Santa's Cookies

Santa’s Cookies

“Women are like car parking spaces, when all the good spaces are taken, sometimes you have to stick it in a disabled one.” Harry roared with laughter at his own joke, oblivious to the stunned silence from the two women at the bar. Glances were exchanged, heavy with unspoken meaning: ‘He’s drunk again’ one said with the curl of an eyebrow, ‘Wonder what Lilith will do this time’ replied the other as she glanced at the large woman pulling pints behind the bar.

“That’s nice Harry, real nice,” said the thinner of the two women. Veins pulsated in her scrawny neck as she spoke, her fingers stroked with the edge of her lipstick stained wine glass.

“I thought so, Vera.” He slurred and drained the last dregs of his beer into his mouth. Flecks of spittle clung to his white beard. He slammed the glass down on the bar. “Lilith, Lil! Get us another, go on.” His voice was cracked and raspy, like a log fire spitting out embers into the cold air. “And get one for the girls while you’re at it!”

“No thanks Harry.” The larger of the two girls waved away his offer, “I’ve got to be getting back. Jim will be home from school soon and he’ll wonder where I am.” She finished her drink with large, hungry gulps.

“Aw, don’t be soft. Jim’s what? Fifteen, sixteen? Old enough to look after himself by now?” Harry wobbled slightly as his red eyes tried to focus on her figure.

“He’s eleven. He doesn’t have a key.” She looked him up and down, her top lip curled into a sneer.

Sensing that her friend was annoyed, Vera intervened. “How’s the job hunting going Harry? Any joy?”

Harry belched and leant forward. “Nothing much out there. I had a job interview the other day but I haven’t heard anything. Still, here’s hoping.”

Lilith came over. With a deliberate calm she placed both her hands on the bar and looked Harry levelly in the eyes. “You’re drunk again, ain’t ya?” She lowered her voice into a brittle whisper, teeth clenched. “How many times do I have to tell you Harry? How many times do we have to go through this?”

“Aw, don’t be like that love. I’m here ‘coz I don’t want to be parted from you, do I?” He reached out a chubby hand and placed it on her cold fingers. “Come on love. Get us another pint will ya?” The two women watched this exchange, their faces firm. Lilith glanced at them and whipped her hand away.

“No. You’ve had enough and I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough! You better get off your arse and get a job soon Harry or I swear…” She let the sentence hang in the air and snatched up his empty glass. Harry swore and watched her walk away, her smile indicating to the other punters that everything was under control. The women nodded at each other, finished their drinks and left without saying goodbye, leaving Harry to wallow in his shame.

It had been five months since his last job. Five months filled with beer glasses as empty as his promises. He had meant to get a job, it just wasn’t high on his list of priorities, and somehow chance after chance seemed to slip past him. Bad luck clung to Harry like a foul odour, and no amount of bathing could cleanse him. He screwed up his face and stared down at his hands, cracked with age, and tried to pin point when youth had deserted him.

The sound of Lilith’s laughter brought Harry back with a jump. He watched as she toyed with her hair, squeezed the landlord, Jeff’s arm in mock surprise, his muscles flexed. “Now, that’s what I call a real man.” She said as Jeff grinned, his teeth reflected the flashing fairy lights above his head. A tinny mobile phone ring tone joined in crescendo with the laughter, and Harry hit the answer button and stepped outside into the brisk December air.

“Hello?” His voice was as raspy as sandpaper.

“Hello there, Mr Curtis? It’s Amanda from the Waterfront centre.” A musical voice sprang from the ear piece and reverberated unpleasantly through Harry. He glanced around surreptitiously, the car park was deserted.

“Oh yeah. Er, call me Harry.” He said as he fumbled in his coat pocket for his cigarettes.

“Congratulations Harry!” Amanda’s voice reached a new octave and his eardrum hummed angrily. “You’ve got the job! I’m sure the children will absolutely adore you. The costume will be supplied for you, are you a small, medium or a large?”

He leaned his head back onto the wall, and tried to gain some stability in his alcohol induced world. “Me? Um, I’m sorry?”

“The costume, what size are you?”

Harry suppressed a foul tasting burp as he slid down the wall into a sitting position and said, “Large, I think.”

A twittering giggle tickled his ear “Large? Excellent. We’ll see you here at nine on Monday, how does that sound?”

“Fine, yeah.” A burp escaped him and the world took a sharp turn to the left. He placed his free hand on the ground and tried to steady himself. “See you then.”

“See you on Monday Harry, or should I say…Santa!” Harry hung up. Santa. The word bounced in Harry’s mind, carrying new, unforeseen weight. I am going to be Santa. He dropped his phone on the pavement, lent over to his left and threw up; clumps of partially digested chips swam in bile and clung to his jeans, his shoes. He spat, smacked his lips, and passed out next to his vomit.

*****

On Monday morning a hung-over, pallid Harry sat in Amanda’s office wearing a cheap Santa’s costume. She peered at him over her glasses, grinned and clasped her hands together in mock glee. “Oh you do look great. Just the part! Round belly and everything, it’s like you were born to be Santa!” Her high laugh filled the air between them and echoed off the walls.

Harry mumbled thanks, his eyes focused on the fluffy white trimming on his red jacket which scratched tirelessly at his skin.

“I’ll show you the Grotto, you’ll fit right in.” She stood up and motioned for Harry to follow her. “So Harry, do you have children?” He followed her out the room and watched her arse sway in her tight grey skirt for a moment before replying.

“No, no. Lilith, the missus, doesn’t like kids. And I’ve always been on the road.” She had reached another door and bent to pull it open, her arse protruding out at him, the outline of her underwear clearly visible under the thin material. Harry felt an unbidden urge to grab that sweet, firm arse in his hand and give it a good squeeze. His fingers flexed, but he remained still.

“Oh, that’s right. You were a…a lorry driver weren’t you? What made you change careers?” The door opened into the vast shopping centre, it’s bright, artificial lights shone down like false moonlight and made everything sparkle. Already a trickle of shoppers walked steadily past, intent on spending as much money as possible.

“Erm, change of circumstances.” They weaved in and out of groups of shoppers, and any hope of further conversation evaporated.

The grotto was ludicrously bright, with fairy lights and blue electric icicles hanging around the MDF cottage. A tinny version of ‘Last Christmas’ played on a stereo concealed by a mound of fake snow as mechanical reindeer and rabbits moved every few seconds, on an endless cycle of false festiveness. Next to the grotto two robotic elves sat at desks and repeatedly hammered toys. In front of the elves was a small wooden gate at which ‘Santa’s assistant’ would stand and ensure that only one child visited him at a time. As Harry approached the grotto, and wondered why on earth he had taken this job, a ‘Visit Santa here’ sign flashed menacingly red, marking the entrance to his own private Christmassy hell.

“What do you think?” Amanda asked as she studied his expression. “I had college students make it, saved me a bomb.”

Thinking about his empty bank account, Harry composed his face into a benevolent smile. “Its…really something…its…good, yeah. Nice!”

Amanda nodded and returned his smile, “Right, it’s nearly nine thirty. The kids will be arriving soon, eager to see Santa.” She giggled and placed a hand on Harry’s arm. “Don’t worry, you’ll be great. You remember what you have to say don’t you? It was all explained during your interview?”

“Yeah, I just chat with them, ask what they want for Christmas and if they have been good. Then I give them a bag of sweets and send them on their way.”

“That’s right, piece of cake. Now, all we need is Santa’s Assistant. Ah, here he is.” She removed her hand from Harry’s arm and waved at a pubescent teenager who approached them in a felt elf’s costume and looked immensely disgruntled. “James, this is Harry, he is, if you have not already deduced, Santa. You’ll be working together over the next few weeks.” James nodded to Harry, the bells on his green hat jangled as he did so. “Rightio, I’ll leave you to it then. Lunch is at one, and I’m afraid you’re permitted no breaks until then.” She stalked off, high heels clicking loudly on the marble floor.

“Alroite.” James said, eyeing Harry with feigned interest. “Nice beard.”

Unable to tell whether he was taking the piss Harry simply muttered ‘cheers’ under his breath and opened the grotto door. He sat down on the only chair and peered out at the centre. After a moment James came over and said, “Sorry dude, I’ve gotta shut the door. ‘Suspension of disbelief’ ‘n all that.” Then Harry was alone.

*****

Twenty five minutes later, the first child knocked on Santa’s door. Harry sat up straight, cleared his throat and called “Come in.”

The grotto door creaked open and revealed a little girl with long brown hair and a pink rucksack standing at the door way. Her eyes moved around the room and finally settled on Harry.

“Well come in, come in,” Harry waved his hand at her and patted his knee invitingly. “What’s your name then?”

The girl walked into the room and closed the door behind her. Something struck Harry as odd about her, and he watched her closely as she approached him. “I’m Molly,” she said, and smiled. “Are you really Santa?”

Harry laughed the deep Ho Ho Ho Santa laugh he had been instructed to do. “Why of course I’m Santa, Molly. And how old are you?”

“I’m eight and three quarters.” She puffed her chest out proudly and tilted her head up. The fabric on her light blue dress swayed slowly as she moved.

“Well that’s not too old to sit on my knee now, is it,” and with that Molly clambered onto his lap. Harry was taken aback by how her hair smelt like apples and cinnamon and he paused for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. His right arm was around her and his hand stroked her side absentmindedly. She felt so small and delicate on his knee, and her cheeks flushed rose when she looked at him.

“Well then Molly,” he found himself saying, a little more breathlessly than he would have liked, “Have you been a good girl this year?”

“Ohh yes,” she said, and smiled once more. “I’m always good.” Her voice was as smooth as honey and Harry found himself staring at her lovely lips as she spoke. Her little green eyes shined as if she knew what was on his mind, even before he did.

“I’m glad to hear it. Now, what would you like for Christmas then my dear.” His left hand was on her leg, caressing her thigh. She shifted on his knee slightly to make herself more comfortable, and he could feel her tight buttocks grind into his lap.

“Ohh that’s easy, I want a little kitten. One that will play with me and keep me company. I have been really, really good this year.” She said earnestly.

“You got it sweetheart,” He said softly as he smiled down at her and stroked her slowly. “You got it.” She returned his smile instantly. He could feel his heart beating abnormally fast, as his chest rose up and down, his mouth moist.

She shifted on his lap once more, and he was shocked to feel something stir, deep within his groin. Molly reached her hand up to her pink rucksack and pulled out a small doll with long brown hair similar to her own. She handed it to Harry with a flourish. “I want you to have this.” She said as she stared solemnly into his eyes. “To remember me by, I know you see a lot of children and I want you to remember me.”

Harry took the doll from her, his mouth opening and closing for a moment before he finally said “How could I forget you Molly?”

She raised an eyebrow at him in a gesture that he couldn’t translate and wiggling one last time, jumped off his lap. Harry wondered if she had felt his erection, if she even knew what an erection was; he had the fleeting notion that somewhere deep within her she did. They regarded each other for a moment, her with endearing innocence, and him representing all her childish hopes, each one mirroring the other’s smile. Then, with a shy, singsong “Bye!” and a flick of her beautiful hair, she turned and was gone.

Harry felt as though they had just shared a deep and intimate moment, that they had reached a silent understanding, much more intense and poignant than anything he had ever experienced with any woman. He shifted in his seat, his erection pushed hard against his velvet costume, and he glanced out of the gap in the curtains. Outside, James slouched and chewed his nails as a stream of shoppers walked by. There were no children in sight. Harry pulled the curtains shut and lent back on his seat. On impulse, he masturbated, there in the grotto, desperate to relieve his body of this pent up tension, desperate to relieve his mind of images of her. Sighing and shuddering, he grimaced as he came into his hand, his body bent over like a crippled old man. He wiped his hand on the bottom of his trousers as his breathing calmed and his mind cleared. Just then, another knock sounded on the grotto door.

*****

The day passed painfully slowly and Harry’s mind was plagued with thoughts of her. Her rich brown hair, her smile and those profound, piercing eyes. However, his shame at his sudden act of debauchery was not superseded by the deep monstrous hunger for more. A hunger that was all encompassing, controlling and powerful. A hunger he could not ignore. He knew that what he was feeling was intensely ethically and morally wrong, that the repercussions would be more severe than he could ever imagine, and yet he still craved her. He hesitated, his hand hovered above his front door handle, fearful that Liltih would know his thoughts in a lightning bolt of clarity, fearful that she would see right through his hazy charade. He took in a deep breath, and pushed open the door.

The flat was enveloped in darkness. Harry flipped the switch and tripped over a discarded pizza box as light bathed the room. Scattered around were countless empty beer cans, take away cartons and hollow wine bottles. He made his way into the kitchen as his eyes darted about the flat. It had been weeks since either of them had cleaned, preferring instead to throw rubbish at each other during the countless screaming arguments. Nothing had been the same since he had lost his job. A bright pink post-it note stuck on top of the fridge caught his eye and he moved towards it. The note was in Lilith’s scrawled handwriting and simply read:

‘Harry, I’m leaving you.
Don’t come find me.
Merry fucking Christmas.’

He crumpled up the note in his hand and dropped it on the floor. He was surprised at how little he felt. They had both been unhappy for sometime and she had not tried to hide her affair from him. All he felt towards her was apathy. She was a whore, a fucking whore. He walked over to the bedroom, taking off his jacket as he moved. Something felt odd about his jacket, it was misshapen and bulged out slightly at one of the pockets. He fumbled around and pulled out the object. There, in his hand, was the doll that Molly had given to him, its face staring blankly up at him.

The doll seemed to mirror Molly’s features, the same long brown hair, the same rosy cheeks and deep brown eyes. Without thought, Harry’s fingers began to stroke the doll’s legs slowly, as he had done so to Molly earlier. Tracing small, intricate circles around the flesh coloured legs. He could feel the twinges of arousal tickle his groin. Some monster inside him awoke. He chewed his lip and tried to think about something other than her. But the monster was hungry and would not be ignored. It was no use. His erection strained painfully against his jeans. His thumbs worked their way up the doll’s thighs and pulled the legs apart. The plastic was as smooth as a child’s skin, as silky and sweet as Molly’s had been. Harry’s mind was flooded with images of her own legs spread wide for him, urging him on. Consenting, willing, wanting. He shuddered and with his left hand unzipped his fly, his right hand continued up, under the doll’s cotton skirt. The fabric moved easily and his thumb found the middle, in between the legs, the doll’s crotch. As if controlled by someone other than himself his fingers played with the doll as he masturbated for the second time that day, his thoughts filled with flashes of her.

It was only after he had come that he realised that he was crying. Salty tears tracing snail trails down his dirty face. He couldn’t understand why he felt this way, why the master of his thoughts was no longer him, but a child. Just a child. Possessing him without reason, beyond his control. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and expelled a long, shaky sigh. The monster within him was sleeping, but it could wake at any moment and force him into further licentious acts. He did up his fly, stood up, and struggled to clear his thoughts as he rummaged through the fridge. Discovering it was devoid of alcohol, Harry picked up his coat and left for the corner shop, intent on forgetting the day’s events in the quickest way possible.
*****
The next day Harry was a headache of a man, as he held on to countless children while they related their materialistic desires. Each wish merged pointlessly into the next, and each child annoyed him, rubbed his patience raw like sandpaper; yet each child reminded him irrevocably of her. She was haunting his every thought, a ghost on his mind, a shadow on his conscience. To cope with his demons, Harry was drinking, heavily. In the time it took one child to leave the Grotto and the next to enter he would take a long swig out of his hip flask, and then conceal it under his costume as the knocking sounded on his door. By midday, he was drunk.

“…and a Barbie, and a snow white costume, and a chocolate fountain, and a candy floss maker, and push chair for my dolly, and…” A particularly exasperating blond girl cut into Harry’s drunken thoughts with her high nasal voice. She was so caught up in her monologue she didn’t notice his hand stroking her back, his fingers rubbing circles into the soft fabric of her blue jumper.

She stopped abruptly, “Yep, I think that’s it! If I’ve forgotten anything then it’s on the letter I sent you. You did get it, didn’t you Santa?” She looked up at him, and Harry paused for a moment, drunkenly lost in the fact that her smile was missing one of its front teeth.

“Don’t you want your front teeth?” He guffawed and wobbled. The whisky swirled in his consciousness. She looked confused, and pulled her head away from him to avoid his bad breath. “You know, you know. ‘All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth, my two front teeth, my two front teeth!’” He laughed again, then lent his head back and belched. He looked down, sensed that the girl was getting upset he patted her roughly on the head. “Of course I got your letter sweetheart, and don’t you worry. You’ll get exactly what you want on Christmas morning, I promise.”

The girls face brightened up instantly with the thought of all her potential toys, “Thanks Santa, bye!” She said as she jumped off his knee and walked out of the grotto.

Not a patch on her, thought Harry as he drained the last of his hip flask into his parched mouth. The morning, like last night, had been hell for him and he was having difficulty in understanding himself, how he was feeling. His emotions were playing tug of war with his mind, and he was afraid that his conscience was losing. His thoughts were interrupted by yet another knock on the door.

“Come in.” He boomed in his deep ‘Santa’ voice. The door creaked slowly open, and revealed a girl in a blue dress.

“Well then little girl, what’s your name?” Harry’s eyes danced around her body, and settled on her prepubescent chest.

“Sarah.” She said, her voice clear and strong.

“Sarah,” Harry repeated as he patted his knee. “And how old are you then Sarah.” She sat down and looked up at him, he was amazed at how light she was, and he found his gaze resting comfortably on the top of her dress. He could see the hint of a lace beginner’s bra and he licked his lips.

“I’m eight.” She said, looking up at him expectantly. An early developer, he thought as he pried his eyes away from her chest. His left hand stroked her leg in a comforting gesture. Caressed her with slow, soothing circular movements.

“Eight! Eight!” He boomed drunkenly. “Well, you’re nearly as old as me!”

She giggled, taking his intoxicated movements as characteristic comedy. “No I’m not.” She shook her head, the top of her dress shifted down slightly.

“Yes I am! How old do you think I am?” He acted shocked and made his eyes and mouth go wide, while his fingers traced small figures of eights on her soft legs.

“…um…a hundred?” She tried and laughed at his silly face.

“Nope! I’m eleven!” He winked and pulled her closer to him. She wriggled about on his lap to get comfortable, and he could feel the first twinges of arousal tickle his groin.

She laughed once more, “You’re not eleven! You’ve been around for lots of years giving presents to children.” Harry reached over and gently moved a piece of her hair out of her eyes. His other hand moved at snails pace up her leg. Her skin felt rough with small hairs, and his pulse quickened.

“Ohh, I’m eleven alright. Would I lie to you? I’m Santa! Now, have you been a good girl this year?” His hand played with the hem of her dress, moved it gently to one side as it continued to slowly caress up, up, up.

“Of course I have! I’ve helped mum lots.” She wriggled again, grinding her arse into his erection, and parted her legs slightly. Harry’s drunken mind took this as an invitation and his breath became deeper. Saliva filled his mouth and he licked his lips again. He leaned closer to her, breathed in her scent. His grasp around her became tighter, more urgent.

“…and…er…what would you like for Christmas this year then, Sarah?” His voice was gruff, losing its ‘Santa’ façade. She seemed oblivious to his touch as his hand travelled slowly up her leg, his thumb working its way into her inner thigh. Here her skin felt smooth and warm, devoid of hair. Untainted.

“…um, I would like…” But Harry wasn’t listening. Her body was pressing into his erection, demanding attention. Ignoring all thought of consequence, he pushed his hand forward, until he touched the lace hem of her underwear. He swallowed. Then gave way to his hunger, and moved her knickers aside.

The intrusive creak of the grotto door startled Harry and he looked up. There, looming over him with a smile that rapidly turned to horror as her eyes flittered down, was a middle aged woman holding a bag of cookies. A moment, during which Harry wished with all his soul that he was dead and this was hell, simply hell, passed between them, as the two adults stared into each others eyes, each mirroring the look of shock the other felt.

“Oh, thanks mum!” Sarah said happily as she reached her arms up. “You brought Santa’s cookies!”

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