Page 14 of The Selkie Santa

But there was no point arguing. The Christmas show was the main event of the year. A time when all the residents got together and invited family members along. It was Gran’s piece-de-resistance.

So she dutifully did as she was told and waited for the first Santa to arrive.

Meanwhile, Gran and the committee shuffled papers and made notes as if they were about to score an Olympic performance.

A moment later there was a knock at the door and the first Santa entered. A Krampus, with a loud braying laugh. Harper saw Gran wince as he introduced himself as Malcolm, then proceeded to shake hands with everyone rather too heartily. Poor Maeve went a bit pinched in the face as she took back herclaw and shook it to restore feeling. He clearly didn’t get that these old folks were frail.

Gran gave him his instructions in a clipped voice and handed him his lines.

Malcolm turned to Harper with another grating laugh, pink lips peeling away from his large yellow teeth, and galloped toward her with an outstretched hand. She managed to avoid the handshake by waving her piece of paper at him instead.

Malcolm proceeded to clomp around on his clumsy hooves as he read his lines under his breath.

“Okay, ready!” He guffawed. “Ho, ho, ho, little elf, we will need to get these presents moving faster.”

“I’m doing the best I can. But our Gift Gizmo machine seems to have broken,” Harper read off the sheet.

“Add some fairy dust.”

“I tried that, but it just floats away.”

“Then use the dragon flames in this canister, that should get things moving.”

“Oh no, we don’t want the Christmas presents going up in flames, Santa…”

Harper wondered who wrote this shit. It wasn’t even funny.

“Well, you’re the chief elf around here,” Malcolm boomed. “Come up with something, or all the little children will have no gifts this year. And what do you say to that everyone?” The goat bellowed out the line with a comical look of rage, then did a strange little dance on his hooves and somehow tripped over his tail. The next moment, he was careening toward the committee table.

Gran looked horrified; the rest of the committee shrank back in their seats.

Malcolm righted himself just in time. “Sorry, damn thing’s always tripping me up. Should tie a knot in it, eh?”

“That will do. Thank you very much for coming,” Gran said through tight lips.

As Malcolm left, she popped her eyes at Harper and mouthed a big “NO”.

Harper stifled a giggle.

But at least she was finding something funny. For the first time in a long while. She guessed you had to be grateful for even the smallest glimmers of joy.

The next would-be Santa was a minotaur who’d already put some glitter in the fur around his jaw, and tinsel around his horns. He mumbled the lines in a monotone. Full marks for trying, Harper guessed.

The final Santa was a mothman. He recited his lines with precision, but frankly, he was just too rangy and narrow-shouldered to ever make it as a Santa. Plus, he frowned the whole time.

“We might get you to play a reindeer,” Gran placated when he’d finished.

“What would I do with my wings?” he asked, looking even more worried than when he arrived. “I can’t have them tied up or anything, I get claustrophobic.”

“We could cast you as a unicorn reindeer,” Gran mused. “Make a feature of your wings. We’ll have a think. We’ve got your number, Fletcher. Thank you.”

After he’d gone, the heads all came together. Whisperings took place. Harper sat on her chair and tapped her knees impatiently.

Gran collated the score sheets. “Not exactly high in talent.” She sighed, looking over at Harper. “What do you think, darling. Could you work with any of them?”

Before Harper could answer there was a knock at the door.

Gran turned to Maeve. “Did we have a fourth candidate?”

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