Reluctant Santa

912 words
Brad heard a loud crash. "What the ..." He rushed out into the front yard and was inundated with snow falling from the roof. A pair of red clad legs dangled below the guttering. "What you doin' up there? Get off my roof." He soon wished he had not said that as a rotund gent landed on top of him, burying him in the freezing slush. It was a struggle, but he finally managed to burrow out from under.

"Help ... me ..." a weak but deep voice begged.

"Sure. You climb on my roof, no doubt up to no good; then you flatten me, now you expect me to help you?" Brad pulled on the white beard, expecting a false one, but it was not shifting. "You're not gonna tell me your the real Santa?" The man nodded with a loud groan. "Oh, man. You stoned? Or did you escape from the local nuthouse?" He got no answer. The big guy was out for the count. Brad walked into the house and dialed 911. "Ye, you heard me right, sister; Santa fell off my roof"

As the ambulance pulled away Brad thought that was an end to the matter. He settled down in front of the TV, Bud and chips in hand, to watch the football game. "Oh, man ..." He tore up his betting slip as his team went down big time. He cracked open his fourth cold one and settled down to watch the Horror Chanel. It was late, so he was surprised to hear a vehicle draw up outside.

The driver got out of the yellow cab and lifted a wheelchair from the trunk. "Can someone give me a hand here," the driver shouted as he struggled to lift the heavy fella from the back seat. Brad opened the front door.

"I don't want him," Brad shouted.

"This is 312 North Street?" Brad nodded. "Well, that's where I was told to deliver him. He's your problem now, pal; oh, and you owe me thirty two dollars."

"No way!" The driver stormed up the path and grabbed Brad by the collar. Although Brad was bigger than the taxi driver, he was no fighter.

"Look, pal, I brought him here, you pay me. What you do with him is your business. Leave him out on the sidewalk for all I care, but I ain't leaving without my fare." Brad reached into his pocket and managed to scrape together thirty one twenty.

"It's all I got," Brad pleaded, pulling out his pockets.

"What, no tip?" the driver joked, then he drove away, leaving Brad to deal with Santa.

"God, you're heavy," Brad said as he struggled to push the old man up the path. "What am I supposed to do with you?"

"Get me inside an' i'll tell ya."

*

"You don't believe I'm the real deal do ya?" Santa said as he settled himself in the armchair in front of the fire, "Well, watch this." With a clap of his hands the fire was extinguished. A second clap reignited it. "Still don't believe? Look on your roof." Reluctantly, Brad went out into the yard. There on the roof was the remnants of a sleigh. Attached to it were eight reindeer, looking very sorry for themselves.

"O.K. so you're for real," Brad said as he re-entered his home. "So, what you want from me?"

"Milk and cookies would be a good start. And some carrots for the boys."

Brad could not believe he was getting sucked into this.

"You do realise you're gonna have to do my deliveries for me?"

"Me? How? The sleighs wrecked."

"You got an old pickup parked out back."

"That thing ain't run in years," Brad informed the old man.

"Don't matter 'bout the engine; that's what the reindeer are for."

The following night Brad called to the reindeer. "Come Dancer, come Prancer, come stupid and wicked ..." With a huff the boys reluctantly came down from the roof. When they saw the rusty old truck they reared. No way were they going to be seen pulling THAT. "Hey, I don't want to do this any more than you do. I hope you know where you're going cos I get lost goin' cross town." Rudolph nodded.

"O.K. Where are the presents?" Brad asked the old man. With a Ho, Ho, Ho and a flick of the wrist a giant sack appeared. "With my back ..."

Santa laughed and clapped his hands. The sack disappeared and re-appeared in the back of the truck. As Santa started to strip, Brad shook his head. "I am not wearing that."

"You have to or the magic won't work."

"Do we have to fly? I get kinda sick."

"You'll be fine," Santa reassured.

*

As the pick up lifted into the air, Brad found himself exhilarated. Although the air was ice cold a warm glow flowed through him. One by one, gifts floated from the sack. As Brad flew over The Great Wall of China he could not believe how far he had traveled in such a short time. It was all going well until he got a few miles from home.

The rusty old truck began to disintegrate, bits falling to the ground. As they approached his roof the last vestiges of his vehicle fell away and he was being dragged behind the reindeer before landing face first in the snow. "Ouch!"

"Same time next year?" Santa asked.

"Not a chance," Brad replied, spitting out his two front teeth.