The Discount Storytime crew, while aboard the Spaceship Scam Likely, asked its crew members about their favorite childhood holiday memory. Some were typical, such as decorating a snowman that became sentient and attacked everyone, the smell of roasting the holiday mumble-fish, putting a star on top of a tree, only to have the tree crushed by the star’s massive density. All these were wonderful stories, and one especially stuck out.
This story is from Clayton Groppel. Ship navigator and chief financial strategist of the Starship Scam Likely. And before Clayton tells his story, his attorney asked to include:
“First off, my client, Mr. Groppel, is NOT on the run. Mr. Groppel was diagnosed with Law Enforcement Shyness Syndrome, or LESS. Simply put, Mr. Groppel suffers anxiety and distress while he is in a location with extradition to his home planet. Therefore, what some characterize as “fleeing the scene” and “on the lam” is, in reality, Mr. Groppel caring for his health. And finally, Mr. Groppel is about to describe is a childhood memory ONLY, and not relevant to recent events, or ongoing criminal or civil litigation.”
Now with that done, here is Clayton’s story of “Santa Keith.” Enjoy!
I remember the one holiday that changed my life. I was ten years old and living with my family in the town of Plagstuf on Planet ALGA-4. Our planet rides the outer ridge of the system, so our years are longer, much longer than standard years. But my species, Tallites, age slowly anyway, so what’s the rush?
The town of Plagstuf was like any other; we had the center square and shops and cafes, the rows of homes, and parks where families could play.
I am from the Groppel family. Yes. That Groppel family, known the galaxy over as the ‘Luxury Floss Barrons’. Who can forget the ads? “Groppel Luxury Floss cleans your teeth and soothes your soul,” or “when flossing with Groppel Luxury Floss, you are not just flossing, you are living.” My ten-year-old mind gave little thought to wealth. After all, Santa Keith was coming!
We decorated our large house with wreaths and candles, stirred our Sanka with peppermint sticks, and sang holiday commercials. There was so much to be shopping for that year. Our family and our house had grown. Our larger house wasn’t simply a point of bragging, but also a necessity.
Tallites believe in communal living. What we called our ‘house’ was closer to a series of connected units. In my unit was me, my little sister, Quinka, and my mom and dad. Our kitchen connected to the kitchen for Grandpa Rex and Grandpa Curl, and their kitchen connected to Aunt Libbie and her new husband, Uncle Floyd, and so on. Aunt Libbie and Uncle Floyd got married on his home planet of Earth and he had not been living on ALGA-4 for a full year yet.
Uncle Floyd was new to the family. He worked for the family business in the accounting department. I liked Uncle Floyd, although he was funny looking. His skin was pinkish and smooth instead of green and scaly. And his ears poked out the sides of head, instead of our flat hearing membranes. He was short by male Tallites standards. But he was almost as tall as Aunt Libbie, so that worked out.
I liked Uncle Floyd because he taught me magic tricks, especially card tricks like bottom dealing and card counting. The rest of the family seemed to like him, I guess, but both my grandpas called him a “smooth talker” and gave him the side eye. My widowed aunt, Aunt Pleyte, really liked Uncle Floyd. They were always sneaking off. I guessed to practice card tricks.
That year my little 10-year-old heart ached for my one genuine desire: The Ultra Mega Box-O-Magic. It had over 300 magic tricks to amaze your friends and family. I just knew I would get one for being good, or at least as good as mandated. I couldn’t wait to dig in and start practicing.
The day before Santa Keith’s visit, Uncle Floyd took me aside to teach me the push-off second deal from a deck of cards. We sat on a large bay window looking over our gardens and the dark forest beyond. It was just after dinner and the sun was setting. I noticed Uncle Floyd kept chewing his nails and little spots of blood on the tips of his fingers. We Tallites don’t chew our nails, mostly because we don’t have them. That is also why we don’t use coins.
While he watched me practice, we talked. Uncle Floyd asked me about Santa Keith. “Hey kiddo, so I haven’t been here a whole year yet, and I need to get up to speed on Santa Keith.”
“What do you mean? Crap,” the cards fell from my long spindly fingers. It’s much easier to deal cards when you have smaller hands, like humans. Or maybe larger playing cards.
Uncle Floyd chewed a nail. “What happens? We don’t have Santa Keith on Earth.”
“Well. Santa Keith comes. And everyone gets presents, almost everyone.”
There was a silence, then Uncle Floyd asked, “Almost?”
“Everybody but one. ”
“Why?”
I sighed and said, “Santa Keith watches all of us to see if we are good or bad.”
“Okay. We have someone like that, too,” he said.
“And Santa Keith watches everything, like, everything you do. “ I stopped and said in a quiet low voice for effect, “Everything.”
“Got it. All the good boys and girls get presents and the bad ones get coal?”
“Not like that. Santa Keith visits our family and gives a report.”
Floyd shook his hand after biting into the quick of a nail bed. “A report?”
I shuffled the cards and tried a fancy flourish, which failed miserably and sent cards flying. Uncle Floyd helped me pick them up. His hands were trembling.
While we picked up cards, I explained. “Yeah. Since he sees everything, he decides which private act someone did, when they thought nobody was watching, was the worst. He then tells the whole family what the bad person did.”
“Yeah? And then what?”
“Everyone else gets presents, and that’s it.”
Uncle Floyd let out a sigh and whispered to himself, “that’s it.”
“That’s it.” I reassured. “Well, also the bad person gets banished to the forest of networking happy hours.”
Uncle Floyd stared at the dark forest beyond our property. It was now evening, and packs of feral shadows with glowing eyes darted from tree to tree. The tortured creatures were different shapes and sizes, but all wore name tags on lanyards and carried wine glasses. Uncle Floyd shivered.
Finally, the day for Santa Keith arrived. Like all eager children, I awoke early and raced downstairs. Mom was already up and made a gigantic pile of flapjacks for me and sis. Dad was sleeping in, and I heard my grandpas stirring in their kitchen with the scent of bacon and Sanka.
Mom asked us, “What do you want from Santa Keith? Hmmm? Clayton? Quinka?”
Of course, Quinka had to be a brat about it. “I know what Clayton wants. He wants science fiction to read.”
“Do not!” I said and threw a pat of butter at her face.
She kept it up. “Clayton reads science fiction! Clayton reads science fiction! Science fiction reader!” Quinka sang.
“Am not! Mom! Make her stop!”
Quinka had gone too far, and to my satisfaction, Mom turned on her. “Quinka! Stop insulting your brother. Science fiction readers! Goodness. We don’t talk about ‘those people’, especially at the table.”
“Sorry momma,” Quinka said and stuck her long forked tongue out at me.
Later that morning, the whole family gathered outside in the gardens. The day was chilly, but the sun was bright and warming. I played tag with Quinka and my cousins. The adults sat around visiting. They hugged and smiled at each other as they talked. They weren’t running or playing tag, but little beads of sweat appeared on their foreheads anyway.
After about an hour, with the morning sun rising higher in the sky, we heard the roar of a large vehicle. “Santa Keith! Santa Keith!” we chanted in excitement. Then, in a storm of glory, an enormous black El Camino lept up our main driveway. It was massive and glorious, with PA speakers bolted to the cab and bags and bags of presents in the bed. Reindeer antlers, mounted to the large grill, proved the driver could be none other than our beloved Santa Keith.
The steel beast skidded into the garden and began doing donuts to all the children’s glee. Parents had to hold the little ones back from running towards the spinning and honking vehicle. The adults smiled with their mouths, but their eyes widened. Some adults rocked back and forth. Uncle Floyd was gnawing his fingernails and my Aunt Pleyte was rubbing her arms, although she wore a heavy coat.
The El Camino skidded to a stop just in front of us, and out popped Santa Keith himself. He stood tall and proud with an enormous belly, white beard, black crushed velvet suit, thin red leather tie, and dark sunglasses.
“Hello Groppel Family!” he shouted.
“Hi Santa Keith!” us kids yelled back and jumped up and down and swung our arms.
Santa Keith pulled a wireless microphone out of his velvet suit pocket and his voice boomed through the truck’s PA system. “Are you ready for presents?”
We shouted back “yes!”
Santa Keith put his black gloved hand behind his ear membrane and said, “I can’t hear you.”
There was an explosion of glee as us kids went nuts.
“Then let’s get going!” Santa Keith pulled out some papers and read some boring adult stuff. He then called out, “this year, everybody has been sooooo good!” I started wringing my hands, Ultra Mega Box-O-Magic spinning in my mind. Then Santa Keith chuckled, but it was a darker, more serious type of chuckle. “Well, almost everybody.”
I looked at the adults to see if they were laughing also, but their faces froze. In all fairness, he does the “almost everybody” bit every year, so it had gotten stale. Santa Keith pulled up his sunglasses and put the papers up close to his face. He read for a minute and mumbled “oh dear” and “that’s not good at all.” Then he returned to his microphone. “Well, we have a big winner this year. And by winner, I mean -” He paused and looked at the adults “-embezzling from the family business.”
Several adults looked down at their shoes. Santa Keith pointed his spindly index finger back and forth over the adults. “But one of you naughty embezzlers stands out. And…. that… one… is….”
He paused again and then whispered in a low voice, “can feel the tension, can’t we?”
The adults squirmed.
“And…. that… one… is….” His finger held in place. “Floyd for stealing over thirty million credits!” The adults let out loud gasps of shock and/or sighs of relief. Santa Keith boomed laughter and asked, “Who’s ready for presents?” Children and adults rushed the El Camino. When it was my turn, Santa Keith pulled out an Ultra Deluxe Magic Kit shaped wrapped box! I held it up and turned back to show Uncle Floyd, but he was gone.
I later asked my parents what ‘embezzle’ meant, and they said “stealing from the family business.” I knew that was wrong, but somewhere deep inside, that word rang out. “Embezzle.” It was like plucking one note on a guitar and the adjacent string vibrates.
The Ultra Deluxe Magic Kit was well-used, but I kept going back to the card tricks Uncle Floyd taught me. I’d practiced bottom dealing while muttering “embezzle” over and over. That magical word became my metronome…my guiding star.
That’s my story. Happy Santa Keith day, or whatever holiday you celebrate with your loved ones!