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By Root 262 0

so called, wasn’t doing much except kicking me in the duff and I was tired, real tired. If the wonderful life was going to be this hard, why not live in a place where the music and a bottle numbed your guts until it didn’t matter? Why not fade away where you could slap anyone who looked at you cross-eyed? I knew it would break Santa’s heart to hear me say those kinds of things, but I was starting to feel like St. Nick was slipping. Before, in Cane’s mansion, when I thought Santa was dying, I was scared, but a little part of me was glad that all the trouble that came with doing good would be over. And I felt a little something like relief.

I hated myself for thinking like that, but the cold wind that blows through Pottersville cuts pretty deep. It carries little voices that carve up your brain. “Rosebud doesn’t love you,” one said. “Dingleberry’s a fool,” said another. “Santa’s a bigger one.” “The kids aren’t worth it,” the breeze whispered. “You’ve always known it.” You stand in the wind long enough in Pottersville and you start to believe those things. It was all I could do to ignore it. I knew there would be no Angel Clarence, no bells ringing and no toast to the richest man in town. I was alone. Poor.

I was cold, so I thought maybe slapping the old man around would warm me up. I couldn’t find a path, so I took off through the cemetery toward town, zigzagging in the dark around tombstones and marble archangels, trying to get to the road. It was a pretty bleak place, gray markers, gray snow, so when I spotted some blue, red and yellow on one grave, I got curious.

When would I ever learn?

The tombstone belonged to a guy named Van Doren Stern, but now he had company. It was Sherlock Stetson and someone had kicked the stuffing out of him. The old Misfit sleuth had a few pieces missing and his pull-string was wrapped around his throat. I wondered if this was the cowpoke the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come was talking about? I wondered if Sherlock was really on to something with that Misfit Mafia talk. I wondered if Zsa Zsa knew her ever lovin’ was dead and if she would finally appreciate his fine, sweet soul. I also wondered if I was imagining things or if whoever did this to Sherlock was watching me.

My gut told me to skedaddle.

Between the wind and the crunch of the frozen ground, it was hard to hear, but I was pretty sure someone or something was following me, so I walked faster. Whatever it was kept right up with me, darting to my left one minute, and then I’d hear it on my right the next. Because I was turning my head back and forth like someone trying to cross a busy highway, I never saw a thing until it was too late.

The next thing I knew, I bumped right into Uncle Billy.

This was not the “old Building and Loan pal” Uncle Billy. This was the Uncle Billy of Pottersville, the coot who’d been locked up in the booby hatch until the old man made him the town’s watchdog. Uncle Billy even foamed at the mouth. He towered over me by a good three feet and he was dressed in rags. Colored, frayed strings were tied around each finger and thumb, causing Billy’s appendages to turn blue from lack of proper circulation. I wondered if one of those strings was there to remind Billy to take Sherlock Stetson off the case. Uncle Billy’s right eye gave me a wild stare while his left did a little jig in his noggin. “Boy oh boy oh boy! Where do you think you’re marching to in a fine hurry on such a wicked frigid night, my little man, eh?” he asked.

“Hi, Billy,” I said. “My name’s Gumdrop Coal. I came from Kringle Town.”

“Is that a fact, Mr. Gumdrop Coal of Kringle Town?” Uncle Billy asked. “Have you lost your way or do you have some denizen business within our tawdry streets?”

“I came to see Potter,” I said. “Any idea where I can find him?”

“You came to see Potter, but Mr. Gumdrop Coal, Potter can’t see you!” A switch had flipped and now Uncle Billy’s face was red with temper. “Came to see Potter my aunt Fanny!” Uncle Billy stomped around in the snow and puffed a little bit.

“Listen, Uncle Billy,” I said. “I didn’t mean to rile you.