Is That You Santa Claus Novels & Stories

There is white fur around all hems and to top it all of a Christmas hat and some red lipstick and mascara then I'm done. A knock comes at the door as I place my earrings on, "come in!" Mr Clause struts in with all his glory. Instead of buttoning up his shirt he left it open allowing me to admire his toned torso and tattoos, the way his muscles ripple with each breath and move has me thinking of things no Mrs Clause should. "Is Santa allowed to be naughty on Christmas night?" He asks, I giggle and walk up to him. "So long as the workshop is still buzzing with life, Mrs Clause cannot allow, unfortunately," I sigh slipping my hands under the cloth over his shoulders.

I whirl a motion, I reached downstairs and I sat in the farthest corner of the room and ordered my food. When my order was served I called Adrian. “Hello Darling,” He purred. “Shut up, just tell me why your uncle is singing the song that we are an item.” I hissed on the phone. I was greeted with silence and then a burst of booming laughter. “Stop, and tell me what new fresh hell is this?” I asked. My blood boiled listening to him laughing at my misery. “Ah, I didn’t want you to find it like this,” he started.

Little surprise there. I picked a few things, then picked some few things, then picked some more, trying to remember all it was that Summer had asked me to get. By the time I was done picking, I had filled my trolley with excessive junk. Some of the customers gave me side look. I could hear a little girl even whisper to her parent “is he Santa Claus? So this is where Santa gets his stuff in preparation for Christmas,” I wondered what that meant.

“But I think Santa is coming back from his break now.” “Wanna go meet Santa?” I ask her, and she claps her hands, giggling with delight, even though she doesn’t quite grasp the concept yet. As we approach, there he is… our local celebrity, movie star, and superhero… and my adoring husband. You wouldn’t recognize him if you didn’t know, with his Santa suit and fluffy white beard. He even sports a fake belly under the jacket, but despite that, he remains the most handsome Santa I’ve ever seen. Fortunately, the kids don’t notice; they only see Santa.

Back in the hospice ward, Noelle opened her eyes weakly. She looked around and said, "Daddy, Mommy promised me she'd dress up as Santarina and bring me presents… Isn't that right?" I held her hand tightly, forcing back my grief. "Yes. Mommy will come as Santarina." I lowered my head helplessly and checked my phone again, but there was still no response from Ivana. Then, I opened Instagram and saw Charles' newest post. He wrote, "Bubbles is missing. I feel like I can't breathe… Bubbles, where are you?"

He was hiding something tonight. I could feel it. “What do you want for Christmas?” he asked suddenly. I blinked. “What?” “If you could have anything.” The question caught me off guard. I should’ve said something normal. A vacation. A better apartment. Freedom from this double life. Instead the words slipped out before I could stop them. “I want Santa to personally pay me a visit.” Silence filled the room. Then his laugh came through the speakers low and dark enough to make my stomach flip. “So needy tonight.”

The phone rang again. "What the hell?" I snapped in exasperation. There was a deep chuckle. "Hello too, Tate." I blinked. "Ollie?" "No, I'm Santa Claus and I wanted to ask what you would like for Christmas," he said amused. I stepped forward on the sidewalk. "Very funny," I blurted out. But despite my best efforts, the corners of my mouth twitched a little at the thought of Ollie in a Santa suit. "Sure, I'm a natural talent. So where are you?" he demanded an answer.

“Like what? Having you fix my door knob or set up my Christmas tree?” “Oh, I don’t know. Picking my son up from school, going Christmas tree hunting with us, helping us decorate our tree. Shall I go on?” “All of that was fun,” she said shrugging. “So was fixing your door knob and setting up your Christmas tree,” he said raising his eyebrows and taking a sip of his steaming coffee. “Well, at any rate, thank you,” she said dismissively. “You’re welcome,” he replied, setting his mug down. “And by the way, I’m not sure if Michael mentioned this to you, but Santa Claus is going to be at the library tomorrow.”

She turned the knob to double-check, ensuring it was secure before returning to the bed. Sitting down, she took a deep breath and answered the call. “Hello?” Who’s this?” Isabella asked, her tone clipped. There was silence on the other end for a beat too long. Her brows furrowed in suspicion. “Hello?” she repeated, sharper this time, the edge in her voice betraying her unease. Finally, a response came, laced with dry amusement. “It’s Santa Claus. Who do you think it is?”

he mutters, rubbing his neck, “about that...” “Eh!” I shout, not wanting to turn his emotions into something sour, “I know all about your troubles, Santa.” I wiggle my nose, “I know the North Pole has been especially cold this year, and Santa's had to be very frugal this Christmas.” He nods, “I'm glad you understand.” I shake my head. “That doesn't mean Santa gets off scot-free.” He puffs out his chest, putting on his best deep Santa voice, “What can