Sarah Sues Santa Read online

  The wind roared and snowflakes blew into the hallway. Sarah stepped out into the night and closed the door as quickly yet quietly as possible. For a moment, she held an ear to the door to check if her parents would wake up, but she couldn’t hear anything. She turned and faced the snowstorm.

  Even with all of her thickest clothes on, Sarah had never felt so cold. Snow whirled all around her. It was so thick on the ground that every step came up to the top of her boots. Luckily, the nearest postbox wasn’t far: she headed up the driveway and towards the end of the street.

  Maybe it was just her imagination, or maybe all of the snow made it look that way, but the street seemed even longer than usual. Sarah felt as though she’d been trampling through the snow for an hour by the time she reached the postbox. She wiped the snow off of the letterbox, and checked the timetable bolted to the front. It was difficult to read it in the dim yellow streetlight, but she could just make out the next pickup time: 5:00am. She pulled the envelope from her pocket and, before she could think twice about it, pushed the letter into the postbox. There. Done. Let’s see what you say to that, Mr. Claus!

  She turned – and nearly leapt on top of the postbox in shock. A postman stood over her, his dark uniform so perfect that not a single flake of snow dared to land on it. He had no gloves, no scarf, but but he wasn’t shivering. A brown sack was swung over his shoulder.

  “Good morning, young lady,” he said, tipping his hat. He didn’t shout over the howling wind, but Sarah heard him perfectly clearly. “What are you doing out at this hour?”

  “I…I was going to ask you the same thing!” Sarah asked, crossing her arms and trying to look brave, “It’s a bit early to be picking up this post, isn’t it?”

  “Normally, yes,” said the Postman, “But I’ve been told to come here because of some very important mail.”

  Sarah’s mouth fell open, then she immediately regretted it as cold snow flew in and stuck to the back of her throat. “You…you know about my letter?”

  The Postman nodded with a grin.

  “But…how?” Sarah scratched her woolly hat, “I only just posted it!”

  The Postman laughed so loud that Sarah thought that half the street would wake up. “Oh, my dear! I’m not here to collect your letter. No, that’s been done already! I am here to give you your reply. Now let me see…”

  The Postman swung the bag off of his shoulder and began to rummage through the pile of letters inside, while Sarah shivered with cold and fear. Santa had replied already? But…how? She knew the old story of how Santa could see all the children in the world in one night, but this…seeing it for herself was something else. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so sure about this whole idea of suing Santa. He didn’t sound like the kind of guy Sarah wanted to get on the wrong side of. What if she wrote him a quick apology right now? Maybe that would get to him just as fast…

  “Ah, here it is!” the Postman pulled out a red envelope, and with a bright smile handed it over to Sarah. To Sarah Pebbleton, it said on the front in big loopy writing. Hands shaking, she tore it open and read the golden letter inside:

 

  Dear Sarah,

  Thank you for your kind message. It looks like we have a lot to talk about. Please come to my workshop in the North Pole right away. Here are some special tickets. They will get you to where you need to go.

  The only thing I ask is that you please visit three houses on the way here. You will understand why soon.

  I look forward to meeting you.

 

  Yours,

  Santa Claus

 

  The letter shook in Sarah’s hands so much that she nearly forgot about the strange Postman standing in front of her. She read at it two more times before she finally said anything:

  “What…what does it mean, special tickets?” she stammered. She looked up, and the Postman had suddenly disappeared without a trace. She looked down at the letter again - except it wasn’t a letter anymore, but four golden tickets.

  Sarah felt a warm glow on her back. She turned, and saw a golden light spilling out of the letterbox, as though there was a bright and sunny day inside. She tried to peek inside, but the light blinded her. Then she spotted the door handle on the postbox. She looked up and down the street one more time. Empty. Was she dreaming? But she couldn't be: this cold felt very real, nipping at her nose and making it runny.

 

  For some reason she knew what to do. She took one ticket and slid it into the postbox. Instantly the little door swung open, but instead of a pile of letters pouring out, that warm light washed over her. It was just like a nice warm bath. Without thinking, she pocketed the other three tickets and stepped forward into the light.

  Chapter Five

  The Mountain Of Presents

  As soon as the light surrounded her, it went out, like someone had flicked a switch. Sarah reached out, and found something soft and squashy. It felt...familiar somehow. Was it a curtain? She grabbed it and pulled.

  Her bed duvet fell aside. She was back in bed, in her pyjamas. Morning light pushed through her window.

  "What..." She whispered to herself. "How...how did I..."

  Had it all been a dream? It had felt so real. She looked over to her writing desk. The letter was gone. Then she looked at her clock - and leapt out of bed so fast she nearly hit the ceiling. The little date on the clock read December 25th.

  Sarah looked from the clock to the window. It’s Christmas Day again? Had all of that been a dream too?

  "Sarah!" Her mother called from downstairs, "Are you up?"

  "Y...Yes?" Sarah replied.

  "This is very unlike you, dear," her Mum called again, "You're usually up before the sun is. Come on downstairs, we're waiting."

  Sarah slipped into her clothes, her mind spinning. Then she opened her door.

  And instantly shut it again. What on earth was that? She opened her door again slowly. On the other side was...not her house. Her bedroom door should’ve been right next to the stairs. Not now. Now it was at the end of a long corridor of fancy wooden doors and a thick red carpet.

  She slammed the door again, and looked around her bedroom. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

  Her bedroom had changed, too. But...it had been her real bedroom a moment ago! Had it switched behind her back? This new bedroom was huge: the bed was a big, old-fashioned bed, far too big for a 7-year-old, and her little writing desk had been replaced by a fancy looking table with gold handles on the drawers. And...was that a walk-in closet at the back? She walked across her vast bedroom and swung the closet open. The rows of clothes and stacks of shoeboxes stretched further than that corridor she'd just seen.

  Sarah nodded to herself. Suddenly she knew what must have happened. She must have collapsed on the street from the cold, and someone must've picked her up and took her in for the night. Some rich but forgetful person whose clock was a day behind. That’s why she could hear her Mum's voice and thought she could see the rooms changing around her: she was still a little bit sick from being out in the cold. Yes, that was it!

  "Sarah!" Mum yelled, "We haven't got all day!"

  "Coming!" She called. At least it all makes sense now. She walked out of her bedroom and down the corridor towards the stairs. Her parents must be worried sick. She'd have to come up with a really good apology, and a thank you for whoever rescued her.

  The stairs were wide and did that really fancy thing where they split into two sets of stairs halfway down then met up again on the way down. A Greek-looking statue was in the gap in the middle. Where was she? She didn't know there was house this big or fancy in the city. What was the owner of this house doing on her street in the first place, let alone rescuing kids in the snow?

  At the bottom of the stairs was an entry room nearly as big as Sarah's whole house. Sarah counted at least six doors lining the walls, and she felt the sudden urge to explore.

  "There she is!" Her Mum said, "Finally!"

  Sarah spun around. An o
pen door led into a huge living room, with a TV as big as the wall and lots of big leather sofas. A Christmas tree at least five times taller than Sarah stood in the corner, decked from top to toe in baubles as big as Sarah's head and tinsel so fine it looked like it was woven from silk.

  And there, sat in the biggest sofa of them all next to a roaring log fire, were her parents. Both of them had laptops perched on their knees and phones placed on the armrests.

  "Mum! Dad! What are you guys doing here?" said Sarah, pointing at them.

  "It's rude to point dear," Mum said, not looking up from her screen as she typed away, "Go on, open your presents from Santa."

  "But..." Sarah searched around for the right words, "But this isn't our house. Those aren't my presents under the tree."

  "What are you talking about?" said Dad, checking his phone, "Of course they are. The names on the presents are addressed to you."

  Sarah looked to the mountain of presents under the tree, then back to her parents, and around the whole house. An idea came over her.

  "Just a sec," she said, and she ran from the living room, back into the entrance hall and to the front door. It was big and heavy, and she broke into a sweat trying to pull it open. When she did, she shielded her eyes from the snowflakes tumbling in and landing on the marble floor, and looked at the number on the door. Twelve. The same number as their house. And underneath was a sign that said, in swirly silver writing: The Pebbleton Residence.

  Despite the blizzard, Sarah felt a hot wave rush over her. So...this really is home...but how? How could it possibly...?

  Dazed, she closed the door and walked slowly back to the living room. Everything seemed bright and colourful, as though it had all been painted. Then she eyed the mountain of presents, and excitement rippled through her. If these really are mine...

  A huge grin spread across her face, and she leapt at the presents like it was a swimming pool. She ripped through enough wrapping paper to make a pile as big as the Christmas tree, and every present she opened made her gasp with shock. Santa had bought her a new computer, the latest phone, a stack of new movies and music, huge soft toys as big as her, enough clothes to refill that huge closet two times over...by the time she opened her tenth box of chocolates, her hands ached from opening so many boxes. And I’m only half way through! She pushed aside two boxes as big as sheds to see her parents, still sat on their laptops, typing away. Have they moved at all?

  "Erm..." She called, "Can I get breakfast? I think I'm gonna need more fuel to open all of this."

  "Of course, dear," her Mum said to the laptop screen, "Breakfast is in the kitchen, help yourself."

  Chapter Six

  Email to Santa

 

  Sarah sat at the vast dining table surrounded by ten boxes of cereal, fresh orange juice and a bowl of mixed fruit, her head spinning. As she munched on fancy muesli, she thought to herself: this house, these presents, all this food...how did her parents become so rich so quickly? It was like a dream come true...

  Sarah dropped her spoon into her bowl, and milk splashed across the table. The words of Santa's reply to her came back to her:

  The only thing I ask is that you please visit three houses on the way here.

  Of course! Santa had brought her here! Only he would be able to make magic like this happen! Sarah ran the words of that letter through her head and again. So the other houses he wanted too show her weren’t different houses really, just their same family house but if their life was different. This must be if her family was really rich or something. I wonder what will the other houses be like…

  And yet, Sarah still rubbed her chin. Why was Santa doing this? Maybe he got scared when he read her letter, and granted all of her and her parents’ wishes? If that was true, then she didn't really need to go to the North Pole. Everything was just perfect here! I should write him another letter, telling him I don’t want to leave. Yes, that's what I'll do.

 

  She finished her breakfast and returned to the living room. Her parents still hadn't moved.

  "What are you doing?" Sarah asked.

  "Hmm?"

  "You've been on those computers all morning. Why?"

  "It's the busiest time for work, Sarah, “this is when all the best business opportunities are. We can't risk missing out."

  "Oh."

  Silence. Sarah looked at the log fire, the flames now burning low. Then she looked at the half-opened pile of presents.

  "I need to write a letter," Sarah blurted out suddenly, "To Santa."

  Dad looked up at her for the first time. Sarah took a step back.

  "Letters?" Dad frowned, "You are so cute, darling. Nobody sends letters anymore. We send emails."

  "Well, can I send an email to Santa then?"

  Mum snapped her laptop shut.

  "I cannot concentrate here," she said, "I'll be in the study."

  Mum strode out of the room. Dad laid his laptop aside and knelt next to Sarah.

  "Why don't you go and be a good girl and play with all your shiny new toys?” said Dad, eyes still glued to the screen, “Look, you've got a new computer. Why don't you get that set up and then you can send that email yourself, eh? Give me a call later, and I'll help you sent up the Wi-Fi."

  And with that, Dad picked up his own laptop and left too. The log fire's last flame flickered out, and a thin trail of smoke curled up the chimney. Sarah scratched her head. The rich versions of her parents were a bit unfriendly, but maybe she could work on that. They're the same people after all, right?

  Sarah lifted the heavy computer, and after five steps dropped it onto the carpet. This is way too heavy to carry! She pushed it out into the entryway, and to the edge of the stairs. From down here, the stairs looked as high as a hill. There was no way she could lift the computer up there. Maybe she could ask her Mum or Dad for help?

  She looked at the many doors spread around the walls. Which one did they go into? She didn't see where they went. Only one thing for it: she picked a door and headed through it. She'd find them eventually. How big could this house be?

 

  Very, very big, was the answer. She'd walked through a maze of rooms and corridors: some rooms were bigger than their assembly hall at school, and some rooms were small and covered in pictures of nice art. At one point, Sarah came to the kitchen and she thought she’d walked around in a huge circle, but then she saw that the sink was in a different place. This is a second kitchen! Why does anyone need two kitchens?

  She came to the end of a long corridor. Her feet ached from all the walking. Please be behind this one…she opened the door and found herself back in the entry room. The computer still lay at the foot of the stairs. Sarah stamped her foot, the sound echoing around her. Fine! She thought, I’ll do it myself! She rolled up her sleeves, and step by step she dragged the heavy box up the stairs. Despite it being a cold winter’s day, Sarah was sweating by the time she reached her bedroom.

  Her stomach growled. She checked her watch. It was already 12:30pm. She’d spent so long opening presents, getting lost in the house and dragging this computer around that it was nearly time for Christmas dinner already! Sarah puffed out her cheeks. Maybe this isn’t so perfect after all.

 

  When Mum made the call for dinner, Sarah had her new computer set up by her desk. It was huge and made a lot of noise when she switched it on, but she had no idea what to do next. I’ll ask Dad.

  She headed downstairs and back into the kitchen – the first kitchen – and for a moment all of her worries disappeared. The huge dining table was stacked high with the most beautiful feast Sarah had ever seen. Tall candles glowed on plates that looked like new, and the turkey in the centre of the table looked bigger than her. Her parents were already seated, and to Sarah’s relief they weren’t on a laptop now: they were pouring themselves glasses of a deep red drink from a glass bottle.

  Sarah took a seat and dug in. It tasted as good as it looked: the meat was soft and juicy, and the vegetabl
es were crisp and fresh. She even managed to have a fun talk with her parents over the luxury crackers, and for a moment everything seemed right again, until –

  Ding dong. The doorbell rang through the house. Mum picked up her phone and pranced out of the dining room.

  "Who's that?" Sarah asked.

  "The Mayor, probably," said Dad, picking up his phone as well and tapping away on it.

  "The Mayor!" Sarah wheeled around to look out of the door towards the entryway, "What's she doing here on Christmas Day?"

  Dad raised an eyebrow. "Have you forgotten already, Sarah? We're having a dinner party with all of the important people in the city tonight."

  "On Christmas Day?" Sarah frowned, "Why? Aren't they going to be with their families on Christmas Day, too?"

  "It's a great chance for business opportunities, Sarah. You never know what the New Year might bring."

  "You guys sure like your...bizness octopuses don't you?"

  "It puts this food on the table."

  Sarah looked over the table. There was still so much of it. Was this going to be for the dinner party? Sarah doubted it: she just knew that Mum and Dad would have a fresh new feast ready and waiting in another room somewhere.

  "I'm not hungry anymore," she said, "Can I go?"

  Dad waved his hand without another word, eyes fixed on his phone. Fighting the urge to shout at him, Sarah jumped down from her chair and headed through the living room, stopping at the Christmas tree on the way. Someone had cleared away all of the finished wrapping paper, the remaining stack of presents still piled high. But one of the boxes stood out to her: she recognized that size and shape anywhere. She picked it up and tore off the wrapping.

  It wasn't an Uberwoman Deluxe. No, wait, this was far nicer. This was a special limited edition, with a golden cape and the creator's signature on the box. If Sarah had opened this box in her real house, she would've leapt through the ceiling with sheer joy. But here, in this huge house with rich parents, endless rooms and a mountain of presents, she didn't even smile. She just sighed.

  Chapter Seven

  Tears Again

 

  She sat in her window ledge again, looking out of her bedroom window, Uberwoman in her hands. Instead of the narrow street she normally looked out on, though, she could only see a wide field covered in snow, rolling hills as far as the eye could see and not a single other house in sight. No other kid played outside. She wasn't even sure how far away the nearest child her age would be. She looked around her room. What was the point of all of these toys if she had nobody to play them with? In her real house with her real Uberwoman she could at least play games, but here in this huge house, the special edition Uberwoman was just a bunch of plastic.