This Sunday, I offer a sample from a book I edited. Because Why Not: 25 Tales of Imagination
By Trick Campbell
On the eve of the office Christmas party, three days before December twenty-fifth, the halls of the Crescent Moon were alive with the sounds of laughter and merriment. Brightly coloured lights and tinsel were strung, speakers in the corner played joyful music, and the sweet taste of eggnog mixed with cheap scotch tingled my tongue. Even Mr. Whitmore’s usually icy exterior seemed to thaw, as he grinned and clapped along to the music as the employees conga-lined through the office.
Whitmore himself was dressed in Victorian garb, with a long ratty scarf and a top hat to match. Every year, the staff performed a sketch from Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol at the party. They made Whitmore, the financial advisor, play Scrooge, a joke which he always took in good cheer.
Wanting to throw myself into the spirit, I’d volunteered to play the Ghost of Christmas Present. I wore the fur-lined robe, complete with the holly wreath on top of my head, and together with Mister Whitmore as Scrooge we made bad jokes and puns. Everyone had a good laugh.
Then the first wrinkle of the night appeared around nine o’clock. Somebody noticed that the plump Christmas turkey had yet to arrive from the local butchery. This led to a series of blame shifting and finger pointing as to who was at fault.
Mr. Whitmore, ever the level head, checked the butchery’s address. “It’s only a few blocks up the street,” he remarked officiously. “I’ll go and see what’s the matter,” he volunteered.
“Are you certain, sir?” one of the employees asked. “Forecast says the snowfall should be starting now.”
Whitmore shook his head, already pulling on his scarf. “It wouldn’t be a proper Christmas without a turkey on the table, now would it?”
Ever the faithful assistant, I elected to accompany Mister Whitmore. Though I must confess, I did have something of an ulterior motive. It had been more than six hours since my breakfast, and I’d forgone the snacks at the party, preferring to wait for the turkey I looked forward to every year. So with an empty belly growling at me, I wanted that bird on the table as soon as possible.
The minute we stepped out of the building, the chill hit me with ghoulish rapture. Snow drifted down from the heavens, blanketing the earth with crisp white. It was barely more than two inches, but still, in California, it felt unquestionably out of place.
It took us less than twenty minutes to walk to the butcher’s shop down the street. Just long enough to make me regret not changing out of my costume before we left the office. I was chilled to the bone by the time we arrived, and I imagine seeing a pair of Dickens characters trotting down the lane would’ve caused quite the laugh, if anybody had been around to see it.
The gentleman at the butcher’s shop received us graciously (although I thought the warmth in the shop was more welcoming) and explained to us his problem. His three trucks had all become stuck in a blizzard. Glancing at the gentle flurries out the window, I thought “blizzard” an exaggeration. But apparently a snowfall heavier than forecast had swept in from the north.
The butcher gave us the turkey we’d ordered, with apologies. I held the turkey, as Mr. Whitmore took a small piece of paper from his coat and scribbled a phone number on the back of it. “Here, take this,” he told the gentleman, handing it to him. “It’s the number for a delivery company I’ve dealt with before. Mention my name, and they’ll let you use their trucks for the evening at half the rate you’d get anywhere else.”
“Good lord,” the gentleman remarked, gaping at the paper in awe.
“And I’ll expect a twelve percent discount for the trouble of coming here,” Whitmore added firmly.
“Twelve percent! Good sir,” the gentleman exclaimed, gushing with gratitude. “You’ve saved me an entire evening’s worth of business! You can have that turkey for free!”
But Mr. Whitmore shook his head. “Twelve percent is the correct amount. No, no,” he stopped the butcher before he could protest. “I’ll not hear another word. Come, we can make revisions now.”
I watched as they drew up the altered bill. This, I’d often noticed, was Elliot Whitmore’s great skill: he always knew the precise value of everything, without exception. And the man would never pay nor receive, neither more nor less than that exact amount. His unshakable devotion to fair play defined him.
I carried the turkey in a satchel over my shoulder back to the office. I felt tempted to sneak a quick bite before we returned, while my stomach growled hungrily. But under the watchful eye of my employer, I thought better of it and resolved to wait until the turkey was on the table.
When we got back, the office was in chaos.
Because Why Not
25 Tales of Imagination
The devil decides to try online dating. A time traveller goes throughout history, killing everyone who has ever commited murder, from Caine to Jack the Ripper. A pair of bankers become stranded in a snowstorm, searching for a lost poem. And a fearsome dragon guards its precious treasure, a collection of rare and valuable books.
All of these and more await in these 25 tales, a collection of short stories and poems, packed to the brim with the bizarre and the beautiful. Find fantasy, mystery, horror and romance in this first ever published work, as you join up and coming author Trick Campbell, as he takes his first step into the wide world of literacy.
About the author
Trick Campbell is a writer, storyteller and graduate from York University, with a bachelor’s degree in screenwriting. His short story The Death Of Sherlock Holmes has been featured in the 2020 John Byrne Award; his screenplay Twinkle Toes made it into the quarterfinals of the 2021 Screencraft Film Fund; and his stage play A Wish For Granted was produced and featured at the 2018 Ground Zero Fringe Festival, of Vanier College Productions.
His greatest weaknesses are head rubs, small furry animals, and homemade chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven.
Follow Trick Campbell on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100086926791601, or visit his author page on Amazon.