Let it Snow! Season's Readings for a Super-Cool Yule! Read online

Copyright 2012, Respective Authors

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  LET IT SNOW!

  Season's Readings for a Super-Cool Yule!

  Ten eclectic stories in off-beat holiday settings by:

  Red Tash, Jack Wallen, Jessica McHugh, Axel Howerton, Tim Tash, Mercedes Yardley, Claudia Lefeve, Marian Allen, Connie Roberts-Huth, and T. Lee Harris. Approx 42,000 words

  Genres: contemporary fantasy, horror, thriller, young adult, teen, lgbtq, mystery, crime, high fantasy, sci fi, humor, paranormal, detective, adventure, and holiday.

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the respective author(s) of said piece(s).

  LET IT SNOW!

  Season's Readings for a Super-Cool Yule!

  Ten eclectic stories in off-beat holiday settings

  Foreword

  A Laurents County Landfill Christmas, by Red Tash

  Silent Night, by Jack Wallen

  Crazed in Christmas City, by Jessica McHugh

  A Manlove & Kickerdick Xmess, byAxel Howerton

  The Snow Wolf's Gift, byTim Tash

  A Serial Killer Christmas, by Mercedes Yardley

  Old Mexia Christmas Brew, by Claudia Lefeve

  The Pratty Who Saved Chrissmuss, by Marian Allen

  Believe, by Connie Roberts-Huth

  Hau'oli Hanukkah by T. Lee Harris

 

  End notes & Acknowledgements

  Foreword

  Happy holidays and welcome to our quaint little holiday collection of zombies, crazies, fairies and treasure-hunters (and more)! Doesn't that just give you the warm fuzzies? If you said “yes,” then you're in the right place.

  Dear reader, you hold in your hands an ebook of over 40,000 words. That's the size of a small novel, my friend. Enjoy it. Within, you will find ten undiscovered gems of the ereader world. Ten seasoned writers with volumes of work in their catalogs, just awaiting your discovery. Are you all atingle yet? Read on!

  Why “LET IT SNOW?” Well, we went round and round with what to name this collection, and finally decided...Wait. I'm getting ahead of myself, already. Perhaps first I should tell you how this book came to be.

  Quite simply, I was jealous. Jealous of the kind of writer who can churn out a book a month, and in so doing, can always have a new offering for the ebook gods. Writing has always taken me longer than that. I can never let go of a finished story that quickly, let alone a finished novel!

  After some thought, I decided I would write a Christmas story set in the world of my most recent novel, TROLL OR DERBY. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I should draft some of my friends into writing Christmas stories—or Chanukah, or Yule, or some other end-of-the-year holiday—as well. After all, the more the merrier, when it comes to holiday parties.

  And what would a holiday party be without your favorite characters? For once, I don't meant the office lothario or the lady with the lampshade on her head. No, this time I invited each of these authors because I knew they had favorite characters to bring along. That means that if you like a certain story within this ebook, you can find additional stories or novels starring the very same characters, just by following the links or googling these authors. It's like picking up a free sample and finding out it's a full-sized product! We hope you'll decide these characters are your new favorites. Nothing would make us happier.

  But back to that title. The thing was, once everyone's stories were in, the only theme in common between them was that they were set at the holidays. There was at least the mention of snow in each story, even if there were no snowflakes to be found. We tossed around a hundred witty titles, and eventually, LET IT SNOW leaped out as the clear winner. I think of it as a snow shower of good writing. Pick up this ebook and shake it like a holiday globe—inside, our favorite characters are knocking around just waiting to meet you!

  Lastly, I want to add that it's not just the characters that make this book a treat. All of the contributors to this collection are special people and terrific storytellers. They may not be “rush job” writers, but they have other gifts, spending several months crafting the tales you will find within this collection just for this ebook. That, dear reader, is an amazing thing. When is the last time someone wrote a story just for you? Never? Well, that's not the case anymore. The next time somebody asks, you can say “LET IT SNOW was written just for me—here, it says so right in the Foreword!” (I dare you to do that and not end up in Taunton Asylum.)

  I know you will enjoy reading this collection, and I want to thank you on behalf of all the contributors for downloading this anthology. Should you have any questions about where to locate other works by the any of us, check their websites (links are at the end of each story). Failing that, all of them are on Facebook.

  We look forward to getting to know you, just as you get to know our beloved characters.

  Wherever you are, whatever you celebrate—happy holidays, from each of us to all of you.

  Sincerely,

  Red Tash & friends

  A Laurents County Landfill Christmas,

  A story of winter pixies and moonlight

  by Red Tash

  Harlow

  Winter in Laurents County, Indiana is cold, damp, and gray. Winter in the landfill is even worse, which is why I like it. Nobody bothers me.

  Usually.

  I woke from a nap and decided to brave the conditions outside the mansa for a lap or two around the swampy ground, and who did I see creeping? This old wizard dude. He's been coming around for years, just often enough to irritate me. Don't know what he wants, because he doesn't speak.

  He looked like he was thinking about something, then he grasped his staff with both hands, thumped it into the ground, and a snow shower came on like magic.

  “Show off!” I yelled, although I doubted he heard from across the dump. “Weirdo.”

  The day before, I'd managed to score a near-pristine copy of Rachael Ray's holiday magazine, and now her sweet face was becoming pocked with the falling snow. Stupid of me to have left it outside, I guess. I reached for it, scanning the teasers again.

  Uninvited guests this holiday season? No problem! Celebrate in style with these last minute gift ideas!

  I scoffed.

  “I got your gift right here!” I shouted to the old man, but he was gone. In his stead, a fading twinkle of glittering lights, then a puff of smoke.

  “Good riddance,” I said, stroking Ray's face lightly before tucking the magazine inside my jacket. I could glamour it back to its original shape, but it'd have been nice to have something not half-broken for once.

  “Speaking of half-broken, might as well invite the whole gang over,” I said to Ray. As usual, she did not reply—although, this time she was in my jacket, so maybe she did and I just couldn't hear her.

  I reached into the mojo sack I wear around my neck, and pulled out a sprig of holly. I held it between my tusks and teeth, marched in a circle three times, and sang a few lines of All I Want For Christmas Is You by Mariah Carey. Wizard or no wizard creeping, I sang the heck out of that song.

  I clapped my hands seven times and whistled, but I didn't have to wait long before a bevy of snow pixies were hovering around me.

  “My handwriting's not what it used to be, guys, so make this look extra pretty for me, okay?”

  They clanged in response, their voices ringing flat like tiny mangled sleigh
bells.

  I waved my hands in the air around them, half-hoping to swat a few as I shook out my knuckles to loosen them up. Although Christmas Pixies were a lot nicer lot than the warm-weather Tinks that had plagued us a few months earlier, they could still be nasty little critters.

  Etched like frost on a glass window, I wrote out the invitation as nicely as I could. According to Deb, my hand-writing was surprisingly delicate, although my precious flower didn't quite use those words. “You write like a girl,” she'd said. “You write better than me, anyway.”

  I wondered what she'd been up these past few days with her mom and her sister, back at the trailer park. Well, hopefully I'd find out soon.

  I drew a scalloped edge around the lettering, then jotted the names of all my friends in succession.

  “That should do it,” I said. “Here's hoping Deb doesn't bring her mom.” One of the pixies winked and clanged in that awful tenor some unintelligible response. I probably shouldn't have said that last part out loud.

  “There's some lavender tea & local honey in the house,” I said. “Warm up on that before you head out, would ya?”

  I glanced again at Ray's magazine. 12 Christmas Gifts Your Family Will Love!

  “You know, Rach, I think you stole that story from Woman's Day, but whatever,” I said. “You're right. I do need to go shopping.” I tossed the magazine inside the mansa, and kicked away some trash from the door. A piece of glossy heavy paper flew up and caught the breeze. I grabbed for it, but it hit me directly in the face before I could catch it.

  “What is this?” I said as I pulled it away from my face. An impossibly beautiful man, tall and bare-chested, willow-thin like a teenager stared intently at the camera. The shade of enormous white wings hung behind him, well-glamoured for the photoshoot, but still visible to the naked magical eye.

  “Well, I'll be dipped in horse manure and rolled in cracker crumbs,” I said. “It's him.”

  The pixies emerged from the mansa. As I was counting them to make sure they were all there, one of them grinned mischievously and tossed cracker crumbs at me.

  “Hey, I was kidding about that. Don't you dare go dragging manure of any kind into this house.”

  The pixies jingled in unison at me, their wordless bells now chiming out the tune to the Twelve Days of Christmas. “Much better,” I said. It was the only real reason I didn't swat them like flies, or like Summer Tinks or some other pest. Hard to feel good about stopping the music, you know? “Now off with you,” I said, and they zoomed away, over the hills of garbage, now very prettily disguised under several inches of snow.

  I scrounged a bit until I found the magazine the beautiful man's image had been torn from. It'd been years since I'd seen him, and talk about awkward! He was a changeling, and hadn't known it at the time. I'd always wondered what had happened to the guy since the night he fledged out in front of me in an abandoned hunting cabin. Never had forgotten those wings of his, white as snow. Looked to me like he'd either become a model or a movie star—I honestly couldn't tell what the ad was for. Moonlight? Maybe a cologne. I smelled the page, but it only held the scent of garbage.

  “Good for him,” I said. “Beauty like that doesn't last in a place like Bedrock, Indiana.”

  “Well, Rach, I'll see you in a bit,” I announced, as I opened the door of the mangled olive green fridge I'd installed near the front door of the mansa, and disappeared down the Fridgerator Shoot. Fastest route to the Troll Market.

  The swirling haze dumped me out from the familiar drainage pipe across a field from the Trollin' for Bargains Flea Market. The sign that boasted its status as the “2nd largest flea market in the Midwest” now flashed in a blinding staccato of blue and white, as a series of poorly-attached LED icicle lights lit up either end of the banner. A large section of lights simply hung there, not lighting up at all. As I neared the Flea Market building, I could see that section was actually made up of Summer Tinks, each of their little arms crossed in stubborn defiance. Whatever they'd done to deserve this treatment, I was sure they'd deserved it.

  Making my way through the English side of the flea market was a lot quicker without Deb and Derek tagging along. No one was stopping at every other booth to look at Christmas crafts (Derek) or to handle the collectible swords (Deb). When I passed the seventh bin of $1/bottle recalled CoverGirl, I noticed fortune teller Madame Zelda bent over a box of the stuff, filling a shopping bag like she intended to bless the stockings of everyone she knew with it. For all I knew, she'd do exactly that. I made a mental note to hustle past her tent fast as I could. The last time I'd let her tamper with my dreads, it'd taken years of glamour to live through the results. With all the party preparations, I was definitely not up for a makeover, Zelda-style.

  Past the impromptu bluegrass music circle (a 24/7 jamfest, thanks to the fairy musicians that hopped in and out when the English tired of playing), I found the Unlimited Topping Pizza and Broasted Chicken counter at the back of the flea market. The glamoured fairy behind the register gave me the bird as I feigned interest in the menu. Two English kids shared a pepperoni pizza in the back of the snack area as they pored over a stack of comic books, flipping pages with greasy fingers. Behind them hung a poster for that same movie I'd looked at earlier, the one starring the white fairy changling. Moonlight.

  For a moment, I thought the kids were Deb and Derek, but they weren't. They'd be at the trailer park, waking up with their families, of course. Or, in Deb's case, what passed for a family.

  “Three cheese pizzas with a side of mermaid caviar, Charlie,” I said.

  “That ain't the password no more,” he said, reaching out for the supply closet door with his bare feet, and twisting the handle open.

  “That's what you always say,” I said.

  He shrugged, and turned his attention to one of the English kids, who was approaching the counter with an empty drink cup in hand. “No refills,” Charlie hissed, flexing his wings and showing his pointed teeth. The girl recoiled.

  “Be nice, Charlie,” I said, before I disappeared behind the shimmering curtain that disguised our world from theirs.

  “Fuck you, Harlow,” he said, but I could barely hear it over the roar of the Troll Market.

  Yes, it was Christmas even in the Realm, and the shoppers were out in force. If you think the combo of cabin fever mixed with holiday tension is rough for humans, you should see how it affects the fae. As I scanned the vicinity for any available shopping barrows, I saw a hovering blue fae dive-bomb a slow-moving gnome in front of a bin of oversized mushrooms.

  Normally, I'd have been able to carry my own weight, but with the clock ticking and so many people to buy for, I saw no alternative: I would have to hire a personal shopper.

  I gestured, and six golems approached me so quickly, I couldn't help but feel the sting of fear. I tried not to let it show.

  “Aye. Prince Harlow, ain't it? Daddy's got a new crown and Sonny Boy needs to spend some of that hot McJagger gold for Xxxmas, right? Bored today? Shopping spree?” I didn't know her, but I took it she was one of Dave's old customers. From the looks of it, Faeth was a bit harder to come by since my uncle died and my cousins had gone into hiding. Withdrawal did not suit her, and I had the impression this gal hadn't exactly been a looker to begin with. Now her hair hung in limp gray clumps, her gums bloody around the broken stubs of what had been her pointed teeth.

  “Need to hire one of your shoppers, but if you're going to be a jerk about it, forg--”

  “No, no, wait, wait, yer majesty,” she hissed. “Anything for the new Prince of the Realm.” She clapped her hands, and the smallest of the six golems shuffled forward. “BrindleTop here will be your personal shopper for the day.” She turned to the golem and waved two long, grey fingers in front of his face, the jagged, stained fingernails shimmering as her magic stirred and attached itself to him. “Be a love, BrindleTop,” she said. “You're serving royalty today.”


  I sighed, but remained otherwise silent while the golem put himself into a harness, and pulled the large wooden barrow before me. He grunted, and I hopped into the barrow, tossing some change to his wretched mistress.

  “I don't know exactly what I want, so let's just scan the market and see what leaps out at us,” I said. Of course, the moment I said it, I knew I didn't really want anything to leap out at us. I hadn't brought my mace, or my bow. “On second thought, nothing that leaps, right off the bat. Not ‘til we've stopped into the ironsmith's booth, anyway.”

  He pulled the cart surprisingly swiftly for a golem. I patted him on the shoulder to stop before a home furnishings booth. Enchanted armchairs and floating carpets were well and fine, but I wasn't sure I had enough seating in the mansa for a proper Christmas Eve party. I jumped out and threw three lavender-filled bean bags into the barrow. BrindleTop looked at me quite seriously. “Okay, you're right, of course,” I said, and threw in a fourth, just to be safe.

  Some dried jerky rabbits, whole, would make a nice offering for my thunderbird friend, if he showed up. I found those in the booth adjacent to Gruber's Farms Apple Butter. Those U Pick It Grubers were everywhere, even finding ways to distribute their wares on this side of the curtain. One of the trolls outside the booth offered apple samples to passers-by. I saw one forlorn child reach for the apple, but before I could hop down and knock it from his hand, another troll beat me to it. I didn't know her, but she was young and I liked her vibe. She seemed decent, at least at first impression.

  “Never eat anything offered in the troll or fairy realm,” she said to the child. “Food here is only safe if you've purchased it, and even then, little one, perhaps not safe enough for you.”

  I saw what she meant. This was a human child. How did he get in?

  I tapped BrindleTop on the shoulder. “The boy,” I said, and before I could finish, he had gently lifted the stunned child onto the back of the barrow, and placed him on a shimmering bean bag so large, his tiny frame was absolutely captive atop it.

  He looked familiar. Ghostly pale skin, and his hair so pale it gleamed almost white, even beneath the ghastly flourescence.