Melchior’s Migratory Midwinter Market was established 923AD by order of Wenceslas himself. Being a migratory market, it drifts across countries, between centuries, providing the most remarkable selection of stalls and entertainment to anyone who is able to find their way inside. You may have seen a sign pointing towards it while in a hurry on Christmas Eve, or caught the unusual scent of its legendary basilisk burgers and candied stars as you shuffled through the slush at the sales. Always just a street or two further away than you can reach.
On the solstice day, at the moment of midwinter, the market makes itself exclusively available to a particular type of customer, those who have their own seasonal responsibilities and so often find it more difficult to find gifts for friends and family.
At Melchior’s, on that day, you might see Grandfather Frost buying woollen hats, the Yule Goat carrying bales of golden straw or the Jolasveinar stocking up on Sherwood’s best wild boar.
And on this particularly bleak midwinter, you would have seen a small girl and a tall figure in a hooded robe making their way through the market, looking for someone.
“There he is,” said the girl, “I told you this is where he would be.”
The hooded figure looked over to ‘The Wild Hunt’, one of several taverns dotted around the market. The taverns tables were no more than roughly chopped logs, tied together with ivy, and in the corner, at the biggest table of all, behind a mountainous pile of mugs, flagons and bottles of all colours and sizes, sat a large man with a bushy red beard and a long green coat.
“Looks like he’s been for awhile,” said the girl.
“Hard to tell,” said the hooded figure, “he can put it away at the best of times.”
The two walked over to the table, and sat down beside the bearded man.
“There’s such a thing as too much plenty you know,” said the hooded figure. He gestured to the bar for two more drinks.
“And another mead for me,” said the man.
“How many have you had?” asked the girl.
“One for each of my brothers before me…almost. I’m struggling to hit two thousand.”
“Well everyone has their limits,” said the hooded figure, “presumably even you.”
The barmaid brought over a wooden mug filled with gold flecked hot chocolate for the girl, a tiny porcelain cup of thick black coffee for the hooded figure, and a huge silver goblet of warmed mead for the man.
“If you’ve come to change my mind, you can forget it,” said the man, “I’m not doing it.”
The girl tried her best twinkling smile, “But it’s…”
“And don’t say it’s Christmas. Because it isn’t Christmas is it? It’s nothing like Christmas.”
The man picked up the goblet of mead and drank it down in one gulp before burping loudly.
“One thousand nine hundred and eighty three,” he said, raising his hand to the bar for another.
“This isn’t like you,” said the girl gently.
The man shook his head, “I know. I know it isn’t. I don’t like feeling like this. And I’ve tried, but...”
“Try harder,” said the hooded figure.
The girl shushed him, “That isn’t helpful.”
The hooded figure shrugged awkwardly.
For a moment, they sat without speaking, listening to the syncopated carols of the steam powered brass band. The girl took a big slurp of her chocolate and then wiped her mouth, smearing sparkling chocolate all across her face. “Look. I think maybe, we just have a different job this year,” she said. “It’s not about making people change their ways. Lots of people have done that already.”
“She’s right,” said the hooded figure, “It’s been a bumper year for personal reflection.”
“…so what are we for?” asked the man. “What do we show them?”
“Hope,” said the hooded figure. “Christmas Past reminds them of those glorious times together with family, I show them the better days ahead. And you show them that even this year, even now, that people are still doing their best to find happiness.”
“If anyone can find that, it’s you,” said the girl. “Remember that one Christmas we haunted a ships Captain and we visited a treasure island where you dug up chocolate doubloons?”
Christmas Future chuckled, “Or when you convinced Prospero to invite the whole town to a big fancy dress Christmas party in his abbey? And I did all the decorations.”
The man stroked his beard, a smile playing around his lips, “That was fun.”
“So maybe there are less parties this year to take folk to,” said Christmas Past. “And empty chairs at the table. It’s different. Harder than it’s been for a long time, for longer than most folks now can remember. But that can’t steal away the Christmases you’ve had, keep you from imagining how next Christmas will be different…”
“Or stop you being here, in Christmas Present…”
The girl beamed, and nudged Christmas Future in the ribs, “See! I told you we could do it.”
Christmas Present smiled, “Thank you”. He blinked, looking at the mess of bottles and mugs stacked in front of him. “Deary me.”
Christmas Present lifted his holly wreath crown, and placed it carefully back on his head.
“There’s a stall over there does hangover cures,” said Christmas Future, “Back in a minute.”
The three ghosts helped tidy up the tavern table, Christmas Present bought Past and Future some coal fudge and then they all made their way to the edge of the market.
“Can we maybe do just one old style haunting as well…” he asked, “there is just one person who doesn’t seem to have learned his lesson yet this year.”
“Oh I wouldn’t worry about him,” said the Ghost of Christmas Future. “He’s had more than enough opportunity for epiphanies.”
“Yes,” said Christmas Past, “I used to think everyone was worth trying to save. Now…I’m not so sure. Let’s just focus on the positives.”
“Fair enough,” said Christmas Present. “Hey, what about that time we took that banker up those weird mountains in Antarctica. What a laugh!”
The three friends left the market, and wandered back out into the snow to prepare for their Christmas visits. There was more to do than usual this year.
The moment of midwinter passed, and slowly, ever so slowly, the lighter days began.
