Making Christmas Okay by Roger Haydon

You’re right, I guess I should know better than to be out here tonight with the other folks on this Christmas Eve. Me, part of a vigilante gang of all things? Maybe I’m getting old and cranky but sometimes stuff happens and you ain’t given no choice. A man’s gotta be a man and go with the flow and be prepared to face the consequences.

So, let me tell you how it all got started. Tanya from up the street saw it first on the web about this weird dude, she’s got a nose for strange stuff, sniffs it out like nobody else I know. Then Eddie the car repair man heard about it and told all us boys over a humungous number of drinks and shots at Big Dave’s sixty-fifth birthday party last Saturday night. I’ve still gotta hangover from thinking about it. Barb and her old man, Jerry, and his brothers Carl and Billy picked up on it, as they always do with this sort of stuff, and the word started to really get around. It was shared on the online chat thing we all use and on our local radio station and it all kinda snowballed from there. Everybody got worked up, like everybody, know what I mean? The thing is, nobody in their right mind wants strange dudes wandering around our town at night, trying to break into our kids’ bedrooms when we’re all fast asleep and leaving stuff we never asked for. No way, you wouldn’t want it either, would you? Of course not.

So, it’s freezing cold and I’m standing here with a borrowed baseball bat in my mitt and a bright torch looking for this weirdo. Others have got pick-axe handles, car jack handles and someone says somebody’s got a shotgun. This is serious stuff.

It’s now just gone midnight and there’s shouting from the end of the street and a crowd’s gathered round down there. We run towards the trouble to find some of the boys shouting and cursing and whacking something on the ground real hard. There’s a pair of legs in what looks like bright red track suit bottoms kicking wildly and what looks like blood on the pavement. There’s a sack on the ground with packets and boxes spilling out and now the legs are still and the boys have stopped all the hitting. Eddie says we should go home and Tanya agrees, so we do. Everybody says our town’s safe now, our kids are safe and Christmas is going to be just fine. Job done, I guess. Next time?  Let’s hope these strange dudes have learned their lesson and there ain’t no next time.

Anyway, here’s a toast to you, have a happy and prosperous Christmas.

Roger was born in London and has lived in the North East of England for nearly 50 years. He retired in 2012 after a mixed career including, latterly, senior management the National Health Service. Now he writes flash fiction, some short stories and the occasional poem and has been published online. He also supports workshops for younger children in using their imaginations to write stories, volunteers as a gardener and has an allotment on which he grows fruit, vegetables and wild flowers.

Image – Roger Haydon via NightCafe

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