Ressurrection of an Ancient Tradition. Short Story.

So christmas is over, no more presents, but don’t worry, there is still leftovers. And you know, love and junk.

Christmas was fun, though slightly stressful, we finished out visiting, then cooked dinner, I finished making dessert (pears poached in red wine, yum!) Then we drank and ate and were merry. Then after I pretty much zoned out on the couch, I was insanely tired.

I then bought a bunch of books off amazon, so yay! I’ll have some reading to keep me occupied before I get back to college to my final semester (aaaahhhhh).

I realised that I haven’t really done a christmas story, so I figured I would rectify that, but it will be short today because everyone is obviously tired and drained and would probably have short attention spans.

Hope everyone’s day was fun yesterday, regardless of what they were doing, who they were with and what they were celebrating.

On with the show!


Resurrection of an Ancient Tradition

“Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house not a creature was stirring not even a mouse” I stop reading from the ancient scroll “this is preposterous. What makes you think such a person existed?” Dr Johnstone moves excitedly amongst the machinery “because what kind of culture would dedicate so much time and effort to celebrate a fictional character? Besides, we did find that toy work shop in the north pole, with suspiciously small skeletons!” I look at him incredulously “but…but that’s nonsense, what proof do you have that those skeletons didn’t  belong to midgets or small children instead of elves? It could have been a slave labour shop, you know how barbaric they were back then.” To my right a tube of green liquid sizzles over a Bunsen burner, it starts to boil, then turns to a vibrant purple. Dr Johnstone calls out to Jacob “start the machinery my boy!” I have tried to talk him out of this insane plan to resurrect this “Santa Claus” I really do think he has finally lost the plot. All we have to go on are various legends and a destroy factory in the north pole, destroyed around the time of the last wars. I have tried to convince him otherwise but he wont listen, he is convinced he is right and when he gets that way, nothing can dissuade him. Who knows what kind of monster he is resurrecting, he collected DNA from a large skeleton found near the workshop and plans to clone who ever it was, but who knows what he could be unleashing on the world. People back then were all savages. Barely keeping order until the nuclear fall out of 2056, even now, three hundred years later, we still haven’t fully repaired all the damage they caused. What if it isn’t even a person? We’ve all heard tales and legends of the mutations and genetic engineering that was attempted, who knows what we could be reviving? The cogs start to grind, Dr Johnstone pulls levers wildly, I stand back and watch, I will have no part in this, this travesty. I mean come on, what kind of person can deliver toys to 6 billion people in one night? It is preposterous.

Steam starts to fill the resurrection capsule. Too late to go back now the process once started is unstoppable without turning the power off at the source. Cogs turn and grind as the machine picks up speed working faster and faster to recreate whatever or whoever the DNA belonged too, it’s speed continues to build before it finishes creating a cacophonous crescendo.

The machine is starting to wind down now, the cogs are slowing and the loud roar is dying, all that’s left is the application of skin. I lean forward, eager to see what is coming, despite my convictions, Who knows what we have recreated, just seeing it could answer so many questions. The whole lab holds their breath. The steam clears, the capsule is empty.

There is a collective sigh of relief, only Dr Johnstone seems disappointed.
Out of the corner of my eye I see a bench move, a loud screech flaring to life then dying away. A tray of vials crashes to the ground they bubble and sizzle, eating into the ground. we look around but we can see no-one. I can hear something, its faint but it sounds like chuckling. I jump as I feel a breath of warm air caress my ear “Ho ho ho”

The sound of manic laughter grows. My god, what have we unleashed.


About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
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