The Christmas Feary

Humanity en masse, warts and all, is not attractive. Humanity en masse, warts and all, is at its most unattractive when Christmas shopping. Every year I promise myself that by the end of January all purchases will be made and then come December I can sit back, feet up, and laugh at all those idiots battling their way through the crowds. December arrives and I am one of those idiots.

Ding- dong ‘Shoppers are invited to sample our very own, home made mice pies and hot mud wine in our restaurant on the third floor.’ ’Ding-dong.

I hate those tannoy things. I am sure that only people who mangle the English language are given permission to use them and this was a prime example of one of the graduates of the school of ‘tannoy speak’! Although a ‘mice pie’ and something to drink would have been very welcome I did not have the time, or the stamina, to fight my way to the restaurant.

A modern department store, one imagines, has everything that the heart could desire. Truffles, rooted out by the noses of specially trained pigs, for that special meal; exotic perfumes by the bucketload; hand-made furniture for any room in the house; but is there anything suitable for Cousin Rosie or Great Aunt Gertie? Nothing that I would like as a gift or that I would like to give. Deep, dark, depression had begun to set in.

Ding-dong ‘Good morning shoppers. Today we have a special offer. Visit the thuggery department’,   was that really thuggery?,  'on the ground floor to receive your free gift. A high quality sinless steel knife is yours. The only qualification for receiving this gift is that you should be over eighty years of age.’ Ding-dong.
It must have been cookery and not thuggery!

Hunger pangs had set in and I was certainly not thinking very clearly. I decided that blood sugar needed topping up so I waited in a enormous queue and had just taken my first mouthful of life enriching chocolate when, Ding-dong ‘Would the Christmas Fiery please report to the manager’s office.’ Ding-dong.

This was the clearest message so far. I began to smile and looked round at my fellow shoppers. No one other than myself seemed to find this message amusing. I must have misheard. They were all too intent on their quest for gifts. I continued munching and browsing. I had just spotted the ideal gift for Great Aunt Gertie. When, Ding-dong ‘This is the last call for the Christmas Fairy. Report to the manager’s office NOW!’ Ding-dong.
The voice had become harsher and did not have that sickly tone reserved for customers. Strangely I seemed to be the only one to have heard it.

I was by now intrigued. All thoughts of shopping had disappeared and the depression and fatigue had also gone. I decided that the only course of action was to approach one of the assistants. I must be something of a wimp because I find these ‘sirens’ very intimidating. They have makeup that has been carefully applied, (often I suspect with a trowel), their clothes are perfect, fitting in all the places they should and they are all exceedingly thin. I am sure that they are taught at training school to raise the left eyebrow in a sneering way, (if that is possible), and to ignore customers unless they are famous or look extremely rich.

I saw my chance and with great trepidation approached one of these creatures. I cleared my throat, " Humph! Excuse me!" She was about six-foot tall, with dark curly hair that framed her flawless face. She was dressed head to toe in black which served to accentuate her perfect figure. Her nails were beautifully painted; they had never seen a washing up bowl! She was carefully examining these nails as if they were equal to anything hanging in the National Gallery.

"Excuse me!" She looked at me and through me. I felt about two inches tall. I turned around to see if there was anyone behind me who was more deserving of her attention but there wasn’t. I was about to try for the third time when,

Ding-dong I held my breath, would I hear more about the Christmas Fairy? ‘Hello children. I’m sorry to say that Father Crispness has had to go back to the Fourth Mole to get more presents. He’ll be back in his ice paliasse, on the top floor, at two thirty. The Christmas Fiery will be there soon and you can talk to her.’ Ding-dong.

I gave up on the ‘creature’ who had returned to the study of her nails. I wonder if they give GCSE’s in the knowledge and understanding of nail enhancement?

I made my way towards Santa’s Ice Palace. I decided that if I was not to feel guilty about the chocolate that I had eaten I would take the stairs rather than the escalator or lift. This was a mad moment of virtuosity.

As stairs are not the first option for most shoppers they are usually tucked away behind heavy glass doors. I found a set of doors labelled ‘Stairs’ and pushed. At first there was no response and as I pushed harder and felt the door give and found myself falling through the door I heard, Ding-dong ‘This is a message for the Christmas Fiery, would she….’

I heard no more as the door closed with a clang behind me. I looked at the door and tried to get back into the main store. The door only worked one way. I looked up and the stairs seemed to go on forever. Just at the edge of my vision I saw a flash and a sparkle and what I thought was the flutter of a wing.

There was nothing else for it. I would have to walk up the stairs to the next floor. Why do staircases in large public buildings have the look and feel of those toilets that are quaintly called conveniences? They are cold, smelly and echoey. Their concrete steps, trying very hard to look like marble, reflect the sound of every footfall. It always sounds as if someone is following you but if you stop there is no one there. The mayhem that I knew was happening in the main body had no existence here on this staircase to I’m not sure where. My good intentions of walking off the chocolate bar were rapidly fading, as was my breath. I decided that I’d go through the next door that I found.

Reaching the top of the next flight I hung onto the railing to have a breather and to ease my aching legs. I looked through the glass window of the door and could see the bright, comforting lights reflected in the Christmas baubles, which festooned the place. People of all shapes and sizes intent only on spending money thronged the aisles. A great feeling of relief overcame me, which lasted only as long as it took me to find that I could not open this door either. I banged on the door to try to get some help. The only person who noticed me was a young child who just stuck his tongue out at me.
It was at this moment that I decided that I did not like children!

I was beginning to feel slightly spooked. I had visions of my emaciated body being found on the stairs with nails worn to the quick in an attempt to escape. I began the next climb up and was aware once again of a flash and a sparkle and a flutter of wings. "Hello. Is there anyone there?" My voice echoed in the silence. "Help!" No response, just another glimpse of that sparkle.
 

I have often been told that I have an over active imagination and it certainly went into overdrive at that moment. I suddenly remembered that film with Donald Sutherland. He was chasing all over Venice after what he thought was his dead daughter. Not that this staircase resembled Venice nor did I have a dead daughter. At the end of the film the hero came face to face with what he had been chasing. It was a dwarf wearing a Red Riding Hood outfit, just like the one worn by the daughter. The dwarf promptly pushed a knife into him, death of hero. I suppose the similarity with my situation was that I was chasing a fairy. A wonderful, really scary film. Remembering it did not help in any way!
 

My only choice seemed to be ever upwards.
 

My feet had become leaden, my heart was racing and I am sure that the sound of its beating was echoing off the walls. I was sweating and I was just the slightest bit scared (well more than the slightest bit!), when I reached the next floor and the next door. It had become darker and colder. The windows, which were set very high up, showed a patch of pewter sky. A zigzag of lightning made its way across this metallic expanse. At the same moment I heard a squeaking of hinges and felt a sudden blast of warm air. The door slowly creaked open. I retreated a few steps down the stairs and held my breath.

Through the door came, not a maniacal dwarf wearing a Red Riding Hood costume and wielding an enormous chef’s knife, but what I believed was the Christmas Fairy!
 

Cast your mind back to those childhood images of fairies. They are tiny, and beautifully formed. They have long, blond, curly hair. Their skin is translucent with a china doll like quality. As they move sunlight moves with them and they have a tinkling laugh as of a rill dancing over smooth pebbles.

This fairy was about six-foot tall and weighed about fifteen stone. She had long dark hair; brown sun tanned skin and was as delicate as the proverbial bull in a china shop. She wore a very short silver tutu, and the rest of her outfit just about covered her more than ample bosom. She held a wand; its end slightly bent, and on her back was a set of wings that had seen better days. Clenched between her teeth was a cigarette at which she sucked desperately. Its smoke curling up and making her squint as it reached her eyes. With a sigh she sank down onto the top step and then noticed me. She coughed the cough of one who seemed not long for this world.

"I ‘ate kids!" Then she continued to get her nicotine fix.

I had still not recovered from my fit of the ‘heebie jeebies’ and did not feel able to speak. This made no difference to the Christmas Fairy who had found a captive audience and was determined to have her say.

"Should all be left out on the rocks at birth that’s what I say. Let the birds pick them to bits like in the old days. Or else cancel Christmas. I ‘ate Christmas. What was Jesus thinking having Christmas in December? He could have been born in July couldn’t he? And that silly old fool Father Christmas has twisted his ankle getting his sack out of the sleigh and I’ve had to take over while he gets it seen to. I have to be nice and smile at all the little brats. They keep asking me when he’ll be back. As if I know!"

She sucked at the last inch of her cigarette, filling her lungs to capacity, then dropped it to the floor and ground out the remains with her size ten silver clad foot.

She stood up and went towards the door.

"You coming through?"
All I could do was nod and follow her.

I was back in the mayhem of Christmas shopping. I watched as she cut a swathe through all and sundry, taking no prisoners as she went.

I shrugged. "Now what was that I thought would suit Great Aunt Gertie?"