Author's Note:

As this is a new, original story, there will be some lagging between chapter postings. I have just begun creating this short story but will need to continue fighting real life, computer time, and editing prior to posting. While this Christmas is past I hope to have this finished long before the next one comes.

The Christmas
Scavenger

The Interview

She sat still as a cat perched on a windowsill eyeballing a bird just beyond the pane. Instead of being perched on a sill too small for her frame, however, she sat stationary in the candy cane backed chair with her legs together, pulled back beneath the seat and crossed at the ankles. It was a basic chair whose only claim to fame would be its holiday faux leather back and cotton candy soft cushion that seemed to sink, if ever so slightly, beneath her body's weight.

The room she found herself in sported other holiday classic themes as well. Gum drop wallpaper surrounded her on three sides while the dark mint green paint accented the wall behind the desk she now sat before. It was made of old pine, the desk not the wall, and she could faintly smell the forest from which it was birthed. Either it was the desk she smelled or they had hidden some air freshener that called to mind a forest of tall, proud pines. The feet of the desk were exquisitely carved and resembled hooves. She found herself thinking deer, possibly elk, but presumed the thought had meant to equal reindeer. To her left, near the corner's edge of the desk, sat a bright red poinsettia bouquet. Together with the aroma of pine she truly felt as if she were in a Santa Shop waiting for the big man himself.

Only it wasn't the big man that sat behind the desk, carefully shuffling and rearranging the papers from a manila folder. This man was squat and elderly, with a salt and pepper wreath donning his crown. He did have glasses; small wire frames that made her think of the big man himself, but there was no beard and no mustache. His face was as free of hair as hers. The chair he sat in seemed three sizes too large for him as its back went well above his stature. It was also made of pine and, from the parts she could discern beyond the tip of his head, ornately carved.

To her right sat a twin to the other poinsettia on the opposing corner of the desk. There was no computer taking up space on this desk; it sat to the man's right behind him on the credenza. It wasn't a high tech computer and the tower was hidden from sight, but its background played a variety of wintry themes as twelve numbers danced merrily about the screen. It made her giggle inwardly to watch the numbers twirl, jump and spin across the displayed images.

Her gaze had just begun to soak up the other nick-knacks on the credenza and desk when the gentleman cleared his throat, shifted the papers he held in both hands, and smiled at her. "Excited?" His voice was grandfatherly and it helped to relax her.

She hoped that her returning smile was as genuine and friendly, but truth be told she was nervous and afraid. "Yes," she replied. Her voice betrayed her words as she heard the vibrato. She clasped her hands together before rubbing her palms against her pant legs. Did he know, she wondered. Could he tell that she was anxious?

His smile continued though he confirmed her suspicions. "There really is nothing for you to worry about," he assured her. "Would you like some cocoa?" He offered. When she made no move or indication, he added, "It usually does me good having a cup of cocoa with whipped cream. Very soothing. Can I interest you in some?" He queried, moving his chair so that he could turn back to the dispenser on the credenza.

"Oh no," the girl stammered. "I couldn't… really."

After setting two cups out he pressed a button which turned the quaint machine on. It only made a small, faint noise as its gears began to turn and come alive. He left the cups on the tray before it and returned to face her fully. "Such a shame," he said, "but I think I'll make two cups anyway." Winking, he added sheepishly, "just in case."

This made her smile and she found her voice long enough to utter her appreciation.

"While we wait for that, why don't you tell me something about yourself?" He asked as he looked briefly at the papers lying flat on the desk blotter before him.

Though she knew that he already knew all there was to tell about herself, she had known that speaking was expected on her part and so she raised a fisted hand to cough into it, clearing her throat before she began. "My name is Issy," she said once she laid her hands back in her lap. "Not to be confused with Izzy," she added quickly. "We spell it with the double 's' and not two 'z''s."

"Issy is it?" The old man questioned. His right eyebrow rose as he did and that charming smile broke across his visage once again. "Now that is a rather odd name. Isn't it?"

Blushing, Issy looked down and nodded. "My parents," she explained, "aren't exactly conventional."

"You have siblings? Brothers? A sister perhaps?" He asked his questions in a row as if he were used to other interviewees not understanding the first question. Issy had and smiled and nodded her reply. "What are their names, if I might ask?"

"Frenna is my older sister," Issy informed him. "We have two brothers, both younger. Torrance, whom we call Torry for short, and Angus, his twin."

The elderly man scratched his non-existent beard with his left hand thoughtfully. "So there is Frenna, then yourself, Torry and Angus, the twin boys?" He watched as Issy acknowledged the list with a quick nod. "How very unconventional indeed!" He exclaimed. "I'd very much like to meet such inspiring parents."

"Mom's passed now these past three years," Issy replied, a twinkle of memory spritzing her eyes. "But Dad's been great…" she added after shaking off the sullen moment. "He has to work two jobs so that we can make it by," she explained, "but if you need to meet him I'm sure one of his bosses…"

The man shook his head and waved his left hand before her. "Oh no," he said quickly, cutting her off, "that's ok. I'm sure he is quite busy. Are you here on your own then?" He followed up.

Issy nodded. "It's ok though," she told him, "I'm used to being on my own and getting about in the city. I've become quite versed with the streets and suburbs," she added proudly.

"That's good," he observed. "Skills like that are vital in this hunt. I take it then," he wondered, "that you can read a map without difficulty?"

Her smile grew big at the question. "Absolutely! I'm not like Torry," she assured him. "I'm not directionally challenged."

"Can you find the polar points with or without a compass?"

"Both," she answered quickly.

"Very handy," he smiled. "Now tell me," he continued after a short pause, "how are you at riddles?"

Blushing, Issy's smile faltered, but only slightly. "I'm alright with them," she answered. "My sister, Frenna, she's definitely better at them. But!" Issy added brightly, "She has been teaching me and says that I'm improving."

"You do understand, don't you," the old man queried, "that the clues you need are provided in riddles? If you hope to discern the clue you must first hope to unravel the riddle?"

Issy gulped and felt the sweat of nerves begin anew on her palms. Without a conscience thought of doing it, she rubbed them on her pant legs again. "Yes," she answered with less assurance. "I understand that."

"I want to test you," he said after studying her posture. "I want to give you a riddle and see if you can figure it out for me. Is that ok?"

Her palms seemed to not want to dry. With a slight nod, Issy accepted the challenge. OK," she said.

The interviewer sat back in the chair too big for him and considered his question for a while. Issy sat patiently knowing that to interrupt him was rude and could create a more difficult question than she was ready for. Instead, she watched as the cocoa machine began to slowly pour its hot, brown liquid into one of the cups. Before the question came, she was able to watch, much to her surprise, as the tray turned on its own once the first cup was full and positioned the second cup beneath the spout. As the contents began to fill the bone white cup, the riddle came forth from the man. "What is the difference between the Christmas alphabet and the ordinary alphabet?"

Issy had been so busy watching the cocoa machine that she almost missed hearing the riddle altogether. Quickly she jerked her head towards the podgy man just after he began to speak. She played the question over in her mind and allowed her head and eyes to wander from the man's watchful gaze. While a watched pot never boils, she knew that a watched student could fail to answer the question poised before them. During her ponderment of the riddle she would close her eyes, as if the answer were tattooed to the back of her eyelids.

As she considered her response the man turned back to the cocoa and brought both cups to the front of the desk. The dispenser had added the whipped cream for them and he now cradled his between his pudgy hands. He seemed in no rush for her to answer and blew on the steaming beverage before tasting its perfection.

Suddenly, Issy's face lit up and her smile widened. "The Christmas alphabet has no 'l' in it," she answered cheerfully.

A smile adorned the man's face. "That is one of my favorite ones," he confessed. "But I must caution you," he continued, "with the prize at the end of this hunt, the riddles won't all be that simple."

Issy worked hard to not show her uncertainty. "I know that I can do this," she said boldly.

"You understand, also," he said as he offered her the second cup of cocoa, "that the hunts are all being timed? You have twenty-four hours to solve each day's hunt."

"I understand," Issy responded with more certainty than she felt.

"And that each day there is one less of the item to be found then there are those in the playing field?"

Gulping, Issy nodded. "I understand. The ones that come in after the last item has been turned in are disqualified."

"That's correct," the man confirmed. "How far do you think you will go?"

Without hesitation, Issy answered him. "All the way, sir. All the way."

"Great answer!" He replied, raising his cocoa cup in cheer of her reply.

"If you don't mind," Issy asked after accepting the cocoa and taking a swallow, "I've heard that there might be teams this year. Can you…"

"Ah ah ah," the man interrupted. "Knowing the semantics before we begin… well…" he said, "that would be cheating. Now wouldn't it?"

Issy smiled and a light laugh escaped her. "Yes," she confessed, "I guess it would be."

Placing his cup aside the papers, the elderly man shuffled the loose leafs again and then returned them to the folder. "Well," he said in a happy, yet obvious dismissive manner, "I think we've reached the end of our interview."

Issy looked back questioningly.

"We'll be in touch," he replied as he saw her curious visage. "Keep checking your post box and a letter should arrive within a fortnight," he explained. With a wink, he chuckled, "Or sooner."

With that, Issy knew that she was being dismissed. Gingerly she placed her half consumed beverage on the desk, sure to place it on the blotter and not the wood. She rose from the candy cane chair and wiped her palms against the side of her pant legs. "Thank you," she said genuinely. "I appreciate this offer and am looking forward to receiving the letter of Glad Tidings."

The interviewer smiled broadly back at her assurance and Issy then turned and left the room with her feet heading her back home.