Bah Humbug Got the Juices Going
The Story I promised
Christmas — bah humbug! That was the first thought that came to mind last week after I told you if I wrote a Christmas story I would share it with you. Well, just mentioning it, and having that cryptic thought, got the juices going, and I immediately sat down and got to it! It is short, a little over twelve hundred words. I do not mention where the story takes place so that you can put it in your own location context, whether you live in Arizona, Montana, West Virginia, New England, Canada, Mexico, the UK, or elsewhere.
Whether you love Christmas or find it a “Bah humbug!” I think you will enjoy this story inspired by Dicken’s “A Christmas Carol.” Oh, and have you written a short Christmas story yet? Come on! Get with it! When you do write your short Christmas story, share it with me. And share your response to my story as well. Merry Christmas!
“Christmas? Bah humbug!” That was Scrooge’s attitude, and that was mine as well. Long ago I grew tired of the commercialization and hoopla of Christmas. People expecting presents. Crowded stores. Noisy family get-togethers and certain obnoxious relatives. Christmas music everywhere—same songs over and over. Christmas stuff going on at church. Those confound bell ringers! “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” Bah humbug! Where can I go to get away from it all? That question was heavy on my mind.
I growled when the first Christmas card of the season arrived. On the front was a quaint night scene of a little cabin with a snow covered pine tree beside it and a star shining brightly from above. And of course, “Merry Christmas” was emblazoned across the bottom of the card. I did not even look to see who it was from. I headed for the trash can, still snarling. As I tossed the card in the trash my growl turned into a, “Hmm.” I headed for my computer.
“Cabins in the woods; Cabins in the woods,” I muttered as I searched. “Yes, here is one that looks like the cabin on the card—an escape from Christmas!” I reached for my cell phone hoping the cabin was not already rented for the season.
I packed my bags and headed north, glad I lived alone and did not have to deal with some woman’s paranoia about being “home for the holidays.” A grim smile sliced my face. I was leaving the humbug of Christmas behind. I would not return until after the stupidity of New Years when I would empty and toss most everything in my mailbox. Although I did not receive a lot of cards, the few were too many.
Turning from the highway onto a dirt road I felt a deep stir of excitement, a whole month hidden away from everyone and everything—hidden away from Christmas! After a mile I came to the sign I was looking for: Woodhaven Get-away. The narrow drive twisted through the woods until there before me stood my escape. At the sight of it I breathed a sigh of relief.
A roaring fire, a stack of good books, hot coffee and no Christmas. I glanced at the television, but it would remain off. Christmas was not going to blare at me through that stupid machine. I even shut off my cell. Total isolation. Perfect.