Holiday Stories and Poems

The Jolly Thief: A Flash Fiction Story

He was the oddest of thieves, the strangest stranger . . .

Prompt: Write me a story involving a stranger, a secret door and a painting!

The Jolly Thief

The stranger came in through the secret door. I don't know how he knew about it. It was supposed to have been nailed shut.

I turned to stare at the man, my mouth open in surprise. He nodded and smiled, then closed the door without a word. He put one finger to his lips and with a stern, hard look warned me not to speak. I nodded, slightly shaken by this odd occurrence in the middle of a Saturday afternoon.

On moccasined feet the man slithered closer, silent as a hunting cobra. Now if I'd had any sense, I would have jammed my hat on my head and taken off, but curiosity was a coat I all too often wore, so I sat still as the giant boulder at the foot of nearby Mount McCall.

The stranger made his way across the floor, heading for my uncle's favorite painting. I couldn't believe anyone would want to look at it. I couldn't believe someone could even bear to stand close to it. The thing was one of those sixties black velvet drawings in which the etchings were done in psychedelic green. The green mostly reminded me of limes, but sometimes, just after I'd eaten something that didn't agree with my stomach, sometimes, it reminded me of vomit. Unfortunately, Uncle adored his Elvis sketch and had framed it in hideous ostrich feathers with snail shells to decorate each corner. Then he'd hung it right over the fireplace in the middle of the living room. Poor Aunt Molly! She loathed the thing even more than I did.

It was obvious, though, that the stranger was of like mind with my uncle for his eyes were at once captivated by the glory of the monstrosity. Straight to the Elvis that stranger went, in a bee-line for the picture.

He stopped once to listen, obviously knowing my uncle was working behind the second closed door in the room he called his office

"Shush," the stranger cautioned me, although I hadn't said a word. In fact, I hadn't even budged, too spellbound was I at the stranger's invasion.

The man's eyes held mine a moment. He drew a line across his throat. I knew it was a warning for silence. I nodded and swallowed hard, although I wasn't really fearful. Strange as the man was, the twinkle in his eye contradicted such murderous threats, and his rosy cheeks and rather large belly provided scarcely any real terror. All in all, I was merely fascinated and achingly curious as to what this very peculiar stranger was about to do.

Suddenly the man pulled out a tarp from the back of his suspendered pants. How could a tarp of that size fit into anyone's back pocket? I wanted to ask, but I kept my tongue inside. Just in case the stranger really was dangerous, I certainly didn't want to interfere,

With the tarp fully open, the stranger grabbed up my uncle's prized picture and wrapped it as neatly as if it were a package being taken to the post office. Then he hoisted the wrapped up Elvis on top of his back, and slinked off toward the door, the door that was supposed to be a secret.

He opened the door, but just as he was about to step out, the man gave me a cheerful wink and whispered, "Merry Christmas, Lad. I have just given the gift that your Aunt Molly has begged and pleaded for."

He closed the door, and I flung myself toward it, but once again the door was nailed shut. Although I jerked and prodded, it refused to open, once more, a secret door. I sighed and scratched my head, puzzling over the oddness of the day. Suddenly I heard the clinging and clanging of tiny bells. I glanced out the window, and saw a bright red sleigh, just lifting up into the sky. The stranger saw me watching and waved with one hand, then burst into laugher and called out, "ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!"

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(673 words)

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