Kim Curran: Summoning Santa

As part of our 12 Days of Christmas, we’re bringing you some of your favourite authors talking about what Christmas is to them…in whatever form they like! We’re also bringing you their books at only £1!

Today is the turn of Kim Curran, author of ShiftControl, and the forthcoming Delete.

Here’s how to take advantage of our seasonal special offer:

1. Visit the Robot Trading Company at www.robottradingcompany.com

2. Add the book(s) you’d like to buy to your shopping basket

3. Add the magic word ‘tinsel’ to the ‘coupon/voucher’ box

4. Click the ‘update basket’ button and the discount will be applied

Happy reading!

Summoning Santa

Letting the dyslexic write the words on the summoning paper had been the first mistake. The same five letters jumbled up and instead of the Lord of Darkness, Father of Lies, Angel of The Bottomless Pit, standing in the ritual circle chalked on the floor, there was a surprised looking fat man in a red suit.

“Ho, ho, huh?” the man said.

He looked around at the four girls who in turn were staring at him, their black-painted lips hanging open. The last thing he could remember he was about to give the elves their annual pep speech to boy them up for the final push. It had been quite a good speech. He’d been very proud of it, even if he had cribbed much of it from one of Coach Taylor’s speech from Friday Night Lights. But the elves weren’t to know that. Then, there had been a flash of white light, and he was standing in what, as much as he could tell in the flickering glow from five black candles, was a teenage girl’s bedroom. He could just about make out a poster of a familiar boy band pinned to the far wall.

“What. The. Fuck?” said Emily, who was going by the name of Raven Darkmane this evening.

“Who’s this guy?” asked Pippa, who had chosen the name of Aurora Stardust for herself but only because Sharon had called dibs on Lilith.

“Well hello there, little girl,” the fat man said, bending down to smile at Aurora.

The girl recoiled as the large white beard loomed at her, and let out a small squeal.

“Mel, what have you done?” Raven asked, refusing to call the forth of the witches ‘Medusa’ because right now, she didn’t deserve it.

“Me? It was your idea.” Mel, aka, Medusa snapped back.

“If you’d let me write it–“ Lilith sneered. But was cut off as Medusa threw the book of summoning at her head.

The four girls erupted in bickering, calling each other even worse names than the ones they’d chosen for themselves.

“Come now!” the fat man said, dodging the bunch of foul-spelling herbs Lilith threw at Medusa. “Come now, you don’t want to go on my naughty list, now do you?”

The girls stopped in their arguing to stare at the intruder.

“You dirty old perv,” Raven said, scowling at the man. The three other girls made disgusted noises of agreement.

“No, no. There seems to have been some terrible misunderstanding,” the old man said, trying to maintain his famously jolly persona while getting increasingly annoyed at these young women. “I’m St Nicholas.” He grabbed hold of his belt and stuck his large belly out, striking the pose they must surely know, if not from stories than at least from adverts.

The four girls looked blank.

“Kris Kringle? Papa Noel?” Still nothing. “Are you telling me you’ve never heard of Santa Claus?” he said. “Youth these days.”

“Santa?” Medusa said, realisation dawning. “Oh.”

“Oh my god, we’ve summoned Father Christmas!” Aurora said, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Look I was one letter out.” Mel said.

“Well, it’s too late now,” Lilith flicked back her long plait. “What are we going to do about him? He can’t be here when mum comes home or she will go mental.”

“Hang on a second,” Raven said, silencing the grumbling girls. She turned to face the man in the circle. “You’re Father Christmas, right?”

“Why, yes, I am. And would you like to come and sit on my knee and tell me what you’d like for Christmas?” Santa said, slipping into his usual spiel.

The girls all let out a high-pitched ‘Eewwww!’

Santa was getting confused. He wasn’t used to a reception like this.

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