A Curious Christmas Carol Read online

  A Curious Christmas Carol

  The Compendium of Curious Collectibles: A Companion Novella

  Matti Lena Harris

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this work may be reproduced in any form, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  Copyright © 2017 by Matti Lena Harris

  All rights reserved.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Scrooge’s Christmas Sale

  2. Eggnog Soup

  3. Decking the Packrat Halls

  4. Santa’s Lucky Tie

  5. A Tangle with Tinsel

  6. The Mistletoe Fiasco

  7. A Very Poshy Christmas

  8. The Bah Humbug Award

  9. Spider’s Silent Night

  10. And a Partridge in a Pear Tree

  11. Frosty’s Unfortunate End

  12. The Most Profitable Time of the Year

  13. Home for Christmas

  14. Last-Minute Gifts

  15. Christmas Memories

  A Note from the Author

  A Letter from the Life Miser

  Sneak Peek: The Glass of the Riddle Witch

  Also by Matti Lena Harris

  Scrooge’s Christmas Sale

  Merry wasn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe my Christmas so far.

  Nor jolly. Nor happy, even. The best word to use?

  Disaster.

  I’d already bought the Super Deluxe Joke Pack for Deeter’s Christmas gift though we’d all probably regret it. As if the World’s Most Annoying Boy wasn’t annoying enough, now he’d have an arsenal of stink bombs and sneezing powders at his command.

  Yes, definitely we’d all regret it.

  For the Ragman, well, I wasn’t going to worry about getting him a Christmas gift. Except coal for his stocking. If he even had a stocking. Besides, he hadn’t gotten us any gifts. I was pretty sure of that. He’d been spending so much time hiding away in his study that he likely didn’t even know it was December.

  But I had no gift for Sweet Pea. On the day before Christmas, too.

  Absolutely a disaster.

  Maybe it wasn’t quite as bad as dropping the Christmas turkey or setting fire to the Christmas tree, but it’d still make the top three Christmas emergencies countdown. So when the Ragman sent me to find some weird Collectible called the Matryoshka Doll for him, I went to this mega-store shopping center instead. Though really, I couldn’t be in a worse place at a worse time.

  Because this was the epicenter of Christmas crazy.

  At first, I ignored it all. The ridiculous inflatable snowmen. The tacky colored lights. The ugly Christmas sweaters. I even ignored the holly—not an easy thing to do since that stuff was everywhere. The crowds of shoppers swarmed around me until I pushed my way over to a fake Christmas tree where I could catch my breath. Then I took the ad I’d found this morning out of my pocket and read the message again.

  Scrooge’s Christmas Sale! A deal so good, Scrooge would approve!

  All merchandise half-off, or so the ad promised. It was for a jewelry store here in the shopping center. Surely, I’d be able to find a gift for Sweet Pea in a jewelry store. The ad didn’t mention the store’s exact location, though.

  “Excuse me,” I said to a woman in a white fur coat, “do you know where I can find….”

  The woman didn’t even slow down to listen. Instead, she scurried over to a shoe store and disappeared inside.

  “Merry Christmas to you too, lady,” I muttered.

  Over to my left was a bunch of dancers dressed as elves, twirling to music. Sounded like “Here Comes Santa Claus” played with a bunch of car horns. Behind them was Santa himself, seated on a plastic throne and surrounded by a line of sticky, crying children waiting to see him.

  Nope. No way was I looking for the jewelry store there.

  I rejoined the crowd, brushing fake tree snow off my black coat as if I had a severe case of dandruff. Then I wandered along until finally I noticed a large store window with a red sign that said Scrooge’s Christmas Sale!

  The jewelry store. At last.

  In the store’s window display stood three doll figurines: a white, wispy child; a fat, green-robed giant; and a figure entirely in black. In front of the child were a bunch of antique lockets and fancy photo frames. The smaller sign there said, The Ghost of Christmas Past. The green-robed giant was surrounded by a bunch of earrings and cuff-links with a sign that said, The Ghost of Christmas Present.

  But the last figurine wearing black was all-out creepy. Reminded me of the Grim Reaper. Some store employee must’ve been pretty messed up in the head to think this made a good Christmas display. The figure stood among a bunch of gold watches. And his sign?

  The Ghost of Christmas Yet-To-Come.

  Right then, the car-horn version of “Here Comes Santa Claus” ended, and in its place rang out the sound of skateboards rising above the noise of the crowd. Did this shopping center allow skateboarders? Probably not, but this place was so packed with people that maybe no one noticed. The last-minute shoppers hustled past me, oblivious, but the jewelry store seemed empty and quiet inside.

  Thank goodness. No lines. No crying children. No annoying elf dancers.

  No Christmas madness.

  I entered the store, and the little bells on the door’s wreath jingled. Then I paused, gazing at all the sparkling jewelry cases. There sure were a lot of them.

  “Are you lost?” the salesman asked from behind one of the counters.

  “I need to buy a gift.”

  “Ah.”

  He squinted like he didn’t entirely believe me. Still, he left the counter and approached me. Probably because there were no other customers for him to help. He was a skinny guy dressed in a charcoal suit and a green bow tie. His hair looked funny too, oddly slanted as if it was a toupee, and his cologne was worse than that pine scent they sprayed on the fake Christmas trees outside.

  “What’s up with your store window?” I asked.

  He arched his eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your store window. The Grim Reaper doll. Doesn’t seem like Christmas much.”

  “Those figures are from A Christmas Carol. By Charles Dickens. Haven’t you read it, young man?”

  Wow. This guy. If I had read it, would I be asking about it?

  I glanced at the window again. “What’s the story?”

  The salesman explained. Something about this character Scrooge and a bunch of ghosts who showed him how much of an idiot he was until he changed his ways. I listened in the beginning, but after a while I stopped. The man was talking to me like I was five.

  “What sort of gift are you looking for?” he asked, snapping me back to attention. “Perhaps some earrings for your mother? Or some cuff-links for your father?”

  “My dad’s dead. And I don’t even remember my mom.”

  Thanks for touching on that sore spot, sales guy.

  “Ah. My apologies,” he said. “A gift for a girlfriend, perhaps?”

  “Not exactly. I mean, she’s a girl, and she’s my friend, but she’s not…I mean—”

  Those tiny wreath-bells jingled as the shop door opened again. A girl stepped inside, maybe fifteen or so, brushing the same fake snow off her shoulders as I’d shaken off mine. She didn’t look like a regular customer, though. Her brown coat w
as faded and worn with holes in the sleeves, and the only jewelry she wore was a silver lip ring. I could’ve sworn she snarled at the jewelry cases as she approached them.

  The salesman must’ve decided she wasn’t worth much attention—either as a thief or a customer. He turned back to me.

  “A gift for your lady friend,” he said. “We have some splendid necklaces over here that I’m sure she’d love.”

  After that, he ignored the grouchy girl entirely, but I stared at her face for a few seconds longer. She seemed familiar, something about that lip piercing and her hair—long, black, and braided like a rope. But maybe not. I’d seen so many people today, so many faces. Probably I was just losing it. Christmas crazy can do that to anyone.

  The salesman cleared his throat, so I focused on the jewelry case again.

  “This one here,” the man said, gesturing at a pearl necklace, “would suit any lady’s fancy.”

  Sure. Real pretty. And those pearls would look nice on Sweet Pea, no doubt. But then I saw the price.

  Yikes.

  “How about a bracelet?” I said. “You got any of those?”

  The salesman, frowning, led me to a different, smaller case. Then he unlocked the glass door and lifted a diamond bracelet out to set on the counter.

  “Here’s a lovely one, don’t you think?” he asked. “Diamonds are always festive for the holidays.”

  I shook my head. This was supposed to be a sale.

  Towards the back of the case was a gold bracelet with a tiny Christmas tree charm dangling on it. And I knew—I just knew—that was the one.

  “There.” I pointed. “How much?”

  The salesman showed me the price tag, and I mentally counted how much cash I had in my pocket. Not enough.

  “That’s the full price, though, right?” I asked. “I mean, this Scrooge’s Christmas Sale—”

  “Ah, no. This would be the sales price. Half-off.”

  Geez.

  “Are there any other discounts? Maybe, like, a kid’s discount?”

  The salesman didn’t answer, so probably it was a stupid question. But I was desperate.

  “What about paying in installments?” I asked. “I could give you all the money I have with me now, and then after Christmas—”

  “We don’t accept installment offers on sales items,” the salesman said. He tucked the charm bracelet back onto its shelf and locked the case, then put the key back in his pocket. He wasn’t even looking at me anymore.

  “I…I could work for it,” I said. “I could wash your jewelry cases. I bet there are a lot of fingerprints on the glass.”

  This guy was worse than the Ragman—and nobody could strike a bargain quite like the Ragman could.

  “We are not currently hiring,” the salesman said.

  Just then, a family entered the store. A young couple with a baby. The salesman jumped to help them, leaving me there staring at the gold charm bracelet behind the glass.

  I sighed. I couldn’t help it.

  That lip-ring girl was standing nearby. Close enough that she must’ve overheard everything, but she didn’t let on. She merely leaned over the nearest jewelry case and turned her nose up at a couple of emerald rings. She kept touching the glass like maybe she was putting fingerprints all over it on purpose.

  “As you can see,” the salesman said to the young couple, “we have the finest quality jewelry available.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” The woman glanced at her husband. “Can we afford it?”

  The man grinned. “I got that bonus at work, remember? Let’s do it!”

  He wrapped his arm around his wife’s side while she kissed their child on the forehead. The baby cooed happily. A perfect family. Having their perfect Christmas. The whole scene looked like something from a commercial for a pack of greeting cards or a life insurance policy.

  “It’s an investment,” the salesman said, leaning forward, “in your future.”

  That salesman hit the jackpot. They bought a diamond necklace for her and a ruby tie pin for him. They even purchased a silver rattle for the baby. Everyone got what they wanted.

  Except me.

  Maybe that Scrooge guy was onto something. Maybe Christmas was a big, fat sham—a marketing ploy meant to trick shoppers into buying ugly sweaters and vacuum cleaners.

  Or maybe Christmas was only for people with families.

  In any case, it didn’t matter. I left the jewelry store. Left the whole shopping center, too. I’d had enough Christmas madness.

  But now what? How was I going to find a gift for Sweet Pea in time?

  I headed for the back alleys behind the shopping center, shuffling my feet as I walked. I imagined tomorrow morning, the look on Sweet Pea’s face when I’d have to tell her I had no present for her. She might think I didn’t care enough to give her anything.

  Like she didn’t matter to me at all.

  I was so busy thinking about Sweet Pea’s gift that I didn’t notice the skateboarders had returned. Not at first, at least. The sounds of their skateboards’ wheels smacking against the pavement eased into my thoughts. I shut them out. Walked on. The sounds grew louder, more insistent, so I listened to them for a few seconds, then sucked in a breath. The lip-ring girl in the jewelry store. I realized why she’d been familiar—because I knew who she was.

  “Dragon,” I whispered.

  A Wheeler.

  When you’re a Finder and a gang of rival magic hunters shows up, you don’t stick around to ask if they’ve come to swap fruitcake recipes with you.

  Time to run.

  The Wheelers raced after me. Definitely, they were chasing me, and there was no way I’d escape them on foot. This was bad. Very, very bad. Farther down the alley stood a couple of trash dumpsters, and beyond them was some Italian restaurant’s back door. It had to have a lock. If I could make it to the door….

  My right hand reached into my pocket for my house key while my left reached into my other pocket for the Black Thread. But it didn’t matter. I never had a chance to use either of them. The Wheelers caught me at last as a hand reached out and shoved me to the concrete. I had just enough time to glance up while my arms were tied behind my back. Dragon halted a few feet away, her hands on her hips as she glared at me.

  “Do it,” she said to the other Wheelers. “Take him. Now.”

  Then a black cloth bag was shoved over my head.

  Eggnog Soup

  The Wheelers jostled me along, swift and silent. I tried to speak to them, to ask them where they were taking me, but no one answered. They must’ve used a Collectible to help them travel because we seemed to arrive at our destination really quickly. Wherever we were, the air was so cold that I shivered even with my coat on.

  Great. Probably they were going to slit my throat and leave me to die in some ice cave in Antarctica.

  Honestly, could this Christmas get any worse?

  As far as I could tell, there were only three of them—not the whole gang. Which seemed pretty strange. Then the cloth bag was yanked off my head, and I could see where we were.

  “The Wheelers’ Warehouse?” I asked. “All that, just to bring me here?”

  It was dark in the warehouse. And quiet, too. I expected the other Wheelers to be doing tricks with their skateboards on their ramps and rails. But as I peered into the shadows, it didn’t even seem like anyone else was home.

  “Where’s Prodigal?” I tried wiggling my bound wrists. “Did he order you to kidnap me? Look, whatever this is about—”

  “Rook? Is that you?” Blue Sky asked, emerging from the shadows. She wrapped her gray sweater closer to her chest, her breath rising in wisps around her cheeks. Her gaze shifted to Dragon’s face, then to the two other Wheelers beside me.

  Finally, she noticed the black cloth bag in Dragon’s hands.

  “Dragon, what have you done?” she asked, breathless. Like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

  “What I had to,” Dragon shot back. “Now get out of my way.”


  Whoa. I’d never heard any Wheeler talk to another Wheeler like that before. Especially to Blue Sky, who was about as rough and tough as a snowflake. Her eyes widened, but she let Dragon pass. Then we trudged to a small room at the back of the warehouse.

  “Move it, Santa,” Dragon said.

  She shoved me inside, and I stumbled against the doorframe. If the two Wheelers guarding me hadn’t caught me, I would’ve fallen hard. The room’s sole source of light was a stubby, dripping candle placed on the edge of the far window sill. Probably there were only a few hours left before the candle went out.

  Someone needed to give these Wheelers a box of light bulbs for Christmas.

  A lumpy old mattress occupied the right corner of the room. Not much of a comfortable bed, though, even with the heap of blankets piled on top. From somewhere near the bed, a rasping breath wheezed out a broken rhythm, and perched on the edge of the mattress was Prodigal. He sat hunched over the blankets with his back to me and his head bowed.

  I stared at him for a moment. Was he sick?

  But then he turned and saw me standing in the doorway with the other two Wheelers who still held me by my arms. And Dragon. And Blue Sky.

  He rose to his feet. “What’s going on?”

  Maybe he wasn’t sick, after all. He looked exhausted, but he seemed okay, except that his red t-shirt was wrinkled and his brown curls tangled around his ears. It was the first time I’d ever seen him without his baseball cap. Or his crazy, magical killer toothpick, for that matter.

  The other Wheelers stared at the mattress, but no one spoke. Prodigal’s voice hardened.

  “Someone tell me what’s going on. Now.”

  He glared at me like I’d jumped up a few slots on his kill-before-Christmas list.

  Dragon stepped forward.