The World of Myth Magazine

It was the Christmas holiday break. Marcella, Sam, and Amy Henderson were in the attic, unpacking the Christmas decorations. Their parents were away on a business trip, and Grandpa Bernie was minding them until Christmas Eve.

“I think we should have a real Christmas tree this year,” Marcella said, unpacking the artificial one her parents bought for her first Christmas, twelve years ago. “The needles are falling off this one.”

“It looks sad, and some branches are bent and broken,” added Amy.

“Mummy says real Christmas trees are too much trouble,” Sam reminded her. “Remember, you asked last year?”

Six-year-old Amy looked at her grandfather, her eyes pleading for him to agree with Marcella. “I’d love a fir tree, Grandpa. Mary Beth has one every year, and it’s always beautiful, much better than our poor old artificial one. Do you think we could have one this year, please?”

“Yes, please?” Sam begged.

“Okay, perhaps we could go to the tree lot and get one, but we have left it a bit late.”

All three children hugged Grandpa, certain that he would find them the perfect tree.

After lunch they piled into Grandpa’s station wagon and drove to the lot where a large sign said:

“That’s a lot of money, Grandpa. You can have what’s in my piggy bank,” offered Marcella.

“Mine too, but I think I only have fifty cents,” Amy added.

Grandpa chuckled. “Nobody has to surrender their piggy banks. This can be my treat.”

Sam was relieved because he knew he had nothing in his. Aged eight, he saved no money. He was always raiding his piggy bank for something.

“I’m sorry, we’ve sold out,” the lady behind the cash register said.

“I’m not surprised it is only two days before Christmas. Perhaps next year, kids. Let’s go.” Grandpa turned to leave.

“Oh, no!” Amy wailed. “Not even a little one?”

“It doesn’t have to be fantastic. We just want a real tree this year,” Sam told the lady.

The lady turned to her husband.

“Are there any out near the bin?”

“One, but it’s spindly. I was going to throw it in the dumpster.”

“Please, can we have a look?” pleaded Marcella.

They followed the man out the back. Propped up against the dumpster was a tall, spindly pine tree.

“See, I couldn’t sell you that.”

There was a loud commotion coming from the shop. Marcella could hear voices raised, a man demanding the woman sell him a tree.

A red-faced man flung the back door open and stomped out, yelling, and waving his fists at the group gathered near the dumpster.

The children cowered behind their grandfather, afraid of the loud, angry man. Amy grabbed her sister’s hand. Sam moved closer to Marcella. He glared at Grandpa and the children before marching up close to Mr. Rizzo.

“Your wife tells me you have one tree out here. I demand you sell it to me, not to this snotty-nosed bunch of kids and the old man. I’ll give you $100.”

“Now, wait a minute. My grandchildren aren’t snotty nosed,” Grandpa said, stepping forward before the angry man pushed him away.

“It’s okay, Grandpa. He can have the tree,” Marcella said. She didn’t want the man to hurt her grandfather.

“Cool it, gramps, this is between Mr. Rizzo and me.” The man glared at Grandpa.

Mr. Rizzo said, “I’m sorry, I have no more trees.”

“What about the one behind your back? I can see the tip of it?” The man tried to push Mr. Rizzo aside and grab the tree, but Mr. Rizzo stood firm.

“Sorry, I just sold this one to these children,” he said. Grandpa looked startled. Mr. Rizzo winked at him.

The red-faced man turned to Grandpa. “I’ll give you twice what you paid for it.”

Grandpa looked him straight in the eye. “No, I promised my grandchildren an actual tree this year. We’re keeping the tree.”

The man glared at Grandpa and shook his fist, before stamping off, grumbling about how he would get a tree even if he had to steal one.

“What a nasty man,” Marcella said. “Mr. Rizzo, will you sell us the tree?”

Mr. Rizzo looked at the children. “No,” he said.

Tears came to Amy’s eyes. Sam blinked, trying to be brave. Marcella glared at Mr. Rizzo. “Why not? You were going to throw it away.”

Mr. Rizzo put up his hands. “No, you don’t understand. I won’t sell it, but you can have it. Just don’t tell anyone where you got it because it isn’t up to my standard.

“Thank you,” Grandpa said.

Mr. Rizzo helped Grandpa tie the tree on top of the station wagon. Grandpa looked in the rear mirror. Three faces beamed back at him. He would face his daughter’s displeasure when she got back, but it was worth it. This year, they would have their first real Christmas tree.

Grandpa found a large pot. He placed the tree in it, spread its roots, filled the pot with soil, and gave it some water. Standing in the corner, the tree didn’t seem so spindly, loaded with decorations. The tree’s branches even looked stronger, and the pine needles thicker. When Sam and Amy added some twinkling Christmas lights, the tree glowed.

“One last thing.” Marcella took the angel out of her box and straightened its wings. The angel once belonged to her grandma but was hers since Grandma died. She handed the angel to Grandpa, who climbed the ladder and placed the angel on the tip of the tree.

“Perfect. Amy sighed. Sam clapped his hands.

There was a tinkling sound. “Did you hear that?” Amy said. “I think it was the tree saying it likes it here.”

“Oh. Amy, you have the funniest imagination,” Marcella laughed.

“I must admit, it looks better now,” Grandpa said. “It’s time for bed. Your parents will be back after lunch tomorrow and then it’s only one more sleep before Santa comes.

“Yay!” Amy danced around the Christmas Tree.” Goodnight magical tree.”

There was a tinkling sound again.

This time Marcella heard it. Could Amy be right? Marcella dismissed the idea. Amy loved to imagine things.

The neighbour’s rooster crowed at first light. Marcella woke with a start. She heard a noise downstairs. It sounded like a scraping noise, followed by footsteps.

Maybe Grandpa is up early. She sighed, turned over, and went back to sleep.

“Marcella, Marcella, wake up our Christmas tree has vanished!” Sam stood at the end of her bed; his face was ashen. Beside him stood Amy, tears pouring down her face.

“Our beautiful tree has gone. I think that mean man has stolen it,” she wailed.

“Don’t be silly, Amy. The man doesn’t know where we live.”

“He said he would get one even if he had to steal it. Maybe he followed us home.”

“I don’t think he meant he would steal ours. There must be another explanation.”

A trail of pine needles led to the back door and dirty marks streaked across the kitchen tiles. It looked like somebody had stolen it.

“What’s all the noise about?” asked Grandpa.

“Our Christmas tree has vanished,” Sam explained. “There are footprints on the kitchen floor. I think someone has stolen our tree.”

“Come on, everyone, let’s follow them and see who’s taken our tree,” Marcella suggested. The three children raced to the back door.

“Whoa, wait a minute,” Grandpa ordered. You can’t go out racing around town in your pyjamas. Everyone, get dressed in warm clothes while I make breakfast, and then we’ll see if we can find out where your tree went.

Reluctantly, the children went upstairs, dressed in warm clothes, made their beds, and raced to the kitchen to eat the porridge Grandpa had cooked. After mugs of hot cocoa, they were ready to solve the mystery of the vanishing Christmas tree.

It was easy to follow the trail through the snow, a single pine needle every few hundred metres and weird footprints in the newly fallen snow.

“These footprints don’t look like a person, but I don’t know what else could make them,” Grandpa commented, increasing his pace. The children walked faster to keep up.

The footprints took them along the street, past lots of houses beautifully decorated for Christmas, around the back of the railway station, down a narrow lane, and towards an area the children had never been before.

Thick, dark trees overhung the path, brushing against their arms, snatching at their clothes, but still they followed the tracks. Amy held Grandpa’s hand, her face pale and anxious. Sam and Marcella's knees knocked, and the hairs stood up on the back of Sam’s neck as they moved under a bridge towards a dark tunnel.

“Maybe it was the angry man. Perhaps we should stop and phone the police,” Sam suggested, but Grandpa didn’t hear him. His face was flushed, and his eyes glittered as he followed the trail. Marcella wasn’t certain if it was from exertion or excitement. She hadn’t seen Grandpa so energetic since Grandma passed away.

When they reached the tunnel, Grandpa took a flashlight out of his pocket and shone it into the tunnel.

“Well, we found your Christmas tree,” he laughed.

The children leaned forward. The torch light revealed their tree, still decorated, but looking a bit bedraggled. An old man sat staring at the tree, his face aglow with wonder. A shaggy dog lay sleeping at his feet.

Sam was the first to react. “Did you steal our tree?” he demanded. The old man looked startled.

“No. I was sitting here remembering how I used to spend Christmas with my family. I wished I could have a real Christmas tree just one more time before I died, and this tree walked into the tunnel.”

“Trees can’t walk,” scoffed Sam.

“That may be so, but this one did” “

Sam looked at the roots of the tree. They looked like legs. It was possible. Perhaps Amy is right. This is a magical Christmas tree. He laughed at the idea.

“Why are you living in this tunnel?” asked Marcella.

“Because it is warmer than under the bridge.”

“Why don’t you live in a house?” Amy asked.

“Now, children, that’s enough questions,” Grandpa said.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind answering. I have no family or home. I fought in Vietnam and got injured, got a gammy leg. It’d just me and Murphy now. Name’s Podge, by the way.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Podge,” Grandpa said, extending his hand. The old man shook it. No mister, just Podge and Murphy.

“You and Murphy must come and share Christmas with us,” Marcella offered. “We always have too much food. That way, we can all enjoy a real Christmas tree this year.”

“Please, Grandpa,” Sam and Amy said together.

Grandpa looked at the old man. As a returned Vietnam veteran himself, this could be him, except he had a family and a home.

“Sure, you’re welcome to come,” he said, and helped the old man gather up his few belongings.

Podge tied a rope around Murphy’s neck. Grandpa and Sam carried the Christmas tree. Marcella and Amy followed, picking up a few decorations that fell off. Podge and Murphy followed.

Grandpa put fresh dirt around the tree in its pot and watered it well. It didn’t seem to have suffered much from its big adventure.

“Welcome back, lovely Christmas tree,” sang Amy.

The mystery of how the Christmas tree walked to the tunnel wasn’t solved, but the children had their tree back.

If it surprised if Mr. and Mrs. Henderson to see an old man and his dog invited to spend Christmas, they didn’t show it. Nothing about Grandpa surprised them. Nor were they surprised to see a real Christmas tree in the living room.

“I guess it was bound to happen one day. Marcella has been wanting one for a long time and Grandpa is such a soft touch.”

They made a bed up for Podge in the box room and an old rug found for Murphy. The parents insisted Podge stay. Grandpa found some clothes which fitted Podge. Murphy endured a wash and a flea rinse.

The neighbour’s rooster was crowing as the children sneaked down the stairs to feel the presents. They couldn’t to open any of them before breakfast but feeling them and trying to guess what they were was half the fun.

The Christmas tree stood straight and tall. It sparkled in the half-light of dawn. The children held hands and stared at the tree. “I wonder how it got to the tunnel.” Sam remarked.

“I think it is the magic of Christmas and the tree is magical. It knew Podge and Murphy needed rescuing for Christmas.” Amy said. “I’m glad we found him. I wish he could find a new home soon.”

There was a tinkling of bells.

“The tree shimmered when you said that, Amy. Maybe it is magic.”

“Don’t be silly, Sam. There has to be another explanation,” Marcella chided him.

“Well, I still think it’s a magical Christmas tree,” insisted Amy.

The tree tinkled. This time Marcella heard it, too.

Grandpa cooked porridge, but there were pancakes dripping with maple syrup and hot chocolate.

After breakfast, they gathered in the living room. Marcella was delighted to get a new computer and Sam loved his train set. Amy, who had written to Santa asking for a doll, was pleased to find it could walk and talk. There was lots of interesting stuff in their stockings too, tiny toys, delicious things to eat, a few games and books.

The adults all received gifts from Santa. Mrs. Henderson sprayed her favourite brand of perfume behind her ear. Mr. Henderson put his money and credit cards in his new wallet, and Grandpa was happy with his box of cigars. Podge’s face lit up with delight when his parcel revealed an engraved wooden box.

“Just perfect for my medals and other treasures,” he said.

Even Murphy got a collar and leash.

On Boxing Day, Grandpa was ready to go home. Podge packed up his clean clothes and prepared to leave too.

“This has been the best Christmas ever,” he said. “Murphy and I are grateful for everything you’ve done for us. I thought I was going crazy when the tree walked into my tunnel. My friends on the street will never believe my story.”

“Podge, about you going back on the street,” Grandpa said. “I’ve been thinking about how lonely I am since Grandma Bernie passed away. Would you and Murphy like to come and live with me? I have little, just a small cottage, but it’s warm, dry, and safe; all the things living on the streets aren’t.”

Podge couldn’t answer straight away. He was overwhelmed. He looked at Murphy and back at Grandpa. “We’d love to,” he said.

Amy’s face lit up. “My wish came true. See, I told you our Christmas tree is magical.

“Make sure you keep it well watered so you can decorate it again next year,” Grandpa reminded them.

“Don’t real Christmas trees die after the decorations are packed away?” asked Sam.

“I have a feeling this one won’t die. Put the pot in a warm spot. Make sure it gets plenty of sunlight and water. Give it some fertiliser in Spring.”

Podge said. “I think Amy is right. Your tree is magical. Look at the magic it brought this year.”

The tree tinkled, and everybody laughed.

The mystery of how the tree got to the tunnel was never solved, but the tree grew straight and strong in its pot out in the garden. Each year it grew taller. The children brought it into the living room, where they decorated it, transforming it into a beautiful Christmas tree. Amy continued to believe in its magic, making a wish every year; wishes that always came true.

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