Flash Fiction Friday: A Pismwallops PTA Christmas, Part 1

Decided to have some fun as we run up to the holidays (and yes, I will unashamedly say "holidays," because there are a bunch of them and I like to celebrate any that come my way, and encourage others to celebrate any they like). So I dropped in to see how the Pismwallops PTA handles the event. With a fund-raiser bazaar, of course! But nothing ever goes quite according to plan when JJ MacGregor is involved. It's looking like a 2-part story.

A Pismawallops PTA Christmas


ā€œJJ, we need another table for the baked goods!ā€

ā€œJJ, the tree wonā€™t light up!ā€

ā€œJJ, theā€”ā€

I tuned out the last voice. Arne Hancock always had a crisis for me to fix. I dispatched two kids to get the table Patty Reilly needed for the brownies, and went to help Kitty Padgett with the lights that didnā€™t light. Kittyā€™s the PTA president, so she was getting her own share of people demanding instant fixes.

ā€œItā€™s plugged in?ā€ I asked.

Kitty gave that the eye-roll it deserved, so I added, ā€œIn an outlet that actually works?ā€ The Pismawallops High gym needed some upgrades, no question.

ā€œI tried three outlets,ā€ Kitty said. ā€œItā€™s got to be a burned out bulb.ā€

I eyed the antique string of lights on our decidedly fake tree. There was no good way to find the defective bulb, unless the principal had someone in detention he really wanted to punish. Each bulb would have to be replaced, one at a time, and the string tested after each one. I made the sort of executive decision expected of a VP, even of a small-town PTA.

ā€œToss ā€™em. Buy a new set at McMullens when we get done here, and we can string them in the morning.ā€

Kitty nodded agreement and we moved on to the next set of crises. Arne was at my shoulder, so this time I had to pay attention.

ā€œSomeone has been playing with the hot pads and scrubbers. I left them perfectly arranged, and now look at them!ā€

I could see his point. The colorful clothes and crocheted plastic pot scrubbers were jumbled in disarray on the table. I thought it looked fineā€”a cheerful chaosā€”but Arne liked order.

ā€œI suppose someone must have bumped the table or something,ā€ I said. ā€œIt wonā€™t take long to fix it. Get some of the kids to help.ā€

He pursed his lips and regarded the teens who swarmed over the gym, hanging decorations and creating a joyful chaos. At length he selected Kat and Brianā€”Kittyā€™s daughter and my sonā€”and set them to work lining up the handicrafts.

By bedtime, the gym looked pretty good. Swags of greenery covered at least some of the cinder-block walls, and the tables lining those walls were heaped with seasonal goods. Our Holiday Bazaar was as ready as it would ever be, aside from the lights. Arneā€™s table was a perfect rainbow again, and Patty had the food tables organized with pricing signs to show were everything would go when the goodies rolled in in the morning. A fair number of sealed containers were already in place.

I checked to make sure none of the containers could be opened or nibbled through. Weā€™d been known to have a pest or two in the school. Convinced everything was tight, I doused the lights, the last one out, and locked up.

#

I was the first one back at the gym Saturday morning, with Kitty right behind me hauling new strings of colorful lights. It was two hours until the holiday bazaar opened its doors, and we had some work to do.

I hit the lights, and scanned the room. Everything looked like weā€™d left itā€¦until my eye reached the hot pads. Arneā€™s fastidious rainbow had been scrambled into a chaotic swirl once again.

ā€œOh, no! Arneā€™s going to have a coronary!ā€

Kitty, coming up behind me, said, ā€œWhat?ā€

I pointed.

ā€œWeā€™ll have to get it back in order, fast.ā€

ā€œBut how could it have happened?ā€ I wanted to know. ā€œI was the last one out. It was fine then, and I locked the door. No oneā€™s been here.ā€ Except someone obviously had been there.

Carlos, the custodian and our PTA secretary, had keys, but he swore he hadnā€™t been near the place, and I believed him. That left burglars, who I assumed would at least have stolen some brownies, not just messed up one table; students, who would have no way to get in; or ghosts.

ā€œPoltergeist. That has to be it,ā€ I told Kitty.

ā€œThe Ghost of Christmas Presents?ā€ she suggested.

ā€œLetā€™s get these lights strung, then we can do something about the table.ā€

I checked the other tables, but as far as I could see, no one had touched anything else. I did eye one well-sealed pan of brownies, which seemed to have some scratches on the cover, but nothing had gotten in. We shared a brownie before we started, just to be sure they were okay.

We strung the tree in record time. Expecting volunteers and food donations to begin arriving at any moment, I crossed the room to turn on the music, though Iā€™d been enjoying the silence. Kitty headed for the hot pads.

I was about to flip the switch when Kitty gasped.

ā€œWhat?ā€ I turned around, not sure what to expect. That talk of ghosts had been a joke, but maybe we were a little jumpy, or just punchy.

Kitty was crouching by the table, hand extended. She made a little kissing noise and said, ā€œKitty!ā€

ā€œWhy are you calling yourself?ā€ Now I wondered if thereā€™d been something odd in those brownies weā€™d tested.

ā€œNot meā€”kitty as in cat.ā€

ā€œKat? Whatā€™s she doing under there?ā€ And Kat couldnā€™t hide in that heap of hot pads.

ā€œNot Kat. Cat.ā€

I still wasnā€™t getting it, and became convinced the brownies had been laced with something. That would be a fiasco, weā€™d have toā€¦

ā€œC-A-T. Thereā€™s a cat in here!ā€ Kitty was laughing, at the same time as she tried to keep still and not scare the animal.

A little, scared, scrawny kitten crawled out from under the hot pads, where it had obviously made a warm nest for the night. Kitty scooped it up, cuddling it. ā€œHereā€™s our Christmas ghost!ā€

ā€œA Christmas present for Arne, for sure,ā€ I laughed. ā€œBut how on earth did it get in here?ā€

ā€œSanta?ā€ Kitty guessed.

ā€œAnd what do we do with it?ā€

ā€œHer,ā€ Kitty corrected, having taken a look. ā€œSheā€™s for Arne, of course.ā€

ā€œYou donā€™t think heā€™s going to adopt a cat, do you?ā€ I looked at the ruin of his perfect rainbow. ā€œFussy, tidy people do not like kittens.ā€

Kitty smiled. ā€œWait and see.ā€

###




Ā©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2017
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