• 15 December 2015


    [this seasonal, light-hearted, not-to-be-taken-too-seriously story is set during and after the events described in Tunnels Of Blood, but also includes brushes with characters from my other major series -- The Demonata, Zom-B, Archibald Lox as well as a few of my one-off books...]

    "Move your backside, you hairy slacker!" Mrs Claus snapped, giving her husband a sharp dig in the ribs. "It's Christmas Eve!"

    "Already?" Shanta groaned. "It barely seems like five minutes since I laid my head down." It was Shanta's custom, once he finished delivering toys to all the girls and boys of the world each Christmas, to hit the sack and stay in bed until the next December 24th rolled round. He had a smart TV in the right-hand corner of his gigantic bed -- on which he could monitor the behaviour of every child, as well as stream shows such as the bone-chilling The Last of Us -- and an in-built bidet-toilet in the left. As far as Shanta was concerned, those were all the mod cons anyone needed. If you had those premier pieces of kit installed in your bed, why bother leaving it?!?

    "Get moving, tubby!" Mrs Claus growled, poking him again with a thick finger. "The elves have finished packing all the toys. The reindeer are fed and ready for action -- it's foggy out, so Rudolph's leading again this year. The clock's ticking, so get your huge, hairy, pimply..."

    "OK!" Shanta barked before she finished the insult. He swung his legs out (he didn't take his boots or suit off in bed) and yawned.

    "And don't forget your face mask," Mrs Claus said.

    "Face mask?" Shanta blinked.

    "You'll be slipping backwards and forwards through time," she said. "Best to have one on you, in case you pop up in 2020 or 2021."

    Shanta shivered. "They were horrible years, weren't they?"

    "They certainly weren't a bundle of laughs for anyone," Mrs Claus agreed, "except for the wealthy friends of certain politicians, who made plenty of hay while a sinister sun shined. Anyway, don't forget that mask."

    "Bloody masks," Shanta sniffed. Then he tried his most winning smile on her. "Couldn't you do it this year?" he asked, more in vain hope than any real expectation.

    "I will if you're too tired, darling," Mrs Claus cooed sweetly, causing her bearded better half to blink with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. "Of course," she said, her voice hardening, "you'll have to handle the cooking and cleaning for the next twelve months -- those elves don't feed themselves -- and you'll also have to shovel the snow off the front porch every morning..."

    "Bloody elves!" Shanta grumbled. "Bloody North Pole! Bloody Christmas!" He paused, sniffed the air -- there was a strong, unpleasant stench -- then had a quick look under the covers, at the corner where the toilet was situated. "Bloody cowboy plumbers!"

    * * * * *

    Shanta felt better once he was off the ground, flying high above the earth in his sleigh, the wind gusting through his thick white hair and beard (though it wasn't much fun when one of the reindeer broke wind of its own!). He moaned about Christmas a lot, but he loved it really. The joy of giving presents, the wonder of seeing innocent children's faces as they slumbered, the countless free glasses of whiskey and slices of cake -- a truly special time!

    After a few warm-up circuits of the globe, he got down to the job of delivering the presents, which bulged out of a sack at the rear of the sleigh. (It was a magical sack, far bigger on the inside than on the outside. He'd got the idea watching an episode of "Doctor Who"). A tablet was attached to the dashboard, on which his famous list was displayed. That was Mrs Claus's idea, and though Shanta had resisted to begin with, he was glad of it now. He could surf the internet as he worked, and even play video games -- his current favourite was "Baldur's Gate 3."

    The list was arranged regionally and alphabetically. There was a smiley face icon beside the names of good boys and girls, which he clicked on to find out what toys they'd asked for, and a dark cloud icon beside the names of those who'd been bad. The bold children got no toys -- instead, when he landed on their roof, Shanta sent a reindeer down the chimney, and the animal left soft, moist droppings all over the sleeping brat.

    Time wasn't the same for Shanta as it was for humans -- for every second which passed in the real world, he experienced ten minutes. So a minute of human time equaled ten hours Shanta time, and an hour of human time was six hundred hours (the same as twenty-five days) in Shanta's realm. This was how he was able to cover the entire world in the space of one night. There was no truth to the rumour that Shanta was able to move at the speed of light -- in fact, he and the reindeer rarely went faster than thirty miles an hour.

    * * * * *

    After a couple of billion homes -- and several million glasses of whiskey -- a rather unsteady Shanta landed on the roof of a house and paused nervously, studying his computer screen. The boy who lived here was called Steve Leonard, but most people knew him as Steve Leopard. Although he was by no stretch of the imagination a nice, pleasant child, he hadn't broken any rules this year, and so was due a present. Shanta would rather have flown on without stopping, but the law was the law. So, with a heavy sigh, he took the requested present out of his sack and slid down the chimney.

    "About time," someone said as Shanta wriggled out of the fire grate.

    Shanta whirled around defensively, then relaxed when he saw Steve Leopard sitting in a chair, face as grim as ever. "You're not supposed to see me!" Shanta complained. "Why aren't you in bed asleep?"

    "I sleep during the day," Steve said. "You know that, otherwise you'd have waited another few hours until I'd dropped off."

    Shanta sighed glumly. That was one of the rules -- he had to deliver during the darkness, not by day, so if people stayed up all night, there was a good chance they'd spot him. "Do you want your present now, or will I stick it under the tree?" Shanta asked grumpily. He hated being seen. It fed the rumours that he was real. Shanta's greatest wish was that all the children of the world would stop believing in him. Then he could retire and spend ALL his time watching TV shows.

    "Give it to me now," Steve said, rising. He smiled when Shanta passed over the package, but it was a nasty smile, and Shanta shivered when he saw it. Without any hesitation, Steve ripped open the parcel and held up the items within -- a book entitled "Vampires, And How To Hunt Them -- The 32nd Edition." Another book entitled "The Cardinal's Guide To Crushing Your Enemies And Taking Over The World." And last but not least, a small but heavy hammer, and a set of six steel-tipped stakes. "Exxxxxxcellent!" Steve purred, laying the book on the shelf over his chair (knocking the 30th edition out of the way), then slowly stroking the tips of the sharp stakes.

    "Careful," Shanta warned him. "You could cut yourself."

    "Not me," Steve replied in a low, creepy voice. "I've got nothing to fear from stakes -- though I know a pair who do..."

    Shanta cleared his throat uneasily. "I suppose I'd best be off then. Um. Would you like a nice computer game next year, instead of --"

    "No!" Steve cut in. "I want the 33rd edition of the hunter's guide, the latest Edward Sieveking book -- I don't read much fiction, but I've heard he's worth a look -- plus a new hammer and more stakes. Lots of stakes!"

    "Very well," Shanta shrugged. "Though it all seems rather morbid to me..."

    He slipped back up the chimney, leaving the cold, scary boy alone in the room with his guide, hammer, stakes... and dark, dreadful dreams of warped revenge.

    * * * * *

    From Steve Leonard's, it was a short hop and a skip to the homes of Tommy Jones and Alan Morris. They used to be close friends with Steve once, but they didn't see much of him these days. Shanta was glad of that -- he had a feeling that young master Leopard might be a bad influence on anyone foolish enough to hang out with him.

    Tommy had asked for the usual -- football gloves, a ball, a tracksuit, and the latest football game for his computer -- but Alan had put in an odd request. Normally he wanted toys, CDs, games and so on. But this year he'd asked for a science kit. Shanta had always thought the Morris boy was a bit of a simpleton, so he was surprised but pleased to see this new interest in matters scientific. Maybe there was hope for the youngster yet!

    As Shanta was fetching the kit out of his bag, he noticed something strange. There was a magazine attached to it by a bit of tape. It was a science journal, full of terms that made Shanta's head spin. Flicking through the journal, Shanta came to a page that had been turned down. Reading the first paragraph, he realised it was an article about cloning.

    "What a curious thing to ask for," he muttered. He thought about heading back to his sleigh to double-check his list -- Shanta hated it when he made a mistake -- but as he was considering that, a voice slithered through his head like a snake.

    "Just leave the magazine where it is, you bulbous, stupid clown," the voice hissed. Shanta blinked, rooted to the spot by shock.

    "I kn-know that vuh-vuh-vuh-voice," Shanta stuttered. "But from where...?"

    "You left a watch for me once, many years ago," the voice chuckled. "It was heart-shaped."

    Shanta's eyes widened and he reached for the journal, intent on ripping it to shreds, certain that no present from this particular meddler could bring any good into young Alan's life. But as his fingers closed on the glossy paper, the voice in his head breathed softly, eliminating all memories of the conversation, along with Shanta's fears and doubts.

    Shanta stood there a moment longer, trying to remember what had seemed so important to him a few seconds ago. When nothing came to mind, he shrugged, smoothed down the pages of the science journal, then slipped back up the chimney. As he took up the reins again, he shivered involuntarily, as if someone had just walked across his grave. Someone in large, yellow wellington boots...

    * * * * *

    Next on Shanta's route was the Shan household, where young Annie Shan was tucked up in bed, snoring like a bear. Shanta smiled sadly as he gazed down upon Annie and the doll she was sleeping with -- a dark-haired, brown-eyed doll, who looked like her "lost" brother Darren. (Annie and her parents believed Darren was dead, though Shanta knew better.)

    "I wish I could tell you the truth," Shanta sighed, resting his palm against the poor girl's warm cheek. "But I'm not allowed to interfere in matters such as this." Sighing again, he left her present -- another doll, and this one looked even more like the brother she loved and missed -- in the sock at the foot of her bed, then turned to leave.

    Out of the corner of an eye, he spotted movement near the curtains, paused, then stooped and snatched up a large, harmless spider. "You'll have to come with me, little lady," Shanta said, pocketing the spider until they got outside, where he planned to release it. "Annie's not fond of spiders -- she'd squish you flat and scream for an hour if she woke up and saw you. It's all to do with her brother..."

    * * * * *

    Shanta had to pay a call to another gloomy household a couple of hours later -- where the Grest children lived. It used to be a happy, vibrant home, until one of the kids (bright, loquacious Sam) ran foul of a rampaging Wolf Man. The family was starting to pull itself back together, but it wasn't easy.

    The previous Christmas, the children had asked for the usual mix of toys, dolls and games -- which Shanta duly delivered -- but this year they'd clubbed together and asked for one big present between them. It was the sort of crazy request Shanta normally ignored, but because he felt sorry for the family, he decided to make an exception.

    "Come on," he said, reaching into his sack. "Out with you." He produced a small, furry, confused animal, one of the North Pole's natural inhabitants -- a polar bear cub. The Grest children had loads of pets -- dogs, cats, goldfish, a goat and more -- but they'd always wished for something extra special, something they couldn't find anywhere else.

    Shanta's elves had spent many months working undercover among polar bears, picking the right cub -- they wanted one which wouldn't grow too large, or develop a mean temper -- and finally they'd located an orphan which fit the bill perfectly. "Be good," Shanta whispered, laying the bear down by the tree in the living room. "Don't make a mess on the carpet." The bear looked up at the red-cloaked, bearded man, and whined happily.

    "Oh!" Shanta said, stopping. "I almost forgot..." Returning to the bear, he stuck a small badge on its chest. In the center of the badge, in large red letters, were the words which Shanta hoped would bring a long-lasting smile to the Grest children's faces. "Take good care of the cub. His name is SAM."

    * * * * *

    As Shanta was flying to his next stop some hours later, a window of pale blue light suddenly appeared in the air ahead of him. He spotted the danger and tried to steer the reindeer around it, but it was too late. Rudolph hit the window of light and vanished, dragging the rest of the reindeer, the sleigh and Shanta through to a universe of demonic horrors. (After first finding themselves in An Other Place, where Santa almost winded up being elected to the position of Alchemist... but we won't talk about that here, as it might warp young, impressionable minds!)

    Shanta found himself high above a castle made of cobwebs. Outside, in a large throne woven from webs, the master of the realm waited with two of his familiars. Shanta would have gladly reversed back through the window, but he was powerless here. If he angered the master, it would bode badly for Shanta and his team.

    Shanta set down on the ground -- which was made up of lots of strands of webs -- close to the throne. The demon master rose imperiously and hovered in the air. He had pale red skin, dark red eyes, eight arms, no legs, and a hole where his heart should be. The hole was filled with dozens of tiny, writhing, hissing snakes.

    "I am Lord Loss," the demon said.

    "I know," Shanta replied.

    Lord Loss frowned. "How?"

    "I brought you small animals to torture when you were a baby," Shanta reminded him.

    "Ah. That was you. I always wondered." Lord Loss' features darkened. "They were not real animals. They were only very clever toys."

    "Of course," Shanta said. "Only a monster would let a demon kill real animals. You should be thankful I gave you anything at all. Most demons get nothing -- which is what they deserve."

    "Why did you make an exception in my case?" Lord Loss asked.

    "You're rather an exceptional demon," Shanta grinned, then reached into his sack and withdrew two presents.

    "Here," Shanta said to a green-skinned, baby-shaped demon with fire instead of eyes and two small mouths in the palms of its hands. The demon known as Artery ripped the parcel open. Inside was a nappy. Artery gurgled happily and quickly put it on, then let rip with a shockingly loud fart. Fire burst from his bottom and burnt through the nappy, but it quickly reformed around his fiery cheeks. "That's good for at least a hundred blasts," Shanta assured him.

    "And for you," Shanta said, handing the other package to a dog-shaped demon with a crocodile's head and a woman's hands. She was called Vein. She tore the gift open with her fangs to reveal a heavy-duty brush for her fur, some waxy gel to keep her snout gleaming, and fingernail polish. Vein barked happily, then sat on her haunches and stared at the presents, trying to decide which she should test first.

    "Very clever," Lord Loss said. "But you will not placate me so easily."

    "Don't be too sure of that," Shanta grinned, then produced a Blu-Ray of all the episodes in the Queen's Gambit TV series. "This should suit you down to a tee, " Shanta smirked.

    "I have already seen them," Lord Loss sniffed. "In fact, I was one of their technical consultants for the chess scenes. Did you know that, superb as she was, Anya Taylor-Joy was only fourth choice for the main role?"

    "That does surprise me," Shanta said. "What happened to the other actresses? Did they not want to do it?"

    "Oh, they definitely wanted to be in the show," Lord Loss said. "But to get the part, the actress had to beat me in a game of chess first. Those three lost."

    Shanta's face fell. "Did you...?"

    He couldn't complete the sentence. In reply, Lord Loss smiled and said, "All I'll say on the matter is that their agents will be crying all through Christmas."

    Shanta gulped, then riffled through his sack. "OK, then, how about... this?" He dug out a large, colourful, multi-faced object and tossed it to Lord Loss. The demon master caught the gift and studied it dubiously.

    "What is it?" Lord Loss asked.

    "A specially designed Rubiks Cube," Shanta said proudly. "The only one ever built for a creature with eight arms. It will distract you for many hours. You might even find it more fun than a game of chess."

    "I doubt that," Lord Loss sniffed, "but I look forward to testing it."

    "Well, merry Christmas," Shanta said and mounted his sleigh again.

    "Where do you think you're going?" Lord Loss asked quietly.

    "I still have lots of toys to deliver," Shanta said. "Millions of boys and girls are waiting for me."

    "Yes," Lord Loss sneered. "How sad they would be if you failed to visit them. I love disappointment. The thought of millions of wailing children appeals to me immensely."

    "There'll be trouble if you try to keep me," Shanta said, trying not to show how scared he was.

    "Who could trouble me here?" Lord Loss smirked.

    Shanta was going to say Mrs Claus, but he realised how stupid that would sound. Instead he decided to try another approach. "If you stop me from leaving, I can never return, and that will mean no more surprise presents for you."

    "Do I look like I care about presents?" Lord Loss laughed.

    "You should," Shanta said slyly. "I have the most fabulous chess sets in the world tucked away in a corner of my home in the North Pole."

    "Chess sets?" Lord Loss barked. "I have loads already."

    "But none as exquisite as mine," Shanta insisted. "I have the most beautiful, remarkable, outstanding sets ever created. I've been keeping them back for a special occasion... for a special child ..."

    Lord Loss scowled. "How do I know you will return?"

    "I give you my word," Shanta said. "I will come back every year and bring a new, amazing set each time. But only..." He was going to say, "only if you're good." But that would be a pointless thing to say to a demon, so he stopped.

    Lord Loss thought about it for a minute, then pulled a face. "Very well. You may leave. But if the chess sets are not as awe-inspiring as you claim, you will be doing lots of shouting and crying this time next year!"

    Shanta gulped, smiled weakly, then shot from the ground and through the window faster than he'd ever flown in his life. There was nothing like a threat from demon master to add a little speed to your sleigh!

    * * * * *

    Shanta thought he would return straight to Earth, but he hit some sort of a glitch going through the window, and instead found himself on the world of Makhras, in the city of Wadi, in a country called Abu Aineh. The Um Aineh were a powerful, cruel people. They had conquered most of the bordering countries and mastered the seas, allowing them to wage war in far-away lands too. They kept slaves and punished any criminal act by cutting off the offender's head. If you spat at the feet of the wrong person in Abu Aineh, you would swiftly find yourself on the executioner's block.

    Shanta had no wish to spend much time in such a harsh, unforgiving place, but the window would remain open for a few more minutes, so he figured he might as well drop off some presents while he was here. Swooping down upon the city, he first visited the palace of the High Lord and left a lovely necklace for Wadi Alg's recently born daughter, Debbat Alg. Shanta could tell, just by looking at her, that she was going to be a great beauty when she grew up. Boys would swoon when they saw her, and go to great lengths to try and win her hand. He hoped that wouldn't go to her head and turn her into a spoilt, selfish brat.

    Next he slipped into the house of a family of servants. They also had a newborn girl, Bastina -- though almost all of them referred to her as Bas. She was a snivelling, weepy baby, so Shanta left her a packet of tissues -- he figured she would get good use out of them when she was older!

    Finally Shanta let himself into the house of the city's famous executioner, Rashed Rum. Executioners were like pop stars in this world, and Rashed Rum was the Adele or Ed Sheeran of Makhras, the best and most popular at what he did. Rashed's wife had recently given birth to a boy called Jebel. She had died during childbirth, which was a shame, but in this city that was seen as a sign that the infant would become a fierce warrior, so Rashed had accepted his loss with good grace.

    In truth, the baby boy didn't look as if he would grow up to be a powerful fighter. He was small, thin and scrawny. Shanta felt that the boy might struggle to live up to the high expectations for him. To try and help out Jebel, Shanta decided to break with habit and give the boy a toy which would encourage him to explore his darker, more vicious side. "Horses for courses," and all that! So, with a sigh, he felt around inside his bag and pressed a tiny axe into the baby's hands. As the youthful Jebel stared at the blade and the way light glinted off of it, Shanta bid him luck and returned to his sleigh.

    "I must swing by here again one day, when the boy is older," Shanta muttered to himself as he headed back for the window of light and a welcome return to planet Earth. "I'm curious to see what becomes of Jebel Rum. Perhaps he can be Wadi's first ever Thin Executioner..."

    * * * * *

    There was another glitch when Shanta returned through the window (he had a feeling that the unusual number of glitches were a result of all the time-meddling that a super-computer called Father was doing in the far future), and as Mrs Claus had predicted (it wouldn't surprise him if it turned out that she'd somehow conspired with the futuristic Father and his teams of Fixers to set this up), he wound up in one of the most dreaded of years, 2021, when the world had been forced to endure another subdued, socially distanced Christmas. The streets were nowhere near as busy as they normally were, people mixing as little as possible, except with their nearest and dearest loved ones.

    Shanta didn't want to spend too much time here -- he could imagine the headline if anything went wrong and he passed on Covid-19 to anyone -- "Super Spreader Shanta!!" -- but since he had a little time to kill, he pulled on his mask (Shanta took a VERY dim view of anyone who refused to wear a mask when out and about) and swung by the resting place of a boy known as Archibald Lox. Archie had recently returned from another incredible adventure in a sphere known as the Merge, where he'd gotten mixed up in a couple of royal kidnappings. Shanta had visited the Merge many times in the past, and had nipped back earlier in the year (he'd slipped away without telling Mrs Claus), for his first trip in five hundred years. The locals played a sport called grop, and teams from every realm used to regularly compete in a competition called the Tourney, where the best players would pit themselves against one another, roared on by tens of thousands of fans. Shanta had been a Tourney addict back in the day, but when they'd stopped hosting them, he'd stopped nipping across. But when word reached him that it had been revived this year, he'd made a beeline for the realm of Topaz, and taken in as many games as he could -- he'd taken in as many hotcats as he could too! A Tourney was always worth crossing universes for, and this one had been one of the best -- the final had been an incredible, thrilling affair.

    Archie was snoozing when Shanta swung by, even though it wasn't especially late. Archie hadn't asked for anything -- he was a bit old for that, and it had been quite a long time since he'd last written a letter to Shanta -- but Shanta was in a giving mood. He adjusted his face mask before exiting the sleigh, to make sure it was correctly in place -- the mask was red, of course, with the words "Have you seen YOUR Mommy kissing me?!?" -- then let himself into Archie's chamber and set a large, locked box on the floor. The lock would take an hour or two to open, and when Archie lifted the lid, he'd find another locked box inside... and another... and another. In fact there were enough boxes to last him until next Christmas, unless he got bored of them first. But Shanta had yet to meet a Lox who ever tired of locks.

    In the very last box, Archie would find a book about cenotes, which were Mexican sink holes. The book would confuse him, and Shanta was confused as well, but he had a feeling that Archie might find himself checking out a very dangerous cenote in 2022, and a little knowledge of them might come in very useful. Indeed, his life might depend on it...

    As Shanta climbed into his sled, Big Ben struck the hour and he jumped -- it was so noisy! He checked the time, waved to the famous clock tower, then took to the sky and headed back to the window.

    * * * * *

    There was yet another glitch (it MUST be Father!!) when Shanta returned through the window, and instead of winding up on Earth in his own time, he found himself a few years even further ahead of 2021, in a most monstrous near-future world. The planet had been over-run by zombies. Shanta found himself in an underground complex, where the living dead were running wild. They had already killed many soldiers and scientists, and when they spotted Shanta and his reindeer, they thought dessert had been served up, and they surged forward in a terrifying undead wave.

    "Bloody zombies!" Shanta growled, whipping out a crossbow that he kept under the hood of the sleigh for emergencies.

    As the first of the zombies reached out to rip into Rudolph's brain, Shanta fired an arrow through the centre of the undead beast's head, and it collapsed in a heap.

    "Come on, you animals!" Shanta roared. "Who's next?!? I'll take on the lot of you! You think you're tough? Hah! I've faced down Mrs Claus when she's in a bad mood -- and I mean a REALLY bad mood -- and she's way tougher than you brain-munching creeps!"

    Shanta kept firing as the zombies kept coming. He was quite enjoying this. While he was a peaceful man, who liked nothing better than lying in bed for 364 days of the year, it was good to flex the old muscles every now and then and re-connect with his fighting spirit. Also, the world was always better off with a few less zombies.

    As Shanta was dispatching a few more of the undead, he spotted a teenager with a closely shaven head, stumbling along a corridor with a pack of other teens. The teenagers were zombies, but not like any zombie Shanta had ever seen before. He stared at them, trying to figure out what was different about them, then decided that he would be better off not knowing. Putting his crossbow away, he clicked his tongue at the reindeer and they wheeled around swiftly and zipped back through the window before any of the teenagers could notice their bearded, red-suited visitor.

    Just before Shanta disappeared, he reached into his sack and scattered some brains around the floor, for the hungry zombies to feast on. He knew that he shouldn't really be encouraging them, but he couldn't help himself. He was such an old softy!

    * * * * *

    This time the window sent him back a year, so Shanta decided to pay a visit to B Smith's house. B was the teenager with the shaven hair who he had spotted in the future world. B was sleeping uneasily, tossing and turning. Shanta guessed that B was having a nightmare. Curious, wondering if B was perhaps having a premonition of what was going to happen in the future, he used his powers to slip inside the shaven-headed rebel's mind. What he found was a monstrous scene where B was being attacked by killer babies on a plane. Shanta broke contact immediately, shook his head and shuddered.

    "That was too scary for me," he grunted. "Babies give me the shivers! The worse one of all was that baby called Gaia, in Limerick. I'll never forget her and those jaws of death and destruction. I was lucky to get out of her house with all my fingers intact!"

    B had asked for nothing for Christmas, but Shanta felt it would be poor form not to leave a present behind, especially as B was going to suffer so much loss and heartache in the near future, so he reached for the stocking hanging crookedly across the foot of B's bed. To his surprise, he found a small note inside. Unfolding it, he read with astonishment -- "Get the hell out of my room, fat man, before I break both your knees with the hammer I keep tucked under my pillow!"

    Shanta's features darkened. He stared at B's pillow, wondering if the bit about the hammer was an idle threat. In the end he decided not to chance it. Replacing the stocking, he let himself out, leaving the stocking empty except for a slight sweaty smell, which was exactly the way B liked it.

    * * * * *

    Shanta went through the window yet again, which vanished behind him, and to his relief he wound up in his own time. He thought he was finished with glitches for the night -- it was rare for him to run into so many obstacles, and surely even Father and his Fixers had their limits -- but one more lay in store for the merry old toy-maker, and this one was in many ways the glitchiest glitch of them all. As he was crossing above the small village of Pallaskenry in the southwest of Ireland, the stars started to spin. He drew to a startled halt and stared -- he'd never seen anything like this before. As he watched, the stars gathered together to form a funnel -- in effect becoming a stellar tornado -- which whipped snakelike through the sky. Before Shanta could even try to dodge the celestial storm, he was caught up in it and torn free of his sleigh. He hollered and yelped as he spun round and round. He was certain that this was the end, and he wept a few tears for the boys and girls that he would be unable to get to, imagining their distraught faces when they woke in the morning to find... nothing.

    But then the spinning stopped and he found himself sitting on a chair in an office. He wasn't alone. A man sat at a computer, typing swiftly. His hair had once been dark, but had now mostly turned to grey, and it looked like he had started in early on the mince pies this year. A bewildered Shanta watched him type for several silent minutes, before the man paused and turned to behold his red-garbed visitor.

    "I know this is strange for you," the man said, "but you have nothing to fear. I've smashed the fourth wall and brought you through, as I do most years (not that you'll recall, as I blank your memory of our meeting each time), but I'll return you to your story and restore the wall when you go."

    "Fourth wall?" Shanta blinked. "Story?"

    "I'm all about stories," the man smiled. "In truth, I think there's a strong likelihood that everything's a story, and we just don't realise we're characters in someone else's tale."

    Shanta gawped. The man sighed, turned to the keyboard and typed some new lines. As he was doing that, Shanta's head cleared, as understanding of the situation was instantly introduced to his brain cells.

    "Darren Shan!" he gasped. "Not the character, but..."

    "...the author," Darren Shan nodded, facing his guest again. "It gets a bit confusing sometimes -- that's the problem with naming a character after yourself -- but life's more amusing when sprinkled with a little confusion, don't you agree?"

    Shanta grunted. "It was nice to see you publish a new Darren Dash book this year."

    "Father of the Future," Darren smirked. "That's why you've been referring to him throughout your journeys tonight. I'm never one to pass up an opportunity for a bit of free publicity!"

    "It all makes sense now," Shanta muttered. "So, what will you be treating us to next?"

    "Haven't you heard about The Terrified Troll?" Darren asked. "My first ever picture books, for younger readers."

    "Oh, that's right," Shanta said, clicking his fingers. "The fundraiser for it is still active. I ordered a poem, and Mrs Claus wanted to meet you in London or Limerick, to hang out for a couple of hours, but I put my foot down -- I've never trusted authors..."

    "We're not the most reliable of people," Darren chuckled. "But if you change your mind, I'd love to buy her a drink and have a chat about life at the North Pole. You can check out the fundraiser, which will remain live until early January, by doing an online search for INDIEGOGO TERRIFIED TROLL DARREN SHAN."

    "And after you've published the picture book? Or maybe even before it comes out?" Shanta pressed. "Anything else lined up?"

    "I'm not sure," Darren frowned. "I had a house fire last year -- I told you all about it on your previous visit -- and I still haven't moved back into my home, so I haven't been focusing on work as much as I should. I might release another Darren Dash book for adults in 2024. Or maybe even a Darren Shan YA book -- there are a couple I wrote many years ago, awaiting rewrites and edits, and I've been thinking it might be a good time to revisit one of those. But... we'll see."

    "I'll keep my fingers crossed," Shanta grinned. "And tell me, is there anything happening on the TV or movie front? I know there was a team working on adapting Zom-B into a TV show, but that it fell through and didn't lead to anything..."

    "Um..." Darren said, and Shanta's ears perked up.

    "You announced it yourself through your social media," Shanta said. "You didn't make a big hullabaloo, but you definitely said at some point that it was over and done with."

    "Well, I thought it WAS," Darren sighed. "They produced a script for a pilot -- I read it and really liked it -- but they didn't get any takers when they shopped it around to the TV people in the UK, so it looked like there was nowhere left to go with it. I'd written it off, until they emailed me late in 2022 to say they'd found an interested party in another part of the world, and that there might be hope for it yet."

    "America?" Shanta guessed, but Darren shook his head.

    "It's not an English-speaking country," he said.

    "Japan?" Shanta guessed again. "I know your books used to be very big over there."

    "Not Japan," Darren said, and raised a hand before Shanta could guess for a third time. "Trust me, if I gave you ten guesses, you still wouldn't get anywhere close to the answer. I don't want to say anymore about it, because it may well end in disappointment again, but there IS a sliver of hope, things ARE back on the table, and perhaps it WILL get adapted, just not in a country or language that any of us anticipated when the books first saw print."

    "I suppose foreign language adaptations are no barrier to global success these days," Shanta mused. "Just look at how popular Money Heist and Squid Games proved to be."

    "Precisely," Darren beamed. "It's a changed world, and I've always been a writer who's happy to roll with the changes."

    "I'll be keeping a close eye on your monthly online newsletter," Shanta said. "You still publish the Shanville Monthly at the start of every month, don't you?"

    "I certainly do," Darren smiled.

    "And that's where you drop all your big reveals?" Shanta checked.

    "Most of them," Darren nodded, "although sometimes I drop them elsewhere. For instance, last year I revealed here that Cirque Du Freak had been optioned again, this time by a team who are keen to turn it into a TV series."

    "Oh, that's right," Shanta purred. "I remember now. Have they got any further with that?"

    Darren shrugged. "They were looking to advance things earlier in the year, but the writers strike and actors strike threw a cog in the works and slowed everything down. They're still really keen on making it happen, and they've been talking of maybe taking the project to a famous actor to try to get him on board, before going to the production companies with the money to make something like this happen."

    "I'm intrigued," Shanta said. "I assume they'd be looking for an actor to play Mr Crepsley?"

    "That's the plan," Darren said.

    "If I was to guess a few names...?" He raised an eyebrow.

    "Guess away," Darren laughed, "but I'll confirm or deny nothing! There's not much point speculating at this early stage. The actor they have in mind may well not be interested, in which case they'll have to think again. What I will say is that their current choice isn't an obvious one, but I'll be very excited if he does get involved, as he's an actor I have a LOT of admiration for."

    "It sounds promising..." Shanta purred.

    Darren smiled again, then coughed. "Well, I'd better let you get back to your own zone. We both have work to be cracking on with, and time is ticking away from us -- we mustn't let things get down to the wire."

    "Thanks for the insider insights," Shanta said, and got to his feet as the ceiling of the office turned translucent and the stars above began to spin again. "Will I remember any of this?" he asked just before he was whisked away.

    "Probably better if you don't," Darren said gently, then waved farewell, heaved a sigh when the office was his alone again, and turned his attention back to his keyboard. "Right," he said softly. "How to get inside the mind of a pre-teen Troll...?"

    After a pause, Darren looked over his shoulder and winked at an audience that he could not see. "I slipped in a clue about that potential actor," he said. "Read back carefully through this section and see if YOU can spot it. I won't tell you you're right or wrong if you come to me with your guess, but if you ARE right, and he DOES come on board, you'll be able to crow about it for the rest of your life!!!!"

    * * * * *

    Back in his own reality, Shanta continued about his rounds. Countries and houses fell behind him like dominoes, and he drank a virtual lake of alcohol. Shanta didn't get drunk -- he could drain all the whiskey in the world and still remain sober -- though he became quite merry and started singing to the reindeer (rude versions of traditional Christmas songs, such as "Hark the Herald Angels Smell" and "Away in a Pigsty"), as he did most years. Those closest to the sleigh groaned, though Rudolph -- way out in front, where he could barely hear the songs -- smiled and concentrated on steering them safely through the fog, guided by his glowing red nose.

    Late in the night, with most of the world covered, Shanta came to a halt in a forest. The reindeer were hungry and needed to be fed. Passing out feeding-bags from his magical sack, he left them munching and went for a short stroll to stretch his chubby legs and water a few bushes. As he was turning to come back, he heard moaning sounds to his right. Curious, he tiptoed across to investigate, and discovered a large, bulky, bearded man sleeping rough under a bush (luckily it was one of the 'unwatered' bushes), shivering from the cold.

    While Shanta studied the man's face, trying to put a name to it, the man squeezed himself tightly and whimpered in his sleep, "My hands! My hands!"

    Shanta recognised the voice and knew now who this was. Though he couldn't recall the man's real name, as a kid he'd been called Reggie Veggie.

    "The poor guy looks like he's had a tough time," Shanta muttered (he never bothered to keep tabs on children once they grew up and stopped believing in him). "And he used to be such a nice child. Very polite and concerned for the environment."

    "My hands! My hands!" Reggie Veggie (RV, as he preferred to be called) moaned again.

    Shanta couldn't see RV's hands -- he had his arms tucked inside his coat -- but he guessed they must be blue from the cold. "I know," he beamed. "I'll leave a little present -- something to cheer him up when he wakes."

    Hurrying back to his sleigh, Shanta returned with a thick pair of gloves, which he laid in the snow by the sleeping man's head. He smiled as he stepped away, pleased to have performed a good deed. As he left the snoozing RV, he chuckled warmly and said, "I wish I could be here in the morning to see his face when he spots the gloves..."

    * * * * *

    Next stop, the Cirque Du Freak. Many of the performers and crew didn't celebrate Christmas -- their lives were full of wonder and magic every night of the year -- but some of the children had sent letters to Shanta. He parked his sleigh next to a large tent, grabbed several bags full of toys and books, and hurried around the vans, dropping off the presents. He ran into Mr Tall and Rhamus Twobellies outside one of the vans, and stopped to chat. Mr Tall was an old friend of his, but this was the first time he'd been introduced to Rhamus, and the large man was understandably curious and asked lots of questions about Shanta's job and powers. The pair had much in common, not least a love of mince pies and whiskey!

    Eventually, after a few drinks and some of the tastiest fish kebabs he'd ever eaten (prepared by Truska, the bearded lady), Shanta said his goodbyes and returned to his sleigh. Hopping onto his padded seat, he took hold of the reins and called out to Rudolph, "Come on then, Rudy, let's..."

    He stopped.

    The reindeer with the red nose was nowhere to be seen. "Rudolph?" Shanta shouted. "Where are you? Stop messing around! We have to..."

    He came to a sickening halt. In a tent behind the sleigh, he could hear loud, ripping, munching sounds. With a terrified premonition, Shanta lifted the flap of the tent and peered inside. Several small, grey-skinned, green-eyed people in blue robes and hoods stood within, gathered in a circle. In the centre of the circle were the tattered remains of a reindeer who'd been torn to blood-drenched pieces. As Shanta watched, aghast, one of the Little People -- this particular specimen walked with a pronounced limp -- picked up a huge red nose from among the scraps and popped it into his wide, sharp-toothed mouth.

    "Oh no!" Shanta groaned, letting the flap fall back into place. "Not again!"

    * * * * *

    Shanta was in a foul mood the rest of the night. What worried him even more than losing Rudolph was the reception he could expect back home when Mrs Claus found out. The Little People had eaten several of Shanta's reindeer over the years, and his wife always kicked him around the bed for a month when he came home without one of the magical flying creatures. He considered lying to her -- he could say Rudolph had been hit by a low-flying plane -- but she'd see through him and make life even more unbearable. Best to come clean, take his punishment like a man, and send the elves out to search for another red-nosed reindeer to take Rudy's place next year.

    The fat man in the sleigh worked slowly after losing Rudolph -- dragging the night out as long as he could, in no rush to face the wrathful Mrs Claus -- and dawn was only minutes away (as humans measured time) when he delivered his second-to-last load of the night, to the beautiful Debbie Hemlock, who had made a peculiar request this year. Apart from her usual gifts, she'd asked for a pirate's hat and sword.

    Shanta knew the pirate gear wasn't for Debbie, that she meant to give the hat and sword to somebody else. He also knew she wouldn't be seeing that friend in the morning -- or ever again, probably. He thought about taking the hat and sword with him, to pass on to the intended party, but in the end he decided to leave them, so that Debbie would have some small memento of the boy who meant so much to her.

    He stuck the felt hat and curved plastic sword on top of the other presents, under the tree in her bedroom (not as neatly decorated as it normally was, he noted critically), and left, in a hurry to beat the dawn and make his final visit of the long, tiring Eve.

    * * * * *

    Shanta found the trio in a hotel a few miles beyond the city where Debbie Hemlock lived. They'd booked into two separate rooms, but were gathered together in the larger room when Shanta arrived. The snake-boy was sitting on the bed, while the vampire attended to a large, nasty wound on his scaly right arm and shoulder. The half-vampire was watching.

    "I still say you shouldn't have involved them," Evra muttered, wincing as the vampire rubbed spit into the cut where some of his scales had been hacked off. "If the plan hadn't worked..."

    "It was a risk," Darren agreed, "but there was no other way to get you back alive. If we hadn't --"

    "Quiet!" Mr Crepsley snapped, head jerking towards the window, where Shanta was eavesdropping. "I heard a noise."

    "Nobody knows we're here!" Darren gasped, jumping to his feet, fear in his eyes. "Do they?"

    "It's OK," Shanta said, slipping through a tiny crack at the side of the window, materialising in front of them. "It's only me."

    "Oh," Mr Crepsley said, relaxing. "I have not seen you in quite some time -- fifty years or more, I think. How have you been?"

    "Not too bad," Shanta smiled.

    "Is that...?" Evra asked, his reptilian eyes widening.

    "Must be," Darren said. He looked up at the smiling man in the red suit (Shanta's clothes were the same colour as Mr Crepsley's, but there the similarity ended). "But what are you doing here?" Darren asked.

    "Delivering presents," Shanta grinned. "I know you didn't ask for anything, but after all the trouble you three have been through recently, I figured you deserved a treat. Here..." He handed Evra a tube of green ointment. "Rub that into your wound. It will take the worst of the pain away, and help you heal quicker."

    "Great!" Evra said, taking the top off the tube and applying the ointment immediately.

    "For you, Larten," Shanta said, passing a tube of sun-tan lotion to the bemused vampire.

    "I hardly think I will have much use for this," Mr Crepsley noted drily.

    "It might come in handy if you ever get caught in the sun," Shanta disagreed. "Hold onto it. There's no telling what the future might hold. You will need it in book 9!"

    "What do you mean?" Mr Crepsley frowned.

    "Never mind," Shanta grinned. "It's an in-joke."

    Shanta turned to face Darren and his smile softened. "You've been through a hard few years, eh, master Shan?"

    "I've known easier times," Darren admitted sadly.

    "There's not much I can do for you," Shanta said, "but this might bring some joy into your life, at least for a while." He gave Darren a Blu-Ray disc in an unmarked case.

    "Thanks," Darren said, examining the disc. "But I don't have a Blu-Ray player."

    "That's easily fixed," Shanta laughed, and produced a multi-region player and HDMI lead. "Hook it up to the TV, and off you go."

    "What's on it?" Darren asked.

    "You'll find out," Shanta winked, and without any farewells, he slipped away again and headed back for the North Pole, his beloved bed, a year of rest, the final episode of The Fall of the House of Usher... and the cutting tongue of the indomitable Mrs Claus.

    * * * * *

    "Stick it in," Evra urged Darren once the Blu-Ray player had been hooked up to the hotel TV.

    "Any idea what it is?" Darren asked Mr Crepsley.

    "No," Mr Crepsley said, "but knowing Kris Kringle as I do, I imagine it is something whimsical."

    It took Darren several seconds to load the disc into the machine and hit the PLAY button. When he did, a face burst into life on the TV screen and yelled, "Merry Christmas!" Darren recognised the face instantly -- it was his own.

    "What the...?" he began, then froze as the camera spun from his own face to three others which were just as familiar -- his Dad, Mum and younger sister Annie. "Merry Christmas!" they all roared, toasting the camera with full glasses of wine.

    "What is it?" Evra asked, as the people on the TV sung songs, cracked jokes and played games with each other.

    "The last Christmas I spent at home," Darren said hollowly, eyes glued to the screen. "Uncle Derek stayed with us that year and filmed us. I never saw the footage afterwards -- he was supposed to send us a copy, but Uncle Derek was never the most reliable sort..."

    The three of them watched the TV for a long while, as a younger, fresher, innocent Darren enjoyed a simple Christmas with his parents, sister, uncle and other family members. As the people on screen began opening their Christmas presents, the older, rougher, more worldly Darren's eyes welled up with tears.

    Mr Crepsley tapped Evra's uninjured shoulder and nodded towards the door. "I think Darren would rather watch the rest by himself," he said quietly, and the pair retired to the other bedroom as silently as they could, to sleep for the day.

    Darren didn't notice his friends leaving. He was lost in the world of the past and memories of more carefree days. He watched the disc to the very end, then immediately returned to the start. "Cheers, Shanta," he said softly, as the faces of those he loved panned into view again. He was crying, but they were warm, happy tears. "This is the best present ever." And then, settling back, keeping his finger close to the remote control, he spent the day re-living that simple, joyous, happy Christmas past.


    Return to listing

  • From the Gallery
  • Vijay Zom-B review

    from Darren's Blog on 11 June 2024

    VIJAY is back with another short video review, this time for Zom-B Chronicles I, an omnibus...

    Read full entry
  • TOUR details - see Shanville Monthly

    from Events on 06 August 2017

    Read full entry
  • From Twitter: