A Very Strange Christmas!,
has its own bizarre roots.
Originally written years ago, the document was put aside and the manuscript was lost. A little more than one year later, one cold December moring, the whole story had come to the forefront of the author's mind once more. As with so many of his eerie tales, he simply began to write. After completing the second version of the story, the first manuscript suddenly came to light. Incredibly, other than the ending, the documents were basically identical copies of one another.
In December of 2018, the author told the above story of how the tale came to be written twice to Tom Middler, a member of Open House Theatre in Vienna, Austria.
That meeting, and the words spoken by Anton Von Stefan, "Without question, this story needs to be presented to the public." has resulted in the current publication. It begs to picked-up and read by you!
A Very Strange Christmas!
This book contains a lovely seasonal story which can be read to children from six to one-hundred-six.
The lead character is a nefarious loner who, on Christmas Eve of all nights, finds himself penniless and hungry. Aiming to rectify that sad but self-inflicted situation, he prowls the streets looking for his next victim. A series of bizarre occurrences follow which drastically change the lives of everyone involved.
With a heart-warming ending, it is my intension to entertain the reader as the events within its pages unfold while reminding them of the true meaning behind the traditional Christmas. I am sure it will become a book you will enjoy year after year as Christmas approaches, and I hope it will gladden your hearts and briefly take you to a more peaceful time, regardless of your age.
A Very Strange Christmas!
First Page:
Each year just before Christmas, on the twenty-fourth day of December to be exact, in one of the poorest neighbourhoods in the old town in which we live, there would come this gentleman, often accompanied by his good wife, to a particular square where a rather sizeable fire had been lit.
That fire would burn brightly within a discarded forty-five-gallon oil drum, with its sole purpose to keep those in its vicinity warm. Those close by would sit upon meagre bundles, an old suitcase, a wooden crate, a discarded keg, or any other item one happened to possess, attempting to absorb as much of the heat as possible.
Once the gentleman had arrived and word had spread through the community, those further off would come out of their makeshift homes, places of refuge often within the alleyways of the district. In fact, any abandoned place which afforded some comfort against the cold and the wind was a carefully guarded piece of real estate the poor people didn’t easily abandon. Yet, on that particular night, an exception was made. A few of these individuals carried twigs, pieces of wood, or anything that would likely burn and which could be added to that fire as the night waned, to replenish its glow and its warmth.
The gentleman at the heart of this story was not overly dressed for the time of year or the hour of day, but his attire did make him stand out slightly amidst the people and the district he chose to visit. He seldom wore a hat, usually displaying a thick crop of well-groomed shoulder-length greying hair. This colour was matched in a short-trimmed beard which covered most of his exposed face and upper lip. A thin nose, which from its appearance may once have been broken, separated the space between his two grey-green eyes and presented a kind expression.
From the first time I ever laid eyes upon him, he was already an older fellow, the wrinkles on his forehead attesting to this fact. Yet — I must be clear — in all the years he came by our part of the city, I cannot recall that he ever aged.
Unquestionably, once we gathered round and he began to speak, the air would become quite still and not a single person would cough or stir lest we miss even a single word of the story this gentleman told. Should snow begin to fall, as was often the case on the twenty-fourth of December back then, we would bundle ourselves up a little more and sit closer together but, in all of those years, not a single person ever left until the last words were spoken.
+ + + + +
“Many years ago…,” the slim and rather tall gentleman would begin, a jovial smile spreading across his weathered and rosy face while a kind twinkle was evident in his eyes.
Before adding to those introductory words, however, he’d cast his gaze upon one and all. Taking his time to scan the crowd, he would look upon each individual in their turn. Only when he was content that all appeared as comfortable as possible would he continue.
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