How My Neighbor Stole Christmas

Green and red, all wrapped in a bow—

Cole’s house was lit; it was entirely aglow.

While next door, the display was not so bright,

because twenty boxes of strands were far too little light.

Did that stop Storee? No way. She simply said,

“If I can’t win this one, I’ll get revenge instead…”

“I told you, Taran. I freaking told you twenty boxes aren’t enough,” I say as I pace the living room, the evening just a few hours away, meaning that the competition will soon be judged.

“Twenty boxes are enough. They’ll appreciate the straight lines and well-manicured display.”

“No, they’ll think, Wow, they should have purchased more lights.” I press my hand to my forehead. “I knew I shouldn’t have listened to you. Twenty isn’t enough!”

“Twenty is perfect,” she shoots back. “Look how beautiful they are.” She points to the window, where we can see the bright white of the lights beaming. I’ve gotta hand it to her—the new LED lights with their large bu lbs really do burn the retinas, but I wish we had five times as many. We could have lit up the entire town of Kringle from Aunt Cindy’s house.

“You just have them on the rain gutters. You didn’t do anything special.”

“We didn’t need to,” Taran says. “We’re letting the lights speak for themselves.”

“And they’re screaming we’re boring,” I yell and then flop onto the couch.

“What’s all this ruckus?” Aunt Cindy says as she slowly makes her way into the living room with her walker. Taran helps her the rest of the way and into her chair.

“Storee thinks the light display isn’t good enough,” Taran says.

“Because it’s not,” I say. “Did you see Cole’s? They made a bow on the roof out of lights. His house looks like a freaking present. And here we are with a basic dad-light display.”

“Basic dad-light display?” Taran asks with a crinkle to her nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means any dad looking to spend five hours out of the house and away from his family would do this display. There’s nothing fancy about it.”

“I beg to differ. There were many calculations that went into this display. Paula and Peach will appreciate it.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, challenging her. “You plan on giving them a report on your calculations? Showing them everything that went into it?”

“You know, that might not be a bad idea,” Taran says. “I think I’m going to put that together.” And then she heads up the stairs.

“Or you can spend your time putting up more lights!” I call after her.

The door to her room shuts, and I huff out my displeasure before leaning back on the couch.

“Ugh, Aunt Cindy, this is not good.” I drag my hands over my face. “We’re going to lose this competition.”

“I don’t think so,” Aunt Cindy says. “We might not win, but we don’t have to lose.”

“What do you mean?” I ask as I glance her way.

She wiggles her finger at me, so I move in closer.

“As you mentioned the other day, Cole seems to be playing…dirty, correct?”

“Uh, yeah. Lederhosen aside, he’s making it seem like he wants to date me but I’m the one holding out, breaking his heart or something. Of course, Martha and Mae ate it up, and I’m sure the news is all over town.”

“Right…right…” She pauses and then adds, “Although I do think you two have more in common than you believe—”

“Aunt Cindy,” I say, insulted, causing her to chuckle.

“I said although. You didn’t let me finish. Although…you have some things in common, I don’t think you’re a match. You’re not the type of girl who’d live in a Christmas town year-round. I don’t think the spirit lives in you like I wish it did.”

That makes my brow crinkle. “What do you mean by that? I think I have a lot of Christmas spirit.”

Her eyes go sad as she takes my hand in hers. “My sweet Storeebook, if you had the spirit inside of you, nothing would have kept you from visiting me on Christmas.”

Wow.

At least ten tons of guilt are immediately placed on my shoulders.

“And I don’t say that to make you feel guilty,” she adds. Uh, too late. “It’s just the truth. But enough about you and Cole.”

“There’s…there’s no ‘you and Cole’ to talk about,” I say, wanting to reiterate that.

“I know, dear. But what I was going to say is if he’s playing dirty, then you might as well play dirty too.”

“Okay…should I find a blowup and put it in his front yard?”

Aunt Cindy smiles. “Though clever, I don’t think we have the time for that. But if you’re up for it, I think you can do a little more damage.”

“Yeah?”

She nods. “We’re going to need you to dress all in black.”

You are stealth.

You are quick.Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

You are practically invisible.

I repeat my affirmations as I make my way down the back porch of the house and into the backyard.

Stealth Storee.

Quick Storee.

Invisible Storee.

I must stay out of sight—my life depends on it!

Because I didn’t have enough all-black items, I’m wearing Aunt Cindy’s black winter fisherman’s hat, her black scarf wrapped around my neck and forehead, and her gloves with the fur on the wrists. I tried sunglasses but realized it would be far too dark for me to see anything, so I took those off.

I tug on the scarf, tightening it to make sure it doesn’t unravel, and then I head to the corner of the yard where the loose fence plank is located.

I’m on a mission, and it’s to save Christmas!

Well, save Christmas from being stolen by a conniving, tricky man who’s toying with the hearts of people in town to win him favor—and yes, I know, I was doing the same thing with Aunt Cindy, but this could be Aunt Cindy’s last Christmas, we don’t know…the broken hip could very well send her to an early grave—as she put it.

And sure, the doctor doesn’t think that’s the case, but we have to live this Christmas as if it’s her last. So…if that means using her to our advantage when it comes to these competitions, then yes, we’re going to make her look frail and wheel her around with a blanket over her lap.

“Okay, she said it was the third plank from the corner,” I whisper to myself. Thankfully the glaring bulbs Taran hung on the house offer some light to the back corner of the yard—not enough to reveal myself, but enough that I can find the loose plank and easily pull it up. I glance at the slot I’m supposed to squeeze myself through and then down at my body.

Has Aunt Cindy lost her mind?

This is only about four inches wide. My thigh is not going to fit through this, let alone my ass.

Jesus.

I put the plank back down and then rest my hands on my hips. Looks like plan B is in order.

I tiptoe down toward the front of the fence to the gate, my feet crunching in the snow. This godforsaken white stuff, does it not ever melt?

I pause when I reach the gate and slow my breathing as I listen for anyone who might be outside. When all I hear is the wind whipping through the trees, I unlock the gate and attempt to pull it open, but because of the snow, it doesn’t budge.

“For the love of God,” I mutter and then bend down and start scooping snow away from the gate.

Immediately, my hands turn to ice since I’m wearing cotton gloves for better finger dexterity and not water-resistant ones. But I’m determined. There’s no way I can let Cole take the W on this, not when our display looks so clinical.

Freaking Taran.

I continue to shovel and kick snow away until I can open the gate just wide enough to slip through. I stand next to the fence and adjust the tightness of my scarf as I glance around the neighborhood. Paula and Peach should be making their way over here any time now, which means I need to move quickly and get the job done.

Back at the fence, I plaster my body against it and move around the corner, leading me right into Cole’s yard and the magnificent display of lights he and Max created. Of course they did a good job. They’re two hunky men who aren’t afraid to fall off a snow-covered roof. Whereas Taran convinced me it would be more elegant to stay off the roof and really focus on the gutters. I think I was so tired of fighting with her that I just went with it.

Big mistake.

Now look what I have to do—schlep around in the freezing cold, my fingers about to fall off from frostbite, with a ridiculous scarf dangling over my line of sight, tempting me to make a fool of myself.

Not my ideal evening.

I eye the lights in front of me, hoping they are just dim enough they don’t give me away as I look to my right, then to my left. The coast is clear. Light as a feather—well, in my head I tell myself that—I spring across the crunchy snow to a large, prickly bush that I bear-hug, attempting to camouflage myself against the dark leaves.

Oof. I can tell this bush does not want to bear-hug me back.

I have branches poking me in the nose, in the hip, and right in the chest. If it wasn’t for my puffy coat, I would say this bush is trying to cop a feel.

Despite the handsy bush, I focus and assess my next move.

This mission will only be successful if I reach the lights at the front of the house, so I shimmy along the bush, taking a branch right to the old crotch, and I have to hold in my startled yelp while I jut my ass away.

The way I must look…

Please let no one be around. This would be humiliating.

Knowing time is ticking, I shimmy some more until I’m right up against the porch. I release the bush, thank it for its service, and then flip around so my back is against the porch. My arms are spread for balance, my eyes scanning the dark cul-de-sac.

Not a movement.

Not a sound.

Which means it’s time to make my move.

Unraveling the scarf just enough so I can see better, I let it dangle in front of me as I glance over to Cole’s front door. I still my breath, listening intently for any sort of movement, but when I don’t hear anything, not even a creak, I eye the strand of lights in front of me and laser in on one single light bulb.

I inwardly cackle because what a plan.

What a way to take a nemesis down.

He’ll have no idea.

Smirking against the wintry night air, I take the single bulb in hand and I…ugh, hold on a second…and I…grrr.

Damn it.

My fingers are not working.

They’re…they’re too frozen.

Panic ripples inside of me. Of course, this freaking snow! Ruining everything. Needing a quick solution, I bite one of the fingers of my glove, tear it off my hand, and then stick my frozen fingers right between my legs, where I clench down hard.

“Warm up, warm up,” I mutter as I wiggle in place, looking like I’m having fun next to the handsy bush.

I glance down the road to see if Peach and Paula are coming…and then to my horror, I see a crowd gathering toward the end of Krampus Court.

No!

They’re coming.

Crap.

Come on, come on. Warm up!

I wiggle some more, then bring my hand to my mouth and huff on it, trying anything and everything to get my fingers to work again.

After a few seconds, I make my second attempt to pull the bulb.

My fingers slip.

They slide.

They scream from the freezing weather.

“Come on, you dicks,” I yell at my fingers. Then, with one last tug, my grip on the bulb is enough, and I pull it from its socket…causing the whole strand to go out.

Huzzah!

Uhh…hold on.

Why did only one strand of lights go out? Wasn’t this supposed to make all of the lights go out? Is that not a thing anymore?

Damn it!

I take in the rest of the strands, knowing what a monumental task it would be to take them all out.

I don’t have enough time for another, so this will have to do. I gently set the bulb back in its socket but don’t connect it all the way, and then, out of sheer panic, I sprint toward the fence.

Unluckily for me, I trip over my scarf and fly headfirst into the fence, creating a loud bang that echoes through the night.

“Mother…Christmas,” I groan as I blink a few times, questioning my consciousness and sanity.

I hear Cole’s door open, and even though my brain is fuzzy and my head’s throbbing with pain—and I have snow in every orifice of my jacket now—I get up on my elbows and slither through the snow toward the gate.

“Did you hear something?” I hear Cole say, which puts a little pep in my slither.

Pushing through the snow, I army-crawl through the thin opening, my face soaked, my jacket soaked, and my scarf nearly choking me to death. But when I drag my body through the fence, surprisingly undetected, I carefully close the gate and then roll to my back, letting myself catch my breath as I listen in.

“It sounded like something fell,” Max says.

More like something slammed, that something being my brain into a wooden plank.

I hear them move off the porch and then…

“Fuck, look, a strand of lights is out,” Cole says.

“Shit, and Peach and Paula are headed our way,” Max says.

“We’re not supposed to be outside when they’re judging,” Cole replies in a panic.

And despite the brain damage I just suffered and my probably frostbitten fingers, I inwardly cackle because ah-ha!

Don’t mess with us if you can’t take the heat—or something like that.

Either way…muahahaha.

Cole

“Quick, try to fix it,” I say to Max as I glance toward the end of the street. “They’re not here yet. Martha and Mae are talking to them.”

Max moves to the end of the porch and crouches down to examine the offending lights. “Is it plugged in?” he asks.

“If it wasn’t, the entire house wouldn’t be shining right now.”

“I mean into the other string of lights it’s supposed to be attached to,” Max says quickly.

“Oh, let me see.” I get down on my knees beside the porch to find the plug. “It looks fine.” But just to be safe, I unplug it and then plug it back in again. Nothing. “Is it one of the bulbs?” I ask.

“Possibly,” Max says as he glances over his shoulder. “Shit, are they getting closer?”

“Looks like the convo is ending.”

“Quick, hop over the railing—get to the other side of this bush and help me look at these lights.”

Not even second-guessing, I hoist myself over the rail and land flat in the snow…the disturbed snow.

What the fuck? I look around, my eyes trailing across the tracks and then a giant flattening of the snow near the fence.

“Max,” I shout-whisper.

“Did you find it?” he asks.

“No, but look.” I point at the tracks in the snow.

He glances over the rail. “What?”

“Looks like someone paid our light display a visit.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Look, footprints and then…what looks to be a major spill right next to the fence, and it looks like a body was dragged over to Cindy’s fence gate.”

It takes Max a second, but when his eyes adjust, he gasps. “No, you don’t think they did this.”

“They one hundred percent did this. They saw how nice our display was and they tampered with it. Maybe that’s what the crashing sound was. Maybe they fell into the fence when they were trying to run away.”

“But…do you really think they’d stoop that low?” Max asks as he checks the lights, but to no avail, and Peach and Paula start walking toward us.

“Fuck, we need to get inside.” I hop up on the rail, and together we crawl back to the front door to let ourselves in undetected. Once the door is shut, we both lean against it. “They would stoop that low, yes,” I say. “Did you see their house compared to ours? It’s no contest. We easily have the better display.”

“But to tamper with it? That just seems so…un-Christmas-y.”

“I don’t understand why you’d expect anything less from them.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, I thought maybe the Christmas spirit was burying itself within them and that we’d all become friends at some point.”

I turn to Max. Has he lost his mind? “Friends?” I ask. “What planet are you living on?”

“One where everyone gets along.” He shuffles over to the window, where he attempts to look through the blinds. “It would have been nice to, you know, somehow find commonality with each other, and then somewhere along the way the feud turns to friendship…maybe love.” He waggles his eyebrows at me.

“Jesus Christ, dude, have you been watching those Lovemark movies again?”

“You could learn a thing or two from them,” he says and then gasps. “They’re checking out the display. Fuck, they’re pointing toward the corner with the unlit section. Nooooo, they’re marking something on their clipboard.”

“Fuck,” I say as I grip my hair. “How bad do you think it is?”

“I don’t know. But we’re damn sure not going to come in first. One of the main rules is to check all lights and make sure they’re working.”

“We did,” I growl. “We were just tampered with.”

“Should we send an anonymous letter to Bob Krampus stating such?” Max asks. “You know, since apparently my dream of this feud turning into a friendship is not going to come true?”

“No,” I say, my fists at my sides. “No, we’re going to get even.”

Max slowly turns toward me. “Umm, you said that in a scary voice.”

“Because I’m pissed.” I join Max at the window and stare out toward where Peach and Paula are talking. Paula is nodding while Peach points to the corner of the house again. “Damn it,” I say as I take a seat. “Storee’s going to regret this.”

“You know, before we start an all-out war, maybe we should address the situation. See if she was the one who was crawling around. Could have been a coincidence.”

“That was not a coincidence,” I say. “That was Storee. She messed with our lights, and now we’re going to mess with her.”

“I hear you, man, I really do, but I think it would be best if we walk over there and just…talk to her. Maybe feel her out.”

“Do you really think she’s going to tell the truth?”

Max shrugs. “There’s only one way to find out. Get your shoes on.”

He stands, and I glance out the window and catch Paula and Peach walking back toward town. They took mere seconds grading Cindy’s house. No surprise there. I could grade it with my eyes shut. Verdict is it sucks.

Might as well approach them now when they’re at their lowest. I grab my brown boots and slip them on while Max does the same. I don’t bother with a jacket because I barely use one anyway. And then together, we walk out the front door.

“Now, let me do the talking,” Max says as we head down the sidewalk.

“Why would I let you do the talking?”

“Because you’re snarling, and I don’t think we want to put them on the defensive. We need to ease it out of them, you know? Get them to make the mistake of telling us. Catch them in the lie sort of thing.”

“Fine,” I say as we turn into their walkway and then head up to the porch.

When we reach the door, Max whispers, “Be cool,” before knocking.

“I don’t need the reminder.”

“Oh, you definitely do,” he says just as the door opens to reveal Taran standing on the other side. Storee and Taran share the same facial features, but what sets them apart is Taran’s dark hair compared to Storee’s deep red. That and Taran seems to have more of a snarl to her lip.

“Hello,” Max says cordially. “You must be Taran. I don’t think we’ve officially—”

“Where is she?” I ask, throwing “cool” out the window as I blow past Max and Taran and let myself in. I glance into the living room, where I spot Storee sitting on the couch, her feet in a bucket, multiple blankets wrapped around her, and an ice pack on her head held in place by a tightly wound scarf.

“Uh, Cole,” Max calls out. “Remember what we talked about.”

“What are you doing here?” Storee asks, her eyes narrowing on me.

“Oh, Cole,” Cindy says as she walks into the living room with the aid of her walker. She’s looking rather…alive! Imagine that! “How nice to see you.”

“You,” I say, pointing at Storee, who’s clearly trying to warm herself up after attacking our lights. “You fucked with our light display.”

“What?” she gasps. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“There’s something wrong with your display?” Cindy asks. “Oh, what a shame.”

I’d expect Storee to stoop to such a low level, but Cindy…now this is a new rock bottom for her.

“You both know exactly what’s going on. You know what you did.”

“Are you accusing me of something?” Storee asks.

“No, no,” Max says, stepping up. “We’re not accusing anyone of anything. Actually, we came over here to have a nice—”

“I have camera footage,” I say…even though I don’t, but there’s nothing like scaring them to get the truth out.

Storee’s eyes widen. “You…you have camera footage of what?” She clutches the three blankets wrapped around her.

“Of you tampering with our lights and making a strand go dark.”

“I have no idea what you’re—”

“Cut the shit, Storee,” I say, causing Cindy to gasp.

“Cole Black, is that how your mother taught you to speak to women?” Cindy asks. I ignore her, not wanting to talk about my mom at all. For the record, the answer is no, but I’m certain confronting a woman who sabotaged your light display warrants directness.

“I think what he’s trying to say,” Max says as he grips my shoulder, “is that he’s disappointed in the conduct that has been going on between our two parties.”

“The conduct?” Storee asks as she shifts, her ice pack slipping closer to her forehead. She props it back up and continues, “You’re the one going around town telling people that I’m turning you down romantically.”

“I said it once and it was a joke.”

She shrugs. “Well, I guess this was a joke too.”

“Ah-ha, so you admit it.” I point at her.

“I admit nothing.” She tilts her chin up in defiance, her lips pursed.

God, she’s…she’s…fuck, she’s cute.

No!

Delete that thought. Delete.

I mean irritating.

Annoying.

Impossible!

Growing frustrated, I say, “If this is how you want to play the game, Storee, I can play it like this.”

Max clears his throat and steps in. “I think what he meant to say was, how about we all take a second to breathe and find a more productive way to create some positive chemistry between the two camps instead of continuing to rock the boat?”

“No, I did not mean that,” I say. “I want to rock her boat.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do…pervert,” Storee replies.

“I don’t want to rock your boat like that,” I say. “Fuck, you’re the furthest thing from what I’d want to rock.”

“Says the guy who secretly wants to date me.”

“I’d rather date the hoof of one of my reindeer,” I snarl.

“Well, if we were honest,” Max says, “you did crush on her when she came to visit, back in the day.”

Jesus fuck, Max.

“Oh…is that right?” Storee says, sitting up, looking so fucking ridiculous in her blankets, headdress, and feet in a bucket of water…water that I assume is hot. “You had a crush on me?”

Yes.

Terribly.

Embarrassingly so.

“No,” I say flatly.

“Well, it seems like your friend thinks differently.” She casually points toward Max.

“Max was mistaken. He sometimes thinks Martha and Mae have a crush on him.”

“They do and you fucking know it,” Max says, outraged.

“So let me get this straight,” Storee says. “I come into town, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, you have all this…hatred for me after I thought we were friendly, and now I’m your mortal enemy, and all you want is to beat me at a Christmas competition? Is this because you have a crush on me and don’t know how to handle it?” She presses her hand to her chest and tilts her head ever so slightly. “Cole, you could just tell me rather than using negative tactics to get my attention.”

I feel my jaw grow tense and my eyes narrow. “I do not have a crush on you—that’s the furthest thing from the truth, so get it out of your head.”

“I don’t believe you,” she says.

“And I really don’t care,” I reply. “What I do care about is you trying to sabotage us, and if that’s how you want to play it, then let it be known you started this war.”

And with that, I head out of the house, Max following. I don’t shut the door behind us. Instead, I reach up to a strand of lights framing the front door and yank on it, sending the string to the welcome mat.

A gasp sounds through the house, followed by a distraught Taran. “My display!” she cries out.

But I keep striding forward. They want to play dirty? Well, they have no idea how low I can go.