Christmas fiction

photo credit - pixabay

My other worldly Christmas friend

I named him ‘Chica’.  Chica visited me in my dreams when I was a child, usually around Christmas time for some reason. Back in those days when my parents were on and off, he offered a listening ear, comfort and most of all friendship - he was a proper friend by earthly standards and I was grateful for his presence.

One Christmas Eve I asked to put out treats for Santa Clause, the reindeer and Chica….

Well, when my mother asked ‘Who on earth is Chica?’ I explained he is my friend and he visits around Christmas to keep me company. The exchange between my parents was readable - it said blatantly ‘should we be concerned?’ My seven year old soul was deflated by this but Chica gave me courage and so I left him two cookies with giant chocolate chips. 

Early to bed, mum said, sweet dreams. Once I heard her down the stairs I sneaked the bed side lamp on and got out coloured pencils and paper - I was going to create the best drawing of a Christmas tree, it would be what the teacher described as ‘marvelous’ - Mrs Maple loved this word. School felt far away, like another world.

This tree had a large pink bow at the top and only blue coloured baubles.  Two shades of green completed the large fir tree.  Now for the presents; teddy bears, train sets and boxes so big they could have a dolls house inside ... .I wondered about little people because that would be a pretty empty house.

Then it started - the noise.  Dad was shouting at mum.  She never shouted back though - she held her silence and once he calmed she would find hers - her special medicine.  It looked like a bottle of water to me but once I smelled it, while mum was out with the washing in the garden and I nearly threw up. 

Now I’m reminded of the Christmas before when there was only me and Chica in the living room - it was 8 am and no sign of my parents. There was a gift though but with no name tag.  I left it.  I took the chocolate sweets off the tree, nearly tipping the tree over and headed back to my room.  At 9am mum called up to me and so I went downstairs.

She had a pot of coffee and there was a fresh orange.  I knew it was for her but I asked if I could have it. She kissed my cheek ‘happy Christmas darling’ and I slurped the juice slowly, as mum rummaged around finding gifts.  Dad appeared full of Christmas cheer, too much though, and he opened the gift I saw earlier.  He thanks mum for his new console.

I opened two gifts - a book called ‘The dancing girl’ and an art set with paint. I avoid Dad’s gaze and thank mum.  

But that was last year.  This year will be different because now I’m drawing a house with two bedrooms - I’m in one and Chica is in another.  Chica is from another place in the universe and tells me stuff about earth - that people are strange and can be very selfish.  Where he is from everyone shares and helps each other.  I ask him if he knows Noddy and all the elves and he shakes his head.  

Now as an adult with my own brood, I thank Chica silently each year, a gift my imagination provided through dark times - and I’m writing children's books. I also work as an art therapist and every so often when a child has an ‘imaginary friend’ I consider it a strength, almost an essential extension of the self. I feel Chica holding my hand….  

A work of fiction 2025