A Very Stark Christmas: Chapter 2
By: Terrye Turpin
Tags: Humor, A Very Stark Christmas, Short Story, Collaboration, Fiction

“We didn’t order room service.” Before I could shut the door, Santa stuck a size thirteen combat boot into the gap.

“No time for funny business Stark, there’s a war going on and you’ve been drafted.”

“You got the wrong room pal.” Helen stepped up beside me. “The only battles we’re planning involve a wrestling match between me and lover boy. It’s not a tag team event either, so scram.”

Santa yanked down the fake beard he’d been wearing as a mask. “Don’t you recognize me?”

I squinted, trying to place the fading red hair and splotches of freckles scattered across his face. “Hmm… something keeps knocking at my brain,” I said. “Weren’t you the smart-ass kid brother in a 1970s sitcom? Donny? Dopey?”

“Danny!” Santa shouted. “I’m Danny Bonaduce.”

“No, that’s not it,” Helen spoke up. “It was some sort of bird. A turkey?”

“I ought to know my own gosh-darn name. I’m not here to reminisce on my faded acting career. And it was a partridge, not a turkey. We need to hire Stark. Someone has stolen Christmas!”

“Look, Santa Danny, just because a certain coffee shop puts ‘Happy Holidays’ on their cups instead of ‘Merry Christmas’ it doesn’t mean we’ve given up celebrating Christmas.”

“Oh yeah?” Santa Danny folded his arms across his chest, a smug look on his face. “Then why is the presence of Christmas missing?”

“Argh! No!” A scream issued behind me. Helen again.

“What?”

“They’re gone!” Helen stood before the open door to the tiny closet in our hotel room. It held my spare trench coat and the pink plastic case where Helen kept her makeup. Nothing else. “My Christmas presents!” Helen wailed. She can cry like a siren, that woman. “I even had one for you, Stark.”

Pushing past Santa Danny, I stepped out our door into the snowy courtyard of the motor court. The red and green lights that had draped the roof line of the building were gone. Also missing was the plastic nativity scene and the inflatable snow globe. Even the sign that had read “Happy Birthday Jesus” was gone.

“What’s going on here?” Behind me, Helen frantically tried to tune in holiday songs on the radio. Nothing but static. Not even a single chorus of “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.”

“I told you, they’ve stolen Christmas.”

“Who stole Christmas?” I asked. “How?”

“If we knew who and how, we wouldn’t need you then would we.”

I thought of the message rock-stamped on my cheek. “You could have thought of a better way of asking for help. I’m not fond of felonious assault unless it’s my girlfriend doing the battery.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Santa Danny said. “And I certainly don’t want the details.”

Santa Danny was wearing out his welcome faster than the anchovies on our pizza. “Cut to the chase, Danny. I’ve got a pizza that’s getting colder and a dame who’s growing…”

“All right.” Fake Santa covered his ears. “We know this much. Christmas was stolen by the same bunch who stole the election.”

Oh boy. This was going to be a hard nut to crack sober. “Who stole the election?” I asked. “Hugo Chavez? Domino’s Pizza? Captain Morgan? Krampus?”

Danny’s eyes lit up like a slot-machine jackpot. “Would you be willing to testify to that conspiracy?”

“Look, I guess I’m about as convincing as the rest of you clowns, but that’s not a circus I’m ready to join. Christmas, however, that hits home. Five hundred a day, plus expenses.”

Helen scrawled out a contract on hotel stationery, Danny signed it (with his real name) and handed me an advance, in cash.

After Danny took off, I pondered the case while we finished off the pizza.

“Where do I start?” I asked Helen. “And if it wasn’t the War on Christmas conspiracy crowd, who tossed the rock message?”

“We’ll find out.” Helen narrowed her eyes. “I’m going with you on this one. We’re here, in New York City, the setting of some of the most famous Christmas movies. You’re gonna need a tour guide, and I know just where to start.”

I nodded. I didn’t know how we were going to recover Christmas, or who the bad guys would turn out to be, but I knew one thing. Helen was tougher to tangle with than a string of Christmas lights.