Different Santas
by Allie
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Ken felt like he hadn't slept an instant. He awoke fully aware of what day it was. He shoved off his covers and jumped up.
Christmas, Christmas!
It was a cold morning but he didn't bother changing out of his one-piece pajamas or putting anything on over top of it.
He pushed open the window and peeked out; snow on the ground. It was so early it was barely light. The world looked different that way, more special somehow.
He ran out of his bedroom and next door, pushed open his little sister's door and said, "It's Christmas!"
She sat up immediately, rubbing her eyes. Her pale hair stuck out at odd angles as she climbed out of bed.
They grinned at each other. They already knew Santa had come; they'd found the gifts in a closet last week, a whole pile of gifts, gifts, gifts—giant, small, lavishly wrapped, mysterious and bountiful. Santa had dropped them off early.
Ken and his sister had hardly been able to wait. For once, they knew they'd been good! They knew they'd get something for Christmas.
Of course, if had been bad to peek—but it was only a small bad thing. And what could Santa do, take back the presents? Anyway, he'd probably never know. They'd been very quiet.
Now, Ken and Janet hurried downstairs and ran for the tree.
They stopped.
The tree was beautiful, as it always was. Not lit yet, because Mother and Father always turned off the lights overnight. It still looked dark and pretty, sparkling, colorful—but it was almost completely free of presents underneath.
The two children exchanged horrified looks. Ken bent forward, and read off the names. "Ken—Janet—Ken—Janet." Four smallish red-and-green wrapped gifts. Two each.
What had happened to the bounty they'd found last week?
Janet looked at Ken, tears quivering in her eyes. "I told," she whispered, confessing. "I told Mama we saw the presents. I didn't think she'd tell Santa…."
Ken swallowed.
He heard feet on the stairs, and turned to see his parents coming down, yawning. "It's too early for presents, children," said Father, looking the way he always looked before he'd had coffee, disheveled and sleepy.
Ken stared at his parents. They'd told Santa? Why hadn't they stuck up for Ken and Janet, and told Santa that the children had been pretty good, even if they'd done one thing wrong?
Now, the kids had two smallish presents each instead. And at least one of Ken's presents had felt suspiciously like clothing.
He turned a mute, questioning look on his mother. Beside him, Janet was barely holding back the tears.
"No tears on Christmas," said Father, walking past them to the kitchen. "Santa doesn't like crybabies, anymore than he likes sneaks."
The children exchanged guilty looks, and then followed their parents out to the kitchen.
Hutch wondered how he'd ever be able to eat breakfast with this lump in his throat. He wished Christmas was over, and that he'd never have to feel this way again.
It was the Christmas they learned Santa was vengeful.
#
"Huuutch." Starsky leaned over their desk and held out a sprig of pine tree he'd picked up somewhere or other. The needles tickled Hutch's cheek.
Hutch glared at Starsky, and brushed the bough away. "What?" he snapped.
"Have you been good this year?" Starsky grinned. He wore his Santa hat, red felt with white trim and a white ball on the end. He'd certainly gotten a lot of mileage out of it so far, and there was still a week till Christmas.
Hutch frowned. "No," he snapped. "Never." He shoved a piece of paper into his typewriter and frowned at the blank white of it.
"Well, iI/i think you've been good. Hey. Hey Hutch." Starsky's pine sprig returned, poking at the top of Hutch's bent head.
Hutch swatted it away and focused on his typing. Some people had reports to fill out, even if certain other people insisted on acting like children.
"Wanna guess what 'Santa' got you, Hutch?"
"Starsky!" He slammed down a hand on the desk and glared at his partner.
Starsky's grin turned meek and apologetic—a surprising change for such a confident guy. "It's something nice, don't worry," he promised.
Hutch reflected on all the ways and all the means in which he'd been 'naughty' this year. He looked at Starsky's smile—infectious, even with Hutch feeling grumpy—and at last he smiled back. "I'm sure it is, Starsk."
Not all Santa Clauses were vengeful.
iThe childhood part of this story was inspired by a true story I read in an old "Good Old Days" magazine, where two children found their gifts in a closet, one of the children 'told,' and they didn't get those presents for Christmas. One difference is that they were a bit older and realized that Santa wasn't really real./i