Christmas Crackers

‘You need to know that you can move out at age sixteen,’ he said, with a slight smile. ‘You also need to know that at the same time you can change your name at the department of births, deaths and marriages in any capital city. Just ask for a deed poll.’

She looked at him in surprise.

‘Useful information,’ he asked and smiled as best he could through the thick beard.

‘That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever told me,’ she said, clearly shocked. Then, with a small smile, she kissed him on the cheek and stood, now a clear sense of purpose in her eyes. The first thing she was going to do was find a calendar and a calculator so she could work out how long it would be before the relevant birthday.

Static exploded from the speakers, a welcome change to the voice of a cartoon mouse singing what he wanted to do to his rodent girlfriend come Christmas day.

‘Is this damn thing on,’ said a voice over the speaker. It had a Mississippi twang. ‘This is the voice of Elvis Presley and we are transmitting this message… around the world.’

Silence fell like snow. Every shopper, every child, every retail assistant, together with their under-qualified and overpaid managers, looked upwards to the nearest speaker.

‘As you know, The Church of Elvis has been successful in negotiating cease-fires in all major world conflicts and can now report to you that there is truly…’ he paused for effect, ‘peace-on-earth.’

‘I’ll be damned,’ said Donnie, realising he had somehow delivered on a promise. Then he conceded: ‘Hah; probably.’

‘However,’ continued The King, ‘An unexpected problem has arisen.’

‘Population growth,’ wondered Donnie. ‘Unemployment skyrocketing?’

‘A hostile takeover is in progress,’ explained The King. ‘An invasion fleet is en-route; their plan is to take over the world.’

Oh well, thought Donnie, and sniffed. He checked his fingernails then stopped suddenly, an unsettling feeling rising up his spine.

His gaze slowly slid upwards.

Carol was staring at him with eyes wide and a hopeful expression on her face. He frowned, his expression frozen, and let his eyes dart from one side of the grotto to the other. He was surrounded by people staring at him in much the same way.

‘We have exhausted all forms of diplomacy,’ continued Elvis. He paused and cleared his throat, obviously trying to choose his words with care.

What the bloody hell are they staring at, Donnie wondered.

He glanced up at his assistant who was still staring forwards, the vacant expression and smile still a searchlight across all.

‘And we are calling out for the only person able to help us–’

Donnie peeked over his shoulder to make sure there wasn’t some unnatural prophet standing there, ready to sacrifice everything for everyone.

Cobblers to bloody that, thought Donnie. Wouldn’t catch me doing something so daft.