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Or, How the Fairy got on the top of the Christmas Tree

A cautionary tale about how traditions start.

Retold by Ali Kayn

It was beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Snow lay all about, drifts and drifts of it blocking the outhouse door, hiding the paths. Everywhere you looked it was glare, and slipperiness. Santa Claus turned from the window and growled. Nearby, an elf, hearing Santa started, dropping a delicate gift. Santa sighed.

The doorbell rang (again), another damn elf turning up for work. They had been ringing the bell all day, why hadn't he placed the door handle lower. Damned Handerfun Consultants. He let the elf in and turned back to his workshop.

MrsClaus was bustling about over in the corner, again. Talking to the elves, again. Checking the gifts and muttering to herself, making notes on her overflowing clipboard. He knew he was in for ANOTHER tirade on sexist toys and violence amongst the young and guns and (another sigh), oh dear. He shook his head. She was celebrating the new year by going back to her own name. Well, another tradition ended. And another damned elf at the door.

Over the elf's head he saw Rudolf out in the distance, surrounded by other reindeer. He should have known better than to trust a red-nosed reindeer -- unionism! Who ever heard of such a thing, the reindeer were threatening to strike for better conditions and shorter hours, and they wanted to ROTATE the order to make the sleigh-worker allocation more democratic. He shuffled back into his workshop, following the chattering elves, did it have to be so noisy?

NOT AGAIN! Damn bell. He looked for Mrs Claus, but she was out of sight. Probably fetching his suit and more donuts. He was still well under weight and she was constantly feeding him in an effort to restore that bouncing, jolly, figure. As soon as Christmas was over, he was going straight back to the gym and getting buff. He strode back to the door, angrily kicking some loose tinsel out of the way.

He grabbed the door handle, turned it viciously and ripped the door back towards him. He looked down. No elf.

"Hi", he heard a cheerful, tiny, bell-like voice say.

He looked up, and there was a bright, shining fairy, her little gossamer wings buzzing dantily in the air, her eyes lit up with joy, her pretty dress fluttering as she held, grasped in her small hand, the upper branches of a beautiful, dark Christmas tree. What an extraordinary load for such a creature.

She grinned, and said in sweet, cheerful tones, "Hello Santa, isn't the snow beautiful? I just love Christmas, ohhh, it's just, just the best time of the whole year. I brought the tree Mrs Claus asked for. Where shall I put it?

And that, boys and girls is the story of how the first fairy came to be on the sharp end of a Christmas tree.