A Matter of Faith: Chapter 1-6



Who could imagine that Santa could be so vengative?

Discover it now:

At this point of the story, seeing the events that have occurred so far, I suppose that your mind suffered a shock of confusion similar to poor Faith. But do not worry, everything will be explained. The stories are like flowing rivers. Tributaries and streams of small stories that end up in a great central plot. Characters, as castaways adrift, lost among the meandering rivulets and false ends, remain stagnant or return to the river mouth up to the final outcome. Solo sailors in interlaced frames. But I’m different. I know the course. I am a Captain, not a sailor. As my noble title states, I’m omniscient, the Omniscient Narrator, and I know what has happened, happens and will happen in this story. All mystery will be revealed in time. However, if you are impatient, just go to the end of the book and read the last chapter. But remember that curiosity killed the cat. I do not know what the kitten did, it is not part of this story, but it ended up quite dead.

However, to allay the anxiety of the most curious ones, I’ll walk through the small riverbed of a tributary of the story. We depart from the mother stream the central plot so I’ll tell you what happened to the three murderers of Santa Claus. Pay attention, because although the flow of this little story is small, it is not so the importance of its water, which sooner or later, always ends up adding to the chronicle of main spring.

First of all, you must know that Christmas is a powerful legend, culture, folklore and lots of characters and myths. The most famous of all these characters is Santa Claus. It is true, he has earned his reputation, year after year, thanks to constant bribes in the form of gifts and sweets, but no one can dispute his place on the highest Christmas role podium. However, especially in Latin America and Spain, three tough competitors, whose tradition and history predates Santa’s, have tried for centuries, but their capacity for corporate marketing has been eclipsed by the overwhelming success of Santa Claus. They are known as the Three Mage Kings (Three Wise Men), born of the Holy Scriptures of the Bible, from the Far East brought gifts to the newborn Christ. Tradition tells that every January 5th, at night, they leave gifts to children who have been good. Their names are Melchior, Gaspar and Balthazar.

No matter how racist it sounds, the idea that a black man, along with two cronies, breaking into a house at night without being seen, may have contributed to low uptake of these three characters in the Anglo world. On the other hand, a fat disguised man driving a flying sleigh, pulled by magical reindeer and falling down the shaft of a chimney, seemed much more appropriate. Don’t you think?

Anyway, unfamiliar with any tradition, there was still some time off, Melchior, Gaspar and Balthazar rushed three pints of beer at the only tavern where people like they could meet without arousing suspicion at the True Lies tavern.

The atmosphere was dark, even when the day remained. Despite having large windows on one wall, they only let pass a fraction of light. The sunrays collided with the coloured glass and drew shadows across the room. Floors, walls, tables, chairs and tavern made ​​of wood; the kind that squeaked to soft shoes and responded with echoes to hard soles, but never remained indifferent. A light mist was always present, but no one was smoking. Even when somebody opened the door it didn’t escape. It was as if the whole tavern was taken from an old photograph and all remained unchanged forever. It was a magic tavern, as only legend taverns can be. There was one in every city, town or village across the planet. Capitalism had called them “franchises” once, but it did not fit well the true meaning of True Lies, and, in fact, there was only one tavern, and it was the same everywhere. The door that gave access to it was what changed. How to find the right door? I’m afraid that I am forbidden to share that information. A place is not unique if it lets everyone to come. And customers of True Lies were, no doubt, exclusive people.

A small group of closet monsters were held in the darkest corner, under a banner that read, “Disabled zone.” Children’s imagination had given them enormous mouths and teeth, however, hadn’t given them elaborated digestive systems, so the intake of any food, or beverage that wasn’t meat or child blood caused great difficulties and unpleasant sight and smell. For this reason they stayed away from other customers.

At the bar, Elvis Presley, a dwarf, a Martian, or maybe it was a Venusian, and what some would think it was an albino zombie but many recognize as the artist formerly known as Michael Jackson, shared basket of peanuts

Liberty practiced as waitress. Always at the service of the thirsty, her blond hair walked between the tables removing empty cups and leaving refilled jugs. Her tight shorts suggested there was nothing under them and the generous cleavage asked for freedom for the two occupants of her tiny shirt. Her body had declared independence from the law of gravity and age. Her curves were so vibrant and winding that following them by sight was considered extreme sport. She was funny and nice when she wanted – rude and strict when she wished; that is where Liberty’s secret lied. She was a rebel and loyal to free will. So when Curiosity asked her why she had decided to become a waitress when she could be anything she wanted, Liberty simply replied, “Because I wanted to.”

The tavern never closed and there was always someone inside. Its clientele was so varied that a thousand lives would be needed to list only a small part. But for now, you must just remember three of them. Three criminals, who enjoyed their time off celebrating the murder of their greatest enemy once again.

“Did you see his face when we caught him in the alley? Ha!” laughed Melchior, who wore white dust beard.

“That fatty couldn’t see it coming,” continued Gaspar, whose beard was brown as mahogany in the fall and just as lush as Melchior’s.

“Another year that he bites the dust.” Balthazar finished with eastern accent and not a hair on his face hiding his ebony dark skin.

“To us!” Melchior cheered lifting his glass.

“Another Halloween without Santa Claus!” Balthazar shouted.

They raised their mugs and made them crash into the air. The glasses sounded like victory and celebration. The beer poured into their throats like ragweed reserved for heroes. Always under the watchful eye of Liberty, who had already prepared another three filled jars. She put them on the table with an unusual strong sound. Melchior raised his glass and looked at the base curious to see if he would find something. Then, his eyes, as well as others, changed direction. The same loud wooden noise hit and rang again, but this time they realized it came from above the ceiling. It sounded like a hailstorm with hail the size of tennis balls. The blows were repeated with force and intensity until the frequency ceased as suddenly as it had arrived. However, a slow but steady rhythm persisted. Someone was walking over the roof. The necks of the participants followed the direction of the noise. Every eye converged on the fire of the chimney. Dust fell on the fire and it burned like phosphorous colours.

The Three Kings looked at each other. They recognized the fear in their eyes and bewilderment on their faces. In that brief moment when they looked away from the fireplace, a heavy thud in the chimney hole extinguished the fire in the fireplace. But what chilled their blood was the cruel and deep voice that followed:

“Ho, ho, ho, Happy Halloween lads!”

Santa Claus’ huge bag of gifts had served to extinguish the fire and to soften the fall. He smiled in a way that no child would sit on his lap. And his look was already anchored in the necks of his three competitors.

Gaspar dropped his mug to the ground. His legs were so scared they began to run even before his brain gave the order, but before he reached the door, the large body of Santa Claus interposed between the output and the victim. In that moment, if his hair were not completely gray, would have turned white in less than what it took to say, “Glump.”

More than one person, at this point of the story, asked me if it were possible for a person of such magnitude like Santa Claus to move so fast.

Do not forget that this wonder of Christmas nature was able to visit every household in the world in one night. You have to be fast to do it. Maybe the Three Kings performed the same work, but they distributed the globe on third parts. A simple logic exercise indicates that Santa was at least three times faster than any of his competitors. This explained why Gaspar wasn’t able to see the fierce movement of Santa grabbing his neck.

He could hardly breathe, but not needed. With the press of a finger, Santa broke his neck (don’t be surprised, he is capable of lifting a bag containing all the toys for every child in the world, breaking a neck was a trifle). His neck sounded like a dry twig breaking. And his body falling to the ground was like a sledgehammer hitting a drum of war. Melchior and Balthazar stood up from their chairs like a spring. The fear was tattooed on their faces. Gaspar was the warning to cease in their attempts to escape, and no doubt it had an impact.

“It’s impossible,” Melchior said.

“Obviously not,” Santa answered walking towards the table.

“We have hours to sundown,” Balthazar complained watching the red and white mass come closer and closer.

“I intend to spend hours having fun with you two,” he replied as the shadow of his great body covered them both.

They saw a glimpse of what he had in mind inside his eyes, and then they realized that Gaspar had been the lucky one.

What happened after is worthy of one of those camera movements that deviate from the point of interest and leaves what might happen to viewer’s imagination, showing just a shadow, an intriguing shot or a shrill cry. Although this little tale of revenge, pain, blood, suffering and fear, is particularly suitable for this Halloween season, it is not particularly relevant to our story. Believe me, I’m the Narrator. But one of the witnesses who were in the tavern at that time was – someone who if he hadn’t been there the fate of Faith would have been completely different. But that’s what happens with Destiny. He is capricious, and that day he had an appointment with our accidental witness at the tavern, at the same time. However, he didn’t just appear; the young man sitting and waiting saw everything from beginning to end. Not for nothing, but he was the owner of the tavern.


If you liked it, you know what to do next:



Cover A Matter of Faith

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4 Responses to A Matter of Faith: Chapter 1-6

  1. Chatty Owl says:

    Im sure your sales are booming!

  2. Saba says:

    How dare you kill the joy of Christmas and the name of the hearty and amazing saint all because you believe that he didn’t exist. It doesn’t matter, more than 1 million children and even adults believe In him and you must really just hate the idea of joy being alive in many hearts and souls, you are really cruel.

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