Boxing Day in July: The Miraculous Kingdom of Silver and Gold, by Kelly Jarvis

I had no fear.

When I pulled my mother’s candle from the space between my breasts, I had no fear its light would reveal a troll. I knew it was a man’s body that embraced me while I lay half asleep in the dark, dreaming of soft white fur. I thought my kiss would break the enchantment and transform him back into the bear that I loved. Instead, the hot wax burned his fragile skin, and he angrily cast me away because I had defied his command.

I had no fear when I set out on the long journey to find him in the land between the setting sun and rising moon. I knew I was the one who should have him, though he was betrothed to another. I had grown up in rags, but my childhood had been rich in stories, and I believed that faith and love would light my way. I clung to the North Wind as he whisked me over the frigid landscape. Snowstorms swirled in our wake, burying towns in torrents of ice and upheaving ships at sea.

I had no fear when the hideous trolls brought me his shirt and forced me to launder it in exchange for his freedom. I plunged the soiled cloth into the soapy water and pulled it from the basin, clean and white like the Christ Child’s swaddling clothes.

He forgave my curiosity, and I vowed to love him in his human form. We returned to the mortal realm, together and unafraid.

***

Our marriage was blessed with children, each one lovelier than the loveliest thing either of us could imagine. They all had hair as white as fresh fallen snow, and when I carried my candle into their nurseries to see them sleeping, it looked as if their heads were crowned with tufts of soft white fur.

Half wild, they frolicked through the frozen forest, their white heads tumbling against each other like snowflakes swirling toward land. Their godfather, the North Wind, kissed their cheeks rosy with his icy breath, but they never felt the cold.

Every year in December, when the earth paused in solstice silence, we gave the children silver bells to fill our holiday home with the jingling sounds of joy. There were presents wrapped in sterling paper, golden apples gleaming on the hearth, and thick storybooks with gilded edges waiting to be read. Tiny golden suns and silver moons dangled from our Christmas tree, and, when we lit the tapers woven into the evergreen branches, their dancing glow rivaled the beauty of the stars.

***

Our house is quiet now, even in December. The tapers on our tree have been replaced by electric strands of lights which leave no trace of tallow to mark where they have been.

Our children, who grew as big as bears, have left us. My kisses could not transform them back into the babies that I loved.

I gave them each a candle to take with them on their quests.

They have no fear.

On Christmas Eve, my husband lies next to me in the dark. I snuggle against his furry white beard. In my dreams, we are young again, and he carries me on his back through mountains covered in white-haired snow. Faith and love flicker fearlessly around us, pushing away the endless night.

We awaken on Christmas morning, together and unafraid, at home in the miraculous kingdom of silver and gold that lies east of the sun and west of the moon.

***

Kelly Jarvis teaches classes in literature, writing, and fairy tale at Central Connecticut State University, The University of Connecticut, and Tunxis Community College. She lives, happily ever after, with her husband and three sons in a house filled with fairy tale books.

***

Image by Theodore Kittelsen.

Boxing Day in July: A Solstice Slumber, By Ellie A. Goss

Her heart thundered against its captive cage, refusing to still even though the feet that propelled her, had come to a halt. Frantically, she whipped her head about, then she saw it. The path lay ahead, where the moon cast light over a small group of deer that had wandered across the entry.

Before she had a chance to move towards her escape, the deer sensing the creature pursuing her, darted away.

Her chest tightened and she ran, she stumbled, she fell.

Then roughened hands clasped her by the waist, dragging her back through the night-cooled blades of grass, the earthen smells filling her nostrils as she disturbed the soil from its place. Back to his lair, back to her sisters. She could not fight it anymore.

***

Long before the memory of man and when the cosmos was being designed, five sisters were given the task of guardianship over abundance and light. During their time they watched fairies play and make mischief, they whispered to the nixie and water sprites and danced jigs on the sweet and humid Summer nights with pixies and gnomes. Together they worked to ensure living things continued to flourish and the seeds of beginnings were spread to all the lands and inland waters. But eventually, vanity began to emerge among the sisters, as all praised their works, and so five brothers, the faun, were sent to give balance back to the earth. Together they sent rest to the land, its plants, and even some of the creatures that would sleep the season through. The day-to-day growth inspired and cultivated by the sisters would be put to rest, allowing Winter to come.

***

The years had not been kind to the brothers five, as now there remained only one. He continued the task set for them, ensuring the sisters were placed safely in their winter home by eve’s end of the Winter Solstice.

Holly was always the most difficult charge, the faun had noted. Mischief and mayhem now ran deep within her, and, when earlier that week he was about to close the clasp on the lock to her door, she had sent a pollen cloud directly into his eyes. Momentarily blinded, the faun had failed to lock Holly in, and she had fled.

For days he had chased her through valleys of frost and fog, within the branches of treetops and deep within the winding burrows and caves of the earth, now again firmly in his grip. Dragging her by the ankle allowed him to wrestle with his belt, which neatly tucked into a fold contained a magic sack. Drawing it free, he flung it over the sister, maneuvering her lithe form inside.

There was no time to lose, whispers had spread about the late Winter, the delay of snow and blooms flourishing when they should be spent.

He knew what would be, should he fail, the cost too dear.

His feet fell heavily on the ground as his eyes sought the heavens, they connected with the constellation he sought and with a flash of light, they were transported.

Arriving, he deftly threw the sack and its contents into a delicately ornate golden cage. Within moments of her struggle to be free and Holly laid her head down to sleep.

Snow began to fall, covering the hills and valleys, and enchanting and ethereal silence spread in places of nature where the fires burnt, and that songs sang in celebration of Winter’s Solstice didn’t reach.

***

Bio: Ellie A. lived and works nestled between the Tarkine Forest and the Cradle Mountain National Park, also the inspiration for her first children's book, The Bunyips Bath (2016). She has gone on to publish further children's books as well her work can be found in ezines, magazines and anthologies across genres.

Boxing Day in July: A Christmas Wish, By Maxine Churchman

At New Year, Ben’s mum gave me an old cardboard box. It was lightweight and smelled dusty.

“These are a few Christmas decorations from when Ben was a boy. Perhaps you would like them. They were quite special to him once.”

I put the box away unopened and forgot about it, but as Christmas approached, I decided it might be a nice surprise for Ben; and Charlie might like to see the decorations his dad had as a boy. I opened the box, not knowing what to expect. Nestled in tissue paper, were several beautiful glass baubles and an exquisite fairy that was the ideal size for our tree.

When Ben arrived home that evening, he let out a whistle when he saw the tree. I think his eyes were a little moist but I pretended not to notice.

“That angel takes me back,” he said, looking at the fairy at the top of the tree. "She still looks fabulous, although a little discolored now.”

“She’s a fairy,” I said.

“Fairy, angel. Does it matter? When I was a boy, I used to make a wish on her on Christmas Eve.”

“Did any of your wishes come true?”

“Some.” There was a catch in his voice and he turned away.

On Christmas Eve, Charlie took carrots to bed to feed the reindeer. Ben and I snuggled on the sofa watching the logs crackle and glow in the grate. As midnight approached, I suggested we make a wish on the fairy.

“We’re a bit old for that now, don’t you think?” he said.

“Ah come on. Life’s too short and precious to be sensible all the time.” I was thinking of Charlie and I’m sure he knew it.

He kissed me and grinned like a schoolboy. “There are rules,” he told me earnestly.

“OK.” I stared at him intently to show I was paying attention.

“You must only tell the angel your wish. If you breathe a word of it to anyone else, the wish won’t come true.”

“Fair enough. No pun intended.”

He frowned, unimpressed. “You can only make one wish, and I know through experience, she doesn’t like wishes for material gain.”

I wondered what wishes he had been denied. “OK. Anything else?”

“No, but if your wish is granted. Be sure to thank her. Are you ready? We must make our wishes at midnight.”

We sat in silence watching the second hand tick count off the seconds. I already knew what I would wish for and a quick glance at Ben told me he had his wish ready too. As the clock struck the hour, we closed our eyes and made our wishes.

In the morning, pale sunlight was just peeking through a gap in our curtains when a noise from Charlie’s bedroom woke me. Ben stirred sleepily and I touched his shoulder. “I think Charlie is awake. Let’s fetch him to open his presents.” I couldn’t wait to see his face.

Charlie was sitting up in bed, eyes sparkling, grinning from ear to ear. “Mum Dad, I can feel my legs and look—I can wiggle my toes.”

A car accident three years ago, had robbed Charlie of all sensations in his legs; doctors warned us he may never walk again. I brushed tears from my face.

Ben swung Charlie into a bear hug. “That’s fantastic, Champ. What a great Christmas gift. Let’s celebrate by opening your presents.”

“I just have to see the fairy,” I said, heading for the stairs.

“Me too,” he replied with a grin.

***

Maxine Churchman is a mother and grandmother from Essex UK. Her hobbies include reading, hiking, yoga and, more recently, writing. So far she has concentrated on short stories, but hopes to make progress on a novel in 2020. She has had work published by CafeLit, Black Hare Press, Stormy Island Publishing and Clarendon House Publishing.