With an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh, Marty glanced slyly at Paige,
raised the notebook again, and continued to read, “He prowls the
downstairs–wicked, mean looking to cause yet one more bad scene.
When he spies the presents under the tree, he says, “I’ll go on a
gift-swapping spree!
I’ll take out all of the really good stuff, then box up dead fish, cat
poop, and fluff In the morning, the Stillwaters will find coffee
grounds, peach pits, orange rinds.
Instead of nice sweaters, games, and toys, they’ll get slimy, stinky
stuff that annoys.”
“He won’t get away with this,” Charlotte said.
Emily said, “He might.”
“He won’t.”
“Who’s gonna stop him?”
“Charlotte and Emmy are up in their beds, dreams of Christmas filling
their heads.
Suddenly a sound startles these sleepers.
They sit up in bed and open their peepers.
Nothing should be stirring, not one mouse, but the girls sense a villain
in the house.
You can call it psychic, a hunch, osmosisor maybe they smell the troll’s
halitosis.
They leap out of bed, forgetting slippers, two brave and foolhardy
little nippers.
“Something’s amiss, young Emily whispers.
But they can handle it–they’re sisters!”
This development–Charlotte and Emily as the heroines of the
story–delighted the girls. They turned their heads to face each other
across the gap between beds, and grinned.
Charlotte repeated Emily’s question, “Who’s gonna stop him?”
“We are!” Emily said.
Marty said, “Well . . . maybe.”
“Uh-oh,” Charlotte said.
Emily was hip. “Don’t worry. Daddy’s just trying to keep us in
suspense. We’ll stop the old troll, all right.”
“Down in the living room, under the tree Santa’s evil twin is chortling
with glee.
He’s got a collection of gift replacements taken from dumps, sewers, and
basements.
He replaces a nice watch meant for Lottie with a nasty gift for a girl
who’s naughty, which is one thing Lottie has never been.
Forgetting her vitamins is her biggest sin.
In place of the watch, he wraps up a clot of horrid, glistening,
greenish toad snot.
From a package for Emily, he steals a doll and gives her a new gift sure
to appall.
It’s oozing, rancid, and starting to freezz.
Not even the villain knows what it is.”
“What do you think it is, Mom?” Charlotte asked.
“Probably those dirty kneesocks you misplaced six months ago.”
Emily giggled, and Charlotte said, “I’ll find those socks sooner or
later.”
“If that’s what’s in the box, then for sure I ain’t opening it,” Emily
said.
“I’m not opening it,” Paige corrected.
“Nobody’s opening it,” Emily agreed, missing the point. “Phew!”
“In jammies, supperless, now on the prowl, the girls go looking for
whatever’s foul.
Right to the top of the stairs they zoom, making less noise than moths
in a tomb.
They’re both so delicate, slim, and petite, and both of them have such
tiny pink feet.
How can these small girls hope to fight a Santa who’s liable to kick and
to bite?
Are they trained in karate or Tae Kwon Do?
No, no, I’m afraid that the answer is no.
Grenades tucked in their jammie pockets?
Lasers implanted inside their eye sockets?
No, no, I’m afraid that the answer is no.
Yet down, down the shadowy stairs they go.
The danger below, they can’t comprehend This Santa has gone far ’round
the bend.
He’s meaner than flu, toothaches, blisters.
But they’re tough too they’re sisters!”
Charlotte defiantly thrust one small fist into the air and said,
“Sisters!”
“Sisters!” Emily said, thrusting her fist into the air as well.
When they discovered that they had reached the stopping point for the
night, they insisted Marty read the new verses again, and Paige found
that she, too, wanted to hear the lines a second time.
Though he pretended to be tired and needed some coaxing to oblige them,
Marty would have been disappointed if he hadn’t been importuned to do
another reading.
By the time her father reached the end of the last verse, Emily was only
able to murmur sleepily, “Sisters.” Charlotte was already snoring
softly.
Marty quietly returned the reading chair to the corner from which he had
gotten it. He checked the locks on the door and the windows, then made