B or How the Bogeyman Didn't Save Christmas

B

or

How the Bogeyman Didn't Save Christmas

J.G. Talbot

About This Book

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet, or any other means, without the permission of the author and/or publisher is punishable by law. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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B or HOW THE BOGEYMAN DIDN'T SAVE CHRISTMAS

Illustrations and Revised Content Copyright © 2020 J.G. Talbot.

All rights reserved.

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Cover art courtesy of brgfx via Freepik.

Acknowledgements: All my gratitude goes to those who encouraged me during B's long creation - my family, friends, and those brave souls on the front line that read through and improved it drastically: Jean Anderson and Tam Winn. And all hail Tammy Wanzer for giving me her spare netbook when mine died so I could finish. Bless you, kind sirs!

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Follow J.G. Talbot on Twitter @author_talbot for updates on new works

and general waffling. (Y’might wanna turn off re-tweets.)

For more titles by J.G. Talbot head off to her Author Talbot website/blog thing.

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Table of Contents

Chapter One - Bedtime for Honoir

Chapter Two - Cameras on Me!

Chapter Three – The Battles

Chapter Four - Santa: Genius At Work

Chapter Five - PARTY!

Chapter Six - Party Crashers

Chapter Seven - Not Santa's Workshop!

Chapter Eight - Merry Belle in Exile

Chapter Nine – Retreat!

Chapter Ten - The Monster

Chapter Eleven - To the Rescue!

Chapter Twelve - A Meeting Now?!

Chapter Thirteen - Hello

Chapter Fourteen – Kill the Lights

Chapter Fifteen – Have Fun Stormin’ the Castle!

Chapter Sixteen – Knock, Knock

Chapter Seventeen – My Mom’s Gonna Get You

Chapter Eighteen – Out of the Frying Pan

Chapter Nineteen – Big Mama’s Bravery

Chapter Twenty – The Secret

Chapter Twenty One – The Conclave

Chapter Twenty Two – The Trial

Chapter Twenty Three – The Solution!

And at the End – Let’s Wrap This Up

Author Info

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Chapter One

A WEDGE OF WILD GEESE flew South across the moon over Beaver Crossing, a sweet town so unchanged by the years that beavers were still safely crossing there. The wind swirled leaves down the tree-lined avenues and they glowed like golden electric sparks under the streetlights. They formed drifts of warm color up the front steps of 240 Avery Lane.  240 was an ugly, boxy, faded house. It needed all the help it could get.

One bright orange leaf slipped under the door. A healthy draft carried it through the bare entrance way into a living room that had only one chair and one wall-sized TV. All the curtains were closed. The leaf fluttered, or maybe shuddered, on the carpet until another strong gust blew it through into the kitchen. 

The traveler was out of place there, too, amidst the cold chrome and the grey tiles on the floor. Another lucky blast of wind sent the leaf away from there and up one step and then another of a near-hidden back staircase.

Golden light welcomed it as one final gasp of the cool breeze pushed it under the attic door where a bare, brown foot came down out of nowhere and trapped it.

Hey, Mom! Honoir Battle called and picked up his find. He waved it in the air. Look, a maple leaf.

Chloe Battle stopped stringing pumpkin shaped lights down the partition between her half of the attic and her son’s half and squinted across the room. It’s perfect, she decided. Perfect shape, perfect orange color. Put it on our village.

Honoir circled through antique boxes and trunks, past the old plastic blow-molds of purple witches and green goblins that cheerfully illuminated the old family portraits, to the ceramic Halloween village that he’d set up on a small bookshelf. He leaned it against the brightly lit window of Ye Olde Ice Scream Shoppe and the leaf glowed like a piece of stained glass.  There we go. How’s that?

Perfect, Chloe said again and stepped down from her apple crate. We did a great job.

Honoir agreed as he proudly looked around at the life and color of the old attic. No dust up here. No old moth balls either or rat traps. It was a bright, warm place unlike the rest of the house.

Where his Maw Maw lived.

Speaking of...

Mom, what does ‘winterize’ mean? Honoir asked. He shivered as another chilly breeze circled around his bare feet and played on through his dark, curly hair.

Brrr! It means to make the house ready for winter, Chloe answered and kicked an old velvet bolster against the door. Y’know, put the shutters on the windows. Chop the firewood and stack it high. Sweep the chimneys. Plug the cracks. Fix the roof. What’s wrong?

Honoir’s eyes were wide. I have to do all that?

Absolutely not! Who said you did?

Well, Maw Maw said that she was going to save money this year and have me do it.

He stopped at the clear anger on his mom’s face. She practically shot sparks out of her nose. No. No, no, nooooo, forget that, she said. She hires a couple of grown men to do that every year and they can keep on doing it. If I catch you going up a ladder you’ll be in big trouble, mister. She spread her arms wide. Biiiiig trouble.

Honoir nearly deflated into a boy-puddle on the floor with relief. Oh. She was joking?

Chloe smiled and lifted a gentle hand to dig down through her son’s mass of hair. When she found his head she kissed it. No, she was totally serious, she said. You know by now what your Maw Maw is like.

Honoir nodded his head. He knew. His mom had to work every shift she could catch at Big Bill’s Bar and Grill and then she had to drag home and scrub this ugly house, like Cinderella, while her mother (her own mother!) looked on from her throne in the living room and made nasty comments. You missed a spot. You missed that spot, too. What’s wrong with you? I give you a home and you’re going to trash-do? Lazy, lazy, lazy...

You’re ten years old, Honoir, a big boy. And a BIG boy, Chloe said as she gripped his beefy arms. Honoir’s chin came up. Yeah, he was a big kid. Strong, too. The coach of his football team nearly cried with joy when his mom signed him up.  

Don’t let anybody bully you, Chloe finished. And I mean anybody.

Okay. Honoir hugged his mom tight while the cheerful pumpkin lights flashed on and off.

She kissed him again. Now say your prayers and go to bed.

Prayers? Aw, Mooooomm.

Say ‘em. We need all the help we can get. Chloe yawned and headed for the door. I’m going to take a quick shower and head to work. Goodnight, baby.

Goodnight. Have a good day...night. Good luck with tips!

Aw, thank you.

Honoir headed for the WWII army surplus cot that he slept on as Chloe kicked the bolster out of the way and opened the door. Now I lay me down to sleep... she prompted.

Honoir sighed. Weren’t there any prayers for big boys? Now I lay me down to sleep... he mumbled.

Chloe smiled and went out, closing the old door behind her.

Honoir sighed and crawled under the covers. One of these days, when he was a famous football star, his mother would never have to leave to work through the night again. He’d set her up in a huge house on the tip top of a hill of flowers. The place would be crawling with maids and butlers who’d do anything she wanted.

For right now, though, just in case she was listening outside the door, he pressed his palms together and started his prayer over.

"Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the lord my soul to keep,

the angels watch me through the night

and keep me safe ‘til morning light.

Aaamen, brothers and sisters."

A cool, deep, and darkly ominous voice drifted up from the shadows under Honoir’s cot, That’s not how it goes.

MOM! The Bogeyman's back! Honoir shouted.

Chloe’s distant voice drifted up the stairs. Yeah, right. Get him!

Don’t listen to her, said the frightful voice. It had an accent, like the snooty accent of a refined villain in old haunted-house movies.

Honoir heard the scratching of long, sharp claws against the canvas of the cot.

And he smiled. He practically grinned.

And he picked up a thick book from a nearby pickle barrel. You know I ain’t scared of you, B! He leaned over and pitched the book, spine first, into the dark underneath.

Which said, OW! BLIMEY!

Chapter Two

MEANWHILE, AT THE NORTH Pole, Santa Claus was trying to sneak out a side door of his hectic workshop when the producer of INTL channel's Christmas Spectacular caught him. She had an elf clinging to her leg.

Mr. Claus? she said, smiling sweetly as if she didn't have a little man singing love songs to her kneecap. Santa, bubba, she said. I just wanted to take a moment to point out that the elves are being a little...ah...

They're being a lot foolish. Ach! Every year this happens. Embarrassment had St. Nick pulling the curls out of his white beard.

Cameras on me! Cameras on meeee! the elf piped.

I'll have your pointy ears for this, the producer promised.

Shoo! Santa peeled the star struck elf off his guest and sent him back to the short crowd mugging for attention from the famous anchorwoman, the sound ‘n light people, and the cameraman (who had on the ugliest, reddest Christmas sweater Santa had ever seen and that's saying something.)

It's almost Halloween, Santa explained, And we’ve just finished with the toys. Time for our long vacation before December. And you're all here early with the big lights and the glamour so that's doubly exciting!

What? What are they doing here? his wife, the amazing Merry Belle Claus, arrived too suddenly for Santa’s nerves. Her mouth was open in amazement as she stared around. The Christmas special people? she asked and Santa nodded. But they're so early, she said. Why are they here two months early?

Surprise! Santa exclaimed, beaming.

There was a yelp from the excited crowd. The video man had to fight to keep his camera. Merry Belle threw Santa a look of disbelief as she pushed her untamed salt 'n pepper hair back and pulled a whistle from her apron pocket. She blew a shrill blaaaat! There was a lull in the racket as the elves turned to look.

Live from Santa's Workshop, she announced. Professionalism. You! Give the man back his camera. You! Put that down. You! Pick that up. You! Stop that! 

There was a crash and the tinkling of broken glass. A soccer ball went rolling past Santa and he watched as a ballerina Helper Toy tippy-toed en pointe after it. She gave it a mighty, but graceful, kick all the way to the end of the workshop to the massive double doors of the main entrance. Two large Nutcrackers dressed in gold livery pulled them open and the ball disappeared into the snow of the North Pole. The elves streamed outside after it.

Madison McCurry ( INTL News) herself, wrestled her thick coat back on and ran out to join the fun, too. Her entire crew followed, whooping like children. They hit the snow.

GOOOOAAAALLLLL!

It was the producer's turn to look embarrassed. "Maddie was an athlete until she blew out her ACS...her ACLU...her knee tendon about six times too