by: Alex Richter
Snow fell relentlessly outside the frosted window, a smothering silence settling over Maplewood. The town had always seemed smaller in winter, but tonight, on Christmas Eve, it felt downright suffocating. Lucas sat on the worn couch in his living room, his gaze fixed on the single sheet of paper in his hand.
At seventeen, he hadn’t believed in Santa Claus for years. Yet, something had driven him to scrawl out these few lines, as if they might make a difference. It wasn’t even a list–just one wish.
Lucas folded the paper carefully and slipped it into an envelope. The absurdity of this made him shake his head, but he left the envelope on the windowsill anyway.
“Late for mailing, don’t you think?” his sister asked, leaning against the doorframe. Her voice was casual, but Lucas could hear the stain beneath it–the same strain they’d both carried since their mom died in January.
Lucas shrugged.
“Just felt like trying something.”
“You used to do that every year when you were a kid. Said Santa was your best friend.”
Lucas’ throat tightened, but he forced a laugh.
“Yeah, well… old habits die hard, I guess.”
A few hours later, as the house settled into silence, Lucas lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling. His wish was for something he hadn’t been able to shake since the funeral: a way to feel her presence again.
The room suddenly felt colder, the kind of cold that didn’t just touch your skin but settled deep in your chest. A soft jingling noise filled the room, followed by a gust of wind that carried a faint scent of pine and cinnamon.
Lucas sat up. By the window stood a figure dressed in red, his coat lined with thick white fur. His face wasn’t jolly, like every cartoon Lucas had seen growing up. His eyes, sharp and bright, looked straight into Lucas’.
“You’re older than most of the kids who write to me,” the man said, holding up the envelope.
Lucas blinked, his heart hammering.
“You’re not real. This is some… weird dream…”
Santa–if that’s who he was–tilted his head.
“Maybe. But let’s not waste it, shall we?”
Before Lucas could respond, the room disappeared around him. When his vision cleared, they were standing in a sprawling workshop that looked like something out of a movie. The air buzzed with warmth and energy.
“Why am I here?” Lucas asked, his voice steady despite the scene around him.
Santa led him toward a quieter corner where a tall mirror stood. Its surface glistened with a warm glow.
“You are here because your wish was honest. Honest wishes deserve answers.”
Lucas hesitated, glancing at the mirror.
“What is it?”
“It shows you what you’ve been holding onto–and what you’ve been avoiding,” Santa said. “Go on.”
Lucas stepped closer, his breath fogging the glass. The surface rippled like water, then cleared to reveal a scene: his mom, laughing as she teased him about his terrible cookie-decorating skills. Lucas froze, his chest tightening. Another scene followed: her voice humming a lullaby as he slept on the couch; her hands fixing the crooked star atop the Christmas tree last year. Just a week before she died.
“I didn’t think I’d forget her so fast,” Lucas murmured, his voice breaking.
Santa’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder.
“You haven’t forgotten her. You’ve just been afraid to look.”
The images faded, leaving Lucas staring at his own reflection again, eyes watery with tears.
“What’s the point of this?”
“To remind you,” Santa said softly, “that love doesn’t disappear, even when people do. It’s still here, in your memories, in your actions.”
The mirror shimmered once more, and a warmth spread through Lucas, so vivid it felt like his mom’s arms wrapping around him one last time. He closed his eyes, letting the feeling wash over him. When he opened them, he was back in his room.
The snow outside had stopped, and the first hints of dawn painted the horizon.
Christmas was never going to be the same without his mom–he knew that. But it didn’t feel unbearable. His mom wasn’t gone. She had just taken a different form. And for now, that was enough.