text: ***Flag***\*,\* ***Indian summer,*** ***cannonball.*** *Actions:* ***Christmas carols are being sung***\*,\* ***Someone is being chased***\*. Phrases: “\****It happens this time of the year”,*** \*“\****We have until midnight”*** &#x200B; “Crack!” the kitchen window said, as its locking mechanism snapped. Snow drifted in and scattered like a dusting of sugar over the kitchen counter. Two sets of boots tracked mud across the surface. One belonged to a skinny man, who climbed as though his gangly teenage growth spurt had just kept spurting. The other set belonged to a stubby man with a round face like a cannonball with a big nose attached. These were not nice men. They were Christmas present thieves. Sadly, it’s true, it happens this time of year. Following them through the window, the distant sound of Christmas carols serenely drifted in. They crept towards the red-green glow of Christmas lights tickling the tree upon which they sat. “Hey. Whassat?” Jerry backhanded Arsene in his big bulbous nose. “Ouch! Whadya do that for, nitwit!” Arsene stomped on Jerry’s foot. Jerry pointed towards two ghostly figures at the foot of the Christmas tree. Arsene’s mouth opened wide as he froze. One of the two figures was gangly with a long black scraggly beard, and nimble fingers unwrapping presents. The rotund man stood guard. He kicked the gangly one, and they both faced the two would-be thieves. “Who are you, old geezers? Get outta here,” Arsene fired at them. “This is our hit.” “Arse.. Arsene...” Jerry stammered, hitting him like he was a piñata refusing to open.”It’s us.” As if staring at a mirror that took decades to reflect the light, it *was* them, but ancient, wrinkled, and decrepit. “We are you,“ the old Arsene croaked, “from the future.” “And I guess the thieves of Christmas past are gonna sneak up behind us and tell us to stop stealing their jujus,” the younger Jerry sneered. Old Jerry stroked his long beard, an unconscious mannerism. “To us, you guys are the thieves of Christmas past.” “A reminder that we had a choice once,” old Arsene added. “We have until midnight when the old Santy Claus turns up,” he faltered. “To stop you... to convince you to...” He lost his train of thought. “Whatever you do. Don’t touch him.” “Why not?” young Jerry asked. “If you touch him,” old Jerry said, “his time travel juice will get on you and drag you along with him. Me an him, “ he pointed to old Arsene, “have been stuck in here time traveling with him for,” he paused tapping his fingers, “fifty years.” “We are begging you... leave now,” old Arsene added. ”Give up... something...” he shook his head clearing the cobwebs. “It ain’t worth it.” The young Jerry looked at his watch, showing five minutes to midnight. “‘ang on, what were you looking for before.” “The Christmas favor...” Old Jerry started before he clammed up with a kick in his shins from old Arsene. “What’s that then?” young Arsene asked. “Sounds kinda expensive.” “Yeah,” young Jerry added. “Why don’t you both get outta here. You’re just trying to steal what we’re already stealing.” Old Arsene shook his head in dismay. Old Jerry looked down to the floor. Paused. Then plucked something from the floor and ran. “Oi!” Young Jerry chased after him, clattering chairs, smattering cutlery, and battering through the dining room. They bundled up the stairs until he caught the old fella flagging on the landing. Pinning him to the floor, young Jerry snatched the item from his hands. It was a gold-gilt snowglobe glowing as if a firefly was trapped inside it. A flash of light filled the house, momentarily blinding them all. The room warmed as though an Indian summer was beating away the winter chills. “I would like to invite you to return that gift to the box,” a deep voice was heard from the living room. All four men were overwhelmed by a red glow emanating from the large man who filled the room as though he demanded attention. “Now that you have seen the consequences of your actions,” Santa spoke in a soothing voice to the younger versions of Jerry and Arsene. “The punishment for stealing Christmas presents is severe.” He indicated the two decrepit skeletal men, the thieves of Christmas future. “Again, I invite you to return the gift.” Jerry held the snowglobe out in the palm of his hand, as though he was Frodo presenting the One Ring. He’d probably get a few hundred for it down at the Pick N’ Snatch. Enough to get him and Arsene through the winter. He looked back at the two broken old men. Arsene whispered to Jerry as they both approached the red-clad time traveler. “Give it to ‘im. I don’t wanna end up like them. We find another way.” Nodding, Jerry placed the decoration back in the box and rewrapped the paper. “At the fiftieth time of asking,” Santa whispered, rubbing his temples. “Thank you.