by Darren Horton

Created on: November 19, 2010   Last Updated: January 13, 2011

On the night before Christmas there was a knock at the door so I spied through the peep-hole to scrutinize the caller.  It was an old man in red pyjamas with a beard and a fat belly.  He had a very rosy complexion and seemed overly jolly, like he was drunk or drugged, and in his hand was a mince pie which he proceeded to consume whilst rat-a-tat-tatting incessantly on my door.

He looked like a clown.  Was there a circus in town?  I couldn’t remember seeing one.  I’m not a big fan of the performing arts and didn’t really want to speak to a professional fool, if that’s what he was, but he was a persistent old sod and wouldn’t cease with the tapping, so I reluctantly opened the door. 

I asked him what he wanted and he said he couldn’t get into the house.  I asked him why he wanted to get in, but he just smiled and pointed to a big red sack dumped beside him on the doorstep. 

“Are you an incredibly stupid burglar,” I said, half-jesting, “or are you a friend of my wife’s.  She’s in bed and so are the kids.  So if you don’t mind….”

He laughed and pointed to his beard and his rotund belly and said “ho ho ho”.  I shrugged politely and said I didn’t know what that meant.  He pointed to the sack again and I assumed he must be selling something or collecting for charity so I asked to see his credentials.  There’s a lot of charity scams out there.  You can’t be too careful these days.

The old man pulled on a red hat with a white, fur bobble and tinkled a bell hanging from it with his index finger.  I said I couldn’t possible accept that as a form of ID and wouldn’t be donating today, thank you very much.  I requested he vacated the premises and leave my property immediately.

He asked if he could at least have a mince-pie.  I said no.  I wondered if he was a bum, down on his luck, trying to milk the teat of human generosity at Christmas for all it was worth, but that didn’t make sense.  He looked pretty flush to me; his pyjamas were of a fine material, expensive looking, with white, fur-trim and gold-plated buttons, and in the middle of his considerable girth was a thick leather belt with the biggest, blingiest golden buckle I’d ever seen.

I told him to clear off; sling his hook; get lost.   He asked if the house had a chimney; said

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