A Magical Morning

This year I was a little worried. We were at Grandma’s on Christmas Eve instead of my house.
“Will Santa know where to bring my presents?” I asked my Mom as she tucked me in that night.
“Of course honey, Santa is magical.”
“But Grandma doesn’t have a chimney.”
“He’ll get in just the same.”

I laid in the dark, long after my cousins had giggled themselves to sleep, thinking. I decided Santa would use the front door, which was hardly used at all. The frost had crystallized on the glass just this morning, making tiny patterns across it like fairies had painted it all night. Yes, Santa would use the fairy door. I yawned.

A sound woke me. A tinkling of tiny bells. Reindeer! I closed my eyes tight. If Santa knew I was awake, he’d not leave me anything! I listened. I didn’t hear anything more, so I opened my eyes. It was morning. Santa was late! Maybe he’d had to come back to deliver our gifts, forgetting we weren’t home. I got up.

“I heard Santa’s bells!” I told everyone that morning.
They never believed.

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