Holiday Stories and Poems

The Mystery on Christmas Morning

A Children's Tale: Tommy wakes up and finds that Santa has had a problem.

The Mystery on Christmas Morning

I know Santa came to my house. My stocking is full. But Santa tore it down off the mantel and threw it on the ground. Why did he do that?

There are packages everywhere, too. I know the remote control boat is mine because I asked for that, but why would he drop a Snow White doll under the couch and leave a toddler’s pull-toy in the middle of the floor? And a baby rattle? What’s going on? Is Santa getting that Al’s Hammer problem that Mom says Dad has sometimes?

I slip out of my red Santa PJ’s, the ones I only wear when my mother says I have to. Then I slide into jeans and a T, grab up my magnifying glass and mystery-solving book, and slink down the stairs. I look for clues, and I find one, all right.

Beneath the wrapping paper that I’ve torn off the Snow White doll when I thought it was something for me, I find my first clue -- a piece of coal.

Now, I’m not sure what that means, but I pick it up and examine it, turning it over and over. It’s coal, all right, but it can’t be for me. I don’t have any brothers and sisters to fight with. I get good grades in school, and I haven’t been grounded yet, not ever. So, the coal can’t be for me.

I use my magnifying glass and inch my way around the living room. Then I find something else: a patch of red velvet material. I’m sure it’s from Santa Claus’ suit, but I suppose it could be from Mom. She was sewing a quilt for Grandma, and sometimes she drops scraps of fabric.

I put the material into my pocket and keep looking. There, what’s that? A cold nose, two eyes, and a big pink tongue that dashes out and slurps at me. Yick. “Dumb dog!”

I clean off my face, pat Ralph on the head and start to move on. But what’s that dangling from Ralph’s shark tooth? I pull it off and get another slurp across my face for my efforts. Yick. “Dumb dog!” I say, but I pat him again. Ralph’s okay, I just wish he didn’t always greet me with slime juice.

As soon as I wipe off my face with the bottom of my T-shirt, I study the thread in my hand. Red. “Um,” I say, and just miss getting tongued again. I stand up and move away.

I decide to go borrow a couple of cookies in the kitchen. Mom and Dad are probably going to sleep another three hours. They never get up at 4:00 in the morning, even though that’s the best part of the day -- at least on Christmas.

While I’m getting the cookies, I discover another clue -- a girl’s make-up kit. Now why would Santa leave that behind? I keep going. Over by the door I pick up another package. I unwrap it, too, and find “Baby’s First Book.”

That does it. I’m onto a real mystery. I go back and retrieve the presents that aren’t mine, stuff them in my backpack, and head out the back door. Then I follow the trail of footprints: little elves, reindeer paws, and what I assume are from Santa’s big boots.

They lead over to Becky’s house. She’s twelve. I bet the make-up kit is for her. As I study the path, following the tracks, I see another present and another piece of coal. I don’t bother to unwrap this gift; I know it’s not for me. I toss the coal and the wrapped present into my backpack, and keep going.

The door is open so I head on in. I find a trail of coal and presents. I pick them up, one at a time, and make my way to the stocking. It’s full. I turn around and glance about; the trail heads out the backdoor. I pick up another present and a piece of coal on the way and dart outside.

I do that for four houses. Meanwhile, my backpack is really getting heavy. Candy canes, wrapped presents, dolls, and trains are all making the thing feel like I have a load of bricks in it, but I stumble on. One more house in the tract. I go through the front door and stop. Santa is just filling up the final stocking.

“Santa,” I call out in a loud whisper. “You’re dropping stuff everywhere. I picked them all up. Here,” I say, taking my backpack off and swinging it around to let Santa get his things back.

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” he bellows. “Merry Christmas, Tommy. I guess I have a hole in my bag. A while back a big yellow dog took a bite out of it.”

“Yeah, that was Ralph,” I tell him. “I found this red string in his mouth and a fuzzy, red piece of material on the floor of our living room.”

“Good going, Tommy. Thank you kindly for bringing this stuff to me. Only I guess it will just fall out again. I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he says, removing his fluffy, red hat and scratching his head.

“Oh, Santa. That’s all right. Just take my backpack.”

So, that’s what Santa does. Then he takes me outside and lets me pet his reindeer, which is really cool. Afterwards, he sends me back home in a whoosh. I open my eyes and discover that I’m in bed again, and my parents are standing in the doorway asking me if I want to get up and see what Santa brought me for Christmas.

Of course, I know what Santa left in my stocking, but I don’t tell my parents that.

I stand up and climb out of bed, almost tripping over my backpack. There’s an inch-sized note on top of it. I pick that up and use my magnifying glass because the script is so small.

Dear Tommy,

Thanks for
helping Santa Claus.
You really saved
Christmas for a lot
of kids!
Oh, and Santa says “hi.”
He's putting the
reindeer to bed.

Love,
Santa’s Elf, Curly

“Wow!” I say. "Santa says "hi"? Wow!

I put the note on my bulletin board where I can look at it lots. Then I pick up the backpack and start to put it away, but there's something inside. I reach in and pull out a large rawhide bone. Attached is a second note: This is for Ralph. Please give it to him and tell him that next year I'll bring another one.

"Tommy, are you coming?" my dad yells from the living room.

"Be right down," I call out.

I tack the second note on my bulletin board, too, then I go downstairs to check out my other presents and to give Ralph his Christmas present from Santa Claus.