Dear Santa
Dear Santa
Ray Bradbury
Copyright
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2012 by Ray Bradbury
Used by permission of the author’s estate
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First ebook edition: December 2016
Originally published in The Strand Magazine, 2012
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ISBN 978-0-316-36116-3
E3-20161031-JV-PC
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dear Santa
About the Author
Mulholland and Strand Magazine ebook shorts
Newsletters
Dear Santa
Ray Bradbury
There was a long line and he was at the end of it.
He couldn’t believe how many children were there, all making noise.
Way up ahead, there was a guy in a red suit with a white beard on a throne, laughing and holding children on his knee, then passing them on and laughing some more.
He was at the very end, and the line was moving very slowly. It looked like it might be many hours before he got up where he wanted to be.
Suddenly a voice said: “Young man?”
He looked up.
The tall stranger said, “How old are you?”
The boy said, “Twelve.”
The man said, “You sure?”
“Yes.”
“You look awfully big for twelve,” said the stranger. “You’re kind of tall. Are you sure you belong in this line?”
The boy said, “There’s no other place to be. I gotta be here.”
“You say you’re twelve? You’re kidding me.”
“I’m staying twelve. That’s the way it is.”
The man said, “How about you step out of line, because by the time you get up and meet with Santa you’re going to look more than twelve. I think the line is going to change that.”
“No, sir,” said the boy. “I’m going to stay twelve.”
“Okay,” said the man. “Move on. The rest of you, step on it, keep going!”
“Twelve,” the boy whispered to himself and scrunched down almost into a crouch. “Twelve.”
The line began to move.
The kids were all talking and up ahead the laughter went on and on and the man in the red suit seemed to be enjoying himself.
The boy came close to the man in the red suit and stood a little taller, then he remembered and scrunched down and then stood up again.
“Twelve,” he whispered.
“How’s that?” said Santa Claus.
The man in the red suit bent down, his beard bristled.
“You say something?”
“I don’t know,” said the boy.
“I heard you say a number,” said Santa.
“Must have been someone else,” said the boy.
“You look a little heavy. I don’t think I could stand the weight. You better get out of the line, go on a diet, and come back when you weigh less.”
“Wait a minute,” said the boy. “I’ve been waiting a long time.”
“If you ask me,” said Santa, “you look like you’re thirteen or fourteen, or even fifteen.”
“Stop that,” said the boy.
“Stand aside,” said Santa Claus.
“Please.”
The boy jumped aside and looked up, tears in his eyes.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Yes,” said Santa Claus. “I’ve been doing this a very long time. Are you keeping track?”
“I am,” said the boy.
He turned and ran away through the large room, past all the kids, looking so darned tall and so darned strange.
He heard someone yelling and was upset, tears falling from his eyes.
He got outside the building. It was six o’clock and the building was closing and the day was done and all the kids were running home.
There was no one else; no one seemed to be going anywhere.
The boy stood outside the building looking at the back door for a long time.
At long last the door opened and a man came out and started walking along the alley toward the street.
He looked kind of thin and kind of tall and the boy looked at the man’s face and could see that the man had blue cheeks from shaving so close.
The boy followed him along and when they got out to the street he walked alongside the man.
The man looked down at him and said, “Who are you?”
“Gosh, I think you know.”
“I hope not,” said the man. “Which way are you going?”
“Your way,” said the boy.
“How do you know which way I’m going?”
“Go on.”
They walked along the street and turned a corner. The man said, “I live down this way. You got something to say to me?”
“I’d like your address, both of them.”
“How do you know I’ve got two addresses?”
“I think you do,” said the boy.
“I’ve got one. Do you have a paper and pencil with you?”
“Yes,” said the boy and took them out of his pocket.
“Put down one of my addresses,” said the man.
“How do I know which address to put down?”
“I think you do.”
The boy wrote on the piece of paper. “Where else should I have people write to you?”
“What kind of people?” said the man.
“A lot of kids,” said the boy. “Will you answer them?”
“I’m not so sure about that. Are you going to write to me?”
“Not now,” said the boy.
“When?” said the tall man with the blue cheeks. “When are you going to write to me?”
“Next October. When it gets closer to December. When it gets close to the time when you’ll be answering more mail.”
“I don’t know if I believe that,” said the man.
“I think you better,” said the boy. “Otherwise a lot of people aren’t going to be very happy.”
“You don’t look very happy right now,” said the man.
“I’m trying. Can I walk a bit further with you?”
“Okay. Walk along.”
They walked along the street.
“There is only one thing I want to know from you,” said the boy.
“What’s that?” said the man.
“When you see me next year, will you tell someone to make me first in line?”
“Why not last in line?”
“I’ve been there,” said the boy. “I didn’t like it. I wanted it to move faster. I wanted to move forward.”
“Write down my address.”
“Just give me the number, I know the street.”
“But you don’t know my name.”
“Yes, I do,” said the boy.
“Here I go. You better stay here. I’ll walk across the street.”
“There’s just one more thing I’d like to ask you before you go, sir.”
“What’s that?”
“My dear Santa, sir, please tell me, do you believe in you?”
The man stood there, looking down at the boy and scratched something behind one ear. “Maybe right now I’m beginning to believe. I think I owe you thanks.”
“No, sir, don’t thank me, just be. I’ll see you next year, sir.”
“You will,” said the man.
“I’ll be the first one in line and so help me gosh I’ll weigh less.”
“Do that. There’s one last thing I’d like to say to you.”
“What’s that,” said the boy.
“Christmas,” said the man. “Merry Christmas, dear lad.”
“Thank you so much, dear Santa, the same to you.”
And he turned and walked down the street, tears running down his cheeks.
About the Author
Ray Bradbury, who died in 2012 at the age of ninety-one, inspired generations of readers to dream, think, and create. A prolific author of hundreds of short stories and close to fifty books, as well as numerous poems, essays, operas, plays, teleplays, and screenplays, Bradbury was one of the most celebrated writers of our time. His groundbreaking works include Fahrenheit 451, The Martian Chronicles, The Illustrated Man, Dandelion Wine, and Something Wicked This Way Comes.
Look for these other Mulholland Books and Strand Magazine e-shorts
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Dear Santa by Ray Bradbury
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Blue on Black by Michael Connelly
The Sequel by Jeffery Deaver
Where the Evidence Lies by Jeffery Deaver
The Other Half by Colin Dexter
Almost Like Christmas by Joseph Heller
The Voiceless by Faye Kellerman
The Pocket Handkerchief by Philip Kerr
The Deal by Michael Palmer
Amazonia by T. Jefferson Parker
Ginnifer by Matthew Pearl
Meet and Greet by Ian Rankin
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Start-Up by Olen Steinhauer
A Guid Soldier by Charles Todd
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Ray Bradbury, Dear Santa
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