Note: These short stories are set in The Magical World of Zealandia, offering glimpses into its adventures and mysteries. While they can be enjoyed on their own, reading Zealandia: The Dreadstones Grasp will provide deeper context and enrich your experience!
It was Christmas Eve, and the Northway townhouse was quiet—mostly. Upstairs, in their shared bedroom, Tom and Alex were tucked into their beds under soft patchwork quilts, moonlight filtering through the frosted windows.
Tom lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling. His hair stuck slightly to his forehead, his nerves and excitement making it impossible to settle. Tomorrow was Christmas Day, and their families were coming to Northway for a celebration. Tom’s grandfather, “Gramps,” would be there too. He’d spent part of the “summer” holidays with Gramps, and the thought of his jokes and stories made Tom’s chest feel warm despite Lord Sitka's magical winter outside.
But now, something else had caught his attention.
A faint jingle—bells, maybe? Then, a dull thud-thud-thud, like hooves landing on the roof.
Tom sat bolt upright, his heart racing.
“Alex,” he hissed, jumping out of his bed and darting across the room to poke his friend in the shoulder.
“Mmf,” Alex mumbled, burying his face further into his pillow. His pale blonde hair stuck up at odd angles.
“Alex, wake up! There’s something on the roof!”
Alex cracked one frosted eye open, glaring. “You’re crazy,” he muttered. “Go back to bed.”
But then, a heavy THUD shook the ceiling, rattling loose snow from the windowsill.
Alex shot upright. “What was that?”
“I told you!” Tom whispered, pulling the quilt off Alex. “Come on.”
The two of them crept out of their room and tiptoed down the hall to the girls’ room. Tom pushed the door open, revealing Victoria and Emily sound asleep in their beds.
“Psst,” Alex whispered, shaking Victoria’s shoulder.
“What?” Victoria groaned, rubbing her eyes as she sat up. Her dark hair, usually neatly tied back, was now a frizzy halo. “It’s the middle of the night!”
“There’s something on the roof,” Tom said insistently.
Emily, who had just woken up, stared at them. “This better not be another prank, Alex. Remember the time you said there was a ghost in the basement, and it turned out to be a bucket?”
“This is different!” Alex whispered urgently.
Another thud from above made all four of them freeze.
“Fine,” Victoria said, swinging her legs out of bed. “But if this is a prank, I’m dumping snow on you tomorrow.”
Together, they tiptoed down the staircase, the old wooden steps creaking faintly under their weight. They stopped outside the sitting room, peeking around the corner.
What they saw made them freeze.
Lord Sitka stood in his full formal attire, his hands on his hips, glaring up the chimney. The embers in the fireplace glowed faintly, casting a warm light over the room.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” he was yelling up the flue. “Nick, for the love of Christmas, lay off the biscuits! You’re going to keep getting stuck if you don’t!”
A muffled grunt echoed from the chimney above, followed by a frustrated ho, ho, ho.
The kids looked at each other, wide-eyed.
“It’s him,” Tom whispered.
“Santa,” Emily breathed, clutching Victoria’s arm.
Victoria’s jaw dropped. “He’s stuck.”
“Do you think we’ll end up on the naughty list for being out of bed?” Alex asked, his voice suddenly urgent.
All four of them exchanged panicked looks.
“We need to go,” Tom whispered.
Without another word, they bolted back up the stairs, their hearts racing. By the time they dove under their covers, their cheeks were flushed with excitement and fear.
As Tom pulled the quilt back up to his chin, he whispered into the dark, “Merry Christmas, everyone.”
And somewhere below, the faint sound of jingle bells drifted through the air.