the problem. But it is a long night ahead and unbuckling this belt is a big job. The last thing he wants is for some small child to find him with his pants down on the toilet in the middle of the night. Even worse, he might wet himself and leave a puddle on someone’s bathroom floor. And what if he were to slip and crack his head open on the sink? Imagine what it would do to a child to find Santa comatose on the bathroom floor on Christmas Day. His anxiety is like an overflowing bath tub now.
He breathes deep. In through the nose. Out through the mouth, exhaling slowly, counting down the way she taught him. Everything will be ok.

He unloads the presents again and starts to re-read the labels.

‘Darling. The elves have already done it. I checked them myself. Everything is in the right pack.’ She sighs.
It is hard for her, he knows, but it’s not enough. He needs to check the labels with his own eyes, stuff them back in the sacks with his own hands, make sure that they’re in the order in which he will travel.

He counts the reindeer: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donder, Blitzen. And Rudolph out at the front. He puts his arms around Rudolph and leans his head on the reindeer’s neck. Things have been better since Rudolph arrived. Dr Francis was right. Having a pet was soothing and Rudolph seems to know what he needs.

Toilet again. Check the lists again. Check the parcels. Reload the sleigh.
Mrs Claus opens her arms for a hug.
‘Have you taken your tablet dear?’
Yes, my love.’ Has he? He knows he has. He always takes it at six. He looks at his watch, checks the box of tablets. Yes, he’s taken it.
‘Ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be.’
He climbs into the sleigh and slides the cd into the slot. The voice starts to speak, slowly, calmly, as soothing as drifting snowflakes in the night air.
‘You are feeling calm and relaxed and in control. There is nothing to fear.’
He yanks on the reins and the deer’s hooves pound on the snowy ground in time with his heartbeat. They’re off.
Santa Claus is coming to town.