A Christmas Miracle

Giving the Gift of Fiction

And now, a special edition of the Edison City stories written for

Thérèse Judeana

as part of

Emily S Hurricane

’s Substack Fiction Gift Exchange!

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It was Christmas Eve in Edison City, and, as usual, the Malevolent Med-Student was up to no good. Specifically, he had resolved to demonstrate to the world once for all that Santa Claus did not exist. “Of course he does, boss!” his loyal henchwoman Candystriper said. “Where do you think I got that set of Super Sparkle Death Kazoos last year? The mall? They were presents from Santa!”

“I hardly think Santa would be dealing in flashy weaponry!” the Malevolent Med-Student suggested. He was about to explain that he’d bought it himself when he saw the look in his minion’s eye and decided that for her, at least, he would maintain the illusion. She was, after all, one of the better minions he’d had. This meant he was now undertaking the entire project of disproving Santa’s existence by himself.

He didn’t think it would be that difficult, honestly. He had fueled himself with a caffeinated concoction of his own design guaranteed to keep him awake all night. He’d set up cameras as a backup system around multiple chimneys and entry points at various city houses. He’d even wired a few roofs to ensure against reindeer landings. As the final insurance, he’d arranged for the Mauve Mosquito to run patrols in the area. “Suppose your guy doesn’t show up?” she’d asked.

“If he’s real, he will,” the Malevolent Med-Student said. “If it’s not, than I shall have conclusive proof!”

The Mauve Mosquito thought the idea was a little silly, but she was getting paid so she didn’t mind. She summoned her mosquito friends and they set up a full-scale cover over the houses the supervillain had designated. More than one human below that night thought they heard an unusual humming noise from overhead, and mistook it for, perhaps, the faintest of jingling bells. It wasn’t bells that time; it was the sound of organized lines of mosquitoes circling in tightly controlled ellipses around an approximate four-block perimeter. The Mauve Mosquito was ready. The Malevolent Med-Student, aboard the Malpracticycle with RPG in hand trained on a nearby chimney, was also ready. “Right,” the Malevolent Med-Student said to himself, “Here we go!”

The time, as he had obsessively verified for the past hour, was midnight exactly. In his voluminous research on the subject he had never quite nailed down precisely what time the old guy was supposed to make his appearance, but he was pretty sure midnight was the limit. The Malevolent Med-Student waited, RPG in hand, sighted on the chimney. Any moment now…

In training his eye on the chimney, he had necessarily looked away from the Malpracticycle. At 12:01 a.m., precisely, he heard a sudden very close-by jingling. The Malevolent Med-Student whirled, ready for instant combat, but to his amazement, no one presented themselves. Rather, tied to the handlebars of the Malpracticycle by golden strings with bells on the end, were two objects. One was a picture of St. Nicholas, eyebrows knitted in mild reproof. The other…

The other was something the Malevolent Med-Student had wanted all his life. “The Boots of Flyability!” he gasped. “The only truly unlimited anti-gravity boots known to be in existence, made by no one knows who, able to cancel out any possible gravitational force while also protecting the wearer against any object encountered in flight!”

Then he noticed the tag. On it, in a formal golden script, was written, “Remember, this is vicarious flyability. You can only use the power in service of others. Wield it well.

It wasn’t signed. The Malevolent Med-Student sighed. He knew what he had to do.

“I noticed you were gone,” Candystriper said archly as he returned to the hideout. “I looked up a few things. You were trying to disprove Santa, weren’t you?”

“I was,” the Malevolent Med-Student said. “I even had the Mauve Mosquito on patrol. She misses nothing, no matter how small.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Candystriper said dejectedly. “I know. You proved it, didn’t you. She didn’t see him.”

“Actually…” the Malevolent Med-Student said, tapping a button on his watch. “She did send me this. With no comment. She didn’t seem to feel any was needed.”

Candystriper’s mouth fell open. In the snow on one rooftop was a faint outline. It might have been a miniscule battalion of mosquitos in a last-minute change of plans. Or…it might have been… the hoofprints of reindeer.

“I admit it, my minion,” the Malevolent Med-Student said. “It seems Santa Claus exists after all.”

“I knew it,” Candystriper exulted. She was so happy she ran off to do cartwheels, not even noticing that her boss was hovering a few inches off the floor. The Malevolent Med-Student smiled.

“Merry Christmas, Candystriper,” he said quietly, which was unusual for him, “And to all, a good night.”