The Storyteller and the Magic Snowstorm

A large drop of melting snow dripped onto the end of the Storyteller's red bobbly nose.

He sighed deeply, reached for the key to his front door, opened it slowly and sloppily stepped into the dank and damp sitting-room.

He had just come from the village where the children, who had been joyously looking forward to Christmas in one day's time, were crushed by the news that Father Christmas had come down with the 'flu, Rudolph and his fellow reindeer were suffering from hornitis (a little known disease of the horns which, although quite painless,  made them droop horrendously over the forehead and, thus, obscure their vision to the point where it was positively dangerous to fly around the skies at a rate of knots!) and, finally, the Elves were suffering from the kind of brainstorm which hits us all in times of panic, and had mixed up the bits and bobs upon which Action Man and Barbie rely to give them "character" - well, shall say no more on that score - the mind positively boggles!

The Storyteller, thoughtfully built his log fire and, once it was roaring in the fireplace, sat down with his thirteen cats to think even more thoughtfully.

As he dozed, the children of the village made their way to his cottage, crying and sobbing, wailing and weeping and generally making the most awful noise.

Meanwhile, the snow continued to melt, the rain began to fall, the skies were grey and listless.  Life was grim indeed!

The noise outside grew and grew until it was unbearable.  As The Storyteller gradually awoke, his eyes lit upon his precious Magic Snowstorm.  He shook the glass dome and watched as the flakes fell upon a village scene, crammed with happy, laughing children as Father Christmas flew across the sky in a sleigh full of presents.

"If only," he muttered to himself.

Suddenly, a thought came to him.  He threw on his long red coat and bright yellow hat, thrust the Magic Snowstorm into his pocket and rushed outside. He cantered off down the path through the hordes of (by now) screaming children.

He hopped, skipped and jumped over the massive puddles in the lane and bounded into the woods.  He knew who he had to find.  It was just a matter of looking.

The hysterical children from the village followed closely behind with their parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts bringing up the rear.

Now, those who lived in the woods, were actually feeling quite peaceful and calm (not being too bothered about Christmas and the like) and were going about their business (mostly gathering nuts, mushrooms and creepy, crawly insects to keep them going through the winter) in quite a jolly way.

WHOOMPFF!! Their peace was polluted, their calm was cracked, into their midst came a whirling maniac dressed in red and yellow, waving a Magic Snowstorm, followed by ... well, those who lived in the woods couldn't begin to describe the howling, wailing mass of children who bundled and tumbled along followed by shouts of:

"SSHHHSSHHHH!!"

"FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE JUST SHUT UP!!!"

and

"I  CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!" from the following adults who were well on their way to a crisis point!

In a flash, the Storyteller turned to the crowd and held his Magic Snowstorm high in the air.

The children stopped, their mouths open wide and gazed in the air.  Their families, forming a circle around the children, raised their eyes and stood stock still, completely silent.

There, behind the Magic Snowstorm was the Face of the Woods.

(Every wood and forest has a "Face" you see.  If you think about it, each wood or forest has a different look, a different feel to it - down to trees, animals and other bits and pieces.  This different "look" and "feel" come together to form its "Face".)

This Face of the Woods was a little scary to be completely honest with you.  Kind of dark, woody and scampery in places. 

The Storyteller waved the Magic Snowstorm in front of The Face.

"We need your help, oh Face!" he cried.

"It's all gone wrong this year in the real world."

Here he explained about Santa, the reindeer and the elves to a more and more bemused Face who knew nothing about anything much and really didn't care!

"I know you only use your powers once every seven and a half years to help others..."

At this point The Face scrunched up its woody, scampery features and began to look extremely menacing.

"...by my reckoning those seven and a half years are just about up!" stated The Storyteller firmly.

A bit of firm stating never did anybody any harm and The Face's features relaxed a little.

"All I am asking," said The Storyteller quietly, "Is that you use your powers to transfer the Magic Snowstorm's scene into the village - just for a couple of days you understand, otherwise we would be stuck in Christmas all year round and that wouldn't do would it?"

The children actually thought that it "would do" very nicely but managed to keep quiet whilst they waited for The Face to decide.

The Face's gnarled and woody bits twisted and turned, its scampery bits scampered ever more madly, The Storyteller waited patiently, the children began to feel a little scared and the families, well, by this time, they had lost the plot and just wanted to run home as fast as they could.

Like a balloon bursting, The Face, with one last huge grimace, quite simply popped.

Snow began to fall.  The Storyteller turned to the children with an enormous smile on his face and pointed quietly to the way back to the village.

As they approached the village they could see the lights burning in the windows, the snow falling gently and settling into a white, gleaming carpet.

They could hear, far, far away (since they still had a day to go) the jingle of the reindeer bells and the "Ho, ho, ho!" of Father Christmas as he prepared for his annual trip.

The children began to sing their favourite carols (pity they all had different favourite carols but, hey, the Christmas spirit was well and truly back!) as they ran back into the village to wait for Christmas morning.

The Storyteller returned to his cottage, stoked up his fire, fed his thirteen cats, and settled comfortably into his armchair with a satisfied smile on his face.

 

(Oh, and in case you were wondering, Father Christmas in the real world made a speedy recovery from his 'flu and was able to concoct an antidote for hornitis.  The Elves got their act together and sorted the various Action Man and Barbie bits into their right areas.  Christmas was two days late that year of course - made all the headlines if I remember, but, and this is a big BUT, the children in The Storyteller's Village, where the two days of Magic Snowstorm Christmas had just finished, only went and had ANOTHER Christmas straight afterwards!!!! Alright for some, eh?)

First published in 2003 Christmas Newsletter

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