The Adventures of Marcus & Nelson: Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve crept into Marcus’s bedroom on tiptoe, carrying the soft glow of fairy lights and the cinnamon smell of mince pies drifting up from the kitchen. Marcus lay curled beneath his duvet, red curls poking out like question marks, one green eye firmly shut. The other eye, Nelson, was very much open.

Wide open.

Marcus had fallen asleep halfway through explaining, for the hundredth time, that Santa was definitely real and that he absolutely must not peek. Nelson, however, had his doubts. A flying man with a beard? Reindeer on the roof? It all sounded like something invented by grown-ups who enjoyed wrapping paper too much.

Nelson stayed awake.

He watched the clock hands creep towards midnight. He listened to the house breathe. Tick. Whirr. Creak. The fairy lights blinked slowly, as if they too were fighting sleep.

Then came a sound.

A thump.

Nelson stiffened in Marcus’s eye socket. Another sound followed. A scrape. Then something that sounded suspiciously like a quiet “Oof.”

Nelson’s glass surface gleamed. This was it.

The bedroom door eased open, spilling a slice of golden light across the carpet. A large, shiny black boot stepped inside, followed by another. Nelson tilted his view upward.

There, bending slightly to avoid the ceiling, stood Santa Claus.

Not a storybook Santa. Not a picture Santa. A real one, complete with snow-dusted hat, twinkling eyes, and a snowy white beard..

Nelson stared.

Santa moved carefully, placing a sack by the wardrobe. He glanced at Marcus, smiling. “Fast asleep,” he murmured.

Nelson felt a sudden wobble of panic. What if Santa noticed him? Glass eyes weren’t exactly standard.

Too late.

Santa leaned closer. “Well now,” he said softly. “You’re awake.”

Nelson wanted to blink. He couldn’t. He settled for shining.

“Keeping watch?” Santa asked.

Nelson tried very hard to look dignified while still attached to a sleeping seven-year-old.

Santa chuckled. “Good. Someone should.” He reached into his sack and pulled out a tiny parcel, wrapped in silver paper. “This one’s for you.”

He placed it gently on the bedside table.

“For… me?” Nelson thought, astonished.

Santa straightened, gave Marcus’s blanket a careful tuck, and headed back towards the door. Before leaving, he paused. “Belief,” he said quietly, “comes in many forms.”

Then he was gone.

The room settled. The clock ticked. The fairy lights sighed.

By morning, Marcus woke to excitement, wrapping paper, and a small silver parcel beside his bed. Inside was a tiny polishing cloth and a tag that read:

To Nelson. Thanks for keeping an eye on things.

Marcus laughed. “See?” he said. “I told you Santa was real.”

Nelson sparkled silently.

This time, he didn’t argue.

By Mark “Hawkeye” Harris