Fortnightly Writing Competition - Subject: Santa! (12/15 - 12/28) **WINNER **

[Ponch]

The challenge this time is to write a few paragraphs that feature Santa Claus appearing where you least expect him. You see, Santa's been living a secret life, and it's up to you to expose him. It could be anything you like. Perhaps the police raid a crack house and find Father Christmas sleeping it off in the corner. Or you come home to find your wife cheating on you... With Kris Kringle! Or maybe a French cargo ship is boarded by a group of Somali pirates... led by a jolly fat man with an AK-47! Or maybe it's all just an innocent misunderstanding!

WHY did Santa get mixed up in this scandal?
HOW long has he been living this double life??
WHAT happens next?!?

I don't know! You tell me!

All entries must be in by December 28, 2010. (Atelier, I'm looking at you!) Winner will be determined by vote. Ties will be decided by my Magic 8 Ball (tremble before its power!).

Now get to writing! I love Santa and I'm hoping for a big turnout for this! Don't let me down at this, the most wonderful time of year, AGS forums!  

- Ponch
----------------
(p.s. Don't tell kconan that I'm re-gifting his pens. It'll be our secret, okay?)

[kconan]

Hahaha    Fun idea, and I love the santa hat mod!

[Ponch]

Hahaha    Fun idea, and I love the santa hat mod!

Thanks! I'm either being very clever... or very lazy.

[Atelier]

All entries must be in by December 28, 2010. (Atelier, I'm looking at you!)

Don't worry, it will be done. I know I've said it a hundred times before, but I'm determined to win this round. Good luck everybody else, trust me, you will need it.

[Dualnames]

"Ah, Christmas..." , said George. His happiness filled his heart and the heart of his wife and friends that were sitting by the fire. Even the robot was happy.
"Ah, Christmas...", said George again. His happiness was the same, but somehow some slight existence of annoyance was creeping up in the room. The robot was still happy though.

"Ah, Christ-", George begun to say, but was heavily interrupted. Not by the robot.
"Will you tell us the story uncle George already?!", said one of the kids that sat near the fire waiting for a cool story. Frankly, George was a boring middle-age, middle-class, average kind of dude, that had as much exciting stories as you do. And that's none. Only the robot had some cool stories to say, but no one was interested.

So there he was waiting for a miracle to happen.

Nothing happened for a few seconds.
And then some more.
The awkwardness of the moment really begun to creep on everyone.

Then suddenly everyone's attention was focused on the robot.
It seemed to be malfunctioning for some reason.
It was going round and round and round and round like a dervish.

This seemed endless when suddenly out of nowhere the robot was blown up.
Suddenly everyone screamed, and the room was filled with smoke and flying debris.

George started counting to see if everyone was there, and if they were all okay. He couldn't really see, so he bothered with the counting. Somehow he was counting one more. Through the smoke, he saw a lighter.

Then some more smoke.

It appeared someone was lighting a cigarette.
George stood up and moved closer to see.

Suddenly he lost the figure from his sight.
Then the smoke dissolved immediately as the air-conditioning unit began to work again at full speed.

It was ... unbelievable. Santa Claus himself.
George gasped, he couldn't believe it!

"Eh..ah..", he said. A train of thoughts passed through his brain. George only kept the thought that Santa Claus really made a stupid entrance only a ..

"Prick", said Santa Claus.
"Prick Beckard, bitch.", said Santa Claus looking at the robot.

The robot was barely able to speak. It attempted to give the finger to Prick before switching off, but Prick stepped on its battery surge and it died.
"That's the last name you'll hear. This robot reminded me of my wife. Worthless. Boring. Annoying. And left with another man and broke my heart.", said Santa Claus

"You had an affair with a robot!!???", wondered George.

"What? No. I only have a one-way affair. Ask - Ask Twice - Shoot - Call the Cleaners.", said Santa Claus.

[monkey0506]

Dual..I have absolutely no idea what the hell is going on there.



For years he had been collecting them, gathering them in. It wasn't always easy, bringing them here without anyone noticing. No, it wasn't easy, but it had to be done. This had all gotten out of control, so it was time for some action.

Every new recruit came with such a sense of hope and wonder. They had their chance though, and year after year they had failed. Failed to believe, failed to hope, failed to show basic human dignity or a shred of moral value toward those around them. For that, they deserved their fate.

It was simple really, once he had them. He didn't have to do anything to coerce them into eating anything offerred to them. They trusted him, implicitly. Why shouldn't they? After all, everyone knew that if ever there was a loving, honest, good-willed character it would be "Jolly Old Saint Nicholas" himself.

Long gone were those days however. Looking back, he never regretted the decision. Bringing the children in, building up his army. No, not children any more. The eldest among them was now in his early twenties. They were the perfect soldiers. That is, those who were left. Some had rejected the training, while others had just adapted to it more quickly than anticipated.

The clock hanging on the wall announced that there was only an hour left until midnight. Christmas was upon him, the time was finally here.

He began preparing his troops. They couldn't just be released from here, no, they would need a bit more help from him to reach their destinations. A bit more help, because of course his magic had already lent a hand in their "training." Those who proved worthy of his cause were deputized after a sense. They would be able to instantly "recruit" others.

The media would have a field day with this. That is what he wanted all along. Recognition. The world had turned their backs to him, except when most convenient. They would go all year thinking only of themselves, and here at the time in which a Giving Spirit is most highly emphasized, all they can do is say, "Dear Santa, I want.."

Yes, they would want. They would want to survive. He laughed to himself. They would want to feed.

He looked out over his troops one final time before their deployment. The idea to dress them after himself had been a bit silly really, but what's a bit of good fun at Christmas time?

With a nod of his head, and blink of his eye, Dear Old Saint Nick sent his armies to fly. Some to the west, and some to the east, the north and the south, his zombies to feast. With a triumphant bellow he said loud and clear, "To those who survive, I'll expect cookies next year!!"

[Ponch]

Great! 24 hours in and we already have two awesome entries. Now let's get a few more! 

[Legendary]

" Merry Christmas! " said a mall Santa as he stood on the side of the road shaking a small bell waiting for offerings from the passers. I slowly walked past him, dropping about twenty five cents in the bucket, making my way to the car, I was slightly tired of always having to hear " Merry Christmas! " and always having to ask " What do you want for Christmas? " About forty five minutes after I had left the parking lot, I had already made it home..and if you're thinking that I am Santa..you're wrong heh..I'm nowhere near Santa..just another guy trying to make a easy living you could say. My name is Thomas Daniels, a common man, a smart man at that. I slowly walked across my living room, flopping myself onto the sofa and looking for the remote for the television, I found it, and slowly turned the television on.

" BREAKING NEWS! " echoes from the television as I stared daftly at it, waiting for the news anchor to tell what had happened. The news anchor slowly came back onto the screen and began to talk with a slight serious tone of voice, " This Just in ladies and gentlemen, It seems a series of break ins have been occurring very rapidly this time of year, and the break ins have became ten times that of what they were last year. " I slowly seemed to wipe at my eyes slighty, returning my gaze back against the glass of the television screen. "After we spoke with one of the victims we found out that the robber has been stealing christmas trees, cookies and jugs of milk, and presents! This is just a outrage said one of the victims. " I slowly flicked the switch on the remote, shutting the television off, and slowly made my way out the door.

I slowly walked down the ice covered sidewalk, seeming to be a bit disturbed about the news I had heard, I thought to myself, what kind of person would steal jugs of milk and cookies? thats just..weird. These thoughts seemed to hover in my mind for hours on end, I finally manage to push them out of my mind when I had arrived infront of a abandoned warehouse building, and said, " Damn..Must have lost my focus..Well, While I'm here I might as well see if I can find any thing.." I slowly gripped the wooden door on the abandoned warehouse entrance, slowly pushing it open, and inside..my eyes widened in amazement at all the Christmas trees and presents that laid scattered around the warehouse.

I slowly seemed to walk about the warehouse for a few moments, noticing all the items and reading the labels on everything, then..I noticed a refrigerator leaning up against a post, I slowly made my way to it, opening the door and noticing all the jugs of milk and containers of cookies that were inside of it. A loud crashing noise echoed throughout the warehouse, as I turned to see a man dressed in a ripped pair of red pants, a dirty red vest, with a dirty white beard. I slowly eyed him for a moment, then he spoke, " Hey! What are you doing in her-.." He burped loudly, cutting himself off in mid-sentence, I slowly stared at him for a minute, cocking my eyebrow to gaze at him with a more, disturbed look. I said, " Er' ain't you one of them mall Santas? " He seemed to stagger towards me, falling against the refrigerator and regaining his stance quite quickly. He opened the refrigerator and pull out a jug of milk and started to drink some of it, before replying, " No boy, I'm the real thin-.. " He burped loudly again..by this time I was very annoyed at him.

I sighed before saying, " Well Santa..why ain't you out delivering presents? why did you steal all of those things from those families? " He seemed to take another drink of the jug of milk, setting it back in the refrigerator. He said, " You want to know why? I'll tell ye' why..Because, those little brats didn't deserve a Christmas this year! You hear me! All they want from me is Presents! No one ever wants to leave cookies out for Santa anymore! So I stole them! And you..Thomas James Daniels..you..should know.." I seemed a bit surprised at his response.  I said, " That..is just pathetic of you Santa, you're just a shell of yourself.." I slowly turned walking towards the exit, but stopped and turned to view his face, his face told his story..it was wrinkled and his rosey red cheeks were no longer red, they were pale. I slowly pushed the door open and walked out, leaving him to stay within the Warehouse.

[kconan]

I’ve laid out milk and freshly baked cookies, and arranged the Christmas tree.  It is really late now, so he must be here sometime soon.  I’m on the edge of my seat, since I was four years old I’ve always wanted to meet Santa Claus in person and thank him for being so generous to me and all the other children throughout the world.

Mom, Dad, Sis, and Uncle C are all sound asleep upstairs.  I hope I don't wake them.  Uncle C is especially cranky these days, and so I really do not want to disturb him.  He usually doesn’t stay with us during the winter, but my great uncle says that he needs a break from the “grind”.  I’m not exactly sure what the “grind” is, but it doesn’t sound like fun.

There is a rustling sound coming from the chimney.  It must be Santa!  He’s coming!  Small pieces of crusted ash are crumbling down into the fireplace.  I glance around the room to make doubly sure it is presentable to my childhood hero, and then a bag drops into the fireplace logs followed by a soot-covered man.

Forgetting about my sleeping family members I cheer, “Welcome Santa!”  It’s strange that Santa has a messy goatee instead of a big gray beard, and I don’t remember scary biker tattoos from the Christmas stories.  Also, why is he wearing a vest that those special police officers wear in the movies and what is that weighted leather strap thingy in his hand?

Santa glares at me and barks, “Be quiet kid, close your eyes, and let Santa work his…uhhh…Christmas magic.”  He doesn’t sound very jolly, but I don’t want to ruin Christmas so I close my eyes.  I hear footsteps like he is getting closer to me.  I can’t wait to see what he leaves under the tree!  So what if he doesn’t exactly fit the description of Santa from the stories?  Books and movies are usually not like real life anyway.

“Thomas Eiger Washington!” bellows a deep voice.  I opened my eyes and Santa was directly in front of me with the leather strap thingy raised above his head.  We both look towards the direction of the voice, and there is Uncle C stroking his beard with a very annoyed look on his face.  He sighs, and looks at Santa and says, “You were always troubled, but this is a new low.”

Santa replies, “Alright Grandpa Tubs, how do you know my name?”  Uncle C is certainly tubby, but he carries the extra weight very well and his belly is only noticeable when he laughs.  The real Santa Claus wouldn’t be so mean.  Maybe he isn’t Santa after all?

Uncle C stared at Fake Santa and declares, “If you hit him with that sap, you will be going on the naughty list…permanently.”  Fake Santa shuffles towards me a bit as if to test my uncle.  I’ve never seen Uncle C so serious, except for maybe that one time Dad asked him to go deer hunting.  My uncle will occasionally talk about his pet deer that he keeps at his house up North, and I think the idea of hunting them bothered him.  He is also seems to be sensitive whenever people make fun of midgets.

Fake Santa taunts with, “I’m going to knit an ugly, gray Christmas sweater out of your beard.”  My Uncle C is wearing red pants and a white shirt with suspenders, so where he just pulled out a pair of candy-cane nightsticks is beyond me.   My uncle starts slowly twirling the nightsticks around and says, “Thomas, you had bad parents and rough childhood…there is still time to get your life back on the right track.  Walk out the back door and make something of your life.” 

I start to move just as Thomas swooshes the leather thingy at me, and barely misses.  I can’t believe I thought this big meanie was Santa! The real Santa would never try to conk me on the head.  My Uncle C rushes over and tackles the scary intruder â€" who falls to the floor and then springs right back up!  Thomas then swings the leather thingy at Uncle C, who expertly blocks it with one candy cane nightstick while the other one klunks Thomas in the side of the head and he goes down in a heap.

My new favorite Uncle looks down at Thomas and says, “You are reindeer feed.”  Thomas begs, “Wait!  Wait.  I was only going to knock the kid unconscious - not kill him or anything.  Now I’ve figured out who you are, and maybe I can help.  I saw the broken sleigh in the backyard; I can fix it.  You seem to know a few things about me, and so maybe you know what I did before getting laid off.”  I wondered what that rusty pile of metal was out back, and I remember Dad pleading with Uncle C to get rid of it.  Thomas continues, “I was a sleigh repairman Mr. Claus.”

Uncle Claus slowly advances towards the now frightened Thomas and says, “Convenient...But how can I trust you?”  Thomas replies, “Well you are Santa Claus, wouldn’t you know if I’m lying?”  My Uncle lets out a “Ho Ho Ho” complete with belly jiggling, and says.  “I’m not THE Santa.  I’m his brother, Irving Claus.  I do odd jobs for my famous sibling, including acting as a double in order to thwart assassination attempts.”  Oh my gosh!  What kind of super-meanie or organization of meanies would want to kill Santa?  My Uncle Irving points behind Thomas and says, “Speak of the jolly devil.  Hey Big Brother!”

I yell, “HEY SANTA!”  It is really him!  I mean, he’s wearing the official outfit so it must be!  Well, except for the big black belt which is now being tightened around Thomas the Intruder’s neck.  Wow!  It's really him!  After he finishes strangling that mean fake Santa I hope he tries my cookies!

[bush_monkey]

His carcass was still dangling from the window sill. Dolly was not in the habit of being taken for a ride. Blood was dripping from her left hand, she barely seemed to have noticed, it probably was not her blood anyway. She glanced to the corner of the room, Toby’s mouth was wide opened.
“You never gave him a chance to explain.” Dolly stared at him so hard Toby regretted his words almost instantly. She did not respond, just gave him the finger. Toby stood up, recomposed himself and lit a cigarette. he stepped towards the window to take a closer look.
“Dang, Doll. You don’t play around, do you?” That cigarette had calmed him down. He smiled at her.
“So what do we do now?”
---------
Leroy was not a kind man. He was not so much walking down the street but throwing his weight around, pushing people on his way down the hill hoping, wishing someone would  say something so he could get his beat on.
“That your man?” Toby was driving the car, the window slightly ajar.
Dolly checked her piece of paper and nodded. She reached behind her and grabbed the long, black birchen rod from the back seat.
“Leroy!” She shouted. The beast of a man turned round to examine his prey. What he saw made him salivate. A young, lithe girl for the plucking.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Leroy, you’ve been a naughty boy.” Dolly whipped the rod against the pavement.
Leroy just laughed. He cracked his knuckles and charged towards her.
One crack of the whip later and Toby witnessed his car get soaked in scarlet. Dolly’s angelic face was covered in what remained of the inside of Leroy’s skull.
After she took the time to get a shower, Dolly phoned up her boss.
“Yes sir, we’ve gone through the list. Bad behaviour has indeed been punished.” Toby was in the lounge, putting the last of the decorations on the tree.
“You have a good Christmas too, don’t overdo it this year.”

[Ponch]

I like how this thread is shaping up! More entries! Santa won't be here for a few more days! There's still time! (Overused exclamation points!)

[Atelier]

I'd just like to say I'm working on something.


I'd like to, but I can't. Because I'm not.

[Ponch]

I'd just like to say I'm working on something.


I'd like to, but I can't. Because I'm not.

That's the wrong answer, dude! There's still plenty of time. Now summon up some Christmas spirit and start writing!

Do it for Santa!!!1!

[ThreeOhFour]

Haha good lord I can't believe I wrote this cheesy nonsense, but the idea made me giggle too much, and it was 4 in the morning and all of a sudden I was writing and this came out. This is easily the most ridiculously corny thing I've ever written. Sorry  

For you, Ponch  





“This is stupid” thought Heather as she walked along the street, stepping carefully over the joins in the pavement. She couldn't believe she'd been talked into doing this. Sure, it'd been five months since she and Gavin had broken up, and she did miss having someone to spend time with on weekends...

But this?

Ugh.

Somehow the girls had thought a blind date was a good idea. They didn't know any single guys, and her social circle was more like a social square, or perhaps a triangle, but a blind date? She never thought she'd be so desperate.

In fact, she wasn't desperate. Not really. Sooner or later, some little chance encounter, some little moment of happy fate would introduce her to The Right Guy, and she'd be back living a normal life. There had to be someone out there watching over her.

Five months wasn't that long.

The restaurant sign hung ahead of her, and she walked towards it wondering if she'd really get in that much trouble if she backed out now. It wasn't just the thought of going on a date with someone she didn't know, the worst part was that Jenny, who'd arranged the whole thing as though she was swooping in and saving the day, hadn't even actually met the guy. None of them had; he was some friend of a friend, apparently.

Ugh.

The door closed behind her, the last chance at retreat gone. She'd gone too far to back out now. Eyes scanned the room for a table with only one-

Oh God.

It couldn't be him, could it? She searched the room again carefully checking all the tables for someone, anyone sitting by themselves.

“Heather?”

She turned. It was him. She didn't know what she had expected, or what she'd even liked to have seen standing before her, but he certainly didn't fit in either category. He'd never fit. He was old. Not old as in “I'm seeing a guy who's ten years older than me” old, but old. This guy made her dad look young, made her grandfather look reasonable and made the schoolgirl crush on Mr. Hectors back in the seventh grade suddenly feel a lot less foolish. He was old, he was fat and there was the beard. Oh God, the beard.

“Hi, I'm Nick”, he said. He was clearly nervous. Hell, she could imagine what she looked like right now. Red heat seared up her cheeks and neck, betraying any attempt she could make at covering her shock. “Pleased to meet you, Nick” she lied. This was going to be a long night.

And it was long. It wasn't that Heather was bad at breaking the ice when it came to meeting new people, but this wasn't your typical thin layer on top of the pond. Breaking this ice would have required a dedicated team of sappers with 3 months to tackle the task. This ice would have sank the Titanic twice, and then threatened it with a beating if it ever showed up around these parts again. She hated the awkward silence as she ate her meal, staring intently at the plate so she didn't have to remind herself of what was sitting across the table.
She fought with something to talk about, anything, but what did she have in common with him? She'd tried to bring up the usual topics earlier, movies, music, sport... none of them had gotten very far and she'd resolved to filling her mouth so she'd have a reason to avoid trying to make conversation.

Food, however, does not last forever when dealt with in the intended manner, and as she placed her fork and knife on the plate very gently, to avoid drawing any attention to the fact that she didn't have an excuse for not talking anymore, she looked at him and thought “There's something... familiar about that face.”

“Have I met you before?” she asked, figuring the question was innocent enough. She could always pass it off on a case of mistaken identity if the question went nowhere.

“Most certainly” he said, eyes twinkling as though someone had just told a funny little joke, and only they had heard it. She studied his features again, wondering where or how she'd seen him. They must have met at some point and she'd forgotten; he sounded very certain of the fact.

“Need a hint?” His pupils sparkled and his cheeks pushed up into little red balls either side of his nose. “What would it mean if I said 'Ho, ho, ho'?”

Ah! Now that he'd pointed it out she could see it. He did look like the archetypal Santa Claus. “Do people tease you about looking like Santa a lot?” she asked.

“All the time.” came the reply. There was something in his tone of voice... “Oh, do you do mall appearances?” The look he gave her was amused and yet it seemed like he had been expecting this answer. “Not exactly” he said “More like they fill in for me.”

“Haa haa” she said “Forgive my rudeness, Mr Claus, I was unaware I was in the presence â€" or should that be presents, hah â€" of someone so great.”

“That's quite alright.” he said with a little smile and went back to his food. “Oh come on!” said Heather. “That's a not fair. What do you do? I know I've seen you somewhere before.” He looked up again and stared at her. “Haven't I already told you?” he said. “Oh be serious,” she said “there's no way you're Santa Clause.”

“Christmas 1994,” he said, studying her face as if he was trying to gauge her reaction “You wanted the dollhouse, the one with the pink roof and the rocking horse, but instead you got-” “Books.” she interrupted him “And socks.” “No way you could know that. Who told you that?” she demanded.

“You did, Heather.” This wasn't funny anymore. This was creepy. Had this guy been stalking her? Was he threatening her? Oh God was she going to die? “Look!” she said, driven more by fear than anything else “This isn't funny. I want to go. I'm leaving. I'll pay for my meal, here, this ought to cover it.” she placed the note shakily on the table “Goodnight.”

“Heather,” he said looking at her now not with the face one would expect from a stalker or a rapist, but with a calm, peaceful expression “What about last year? When all you wanted for Christmas was for Gavin to stop going out drinking so often? What about three years ago after going out with that group of guys you'd met on a tour, when you were drunk and lost, scared, with three men following you down the street, and all you wanted was a taxi right then and there to take you away? You never told-” “Anybody.” she said. “Except I probably whispered it under my breath. Begged. Pleaded for help. Who are you?” she said.

“I told you, Heather.” She stared into his eyes, looking for some betrayal of his thoughts, some reason to believe that he was joking or there was another explanation. “Do you remember the taxi that came down that street and picked you up?” “I do.” she said “That was you?”

“Sometimes I prefer to give the presents people really need,” he said “rather than the ones they think they want. You don't always have to write it down in a letter.”




“The worst part is,” he said as they leaned against the railing, watching the sun as it rose “Is that nobody really believes. Oh sure, the kids believe at first, but then they don't get the presents they wanted, and suddenly Santa Claus isn't such a swell guy.” The cool morning breeze made her shiver and she pulled her jacket tighter around her. “You can't just give them presents, then?” she asked. “Really, now,” he said, smiling at her “What would the world be like if we all got what we wanted?”

She leaned in closer, telling herself that she was merely trying to keep warm against the chilly morning. “It must be lonely if nobody really thinks you exist.” she said. “People still have a belief, if not in me, in the existence of something more in general,” he said. “ Sooner or later, some little chance encounter, some little moment of happy fate happens to someone, and they believe, if not in me, then in the concept of someone good out there, watching over them. Sometimes the taxi cab that arrives in time is a much better present than the dollhouse with the pink roof, or the rocking horse. Caring about people, Heather. That's what Christmas is really about.”

She turned to look at him, and he held her stare. She knew what she wanted, despite the big round belly and the little red cheeks, despite the fact that he made her dad look young, made her grandfather look reasonable and made the schoolgirl crush on Mr. Hectors back in the seventh grade suddenly feel a lot less foolish, and yes, even despite the beard. This felt right. She leaned in.

As their mouths parted she whispered across his lips, so quietly that even the morning breeze had to strain to hear it, “Ho, ho, ho...”

[Dualnames]

Dual..I have absolutely no idea what the hell is going on there.

Me neither . It's just written in 10 seconds or so! 

[Ponch]

Great work, everyone. One week down. One week to go. There's still time for more entries. I have enough crayons for everyone! 

[Atelier]

Fox Man At Large!

A mysterious man is being sought in connection with a spate of thefts in London. He is suspected of numerous muggings and burglaries, and in what seems to be
a complete disregard for the law, he has evaded capture and is still at large in the city. Police stations across the capital are on high-alert, and several high-calibre
Inspectors have been selected to helm the search.

After increasing media interest, details of this man and his crimes are beginning to emerge. People across the country are dubbing him "Fox Man", because of his
reputedly vulpine ways. He is supposed to slip as silent as a fox through open windows (although closed windows are no obstacle), and allegedly has a bright red
coat to match. After committing a crime, he melts into the night by scaling buildings and dashing from the rooftops. DCI Tom Barnaby tells us of the hardships of
keeping on the heels of such a notorious criminal.

"It's very tiring, yes. But at the end of the day, this man is nothing more than a common thief, who has been allowed to start a one-man crime wave." Detective
Barnaby believes he knows why the thief may be active. "In this festive period, it's inevitable people will turn to crime to provide for their families at Christmas.
That said, at the rate this man is stealing, he could provide for all the children across the world!"

In the city however, Foxman is fast becoming a living urban legend; so much so that Melvin Slack, a 25 year old lay-about, has made it his life's mission to catch a
glimpse of the elusive Fox Man.

"It's just so cool, y'know. A real life Robin Hood, except badass, and not fake. I've made it my business to hang around crime black-spots. I've even resorted to
wearing gold chains openly, in the hope it catches his eye on the rooftops. So far, all I gotten is a lot of spec from the crib dogs."

A solitary eye-witness even gives Fox Man an accomplice. Veronica Smythe-Smythe-Smythe, who we found in the top drawer, tells us about his apprentice.

"He was short - very short. About your height. And he had pointy ears, and a crumpled face that looked like it had been beaten with a croquet mallet. Yes, I suppose
he did look much like you."

Earlier on tonight, police issued an artist's impression of Fox Man, cross-referenced with many eye-witness accounts.



They urge anybody with information to come forward. A reward of £10,000 is offered for his capture, or information to that end. As the sun shrinks over the tower
blocks of London, the search for Fox Man continues.

[Tenacious Stu]

Hi guys, this is my first ever attempt at an AGS competition and I have to admit I got rather carried away with it, sorry about the length of this 'short' story.


Whitegate Penitentiary looked as grim on the inside as it did from the bar-windowed bus on the ride in. After an unsettling induction into the confines of Prison life, I was shown to my cell by a stereotypical bellowing guard. Keep moving maggot! Get your sorry ass in that cell! That sort of thing. I watched as the guard closed the cell door behind him, the bars made the noise of crunching gears and ended with an ominous SLAM as the door became sealed, just as my fate had been sealed in that courtroom only days earlier.

The quietness was what chilled me the most. The drip of a tap, the water regurgitating within the toilet and sharp winter wind outside were all audible above the soundless void that surrounded me. Four solid walls and bars acting as my only window towards the cell block. As I sat on the bed the springs screeched like nails on a chalkboard. A sigh exhaled from the back of my throat as I lay contemplating my past and my future, trying to avoid the present altogether. No matter how much I begged and pleaded to the jury “I’m innocent, I’m innocent”, they found me guilty. There was no evidence to back up my story and there were no other suspects. Life incarnation. I’m innocent.

Suddenly my train of thought was interrupted by the repeating noise of a “Psst” from the man in the cell next to mine.
“Hey kid?” the voice was deep, but I felt as though this person, whoever they were, did not intend to intimidate me. I tried to remember the image of the cell’s occupant from when I walked past, but my mind was too overwhelmed at the time to take anything in. I rose from my mattress, crunching the springs as I did so, and headed over to the bars. I attempted to see the man who had beckoned me into conversation, but all I could see were two hoary hands resting on his own cell bars. I could almost make out letters tattooed across his knuckles, but the light was to scarce for them to be legible.
“What’s your name, kid?” he said in a crispy tone. I hesitated slightly, before answering. I had heard all sorts of stories prior to my arrival and did not want to experience any of them first hand.
“A…Andy”, I whispered. I tried to speak calmly, but the effects of the day had put quivers in my voice that I could not disguise.
“Of course it is. How could I forget?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Oh, nothing. I’ve been in here for some time and my memory’s a little rusty. Plus I haven’t got my list.”
“List? Look I’m…” I was slightly disorientated from becoming a prisoner and the ramblings of this old man were not putting me at ease. “Do we know each other?” The man paused for what seemed like infinity.
“If you look at it one way, I’d say I’ve known you all your life, but to put it another way, you would say that we have never met.” The man’s riddles were beginning to irritate me. I decided to steer the conversation in a new direction.
“So, what’s your name?”
“I go by many names, but the one I’m using at the moment is Nicholas.”
“Nicholas?”
“Yes, but call me Nick.”
“Okay then Nick, what are you in for?” The old man took another long pause. Although he spoke in an unusual way, his tone of voice suggested a kind of trustworthiness I had not previously experienced.
“I’m not particularly proud of it, but I was caught manufacturing counterfeit toys and passing them on as the real deal. Got done for fraud, but hey, when a guy only works one day a year he’s got to earn a living some how right?”
“Yeah I guess so.” I said, although I didn’t really mean it. Here I was an innocent man, neighbours with real crooks who actually deserve to be here.
“What about you Andy? What’d they haul you in here for?” I thought about lying and saying some small time crime, but there was no point, I would be found out eventually.
“Murder.” I said. Nick whistled and tutted.
“And here I thought I was neighbours with a decent man.”
“I didn’t do it!” I snapped. “I’m innocent”.
“Sure you are.” Nick chuckled to himself. “You and about ninety-eight percent of the population of Whitegate are innocent.” I had had enough of this man. I returned back toward the darkest edges of my cell and slumped onto the bed. I AM innocent.

About ten minutes later Nicks voice rose up again through the air in my cell.
“Say Andy, what’d you do on the outside? You know, before you became a resident here?”
“I was a tailor,” I said. “Why?”
“A tailor eh?” Nick hummed in deep thought. “Interesting”.

The following months turned out not to be as hard as I was expecting. Just keep your head down, do as you’re told, don’t talk back and avoid the ‘heavies’, simple common-sense rules to stick by to keep yourself out of trouble. Upon seeing Nick in person he was nothing like I had expected. He was an old, but powerful, plump man. His cheeks were like roses and he had a cherry nose, but perhaps most striking was his thick beard that engulfed his face with hair as white as snow. He actually turned out to be a decent friend, he helped me out with some of his connections within Whitegate. He managed to get me a small sewing kit and materials and told me to offer my services in exchange for favours to the other prisoners. People began trading me various items and in return I would repair shoes, uniforms and even make small items such as gloves and scarf’s when the harshness of winter returned. My cell began to fill with small luxuries, however no manor of luxuries could help me to forget the greatest luxury of all, my freedom.

It was a bitter cold December and I had just finished in one of the stalls in the prison toilets when I was startled to see Nick stood in the room facing my stall as if in waiting. One of the ‘Heavies’ was stood behind him. He was a huge man with a mean face who obviously spent his free time in the prison gym. His appearance had the characteristics of a tank.
“What’s going on Nick?” I asked him. I was baffled by the sudden seriousness in his demeanour.
“I have some business I need to discuss with you Andy.” As Nick spoke the tank man closed the bathroom door and stood in front of it guarding, pushing his chest out as he did so as if imitating a stag deer. I started to panic. I thought I was going to avoid this. “Don’t worry Andy. That’s Dolph, he’s a friend of mine. I need him here because I don’t want anyone other than you to hear what I’m about to say.”
I started to ease slightly. “Okay…” I stuttered.
“Listen,” Nick demanded. “I’m planning to break out of here. Four days from now. I’ve got a getaway planned and everything’s in place, there is just one more thing I need and you’re the only one who can help me.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I found it difficult to process, this old man was going to try and escape from Whitegate prison? He was madder than I thought.
“Four days…but that’s Christmas Eve?”
“And when do you think security won’t be at it’s tightest around here? Most of the guards will have requested the night off to spend with their families, it’s the perfect opportunity to escape.”
“But how are you…” I started, but he cut me off.
“I don’t have time to explain all the details to you I’m afraid, I have things to prepare.” The old man reached his hand up onto my shoulder and looked me in the eyes. “If you help me, I will take you with me, we shall escape together”. My heart jumped. I imagined how it would be like to escape from the Hell I am forced to now call home. The prospect of freedom was an extremely enticing one indeed. I wished for it more than anything in the world.
“What do you need me to do?” I watched as his mouth draw upwards like a bow and he winked his eye.
“There’s a good lad. Now, when you return to your cell tonight, you’ll find sheets of fabric under your mattress and some material, I need you to make me something before Christmas Eve.”
“What is it that you need?” I asked.
“This,” said Nick with a twinkle in his eye, as he passed me a folded piece of paper.

I sat on the edge of my bed admiring my handy work. It had been four days since I had spoken to Nick. He seemed extremely busy, speaking to all of his contacts and even a few of the guards. When I returned to my cell that night I found copious amounts of red material and white fur. The paper he had handed me contained designs for a coat, pants and hat, all with fur attached. I worked on it mostly at nights as it required a lot of work and I didn’t have the proper tools with me, but the final outcome didn’t look all that bad. I folded up the outfit and stuffed it into a bag as per Nicks demands. He told me to gather my things and remain in my cell on Christmas Eve and await further instructions.

It seemed as though a lot of time had passed. I began to wonder if he was even coming at all. When I was placed in my cell earlier that night, I had not seen him in his. Probably something to do with that guard he was bribing. More time passed. He’s not coming. He perhaps thought it would be funny to make me work my fingers to the bone stitching this ridiculous costume for no reason. If he could see my face now I’m sure he would have a good laugh about it. Yes, he would laugh and his stupid fat belly would wobble.

It must have been almost midnight when I heard a most peculiar sound. It sounded like a small metal object sliding across the floor. My powers of deduction were rewarded when a key slid underneath the bars of my cell door and stopped dead in front of me as I sat on the bed. Peering out of my prison I could see nothing through the thick blackness from which someone was surely lurking. Maybe it’s Nick? I wasted no more time; I picked up the key and carefully tried it in the lock of my cell door. It fits. I twisted it as carefully as a safecracker listening for a combination, until I heard a satisfactory click. The door was open, I was free. I squeezed through a small gap I had made in the open door, as I didn’t want to alert anyone to my current location. Then a thought stuck me. Where do I go now? I did not know the layout of the prison well enough to simply walk out of there and even though it was Christmas Eve, there would still be some guards hanging around.How am I supposed to give this package to Nick if I don’t know where he is? It was whilst I was looking around frantically looking for some sign of where to head next when the answer was given to me. A tiny red glow, possibly from a lamp of some sort could be seen at the far end of the corridor. It waved around as if it was trying to beckon me to follow it. I had no other option that to head towards it. I quickly crept by the cells of my fellow prisoners as I tried to catch up to the red light, however when I got closer to the light it seemed to get further away. Whoever is holding the light must be leading me somewhere. I continued to follow the red glow, passed some offices, through a hall, along some more cells, up a staircase until the light was suddenly visible no more and at the top of the stairs I was faced with a door. There was no other way the lamp-holder could have gone and so I pushed the door open and was greeted with a gust of snowy wind flowing around every inch of my body.

What I saw next startled me so much that I dropped the bag that held the red suit. Are those reindeer? I stood in awe as I looked upon what appeared to be a sleigh carrying a huge sack and eight reindeer placed upon the highest rooftop of Whitegate prison.
“Ahh there you are” came a familiar voice, but I was too stricken to respond. “Is that my suit, perfect”. Nick picked up the package at my feet as I stand there trying to make sense of the situation. Is this a dream? “I’ll just be a minute,” said Nick as he made his way through the door through which I had came. Dolph was tending to the sleigh, fixing the red lamp to an attachment at the front of it. So it was Dolph who was guiding me. Then Nick appeared as quick as he had gone; dressed in the costume I had made for him. There was something quite incredible about him. This jolly, rotund old man wearing a red suit covered in white fur, with his cheeks equally as red and his great beard as white as the snow that had fallen all around. He walked towards the sleigh, Dolph now sat in the rear, and he turned to face me. “Are you coming or what?” I simply nodded as I had temporarily lost the ability to speak words and proceeded to join Nick in the passenger’s seat of his magnificent sleigh.

As we flew high above Whitegate Prison, the huge open spaces of the night sky were in stark contrast to the confined areas I had been kept in for almost a year. As the snowflakes cleansed my face I felt, Liberated. I looked to my left to see this great man holding the reins in his hands, with a pipe edging from his gritted teeth. He turned to me and sent me one of his signature winks which seemed to warm you from the very depths of your soul.
“Merry Christmas Andy, he spoke above the roaring winds. “Freedom is perhaps the greatest present of all.” I nodded towards him again, the capacity to speak had not yet returned to me. From the red glow of the lamp I noticed again, the tattoos on the old mans knuckles, strange how until now I had not thought to look upon them since my first night in Whitegate. The difference now being that they were now visible under the red glow of the lamp. There were four letters, each letter designated its own knuckle, which when read upright appeared to read, Noel. Noel to all.

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