Page 7 of Grinchland
I was halfway through piping the outline for the Grinch cookies when three solid knocks sounded on the door. I frowned as I glanced around, wondering if I had heard right. When the sound didn’t come again, I moved to start piping some more frosting, and the knocks returned.
There really was someone at my front door.
I set my icing bag down and rinsed my hands in the sink. I was drying them on my apron as I approached the front door. A dark shadow loomed in the narrow window to the side. If there were Christmas lights up, this person would have looked a lot less creepy.
I flipped on the porch light and unlocked the door. A man in a dark suit was standing there with his arms folded and a sour look on his face. He had dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes. His scowl could make even the happiest of gingerbread men frown. The only thing that looked excited to see me was the golden retriever sitting next to this man’s leg with his head cocked to the side and an inquisitive look in his eyes.
“Can I help you?” I asked as I peered past him to the street to see if there was any clue as to who this man was and why he was here.
He did the same to me, glancing into the house before he returned his gaze to mine. “I’m Silas St. Nick.”
My eyebrows went up. Did I just hear what I thought I heard? “Silas…St. Nick?” I asked. I couldn’t believe my luck. What a perfect last name.
Silas’s gaze darkened. “Yes. That is my name.”
I nodded. “I love it,” I whispered.
He frowned and peered down his nose at me like he was trying to figure out if I was joking. If he only knew how serious I was. Plus, I dealt with cranky five-year-olds all day. If he thought one sour look would have me cowering in my boots, he was sorely mistaken.
“What can I do for you, Silas St. Nick.” I wiggled my eyebrows at him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.
I pointed to the ground. “Do you mean right now or before you knocked on my door?”
He paused like he was listening to something. “Are you listening to Christmas music?”
This was a strange conversation, but I was new, and Gran always said it was best to keep in the good graces of your neighbors. “Yep,” I said with an enthusiastic nod. “And…I’m making Christmas cookies.” I leaned in. “But don’t tell the Christmas police.” A light-hearted joke felt appropriate here. Hopefully, I could crack his icy exterior that even the most seasoned ice sculptor would struggle with.
Silas didn’t even offer me a courtesy laugh. His lips remained flat and his eyes definitely weren’t twinkling. He was not living up to his last name.
He sighed. Big. Like I was somehow inconveniencing him even though he was the one standing on my doorstep. “Since you’re new, I’m going to let it slide and not cite you, but I would stop”—he circled his hand in front of me like I would know what he meant—“all of this.”
Now I was super confused. I glanced down to where he’d motioned and then back up. “All of what?” I was trying to make one plus one equal two, but I was struggling to get there. Because the only conclusion I could come up with was so absurd that it hurt to think it. “Stop…Christmas?” I asked slowly, enunciating each syllable.
And then the most unthinkable thing happened. Silas nodded. That’s what he meant?
“Yes. Participation in Christmas festivities is outlawed here in Grinchland. Hence the name. Grinchland.” He sounded it out as he leaned toward me and raised his eyebrows.
This was so insane, I laughed. This had to be a joke. Right? “You’re joking.”
But Silas didn’t join in on my laughter. Instead he just stared at me. “I’m not joking.”
I paused before I pointed my finger at him. “Was that a joke?”
“Good night,” he said as he started to turn away.
My mind was reeling with questions, and I didn’t want him to walk away before I could get any of them answered. “Are you saying that I can’t celebrate Christmas? That I’m going to, what…get fined? Arrested?”
Silas didn’t even bother to turn all the way around. Instead, he just glanced at me from over his shoulder. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Then he paused. “Except for the arrested part. But if you fail to pay the fines…” He shrugged. “It’s up to you.”
I sputtered as my brain short-circuited, trying to understand what he was saying. Silas, however, didn’t seem to care. He glanced down at his dog and made a clicking noise.
“Come on, Dog,” he said as he walked across the porch to the stairs.
Dog? He named his dog, Dog? How original.
“That’s ridiculous. You know that, right?” was all I could manage to shout after him.
