Welcome to day eleven of the Winter Writing Challenge! Are you ready to get those creative juices flowing? I loved reading all your submissions yesterday. Let’s see what you come up with today!
Here’s your next prompt!
Write a short description for this character:
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Writing Rules
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“Substitute Santa”
When Uncle Terry up and said he wouldn’t play Santa for the annual family Christmas vacation, chaos reigned. The old crank refused to be cajoled out of his opinion, even when Aunt Lena threatened to send him home.
“You can find another member in the group to contribute this time!” he growled as the adults surrounded him. “I’m sick and tired of the charade. It’s 95 degrees, and you expect me to cosplay in fur for an hour? Go find another victim.”
Grandfather Robertson and Uncle Wayne were both ruled out due to arthritis and an irritable skin condition. The sisters’ hubbies and mine would have been easily recognized by the kiddos.
So when Wayne’s cousin Presley offered his services, you can’t blame us for overlooking the glaring differences between himself and Terry. He was all we had at that point.
The children were playing in the surf after Christmas Eve brunch, when per tradition, we all shouted excitedly, “Who’s that walking down the beach?!”
The girls let out a shriek and the boys stared. But when Ryder shouted “What happened to Santa?!”, I knew we had made a dreadful mistake.
You see, Presley was the giant of the family. About six foot two in bare feet, which he had decided to go in when Terry’s boots proved too tiny. Perhaps if Presley had some weight to his frame, he could’ve faked it. But Santa looked woefully trim. With a groan, I watched him strut down the sand like a robot, sack on his back and hat jammed on his head. The beard was the only thing that fit.
As children went flying to their parents, sobbing and screaming, I heard Terry chuckle from his vantage point. “That’ll leave a mark,” was all he said before Lena attacked.
This is Sanka, Santa’s second cousin from Jamaica (don’t ask how, the Claus family tree is large and complicated).
Sanka really isn’t that much of a Christmas loving person; however, when his second cousin is on medical leave (due to a horrible reindeer accident, oh my!) he finds himself called upon to deliver Christmas gifts.
Though he dresses in the usual attire of Santa, with fake beard and hat to complete the look, he just can’t find a pair of shoes that look like Santa’s. So he opts to go barefoot, not completely understanding the concept of snow since he lives in Jamaica.
Another interesting point is his sack of toys. He wasn’t able to find travel to the North pole, and the shipping times to get the toys to Jamaica are outrageous, so instead Sanka decides to gift everyone, whether naughty or nice, a bag full of sand from the lovely beaches of Jamaica… I’m sure the children won’t be disappointed!
SANKA had me rolling.
We sit on the dunes, the sand impossibly cold beneath us, more littered with cigarette and bits of plastic than I want to acknowledge. Another sign of the times, I suppose.
It’s New Years Day, and once again we’ve come to start the year at the water’s edge, watching the tide roll in and out as morning power-walkers stretch their legs just beyond the reach of the surf, and sandpipers stampede towards and away from the tide on impossibly swift little feet.
“What sort of year do you think it will be?” he asks, tracking the diving kite silhouettes of seagulls overhead.
“Hmm…”
I see movement further down the beach. Not another power-walker, not another couple ambling hand-in-hand along the wind-blown strand, but a man alone. All in red. Out of place and time, at least on such a day as this.
He’s lean, for Santa Claus. Gangly in his oversized suit in a way that reminds me of Jim Carey, particularly for the way his eyes are creased up in some private, unknowable mirth. His gift sack is deflated over one shoulder, gait confident and feet bare in a way that makes me give an extra shudder, just for him.
Skinny Santa throws up a hand as he sees the slow turn of our heads, tracking his walk. For a second I’m worried he’ll want to stop and have a chat with us, as I can only imagine what sort of absolute absurdity such an exchange would devolve into, but fortunately he keeps walking. A quick wave, never once breaking his stride, and he keeps on his way. North, I can’t help but notice.
I finally remember the question at hand, and say with borderline confidence, “Uh… weird. I think it’s going to be… really, really weird.”
He was strolling barefoot down the beach like he owned the world. Red velvet suit. Red hat trimmed with white fluff. The white beard completely out of place on his young face.
Slung over his shoulder was the iconic bag that was supposed to be full of toys. Supposed to be, being the key phrase.
That was the first clue that Santa, the real Santa, was in trouble.
A lanky figure stood at the edge of the surf, a stark and curious silhouette against the vast, glittering ocean. He was dressed as Santa Claus, but not the jolly, robust fellow of holiday lore. This Santa was skinny, his red suit hanging loosely on his frame, the white faux-fur trim looking a little too big for his bony wrists and shoulders. The black belt, cinched tight at his waist, seemed to be the only thing holding the costume together. He had forgone the traditional boots, choosing instead to walk barefoot, his pale feet sinking slightly into the wet, compacted sand as the gentle waves washed over his ankles. The wide-brimmed hat cast a shadow over his face, but his posture was one of quiet contemplation, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon where the sea met the sky.
He moved with a slow, deliberate pace, a stark contrast to the frantic energy usually associated with the holiday season. The only sounds were the rhythmic crash of the waves and the cry of a distant gull. The salt-laced wind tugged at his thinning white beard and the empty sack he carried slung over his shoulder. It was a scene of profound oddity, a symbol of overwhelming joy and commercialism stripped down to its bare essentials, set against the timeless, indifferent beauty of the ocean. He was a solitary figure, a skinny Santa on a barefoot pilgrimage, offering no presents and asking for nothing in return, simply existing in the quiet space between the land and the endless sea.
The white polyester beard tickled his nose as he sauntered barefoot along the beach. Tall and slender, the red suit fitted him ill, and the wide black belt hung low on his hips. The twinkle in his eyes was where his resemblance to Santa ended. He laughed, knowing the kids would criticize his Santa-worthiness, but he’d make up for the lack of padding with a jolly, deep voice and the promise of presents to those who proved themselves worthy of the nice list. He adjusted the bag slung over his shoulder and hoped he had enough gifts to bribe even the most churlish of children—namely, his nephew.
Since the old Santa Claus did not have many days left, a casting was organized for his successors. Naturally, none of the dwarfs could replace him, nor could Snow White.
Thousands of candidates appeared. Some were completely unsuitable, like a young man from Brazil who could not explain how he would get used to the cold latitudes, where there were no beaches.
But the candidate had suggested that the new Santa Claus’ residence be moved south and even to his own country. That way, the costs would not be so great, because shipments by sea are much more profitable than those by snow and air.
Still, he gave away a whole sack of gifts to many poor children so that he could experience what it felt like, and he was very pleased and decided to do it always, even without the disguise in question.
During the summer and spring months, one may find a familiar face casually walking along the St. John shoreline, in training of course, for the winter months.
When bears typically bulk up in the winter through hibernation until spring. One such phenomenon, can be seen at his favorite hangout – the beach.
Careful not to call attention to himself and yet sticking out in any crowd, the ‘ho, ho’ chap in full crush red velvet regale trimmed in white fur totes a bag of seashells.
Often, passerbyers recognize him and eager to ask, “is it really him?”
Many locals warn tourists to keep their secret, and their distance (give him space), during his trim down period. A time for the jolly ol’ fellow to buff up, redefine his bilateral muscle for the much colder months. Instead of the usual, milk and cookies, Sir Kringle consumes a diet primarily of seafood and fruit, while basking in the sun to increase his D3 vitamin intake.
When warm days turn cooler, and the northern winds blow, he knows the rejuvenation retreat is complete and it’s time to head far north.
As the sleigh climbs higher breaking thru time zones, countries and space, he gains more weight along the way.
“So where is Santa?” an elf inquired, driving a tiny wooden peg through a wooden car.
An elder among the elf ranks answered, “probably at the beach.”
Everyone in the toy house, chuckled aloud escalating quickly to roaring laughter. Many rolled over tables falling to the ground at the preposterous accusation.
“Of course, he was…” said the elf, rolling his eyes, unconvenienced he could be anywhere else.
But.
The North Pole.
How I ended up barefoot, shuffling through the sand in a cheap Santa suit, I don’t know. Actually, yes, I do know. Mindy. Mindy with the big brown eyes and soulful stare. Only she could get me to do something this ridiculous.
It all started the Friday before Christmas. It was just a normal Friday at work, meaning no one was truly working, everyone was just passing time until they could leave. Coffee breaks stretched to fifteen minutes, and lunch breaks were well over an hour. During my second (okay, third) coffee break of the day, Mindy cornered me in the lunch room, gave me that soulful stare, and said something like “Derrick, you aren’t doing anything on Christmas Eve day, are you?” She didn’t need to ask – of course I wasn’t doing anything on Christmas Eve day. I’m pretty much a hermit when I’m not at work, and Christmas Eve would be no exception.
“Well . . . “ I began, but she cut me off and insisted that I would make the “best Santa EVER” at the company’s annual Christmas Party on the Beach. I’d never attended, and didn’t plan to this year, either. But, those eyes . . .
So here I am, barefoot (because – the beach), way too thin to depict an authentic Santa, and sweating profusely (because – velour pants and jacket, heavy velour bag over my shoulder, and an extremely itchy fake beard covering half my face and hanging down to my chest). All because I couldn’t say no to my office crush with the big brown eyes.
FLORIDA MAN SPOTTED ON BEACH SHORTLY AFTER EVADING POLICE
Florida man Henry Mcchristmas seen on Miami’s beaches after evading police following an attempted break and enter. The red coated Mcchristmas was seen attempting to break into his neighbor’s first story house with a crowbar and reported by a citizen across the street. When police arrived on the scene, Mcchristmas was seen on the chimney, trying to shove his large, cloth sack into its small hole. After refusing to come down to the awaiting officers, Mcchristmas jumped off the roof, allegedly shouting that he was “The real Saint Nick!” Henry Mcchristmas then fled on foot, evading the police by cutting through the woods. Mcchristmas was later located via sky drones, walking along the crowded beaches of Miami’s northern shores. Despite it being a brisk 70 degrees that day, Mcchristmas was still dress head to toe in red and his fake beard, though at some point he had lost his shoes. Police arrived shortly, and after another hour chase, Henry Mcchristmas was arrested and is currently awaiting trial for breaking and entering, resisting arrest, and copyright infringement.
“Santa’s real!” the five year old child screamed hysterically. It wasn’t an angry scream, a huge smile stretched across his face. I was taking care of him while his mother was in a sea side spa for a few hours. To tell you the truth, I was coming to the end of my ropes.
I realized why the child was yelling this when I reluctantly followed his finger to the very edge of the soft white waves.
Seriously, I thought. I rolled my eyes.
The Santa figure was probably twenty five years old! He had a smile twinkling in his eyes, I couldn’t see his grin because of the huge, very fake white beard. He had a bright red sack with something in it slung over his shoulder, and had his belt wrapped all slanted around his waist to make it so his fit body look a little more fat and jolly. It didn’t work.
What was even worse was that at the end of his baggy, red beach pants there were no shoes! Santa Clause with no shoes! That’s just so wrong!
The white puff ball on the tip of his hat waggled as he lifted his free hand to wave. And to my great disappointment, the man began to stride towards us in the most un-santa-like walk I’ve ever seen.
I gripped the boy’s hand so he couldn’t run from me and stood there waiting the inevitable.
But suddenly the very fake, white beard slid off the young man’s face, and bam, Barefoot Santa stood there looking more sheepish than an elf caught stealing presents. I tried to hold my sarcastic giggles in.
The grip got tighter on my hand as the boy screamed, this time with a frown just as big as his previous grin, “Santa’s not real!”
Nick kicked off his shoes and dug his toes into the sand and exhaled. He’d been holding his breath for who knows how long, and could finally breathe again. With a few loud disgruntled elves, unprecedented supply-chain breakdowns, and the increased threat of causing an international incident, this had been the most stressful gift delivery season in recent memory.
Delivering gifts around the world for 24 hours is exhausting work without all of that extra drama. He usually plans on losing 150 to 200 pounds during the mission. He was famished. And thirsty. If there’s a level of thirst beyond dehydration, that’s what he felt. He needed a gallon of water. Stat.
As soon as he delivered the final gift to the final child at the final stop, he directed his trusty team of reindeer to take him to his secret island in the Pacific. It was the perfect place to spend the next six months recovering and regaining weight. The sleigh could bring Mrs. Claus later. Surely the elves could straighten out their labor problems on their own. At this point, he didn’t really care.
He just had to get out of there.
Dan always wanted to play Santa, but he was just too skinny.
He bought a Santa suit. It sat in his closet waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
But every year was the same old answer
“You’re too skinny.”
“Nobody wants a thin Santa.”
Pillows didn’t help. Not when they had their choice of fat jolly men with real beards and a twinkle in their eyes.
Then one day Dan decided that he didn’t need to wait. He pulled out the suit and went for a walk on the beach.
The seagulls didn’t care if he wasn’t fat. They accepted the breadcrumbs anyways.
The Santa family was a thriving business these days. Each member drew an assigned route for the year. This year, Eddy Santa got the Caribbean Islands. He always preferred warmer temperatures to the bitter cold in more northern regions. When Christmas Eve arrived, everything went smoothly. Until his reindeer spooked and took flight without him while he was busy setting presents down under the last house’s tree. He chased after them until he could run no more. Sighing, he heaved his sack across his back and trudged through the sand. When morning arrived, he was still walking, tracking the reindeer tracks in the sand. Eddy passed several human tourists out for an early morning beach run. Mentally, he decided just to enjoy his stroll. Eventually, he would find his reindeer. Or one of his family members would come looking for him. Whichever happened first.
Ooh, I like this Santa Claus theory of several Santas working together!
The weatherman was calling for another warm Christmas. There’d be no snowflakes and sledding this year. Not that there was anyone to sled with this year. His brothers were spending the holidays with the in-laws. They’d invited him to come, but he knew he’d just feel out of place. Jake wasn’t about to let any of that dampen his Christmas spirit, though. He considered the Santa suit he’d bought the year before. Santa was nothing without kids. Where did parents take their kids on a beautiful warm day when there was no school? He knew just the place. When Christmas came, he pulled on his suit, picked up the bag in which he’d been gathering small toys, and headed for the beach. Toes in the cool sand, he walked along the shore, waiting for that kid who got enough nerve to come see if Santa had any more gifts.
After a long night’s work on Christmas Eve, Santa decided to take a quick trip to Myrtle Beach. He kicked off his boots and allowed the warm sand to tickle his toes. With a long Winter ahead at the North Pole he wondered if he should have bought that condo in Florida when he had the chance.
“Smile, act like you’re having fun.” Gumdrop tried to frame Santa so the weight loss wasn’t as obvious. They’d been sweating buckets since they arrived, and Santa kept saying (not complaining!) that it was too hot to eat. “Everyone chipped in overtime so you could have few days off. You need to show them you appreciate it.”
Santa lifted his lips into a smile. “Ho, ho, ho,” he muttered.
“Good enough.” Gumdrop wiped the sweat from his forehead and posted the picture to the Arctic Circle social media page.
“Can we get back in the air conditioning now?” Santa’s question was as close to whining as the elf had ever heard him utter.
“Absolutely, Mr. C. I’ll order up some room service for us.”
“Ice cream, popsicles, frozen lemonade. Anything and everything cold.” Santa trudged through the sand to the beach bungalow where they were staying.
He stopped at the porch trying to brush the sand from his clothes and feet. “What in tarnation is the appeal of having particles of dirt clinging to your body?”
Gumdrop hurried over. “Here, Santa. Hold your pants up and stick your feet under the faucet.” The elf turned on the spigot to start the tepid water flowing.
Mumbling (not grumbling!) Santa held one foot, then the other under the stream. When both feet were clean, he walked heavily (not stomping!) inside.
Rinsing his own feet, Gumdrop glanced up at the bright, relentless sun. It was going to be a very long weekend.
Sandy Santa strolls the shore, surely seeking seashells.
Someone sees this skinny St Nick, sans his sleigh, striding shoeless and staring at spectators.
Since he seems senseless of the season, should someone steer him to Santaland?
The traditional red with white trim coat adorned him. A great red sack was tossed over his back as he strolled across the sand at the ocean’s edge. At first glance, one’s mind might begin to run through the possibilities of what had happened. What great tragedy left Santa stranded on the beach. No reindeer in sight. Had he been caught in a storm and his sleigh crashed into the ocean?
Until two things come to comfort every tearful child beholding the scene.
No boots shod his bare feet. Everyone knows Santa wears great black boots.
And most comforting of all, the figure dressed in red is far to thin to be the real Santa, as every child knows full well. No need to fear for Rudolph and the rest.
Holiday Cheer in Paradise
Chris had always dreamed of a tropical holiday getaway. To get away from the hustle and bustle and especially the cold.
To spend Christmas with his toes in sugar white sand, instead of the snow. He was ready to go to a place with sunshine, turquoise waters, and festive island charm galore.
He just wanted to relax, to take long walks on the beach and explore. Where he could simply enjoy the peaceful sound of the waves, that swirled warm water at his feet, filling his nose with salt of the sea.
So he booked his flight, packed his bag, and took off to St. Lucia’s Serenity, at Coconut Bay.
Where he dined on the beach with hot buttered lobster and coconut rum, enjoying his view of the dramatic peaks and the lush rainforests.
Celebrating Christmas cheer walking the beach by the sea. He rented this Santa suit, had the beach attendant take his picture, of him with his jolly toes in the sand, creating this year’s perfect Christmas card.
It’s greeting displayed in red and green.
Holiday Cheer In Paradise…
Wish You Were Here!
“Mr. Claus, you need to make some lifestyle changes. Pronto.” Perched on the top step of the stepladder, Dr. Bernie Elfhaus peered over his half-moon reading glasses at his patient. “Your blood pressure is through the roof. And don’t even get me started on your A1C results.”
Rubbing his large, round belly, Santa moaned. “But Mrs. Claus makes the best spritz cookies this time of year. She sprinkles them with love–Christmas-colored jimmies. Baking for me is how she shows her love.”
The elder elf shook his tiny head. “Well, Mrs. Claus could use some trimming, too.”
Santa snickered and said under his breath, “I’ll let you tell her that.”
“I have the perfect solution,” Dr. Elfhaus continued. “The southern elf tribe has a weight-loss camp. Why don’t you go? You could use some salty sea air, and Christmas isn’t for another six months.” He paused for effect. “If you don’t do something, I fear that someone else will have to lead the reindeer team this year–because you might not be here.”
The doctor could tell his warning had hit its mark by the audible gulp he heard coming from his patient.
With Mrs. Claus’s blessing, Santa traveled south and spent six months dieting and training. The elves, being highly task-oriented beings, took the job of getting the fat, jolly Christmas icon back into shape very seriously. They pushed, prodded, and chastised Santa until he obeyed their orders. He lost so much weight that they had to sew a new suit that fit his now-slim form.
On the last day at camp, he walked shoeless along the beach in his new suit. When he first arrived, even a stroll on the shoreline had left him breathless. Now he moved with ease and confidence. He even caught a few of the female elves sneaking glances at him.
“Ho, ho, ho!” he laughed, clutching for a girth that was no longer there. “Mrs. Claus better watch out. She better not cry. I’m telling you why. Sexy Santa is coming to town.”
With Buddy Elf deciding to take Christmas so Santa can rest, Santa looked around for a vacation but unfortunately he got lost and landed on this island