The Christmas Witchling
by D. Byron Patterson

Illustrations by Nethie Pettengill

Cocoa with Grandpa

When I was a boy, my grandfather lived in a house on the other side of town. Because he lived so close, I stayed with him during most major holidays. New Year’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, the Fourth of July—you know, the big ones. And holidays at the end of the year were the best even if they all blur together in my memory. Well, nearly all of them—there is one holiday that I will never forget.

It was my ninth birthday, the first of November and the day after the Halloween that Grandpa finally won the ribbon for Best Haunted House. We spent the entire morning cleaning up after the night before. We tidied up and sorted decorations for storage. We packed plastic ghouls, goblins, skeletons and ghosts into coffin-shaped boxes. We stuffed fog machines, black lights and cobwebby tombstones into Tupperware bins. We bagged broken jack o’ lanterns and sidewalk candles for the curbside garbage cans. And because it was a hot Florida day, we floated in his swimming pool until noon. Grandpa made me my favorite lunch, bologna and tomato sandwiches. After he gave me a birthday card full of money, we sorted my Halloween candy at his kitchen table. There we sat, tired and well-fed, both of us stuffing our faces with chocolate and taffy.

“Grandpa, why do we carve pumpkins?” I asked.

My grandfather had an answer for any question—whether the answer was true never mattered. He seemed to know everything about everything. “Pumpkins keep bad spirits off the front porch,” said Grandpa, eating a piece of taffy that loosened his dentures.

“Then why do we wear masks to go trick-or-treating?”

“To scare the bad spirits who try to jump on people’s backs and get inside their hearts,” he replied. “Keeping away bad spirits is a tough job, a very important job, and that’s why you kids go door-to-door for free candy every Halloween. You really help the Witches get the world ready.”

I tossed out a box of raisins. “Ready for what?”

“For Christmas,” said Grandpa, chewing his teeth. “Who else could make the world ready for Santa’s big night? Worries me sick what you kids don’t know these days.”

“What don’t we know?” I asked.

“Grandson, haven’t you ever wondered how Santa Claus does all he does? There’s a heap of evil in our world to make trouble for those who do good. Everybody knows about the magic of Elves, but it’s the magic of Witches that make the difference. In fact, Witches helped Kris Kringle become the Santa Claus we know and love today.”

“But how do you know Witches aren’t bad?” I asked.

“Well, when I was your age, my grandfather told me a story that his grandfather had told him when he was a boy. Since it is your birthday, I suppose I should tell it to you too. It would be a shame if you didn’t know about the Christmas Witchling.”

“What’s a Witchling?” I asked.

“A girl Witch about your age,” said Grandpa. “This one was different from other Witchlings. Lulie had a destiny. No one knew how special she was until she ran away from home. By then it was too late to stop what she accidentally put into motion.”

Nothing was more important than learning the answer to the big question about Santa Claus. I mean, how does Santa Claus do everything? Of course, ‘magic’ is the easy answer, but with Halloween Witches suddenly important parts of the story, I was beside myself with curiosity. I forgot all about my candy, too.

“Put what in motion?” I asked. “How does a Witch girl fit into Santa’s story?”

“Well, because Santa’s story really begins when Lulie ran away from home all those ages ago,” said Grandpa, excusing himself from the table. “Before I say another word, there are things you need to know about Witches, Grandson. How about I make some hot cocoa to put us in the mood? That is, unless you’d rather watch TV.”

“No, sir,” I said and tried not to fidget. “I want to know.”

With a twinkle in his eye, Grandpa pulled mugs, marshmallows and cocoa from the cupboards. He poured sweet cream and whole milk into a saucepan and then turned on the stovetop. “People have been afraid of Witches for a long time,” he said. “Yes, Witches have warts and green skin and fly on brooms. Yes, Witches live on craggy old mountains at the North Pole. Yes, Witches hate sunlight and love moonlight. Yes, Witches love icy temperatures and blizzards. And yes, Witches call spirits on Halloween. People fear what they don’t understand, Grandson, so it is no surprise that many believe Witches to be wicked creatures made from the devil’s own darkness.”

“They’re not wicked?” I asked.

“No, Witches are made light and have a heavenly purpose,” said Grandpa, stirring the milk. “For the Christmas season to begin the world must be rid of its harmful spirits, and that’s what Witches do. They sweep away evil before winter.”

“How do Witches help Santa Claus?” I asked.

Turning off the stove, Grandpa poured the hot cocoa into two mugs. He slowly walked to the table, set them down, and moved his chair next to mine. “Even in those days, Witches were misunderstood,” he said. “Trouble is that Elves were misunderstood just the same. See, Witches and Elves knew that one other existed. Both knew that the other had magic and that they lived close to each other. Since they never tried to understand each other, they remained suspicious and fearful for many ages.

“It was a long time ago when Kris Kringle first became Santa Claus,” continued Grandpa. “He was just starting out and needed help getting things off-the-ground, so to speak. He wasn’t married and lived in a cottage behind his workshop. Like Santa, his Elves were hard workers and good companions, but they were toy makers, tinkers, builders and bakers, and they used magic for those pursuits. No, Santa needed a different kind of magical help, especially if he was going to reach every girl and boy in the world. He didn’t know it, but help was on the way. Not far from his valley at the North Pole was Night Mountain Krumptummet. Witches had been living there happily for ages, but one little Witchling was not happy at all. She was different and misunderstood, and after one horrible Halloween night, eight year-old Lulie left her mountain home. Brave as she was, destiny was pulling the little Witchling, and she had no idea that she was about to change the world.”

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