One last winter tales post before Christmas Day! The tradition calls for ghost stories on Christmas Eve, and I’ve given you a few, but I can’t resist posting something a little more upbeat just before the big day. And don’t worry, there will be more spooky stories after Christmas Day, all the way up until Epiphany.
Today’s tale is “The Magic Shop” by the great science fiction writer H.G. Wells (1866-1946). It’s a story that manages to be simultaneously sweet and unsettling, and so it feels like the perfect blend of Christmas cheer and winter tale spookiness.
The narrator and his son happen upon a wonderful magic shop — one that the narrator hadn’t remembered as being quite in that place.
“Our larger tricks, and our daily provisions and all the other things we want, we get out of that hat. . . And you know, sir, if you’ll excuse my saying it, there isn’t a wholesale shop, not for Genuine Magic goods, sir. I don’t know if you noticed our inscription–the Genuine Magic shop.” He drew a business-card from his cheek and handed it to me. “Genuine,” he said, with his finger on the word, and added, “There is absolutely no deception, sir.”
Genuine Magic? Of course not. Is it? A lovely little tale, with just a hint of darkness at the end.
And for a bonus (since it’s two evenings until Christmas morning), I’ll repeat another little fable that I shared the year I first started sharing winter tales: “A Kidnapped Santa Claus” by Frank L. Baum (1856-1919), author of The Wizard of Oz.
Santa Claus lives in the Laughing Valley, where stands the big, rambling castle in which his toys are manufactured. His workmen, selected from the ryls, knooks, pixies and fairies, live with him, and every one is as busy as can be from one year’s end to another.
It is called the Laughing Valley because everything there is happy and gay. The brook chuckles to itself as it leaps rollicking between its green banks; the wind whistles merrily in the trees; the sunbeams dance lightly over the soft grass, and the violets and wild flowers look smilingly up from their green nests. To laugh one needs to be happy; to be happy one needs to be content. And throughout the Laughing Valley of Santa Claus contentment reigns supreme.
But near the Laughing Valley lie the Caves of the Daemons, and the Daemons are jealous of Christmas cheer. So they plot to kidnap Santa before he can deliver his toys on Christmas Eve.
A Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it, and a beautiful day to all of you who don’t. I’ll be back with more winter tales to end the year, soon.
A list (with links) of the winter tales I’ve shared in previous years is on my Winter Tales page.
Image: Advertising poster for magician Zan Zig, 1899. Source: Wikipedia