tour-guide to where all of what had been built here was kept ready for use. This was the largest section of the complex. Here, he saw some very impressive-looking land vehicles for use in the snow outside. Also housed in this area were another sleigh and numerous spare parts. In fact, there were enough spare components to actually assemble many more of the craft that were present here. Screwge was wildly impressed by all of this and in awe of how such a large underground facility could exist here.
“Seen enough?” he was asked by the elf as he was wandering round taking it all in.
Satisfied that he had, he was taken through to a staircase that returned him to the main house, where he rejoined the festivities.
After what seemed like a very long time indeed, Screwge felt it was finally time to leave. Approaching an elf, he enquired as to how he might go about returning home. Interestingly, regardless of how long he was spending here, he never even began to feel bored. In fact, he wished his time there could go on and on, but he knew he had to go at some point. The elf conveyed his wishes to another, who then informed Screwge that he would be called when the sleigh used specially for returning people arrived back.
A short while later he was on it. The journey seemed to pass by quickly, and before he knew it he was back in his own living room. It was four minutes to eleven, more or less the same time at which he had left. Even though he had gained some superficial appreciation of how this was so, it was still rather amazing.
Immediately he felt inspired to decorate the Christmas tree, feeling overjoyed at the thought of it being Christmas. To his great delight, he saw that Santa had indeed left presents for him beneath the tree. Excitedly he tore away the wrapping and ribbons, revealing boxes of Christmas tree decorations. He discovered there were long pieces of scintillating gold tinsel, gold and silver bells, an assortment of coloured baubles and also a set of lights. With almost childlike exuberance and glee, he spent the next forty minutes or so decorating the tree, becoming totally engrossed in this activity.
Suddenly realising how preoccupied his mind had become, he looked sharply at the clock, seeing how long he had been engaged in this task, quite oblivious to anything else. Looking back at the nearly completed tree, he observed it with a feeling of having done something worthwhile. Now it was looking quite splendid, having been so elaborately ornamented. Lastly, after adding a few finishing touches, he plugged in the lights and flipped the switch. Fifty bright lights became instantly illuminated, each reflecting in the baubles and bells, and giving the tinsel that extra, colourful glow as it glittered.
Admiring the tree, he finished off his glass of spiced wine before retiring to bed, where he simply lay gazing at the ceiling, his mind brimming with thoughts. At some point, he must have lapsed into a deep sleep before realising that it was morning. But this time it was different. It was, of course, Christmas morning, and Screwge was filled with a great sense of joy and pleasure. He felt inspired to go out and share with other people his profound sense of happiness, people in whom he knew he must attempt to arouse some appreciation of the true spirit of Christmas.
He was constrained, however, by the knowledge that a very careful approach was required, lest his ebullience and eagerness serve only to encourage people to view him as though he were insane, or at least acting very strangely, especially if he were to attempt to relate what had happened to him on Christmas Eve. Of course, he had no intention of imparting such information to anyone, at least not with a view to trying seriously to convince anyone of its truth. He was far from certain himself that it had really happened. It could well have all been a dream, although an extremely vivid and lifelike one.
He opened his front door and looked upon the snowy Christmas scene before him, quickly realising he was still in his pyjamas. Fortunately his neighbours’ curtains were all still closed and no one had seen him. He looked around, reassuring himself of this before closing the door. Re-emerging later on, this time fully clothed, he went for a stroll around the neighbourhood, simply to soak up and enjoy the atmosphere. The layer of snow on the ground was not very deep, nor, thankfully, was the ground particularly icy, so there was no real danger of slipping. It was still slightly dark, the dimness accentuating the decorative lights adorning the houses.
Later that morning, he made his way up to the church to attend the Christmas Day service, with his renewed interest in Christmas. Very jocund in his manner, to people’s astonishment he wished them an enthusiastic and heartfelt “Merry Christmas”. Before leaving the church, he stood observing and admiring the rather grand Christmas tree by the altar.
Back in his own street, he wished several of his neighbours a very merry Christmas. Unsurprisingly they were left astounded at Screwge’s behaviour. This was quite extraordinary and they wondered if he might be drunk, or indeed, under the influence of something stronger. But he was not in the least worried by this. He had experienced and been shown things of which others could only dream, assuming it had all really happened. Now he was more enlightened, able to understand the true meaning of it all.
Screwge called at the house of one of his neighbours, a jovial character who had in previous years invited him to join his family for Christmas, only to be met with a characteristically sullen rebuff. So it was more than a little surprising when Screwge turned up on his doorstep bursting with Christmas cheer.
“Merry Christmas!” bellowed Screwge, much to his neighbour’s astonishment. “Look, I know I haven’t been so keen on Christmas in previous years…”
“That’s something of an understatement,” was his neighbour’s reaction, though he detected no pretence or ulterior purpose of any sort from Screwge.
“But things have changed. I’ve been shown the true meaning of Christmas,” he told his stunned neighbour, knowing that he could hardly reveal his visit to the North Pole in Santa’s sleigh, though he would have to account somehow for the startling transformation in his character and attitude towards Christmas.
“But how exactly? What’s brought about this dramatic conversion?” he was then asked by his highly intrigued and fascinated neighbour.
“I have come to realise the joy that can be experienced, and the pleasure of giving and expressing goodwill at this time of year,” Screwge replied. He was trying to speak in a very sincere and genuine manner, realising the probability that people would tend not to take him seriously, that they would be unconvinced that he had changed so dramatically. “I wish I could explain how it happened. Perhaps it was something I saw on television, or maybe something I read, that gave me that jolt of inspiration that made me realise I had to change, that I could get so much more out of being a different person at Christmas.” He was trying to suggest plausible but deliberately vague ideas, as though he could not really pin it down to any one particular thing or provide any definite answer. “Anyway, look, I’ve got plenty of mulled wine and several other very good wines. I also seem to have a lot of other things such as cakes and luxury Christmas crackers. I was wondering if that offer to join you for Christmas still stands.”
“Well, of course,” replied his neighbour, still noticeably stunned. As Screwge had hoped, the offer his neighbour had made every year for the past ten years to come round for Christmas dinner still stood. “We’ll be having Christmas lunch at around one. Feel free to come around at any time.”
“Okay, I’ll be here at, say, twenty-to-one if that’s all right,” said Screwge as he left.
Upon seeing various people in the street, he wished them a merry Christmas, much to their amazement. He visited the few neighbours he thought would be hospitable to him, delivering them presents in the form of expensive wines. Many were now talking about this profound transformation their neighbour had undergone, barely able to believe what had happened and wondering as to its cause.
“This is a time of goodwill and peace and generosity,” he told people, exuding enthusiasm and self-belief.
At twenty-to-one, Screwge arrived on his neighbour’s doorstep laden with wine and fo
od. Immediately he was met with a warm greeting and welcomed in.
“Mr Screwge is here,” his neighbour announced to the rest of his family as he entered. While waiting for lunch to be served, he told the story, in more or less exact detail, - there was little need for any embellishment - of what had happened to him on Christmas Eve to his neighbour’s young children. He told it so convincingly, with such genuineness, that he had everyone virtually convinced. They were almost ready to believe this incredible story, particularly in light of the startling way in which his previously morose and unpleasant demeanour had somehow evaporated. Indeed, there seemed little else, despite it sounding too fanciful to be true, that could adequately explain the extraordinary transformation he had undergone.
At one point, he was sure he caught a glimpse of one of the elves sitting cross-legged in the corner of the room over by the Christmas tree. No sooner had he noticed it than it disappeared. In reaction, he had voiced his surprise, exclaiming what he had seen, hopeful that someone else had witnessed its presence. Suddenly realising that nobody else had, he was quick to act as though he was only joking, lest he appear completely and worryingly insane.
“I’m sure I just saw an elf over there beside the Christmas tree. Didn’t you see it?” he asked the two children, speaking now in a jesting, exaggerated, enchanting manner. What he claimed to have just seen was clearly nowhere in sight. However, he was not particularly worried whether or not it had only been in his mind, nor was he concerned about whether his experiences of the previous night had actually been real or just a dream. Whatever the truth of the matter, he felt quite certain that it had all been real.
That night, the snow having thickened significantly after a couple of prolonged bouts of snowfall, Screwge put on a fireworks display in his neighbour’s back garden. He had bought the fireworks a couple of months earlier to celebrate New Year. He knew he had to do something to cheer himself up, so he had gone out and purchased an expensive selection. For nearly twenty minutes, they were spectators to loud, splendid, colourful, sparkling, glittering, erupting showers of sparks cascading and scintillating, with crackling stars shooting high into the air and the occasional screech before finally the last of them died down leaving darkness and quietness.
At around midnight, a good couple of hours after a late buffet at which they enjoyed the delicious cakes he had brought, and drank his excellent dessert wines, Screwge returned home, both he and his neighbours expressing their mutual gratitude. The feeling of sadness that had accompanied the end of Christmas Day, that Screwge used to feel many years ago, when he thought far more of Christmas than he had any time since, was no longer there. Instead he felt happy and satisfied that he had made so much of it. After all, nothing could have been any better.
Besides, it was still Christmastime, the season lasting a whole twelve days, and this was but the first of them. He was determined to make the most of this fact and to impress it upon others, having invited several of his neighbours around for a party at the weekend, where he intended to serve some of his finest wines and best food. Screwge had been changed completely, as had Christmas for him and for the inhabitants of his street, to their endless surprise.
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