The Nightmare Before Christmas

A/N: Hello! Here I am with a celebratory Christmas fic with Matthew and Mary and their three darling children! Be warned - you might not ever look at Christmas the same way again ;) To all who celebrate, (belated) Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Christmas Eve, 1929

Christmas lights twinkled in the rooms of Downton Abbey, as festive cheer floated in the air. In the library, Matthew Crawley was seated in an armchair, his three darling children clustered about him for their annual ritual of reading The Night Before Christmas. George sat on one arm of the chair, leaning over his father, Catherine had enthroned herself upon his lap, and little William lay nestled against his chest. Mary was seated on the sofa close by, her heart melting as she watched them, her gaze soft and tender.

Matthew smiled down at his three little angels (although given their occasional tantrums, angels might be a bit of a stretch, he thought fondly). He did adore reading to them – and this night was no exception. He was looking forward to reading them a beloved poem that had been such a beloved part of his own childhood Christmases.

He certainly hadn't anticipated a peaceful bedtime story to turn into an inquisition that could rival one at Scotland Yard.

"Is everyone ready?" he asked. The three of them nodded eagerly, Will beginning to wriggle in his lap. Matthew calmed him by rubbing his back gently. He cleared his throat, and began.

"'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…"

At first, all was peaceful. The children seemed to be listening with rapt attention. But as Matthew continued, George suddenly furrowed his brow. He tugged on Matthew's sleeve and asked in his high, earnest voice, "Daddy, wait —why does Santa come down the chimney?"

Matthew paused, looking up. "Well, because… that's how he delivers the presents. It's part of the story, Georgie."

"But he doesn't ask first," George interjected thoughtfully, sitting up straighter. "He just comes in. That's what burglars do, isn't it?"

The room fell into stunned silence for a moment, and then Mary nearly choked. She pressed a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking.

"George!" Mary said, trying to keep a straight face. "Santa is not a burglar. He's... a gift-giver to little children."

George looked sceptical. "But Mummy… burglars take things, and Santa leaves things. That's still – um…" He frowned as he searched for the right phrase. "Breaking and entering," he said, beaming. "And—" he pointed at the book dramatically, "—he comes into people's houses without permission. If someone did that at Downton, Carson would call the police."

Matthew's eyes met Mary's. Both of them were doing their best to keep a straight face. It seemed to be getting more difficult by the second.

Kit crossed her arms and scowled. "He's definitely a criminal. Sneaking into houses in the middle of the night? That's against the law, isn't it, Mummy?"

Mary gave a helpless laugh. "Kit, darling, it's just a story."

"But it's a crime," Kit replied, frowning. "And it gets worse. He spies on little children!" She sniffed disapprovingly, her voice very prim. "That's disgusting. You'd think he'd have better things to do."

Matthew had his face hidden in his hands. He couldn't remember the last time he'd found something so funny. Meanwhile, his children's animated discussion was still in full flow.

"That makes sense," Will piped up. "Wait a minute—" His blue eyes grew wide as he thought it through. "That's why he always knows if we've been naughty or nice! He's got spies everywhere."

"Spies?" Matthew echoed faintly, his voice quivering with suppressed laughter.

"Yes!" George said, nodding eagerly. "It must be the elves. He must have thousands of them—watching us all year and then reporting back to Santa – he's their boss and he pays them! It's the only way he knows everything."

"So you're saying," Mary said, her voice trembling slightly, "that Santa runs some sort of… espionage network up in the North Pole?"

Before George could answer, Will perked up and added, "Maybe he's unemployed. That's why he turned to burglary."

That did it. Both Mary and Matthew were now completely undone in fits of laughter. Mary was nearly sobbing into her handkerchief, and Matthew's handsome face was creased. He tried valiantly to refute the case being built, but his voice cracked. "Will, he is not unemployed! Santa is good and kind and hardworking."

This, as it turned out, was quite the wrong thing to say.

"Hardworking?" George repeated. "But Daddy… Santa isn't hardworking!"

"My little chap, why on earth not?"

"Because he only works one night a year," George said very earnestly, his little brow scrunched in deep thought. "I think he's the laziest man in the world. He only works one night and spends the rest of the year at the North Pole."

"Oh, my God," Mary whispered. She thought she might faint from laughter. Her muffled giggles came in little bursts, and her shoulders shook uncontrollably. "George, you can't say things like that about Father Christmas."

"Why not?" George asked, his tone all sincerity. "It's not a lie, is it?" His mother didn't seem to have an answer for him.

Matthew, meanwhile, was struggling to form a defence, but his efforts were rather undermined by the gulp and giggles that were choking him.

"But, but," Will said, his small face scrunched up in earnest confusion. "What does Santa do all year, then?" At four, he was only just beginning to understand these things, and to him, it was beginning to seem that an old man who only worked one night a year was not to be depended upon.

"He probably just eats and sleeps," George said decisively, proud of himself for coming up with this explanation. "That's why he's so fat."

Matthew, his body trembling uncontrollably, clapped a hand over his face, letting out an incoherent gasping noise. "You three," he said, looking at his three children, "are menaces. Absolute menaces."

"But we're thinking and asking questions, Papa," Kit said gravely. "That's what you told us to do. I think the whole business is very dodgy."

George's face was alight with the logic of it all. "It all makes sense, Papa. That's why he lives at the North Pole—so the police can't get him."

Matthew was valiantly trying to hold onto his composure, but failing miserably to bring things back on track. The book had slipped right out of his hands, falling onto the rug with a thud as his head dropped back against the chair. He was laughing so hard he couldn't speak. The Night Before Christmas lay abandoned on his lap, its pages fluttering uselessly as his children carried on their merciless inquisition. He looked over at Mary, nearly in tears. "Darling, this is all your fault. You asked me to read to them."

"I didn't expect an investigation into Father Christmas' morals and work ethic!" Mary said, her voice slightly incoherent.

"Well, he has to pay his spies somehow," George went on. "And how else does he get all those toys without any money? It's very suspicious."

"Maybe he even has a safe where he keeps all the presents!" Kit chimed in, looking delighted with herself for this new thought that had just occurred to her. "And filing cabinets, where he keeps track of everyone who's been good or bad!"

This was the final straw. Matthew collapsed against his chair, wheezing into his hands as tears streamed down his face. "Kit—oh, darling, please!" he managed, shaking his head, utterly helpless. "I don't think I can take any more!"

Mary, whose usual poise had evaporated entirely, let out an uncharacteristic snort as she buried her face in a cushion, wracked with giggles. "I can't—I can't," she gasped, unable to look at her darling husband without dissolving all over again. She waved a limp hand at her children. "Go upstairs. Before you finish your father off!"

Matthew let out a final laugh, shaking his head as he ruffled George's hair. "All right, my little critics. Bedtime before you turn Christmas into a court case."

"I hope the three of you are pleased with yourselves," Mary said in a mock-stern voice, though it still trembled slightly and tears of amusement glistened in her eyes. "You've managed to ruin Christmas forever."

"Sorry, Mummy," George grinned, winking at her.

They all kissed her and Matthew and trooped up to bed, with a great deal of more giggling.

As Mary finally leaned back with an exhausted sigh, still laughing, she murmured, "Well, at least we know they have sharp minds."

"And to think," Matthew said, coming over to sit by her, "that it all started with a bedtime story. I don't think Saint Nick will ever quite recover from this. I know I won't." Which set his wife off again.

And so, Downton's drawing room echoed with laughter long after the bedtime story was abandoned—Father Christmas's reputation in tatters, but Matthew and Mary knew their children had ensured they'd never look at Christmas in quite the same way again.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed the Crawley children's creative spin on Christmas :D Once again, wish you a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!