12 Short Stories of Christmas 6: Six Geese a Laying

Published December 17, 2015 by ElisaChristy

For day five click here.

£500 for the rent. £300 for the bills. At least £100 would have to be spent on food over the course of the month and he had wanted to buy some new shoes. These ones were so old his toes poked out the ends where they had disintegrated into nothing.

The goose started squawking from outside. He sighed. New shoes would have to wait. He had forgotten to factor in the money needed to feed the goose. He didn’t know why he didn’t sell it, it was probably a sentimental reason, though he spent most of his time complaining about the goose instead of being sentimental about it. He took the last bag of feed from by the door and clutching it in his hand he went outside. He dropped the bag of feed on the floor in his surprise. Next to the goose, so bright he had to shield his eyes, was a great big golden egg.

This was why he had never sold the goose!

He walked over and picked up the goose, dancing round the yard with the animal, who seemed less than amused and bit him on the arm, but he was too happy to care. Still smiling, he picked up the egg and went straight into town to buy his new shoes.

The next day, there was another one. This he used to pay off his debts, and his rent for the whole year.

The third day he bought a whole new wardrobe.

The fourth, a car.

The fifth he convinced his landlord to sell him the house, so he would never have to pay rent again.

The sixth day, convinced that his money troubles were over forever he quit his job, citing as reason that he had a goose that laid golden eggs, his co-workers thought him quite mad, but when he left on his desk the sixth egg the goose had laid that morning, they reconsidered their opinions.

On the seventh day, he went back outside into the garden to pick up the golden egg, but there was none. The goose was gone. There wasn’t even any feed left by the door to suggest the goose had ever been there.

And over the past six days he had not bought himself any food.

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12 Short Stories of Christmas 5: Five Gold Rings

Published December 16, 2015 by ElisaChristy

For day four click here.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

He laid them down on the table, with a clunk as he counted. Five wedding rings for five wives. They were all gone now, of course. He looked at the box which contained another gold ring. For wife number six. What would happen to her? He hadn’t decided yet.

12 Short Stories of Christmas 4: Four Calling Birds

Published December 15, 2015 by ElisaChristy

For day three click here.

It was too early for the birds to be singing. Sue put the pillow over her head and tried to ignore the sound.

“Don’t birds ever want a lie in?” she muttered.

The pillow didn’t work. The sheer volume of the bird song outside her window permeated through the fabric of the pillow.

Sue threw the pillow down to the end of the bed in disgust and sat up, listening to the bird song.It was quite beautiful, she admitted. Even in her state, it was quite beautiful.

Sue’s heart stopped for a second. They weren’t singing at all. Now she had thrown the pillow away, she could hear. The birds were calling his name.

Over and over, again and again, they called his name. As if they were mocking her.

Sue rose from the bed, went over to her window and opened it. A bird came to perch on the window ledge, head cocked on one side. It called his name and she batted it away in anger. The bird fell close to the ground, Sue peered out after it and thought it was going to hit the ground, but it unfurled it’s wings and swooped back up to it’s friends. The other birds fell silent for a moment, before they flew straight towards the open window where Sue stood. Calling his name all the while.

12 Short Stories of Christmas 3: Three French Hens

Published December 14, 2015 by ElisaChristy

For day two click here.

“They speak French,” said Hayley as she scattered the bird seed. Her younger sister Alana looked at her skeptically but Hayley stood her ground.

“They do,” she said.

One of the hens squawked and Hayley pointed “See. I understood that,”

Her younger sister narrowed her eyes. “It doesn’t sound like the French I’ve heard,” she said dropping handfuls of seed onto the floor. The birds descended, squawking all the time.

Hayley sighed. “That’s because you’ve only learnt human French. Why would a hen know human French?”

“We didn’t get them in France though. They’re from that farmer in Devon,” persisted Alana.

“No, but they came from France originally,”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I asked them,” said Hayley, “And they told me. In Hen French.”

Hayley had finished scattering her bird seed and went back inside, brushing her hands on her clothes to get the seeds off them.

Alana did not believe that the hens spoke French, nor that her sister could understand them if they did. She was fairly certain her sister had been lying. Fairly certain. She had finished scattering her bird seed, she checked inside the bag just to make sure. There was nothing left. The hens crowded round her squawking for more. “Sorry, there is no more,” she said, turning the bag inside out and shaking it to prove it to them. Then just before she turned to go back inside the house, she checked and double checked her older sister was not watching and out of earshot. The she turned back to the hens and whispered “Au revoir,” as she closed the house door. Just to make sure.

12 Short Stories of Christmas 1: A Partridge in a Pear Tree

Published December 12, 2015 by ElisaChristy

Summer plucked one of the pears from the tree and bit into it, the juice dripping down her chin. The day was sunny and warm, a partridge flew into the tree knocking a few more ripe pears from the tree that landed with a thump on the grass beneath. The bird sang. Summer scrambled to pick up all the pears so she could eat them later. The bird flew away again before it had finished it’s song and the garden felt silent without the sound.

That winter the snow fell thick upon the ground, but the tree still bore pears. Heavy and ripe they fell from the tree and dropped silently in the snow. Summer thought the silence was too loud. She no longer ate the pears from the tree and the unfinished song of the partridge that had never returned, roared in her ears like a spell.

Twelve Short Stories of Christmas

Published December 11, 2015 by ElisaChristy

Between 13th December and 24th December I will be uploading short stories or more likely flash fiction I have written, and will be using as my inspiration the lyrics to The 12 Days Of Christmas.

While I can’t guarantee that these stories will have anything at all to do with what the lyrics are actually supposed to represent, the lyrics will be the starting point for writing the story. Nor can I guarantee that all of them will be complete stories but may instead be part of stories, though they will still be understandable.

Some will be happy and full of Christmas cheer, others may be ghost stories or mysteries to read by a fire.

To read the first 12 days of Christmas story: A Partridge in a Pear Tree click here.