A Wee Bit o' Trouble

Saturday, December 20, 2025

The first sign of disturbance was when Rudolph's nose was hacked off. There he was in our front yard, leading Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen - minus his bright, red sniffer. My husband grumbled, "Kids these days! They have no respect for anyone's property."

"Never mind, Randy," I assuaged, "You can fix anything. I bet it will be even better than before once you're done with it." A little ego-stroking never hurt anything.

Sunday, December 21

It turned out to be true. Randy called, "Cindy, Cindy, come look at Rudolph." Not only had he replaced the nose, but he had also rigged it with a remote-control light so it really could glow red.

"Wow, Randy, he looks great!"

"Thanks, Babe. I'm pretty happy with it."

"As you should be. Let's have some hot chocolate to celebrate."

"Spiked?"

"Of course. What else?"

We sat listening to Christmas music, snuggling, and looking fondly at our tree. It was magical.

Monday, December 20

Randy called me while I was on my way home from work. He sounded out of breath. "Those damned kids. I'll find out who they are. There will be hell to pay. I'm gonna..."

"Slow down, dear. What happened?"

"Those fucking neighbor kids desecrated my reindeer."

"I'll be home in 10. Don't do anything rash... or stupid."

I could see the carnage from down the block. Reindeer parts were strewn all over the yard. Pulling up, I gaped as I noticed Rudolph's head stuck in the pine tree that leaned over the neighbor's fence into our yard. I rushed to hug Randy, as much to have his consolation and warmth as to give him support. I felt violated. My voice cracked, "Do you think we should call the police?"

"On a bunch of neighbor kids? What would come of that? They'd see the cop cars and call it a win."

"I suppose you're right. Let's get out of the cold." I saw something shiny in the snow. It was some kind of a gold coin. I pocketed it.

I went through the front door with Randy on my heels. I gasped and dropped my purse. His briefcase fell with a clunk. The inside of our house looked worse than the outside. Our tree was on its side, with many branches severed. The star from the top of our tree was stuck in the ceiling. Broken Christmas balls littered the floor. More of the gold coins were scattered amongst the glass fragments.

I was getting my phone out to call 911 when we heard... a jig?

Randy reached into the closet and pulled out a broom, brandishing it like a baseball bat.

I followed him around the corner to the kitchen.

There,

dancing on our island...

was

a

Leprechaun.

He looked exactly like the one we put out on March 17th - except this one was alive. He finished his dance with a flourish and bowed. We stood shocked. He jumped down lithely and grabbed the weapon he had been using on our decorations - a scythe Randy had bought for Hallowe'en. "I be Liam O'Malley. Ye best be applaudin' or ye'll lose ye'self some digits."

I clapped weakly, but Randy put his left fist on his waist defiantly. The little, green-clad man sliced at him. Blood sprayed across the floor. Randy dropped the broom and fell to the floor.

I screamed, "NO!" and prepared to drop down and help him. I found myself with the blade in my face. I felt a sharp sting on my cheek and blood dripping down my neck. My eyes welled up, but I knew I needed to keep my cool if I wanted to survive. "Liam, w-what d-do you want?"

"Come now, smart lass. Surely ye have a wee inkling."

"To destroy Christmas? But why?"

"St. Patrick be twice the man of that fake, Santa Claus. Yet year by year, I be collecting dust in the basement with the other rejected holiday figures, while Christmas be getting longer and more extravagant. I be here now to make things a-right."

I sidled around the kitchen island, saying, "We can give you the biggest pageantry St. Patrick ever saw next year. We'll leave it up all March."

"There now, that be more to me liking."

I quickly grabbed my biggest kitchen knife from the block and threw it at him. He ducked, and it clattered against the fridge. I grabbed another and ran at him. He swiped the scythe at me, but he only managed to lop off a bit of hair, nicking my scalp. I plunged the knife into his chest. He disappeared in a shower of coins.

I heard emergency vehicles approaching. Of course, no one believed my story. They assumed I was in shock, and that an unknown assailant was responsible and had left the scene.

Randy made it home from the hospital on Christmas day.

The coins turned out to be real gold. We had enough to retire to The Virgin Islands, where the only decorations we ever put up are shells.

*

Author's note: My apology to Irish people everywhere for what I'm sure is inaccurate dialect. This is meant in humor, with no offense intended.