“Are the Offerings duly prepared to the specifications required by the Ancient and Sacred Laws?” the Patriarch demanded as he inspected a platter sitting reverentially on top of a small table. A dozen or so cookies and a glass of milk that was exactly three quarters full lay on it.
“Yes, O Lord of the Homestead.” responded the child.
“And the Woolen Leggings of Reward: have they been hung by the Summoning Portal with care?”
“Yes, O Lord of the Homestead.” responded the child.
The Patriarch nodded, showing no obvious signs of satisfaction, and turned to gaze upon the Great Altar. It would be soon… he could feel it. Soon the world would be rocked on its hinges, metaphorically speaking.
“The Symbol of Devotion…” he mumbled, looking at the star.
“Yes, O Lord of the Homestead?”
“It is… crooked. The Symbol of Devotion is crooked! THE SYMBOL OF DEVOTION IS CROOKED!”
The child cringed. “I am sorry, O Lord of the Homestead!”
“Nothing will come for you. Nothing at all, except maybe a Lump.”
“No, O Lord of the Homestead! Not a Lump, O Lord of the Homestead! I apologize, O Lord of the Homestead!”
The Patriarch sighed. “Be gone.”
“Oh, stop yelling at him!” a woman shouted from another room. “You take this so seriously David! Really!”
Women… they never understand. He turned around angrily, and yelled, “This is serious! Very serious! How could you possibly think otherwise?”
In another part of the house there was the sound of a small boy crying.

~

The Patriarch sat in front of the Summoning Portal, licking his lips. The woman and child were asleep… he had taken measures to ensure this was so. The Great Red One’s arrival would not be impeded by his incompetence and her skepticism.
He checked the clock… ten minutes to midnight. He straightened the Symbol of Devotion. He refilled the Glass of Milk. He swept the soot out of the Summoning Portal. Everything must be perfect for the Great Red One.
A rustling sound came from another room. The Patriarch leapt up. For a moment he thought that the Great Red One had come. But no, he told himself. There was one and only one way that He was to arrive – through the Summoning portal, with accordance to the Ancient and Sacred Laws. So it was declared long ago, so it has remained.
The Patriarch got up angrily to see which of his family was trying to disturb this most hallowed of ceremonies. When he rounded a corner, he saw the woman carrying a box. It was wrapped quite nicely in red-and-green-striped paper. It had a bow on top.
“Wh-what is this?” he cried.
She looked at him blankly. “What is what?”
“This! This – this! What is this this!”
“You mean the present?”
“Yes!”
She sighed, and said quietly, “He’s not real, you know.”
“What? Who?”
“Santa. Santa Claus. The ‘Great Red One’, I think you called him.”
“Of course He is!” the Patriarch shouted, making the capitol letter very clear. “How else could the Gifts get there?”
She patted him on the shoulder. “I put them out. Every year. I go and buy things and wrap them up and I put them around the tree.”
At this he burst out laughing. “You daft girl! That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”
She glared at him, threw the box down on the floor and stormed off back to bed, while the Patriarch continued laughing.

~

It was the Day. And something was wrong.
There were no Gifts under the Great Altar. The Great Red One had not come. The Patriarch could not understand this. He had followed all the rituals to the letter. The Illuminations had taken forever to put up…
And in front of the Summoning Portal, the child cried.