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\title{Charlie's Magic Christmas}
\author{\copyright1990 Garry James Kirks \\ gkirks@cs.utexas.edu}
\date{Cheddah Melt \\ Creamy Ranch Dressing Productions}
\maketitle
\setcounter{page}{48}

{\it
{\noindent \Large T}he following is the exact transcript of a pair of cassette
tapes found in a shallow ice cave at the extreme northern
latitudes surrounding the pole. The tapes were discovered, 
remarkably well-preserved, by the prominent arctic
archaeologist, J. Stanislaw Slope. Due to the highly
sensitive nature of the discovery, the tapes have been
transcribed with a minimum of editorial input. If you
desire further knowledge of the situation, please send
email to the address listed above. All correspondence will
be forwarded to Dr. Slope.\\}
  
{\noindent \Large M}y name is, er\ldots was\ldots Charlie. Charlie Higgins. Or Hogan.
Or maybe Simpson, I don't know. Maybe it wasn't even Charlie, but for the sake
of getting it onto this tape machine, let's just say I'm him, Charlie.
Okay?  

Everything that's happened is so out of focus, like it's foggy out.
I can't remember where I was, but it seems like it must have been a
a small town. I don't know about it's name or anything; like I said  
my memory ain't so good, it could have been anything. It could have been
anywhere. I've got it, I'll call it Anytown. Ha, ha.  

The stuff in my head is all patchy. When I can get it to work, I get  
this kind of weird feeling, like I wasn't to happy to be alive. There's 
this creepy movie in my head of my feet moving back and forth, like I'm
watching them while I walk. Not like I was expecting hidden treasures to  
pop up --- bottle caps with prizes and stuff like that --- but more like I
was wondering how I kept my balance. Somehow I didn't figure I belonged
upright.

My father --- I don't know if I called him Dad or Pop --- worked in the
oil fields. I remember `cause he was always gone for a long time, then
home again for about as long. His hands were all black and grimy all
the time. I try to remember what he looked like, but all I can picture
is the hands. The way they looked, some, but mostly the way they 
felt coming down on the top of my head. My face would get all purple 
and bruised and I'd have to make excuses at school. He was {\em always}
mad about something and I guess I made a pretty good target.

He didn't hit on my brother and sister too much. She was a girl, of
course; somehow it's different for them. They don't get beat as much.
Or at least they didn't at my house. My brother spent most of his time 
in reform school, so he wasn't likely to be gotten to.

It's weird, the more I talk into this thing, the more it all comes 
back. I guess that means I should keep going.

It seems like my mother was usually nice to me, at least when she wasn't
so drunk she would puke all over the kitchen table. My sister would go,
``Oooh, gross," and high-tail it on out of there. Of course, that left me
to clean it. I really didn't mind so much, some of the colors were 
pretty neat, and I was always fascinated by the clumps of half-used-up
stuff that came out. She would sometimes pass out with her face in the
middle of it and I would have to clean around her. My sister was right 
about that part; it was pretty gross.

She, my sister --- I'll call her Millicent, that's pretty, ain't it? ---
was one big pain in the butt. She was so in love with herself. She thought
she was God's gift to every pimple-headed boy with a boner in school.
(Maybe I shouldn't have said that, is boner a bad word?) She would spend
hours sometimes staring into this little lighted mirror thing. A vanity
is what she called it; one of those things with all the bulbs going around
it in a circle. She would sit there and put on make-up by the truckload,
flutter her eyelashes, brush her hair, and talk back and forth to herself
like it was her and one of those weirdo guys in the music videos and they
were out on a date. ``Oh, Millicent, baby," she would say, ``you look so 
fine tonight. Your eyes are like the stars, your skin like satin\ldots"

You know that kind of stuff. Yucheee.

One time I was watching her through the half-open door to her room and 
she heard me giggle at some cock-eyed thing she'd said. She turned and 
screamed and threw this gigantic wooden brush at me. It put a big ol'
gash on top of my head. It hurt real bad and I think\ldots wait a sec',
I'll see\ldots

Yep, it's still there; a thick scar right up over my eyebrow. They must
have forgot about that. They must have forgot a lot, `cause I'm starting
to remember. I don't think I'm supposed to. 

See, now that I think about it, her name really was Millicent. I guess it
ain't so pretty after all. And, boy, Mom sure was mad at her for hitting
me with that hairbrush. 

I guess, now that I'm remembering all of this, I ought to start telling
about how I got to be where I am and why I'm taping this.

It all started when my brother --- I'll call him Johnny, `cause all
the good bad guys are called Johnny --- was let out of reform school
right before Christmas one year. Mom wanted to make it a special one,
seeing as how everyone would be together and home and all. Johnny
didn't care, he was only staying `cause they told him if he didn't, 
or if he got in trouble again, he'd have to go to a real jail with
all the murderers and stuff. He wasn't much of a brother, he usually
just sat around in front of the TV and stayed quiet and played with
his little pearl-handled switchblade with the bullfight guy carved
on it. Sometimes he would leave and stay gone all night. He knew
Mom wouldn't turn him in. It would just get her upset and she'd get
drunk and throw-up on something.

We went to the mall one day, Mom, Millicent and me. We were supposed
to be looking for a present to give to Johnny. He always was her favorite,
even though he practically lived at reform school. I guess it was 
`cause he was the oldest. She never seemed to catch on that he was
a complete and total bozo-head.

She took me to see the Santa Claus that was there. She wanted me to ask
him for some presents. I didn't want to at first `cause I knew I would
never get anything I asked for. But then I got this idea.

Boy, it sure was one idea I could've done without.

After waiting in line for an hour with all the screaming baby kids, I
finally got my turn. I climbed up onto his lap and tugged at his beard 
to see if it was real. It didn't come off, so I figured he was alright.

``Didn't expect it to come off, did you lad?," he said, but I don't think
he really wanted an answer. ``What can I do for you this fine December
day? I'll bet you want a nice new bicycle. Or maybe a robot. Or a cowboy
gun. Go ahead, you can tell me, what would you like?"

``I'm not sure I can tell you," I said, ``not what I really want, anyway."
I still wasn't sure of this idea. And he kinda smelled like beer.

``Well, I am Santa Claus, you know. And if you can't trust me, well, 
there just isn't much of anyone you can trust, now is there?" He put
a finger to his mouth like he was shushing me. ``I won't tell a soul,
I promise."

I still wasn't too sure I could go through with it, so I stalled. ``Are
you the real Santa Claus," I asked, ``I mean the one that lives at the 
North Pole and all. You're not just some guy in a red suit?"

``No, son, I'm real. I'm always around when someone special *really*
needs me." He smiled kind of strange like and his eyes went all screwy.
``What is it you want, boy? What is it really? You can tell me, I'm
jolly old Saint Nick, remember?"

So I went for it.

``What I really want for Christmas this year is a new family," I said,
``the one I have I don't much like."

``Can you do that?," I asked.

``Well," he said, this time with what I guess you would call a jolly
Ho ho ho, ``I suppose I can see what can be done. I have to ask you,
though, to be certain, is it what you really want? You would have to
be absolutely sure."

``I'm sure," I said, ``I'm real sure." And I was to, as sure as I could 
be without knowing what would come next. 

He winked and I knew, I just knew, it was real.

I got down from his big, fat lap and took the red reindeer lollipop the
girl in the elf-suit handed me. It was old and kind of melted, so I just
threw it away. Mom told me I should be more grateful, then took a swig
off the bottle she carried in her coat pocket.

We ended up getting Johnny an ugly blue and yellow sweater that I knew
he would never wear. Mom said it would match his eyes. I guess.

We went home and I waited for Christmas day to come. I daydreamed the
whole time about what my new family would be like. I saw my new mother
in a white apron, with blonde hair in a bun on top, taking some
chocolate chip cookies from the oven. She was pretty and didn't drink.
Not even on holidays. My new Dad was tall and strong, with a nice smile
and a tie and he would talk to me even when I wasn't in trouble and he
wouldn't hit me and he would be home all the time.

I didn't think about brothers and sisters. My new parents would only 
have enough love for me and no one else. They would hug me and take me
places that weren't stores or places with waiting rooms.

I liked that, if only\ldots

I could hardly get to sleep on Christmas Eve, though Mom didn't seem to
have any trouble, what with all the egg-nog she drank. She passed out
on the couch right after Johnny opened his present. He had just dropped
it on the floor and asked what was for dinner, then he left.

Dad had only come in that morning. He was real tired from being at work
for two weeks, so he went straight to bed saying not to wake him up 
until the next morning, which was Christmas.

Millicent was off on a date with a guy from the football team. Most
likely the {\em whole} football team.

I'm sorry, that was mean.

I figured it wouldn't matter if they ruined just one more Christmas. I 
was getting my new family anyway, so I wouldn't ever have to see them 
again. I figured when I woke up I'd be in a cottage in the country with
my new Mom and Dad and a whole bunch of presents under the tree.

Boy, was I wrong.

I was kind of disappointed when I woke up, `cause I was still in the old
house. I could smell Mom's perfume somewhere, so I knew it had gone 
wrong. Santa was a scam after all. It was kind of cold so I put some 
slippers on and headed into the living room to turn up the heat.

That's when I found Mom.

She was lying on the couch where she had passed out, still holding her
cup. The egg-nog had spilled all over the floor. She was dead. It looked
to me like she had choked on her own throw-up. It was even grosser than
the kitchen table.

I ran to their room to wake up Dad and tell him what had happened. He 
was still in bed where he had laid down the morning before. There was
this big lump of red and purple mashed-potato-looking stuff where his
head was supposed to be. I don't know yet what did that, but it sure
must have been strong.

Millicent was in her room at the vanity thing. The mirror was smashed
down over her head. The light bulbs were blinking on and off like an
electric kind of necklace. Her face was smeared with even more make-up
than she would have used. She was dead too. I think maybe she was
electrocuted, `cause her hair was all frizzy and black-like.

Johnny I found in the kitchen lying in a pool of his own blood. It
was dry and brown colored. His stomach, legs, and face had been slashed
up something fierce. That pearl-handled, bullfight guy switchblade was
poking into one of his eyeballs. I walked over and pointed the handle and 
it fell out on the floor. The eyeball was still on it; it was looking at
me. I started feeling sick.

I grabbed the knife and shook the eyeball off. It made this nasty
splatting sound when it hit the floor. I was feeling pretty scared and
the knife didn't really help.

I heard these weird giggly kind of sounds coming from the living room.
I went in there to find out what it was. I didn't figure that whatever 
did what it did to my family would be giggling, so I wasn't too afraid.
What gave me the heebie-jeebies was that the living room was where
Mom was. I stayed close to the other wall.

The noises were coming from behind the tree, so I moved over there. I
tippy-toed slowly so they couldn't hear me.

``Who's there," I said.

{\em giggle}

``Who's there," I said, again. 

{\em giggle, giggle}

``I know how to dial 911," I said, ``and believe me, I will."

I heard a jingly noise and these three little short guys stepped out
from behind the tree. They were dressed kind of like the lady at the
mall was; all green and red. They had little bells on their hats and
shoes, but they weren't very cute. On that, the mall-elf was way off.

Their faces were kind of mashed in and flat. The ears were pointed, 
like I remember from books, but they didn't stand up like they were
supposed to; they just fell over underneath the funny hat. They were
about my size, the biggest a couple of inches taller. They looked old.
One had gray hair.

They giggled some more and one of them, the tall one, threw some gold
sprinkly dust in my face. That's when I stopped remembering.

When I woke up I was here, wherever that is. It's real cold and it 
snows a lot. I guess it's the North Pole, though it's not much like
the storybooks said. The reindeer aren't very friendly and I haven't
seen them play one reindeer game. Oh, and the elves. They don't make
the toys `cause they want to. We don't like it much, but there really
isn't much we can do. At least I hope i'm not the only one. It reminds
me of this picture I saw once when I was working in the book shop. The
book was called Oliver Twist. The picture had all these little boys
lined up in a dark and ugly building. They looked hungry and scared.

They call me Jangles. I live with what I guess was a another kid. His
name is Jimin, like the cricket. He doesn't remember anything, he's 
been here a long time. It's all so strange and hard to understand.

The only clothes I have are these red and green tights, an ugly floppy
hat, and some curly-toed shoes. I don't have any bells yet; they say that
will come later.

I'm not too sure I'm looking forward to it.

I stole this little tape recorder from the electronics shop. That's
where I work now.  We've made so many now, I don't think one will
be missed. It's supposed to go to a little girl in Lima, Peru. That's
somewhere in South America. She'll live without it, I hope.

I'm going to finish now. They're calling. I'll have to hide the tape
real good. Hopefully, someday, someone will find it. Someone other than
Uncle Nick. I don't think he would like me remembering, or my making 
this tape. I don't think he would like that at all.\\

\vspace{3.3in}

\hspace{2in} {\huge \it a\\}

\vspace{1.7in}

{\huge \it have\\}

\newpage
\ \\

\vspace{1in}

\hspace{2in} {\huge \it day\\}

\vspace{1.8in}

{\hspace{.2in} {\huge \it nice\\}

\vspace{3in}

\begin{quote}
``No, the Christian Church is {\em good}; they wouldn't just dream up any old
excuse to burn us as heretics so they could get our lands and wealth."

\ \ \ --- Unknown victim of the inquisition
\end{quote}

\end{document}
