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Inflammable Santa by eric petty Inflammable Santa by Eric Petty Peter puzzled by the fireplace hearth with the yule logs ablaze, the fire's great thirst for the forest's trees, twigs and branches fuel'd the glowing heat, but what of the chances That Santa could fit down the chimney so small? Could he shrink himself small or curl into a ball and squeeze himself down and avoid the old fire for certain his clothes would catch (speaking of his red, wooly attire). So Peter, knowing how hot the fire set out to extinguish the Christmas pyre with a five-gallon bucket of tepid tap water came all this to fruition, exception for his father. "Where are you going with that bucket of water?" Peter's father inquired, inquiring just like a father. "To put out the fire", Peter exactly exclaimed with the exact same expression, exactly the same As last year when Peter tried to remove all the snow from the yard and the drive way, snowblower in tow, and place on top of the house, covering the faux belfry creating a better landing strip, a landing strip to help the Big man deliver those presents that Peter deserved for he had been good that year, with not one naughty swerve and by helping him land his 8 (or 9) tiny reindeer he would be helping out Santa deliver without fear the Christmas presents wrapped in silver and gold, expertly wrapped without a tear in the folds by Santa, the elves and of course Mrs. Claus, all this pronounced without a single pause. But, alas, his father stepped in and made Peter an offer. "How about instead we put up some lights?" Peter's father proffered "So he can see more clearly, more clearly at midnight" "So he can see our small house, from such a great height" Peter, laying down his shovel and blower, said it would make the presents transaction much slower, but that mom might like some Christmas lights too. So they decorated with colored lights none too few. His father, with a red Santa hat and son by his side, did fashion the yard with every tradition in mind. Adjusting his glasses which fogged several times, he stumbled and fell creating snow angels so fine that Peter took it upon himself to provide the next angel the one in training, the one off to an angle, to his father's pristine snow creation, the one cast in snow, so founding the Angels' Choir, which did give a great show. Each and every nook and cranny, was filled with decorations that ran a gamut of genres from old, Pierre Noel to the story of reindeer Rudolph, told so well. All the boughs were tied with ribbons of red and the reindeer were given pinecones, to make sure they were fed. Glorious red and green ornaments adorned the house, and trees and a plastic elf playing his horn. The stand of Nativity stood proud and well lit with the baby Jesus, and the kings which did sit nearby to ponder the coming of the Lord for they each offered gifts, which few could afford. The house was covered from chimney to cellar illuminated completely to help the Christmas feller find this destination and the well-behaved Peter for inside there were sugar cookies for the well-known cookie eater. Nearby stood canes of striped candy of immense size and girth would surely give a dandy of a tummy ache, but that to no mind for this was Christmas, and candy did find Young Peter always indulging far too often and too much, but what better time to eat said candy and such but at the celebration of the birth of our Lord Jesus, besides, it's only candy, what is the big fuss The big fuss arrived at the close of the eve with Peter saying, "Call my doctor, call Doctor Steve" for Peter's tummy severely did ache the culprit? A plate of peanut butter fudge, cooked and not baked. But that was last year, and this year is now and Peter would not bend, he would not bow to the idea that Santa is somehow inflammable. Peter found that notion ridiculous, if not laughable. So rear back he did to offer the fire a drink, but his father stepped in, after a quick think, offered a suggestion, one that just might work, he consumed that last bite of his sandwich, his sandwich made of turkey and said, "Why don't we open up the back door, the back door in back that way Santa can just walk in carrying that sack with all those toys and presents so vast that he will have to, he will just have to come in through the back door, the door in the back and just this one time not be covered in black ashes and soot and lord knows what else and dirty his red suit which I think is made of felt" His father asked as Peter quietly listened. Peter agreed knowing the midnight hour did hasten so open the back door, the back door in back as far as it would open, to afford that large sack. With the snow slowly blowing, slowly blowing in Peter went off to bed, leaving some cookies in a tin by the mantle, held in place by some old leather books, was a sign in crayon, a big sign that read, "COOKIES, BIG MAN!" to make Santa look toward that area that was loaded extra heavy with plethora of signs and a wanton of bevies of stuffed animals and ornaments some arranged with aplomb others left scattered, as if hit with a toy bomb. So as midnight clicked heavy on the old grandfather clock and the fire roared beneath the old stocking sock in walked through the back door, the back door in back old Santa Claus with his big old red sack. Stomping his feet to rid his bebuckled shoes of the snow he quietly walked in through the back door in back, keeping his profile low. He gathered his sack with Peter's presents abundant with toys, and gifts and presents redundant. Carefully, he followed the many placed signs and the laid out Christmas lights, laid out in lines which created the pathway to the fireplace and the Christmas tree, pine for which Santa would place the presents in front and behind. But as weird as it may sound, the thing unknown for certain was that Santa's glasses did fog, they fogged as he passed by the curtains and with all the toys, ornaments and lights strewn across the floor tripped Santa, sending him into flight landing just shy of the fireplace hearth, the one with the roaring fire that had given such mirth to the entire family through the cold, snowy winter. Just as he fell one of the yule logs popped and began to splinter sending out a big old red ember that was warming the house in this cold December. It shot into the air hanging just briefly and fell ever so quickly, ever so steeply landing on the coat of the Sainted St. Nick and began to smoke and smolder right quick Santa noticed the peculiar odor and tried in vain, but his mitteny hands created a strain in trying to extinguish the red, tiny ember and as the hot ember got hotter, Santa lost his temper and panicked flailing around the living room proper trying in vain to romp and stomper out the burning ember that burned so brightly the kind that the home enjoyed on cold winter's nightly. Just as Santa got hotter, oh, so much hotter There came a great splash; five-gallons of tepid tap water. With his beard water logged and precariously sagging he gathered his composure which was not worth bragging about and cleared his eyes to find young Peter in his pajamas with an empty five-gallon bucket and a shallow pan of peanut butter fudge and a smile on his face. Santa tried in vain, to find something to say that was quite wise and perhaps whimsical but all that came out was, "I guess I'm quite flammable!" Peter stood and watched carefully by as Santa placed the presents under the Christmas pine with care and ease, all of which would appease the Scroogiest of us all and those without trees. Santa gathered his sack and his water logged attire and gave a parting glance at his nemesis, the roaring red fire, and patted Peter on the head and told him to go back to bed "You can open these tomorrow morning." That's what he said. Off went Peter as did St. Nick for hopefully the wet suit would not make him sick. In the morning young Peter would find presents in piles and his father sitting by watching with a smile. Merry Christmas to all!