A slightly hunched figure stumbled in the shade of the night. A dark, jagged brick jutted out from amongst its peers, perhaps in defiance to its purpose. White snow glistened in the moonlight, encompassing the area. It had blanketed everything around in form-distorting depth. Only the sidewalk and the street beside it were cleared. Some stars peeked through the hazy veil of the sky, casting their tiny hopeful lights on the world below. The figure, a man, shifted the weight of the large, irregular sack he carried over his shoulder while softly grumbling and continued on. He headed to a dim house in the distance, almost camouflaged against its surroundings. He had already visited many houses tonight and wasn't close to done yet. It was always hard work. But even now, the old man didn't mind.
He was dressed simply. A large coat, thick pants, flexible gloves, and heavy boots kept him warm in the brisk chill that swept the lonely street. A small, fur-brimmed cap sat tightly on his head. Out here, he wasn't really distinctive, just a black brushstroke against a white canvas. He trudged through the snow at a steady pace, long since used to the strain.
Beside him on both sides of these streets, lay a sprawling field covered with snow. It extended out towards the horizon, yet was mostly bare. As far as he could see were shifting white dunes. Snow flew off these round hills, giving the area around it a windswept look. Nearer to the road lay a row of power lines, extending to the town in front of him and beyond into civilization. The poles were old and tattered, yet still sturdy. They bore paper flyers proclaiming garage sales, campaigning politicians, independent bands. He passed a lonely mail box, halfway covered in white. Snowmen and snow angels, snowballs and forts came into view, the signs of children still living in bliss.
The house ahead grew ever larger, ever brighter. It looked like all its peers around it, differing little. He could start to make out shapes inside, furniture that cast strange shadows on the walls. But he spied the place he needed to go once inside. It looked unassuming, set off in the corner where normally it was the center of attention. But these people had the right to decorate their houses in whichever way suited them and the man had no right to judge. He now spied a few cars in the cleared-out driveway, belonging to the adults of the house. They looked new and expensive, clean and shining despite the snow.
He moseyed up to the front door, sliding past the numerous gewgaws on the lawn. He reached inside a coat pocket to take out his lock picks.
It had taken him years to learn how to pick open locks reliably. It had taken him even longer to learn how to do it well on main doors, with multiple locks and deadbolts. He hated it. He thought it was grossly immoral. But he didn't have any better options. The idea of breaking or cutting open a window was abhorrent. After he lost his main mode of transportation and since anything like it was impossible to travel unnoticed with nowadays, he had only this method of surreptitiously entrance. Without anything else, he grudgingly took up the art of lock picking. Not that he would ever call it one.
It took him a few minutes to get the door open, but he made no sounds during the effort. Thankfully, the door was not alarmed. Those houses were never fun. The door silently and slowly opened into a modest hallway, with the living room on his right, the kitchen on the left, and stairs heading upwards into darkness in front of him. He sidled inside and closed the door, slowly easing his pack through the doorframe. Satisfied, he slid into the living room.
A large, flat-screen television adorned one wall, with media players and video game consoles set in small cubbies below. A large, comfortable-looking couch sat facing it, with large chairs off to its sides. Another wall was made up of a large window, viewing the street, adorned with pictures and decorations. Behind the couch were more pictures, either of the family or of generic paintings or photographs. A small end table stood off to the left end of the couch, bearing a small plate of cookies. Likely, the homeowners went off to sleep and forgot to clean up after themselves. The man helped himself to some of them as he moved over to the far wall. Yes, this is what he spotted on his way in; this is where he would work.
The man set his pack on the ground and got on his knees, suppressing a strained groan. He pulled a PDA out from his coat pocket and looked up who, exactly, lived here. He absentmindedly ate his cookies as he searched. It took him a few moments, but he had gotten the small list easily enough. He then opened the pack and silently rummaged inside for the appropriate parcels. He tried not to mutter to himself as he worked; that was a bad habit of his. He picked out a number of boxes, looked them over and, satisfied that they were for this house, set them in front of him. When he was finished, there were about a dozen or so packages of all shapes and sizes arranged neatly in this little, highly decorated corner, where they should be.
The old man closed the sack, put his PDA away and slowly stood up, hoping his knees wouldn't crack. He grabbed a few more cookies on his way out. A smile now adorned his wizened yet jovial face; this was his favorite part of the night. He wished he could see the joy and harmony that would warmly blanket this house in the morning. But that was not his charge. He was content with simply laying down the foundation.
As he withdrew from the house, he locked the door and slid it firmly shut behind him. He headed to the next house on his route with renewed vigor.
"Merry Christmas to all," he whispered, happily, "and to all a good night."
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I wrote this in a few hours today, after finally fleshing out an idea I've had for a few months now. I think it turned out pretty well, after I extensively proofread it. Though, maybe I should have put this out during Christmastime...not much Christmas spirit in the midst of summer. I think the idea of a modern-day Santa wouldn't be unlike this, given the fact that chimneys aren't very large nowadays and that many houses are alarmed. Not to mention the advent of radar and GPS makes locating things easy. This story's extreme for entertainment's sake, but I'd like to see how Santa would have changed over the years if he was real.
At least, if he was in the real world. He'll always be real in my heart, heh. I'm still a child, to be honest.
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