On a quiet Christmas Eve, an unexpected visitor brings more than just holiday cheer to an ordinary night by the fire.
It was Christmas Eve, and the house was as quiet as the snowfall outside. The tree was glowing softly in the corner, and I was halfway through packing a bowl when I heard a thud from the direction of the fireplace.
At first, I froze. I wasn’t expecting company, especially not at this hour, but before I could move, a figure stepped out of the hearth. He brushed the soot off his red suit, adjusted his hat, and looked up with a smile that practically twinkled.
“Ho, ho, ho!” Santa Claus bellowed, his cheeks redder than I’d imagined, probably from the cold. He looked around the room, taking in the scene. “Well, now, what do we have here? A little holiday herbal cheer?”
My jaw dropped. “Santa?”
“The one and only,” he said, walking over and eyeing my setup. “Though I must say, you’re working with some pretty standard stock here. Mind if I… upgrade the evening?”
Still in disbelief, I nodded, watching as he reached into his sack and pulled out a wooden box adorned with intricate carvings of holly leaves and reindeer. He set it on the table and opened it to reveal the most pristine collection of buds I’d ever seen—sparkling with crystals, vibrant greens and purples, and a smell that hit me like a pine forest in spring.
“This,” Santa said, holding up a nug that looked like it belonged in a museum, “is North Pole Kush. Grown under the Northern Lights, cured by elves who really know their stuff. It’s magical—literally.”
He pulled out his own pipe—a polished, candy-cane-striped piece that seemed to shimmer—and began packing it with practiced ease. “Care to join me?” he asked.
I quickly grabbed my bong, and Santa handed me a chunk of the bud. Even breaking it apart felt like an honor. Once we were ready, Santa struck a match, lighting his pipe with a flourish that made the flames dance. He took a long drag and exhaled a cloud that shimmered like starlight.
I followed suit, and as the first hit filled my lungs, it was like nothing I’d ever experienced. Warmth spread through me, and the world seemed to glow just a little brighter. I sank into the couch, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Good, isn’t it?” Santa said, chuckling as he leaned back in his chair. “You should see the elves after harvest season. It’s quite the party.”
We spent the next hour passing bowls, talking about everything from the physics of sleigh flight to the time he accidentally got stuck in a chimney during the ‘70s. Turns out, he’s a bit of a philosopher after a good session, dropping gems about the importance of giving, not just at Christmas but year-round.
Before he left, Santa reached into his sack again and handed me a small tin. “Consider this a gift,” he said. “It’s a little blend I save for special stops.”
I opened it to find a collection of buds that smelled even better than the North Pole Kush. On the inside of the lid, in gold script, it read: Spread the joy.
With that, he tipped his hat, gave me a wink, and disappeared up the chimney, leaving behind a faint sparkle in the air and the smell of the best Christmas ever.
THE END
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