It's the only store open on Christmas Day. The sign says, 'The General Store' and you don't recall seeing it before, but it might save the day. You ask the owner if he sells stuffing, and he gestures vaguely. Christmas will be ruined without stuffing, so you go to look. The shelves are jammed with things you might need urgently on a particular day. Tins of off-brand hair dye, lint rollers, cheap Tupperware boxes. The shelves head deeper into the shop, with occasional gaps to move between aisles. You see some Christmas selection boxes, full of chocolate bars you remember from childhood, and they're in date. You've not had a Texan bar since childhood. A little further on, the Bassett's Jelly Beans they've stopped making. Amazing how much you crave these long-lost tastes. Maybe you should have picked up a basket. A little further on, the shelves are dark, but there's tinsel, something else you needed, and you wrap it round your shoulders. A little further on and you realise you're almost at the front of the shop again, the owner nodding as you approach. You can't help but think you've taken a wrong turn anywhere, that there was something you were supposed to buy here, something you needed to make Christmas just right. You pay for the goods and step outside, where your old Raleigh Grifter bike waits, chained to the drainpipe. The code for the lock is the same, 2512 for your favourite day of the year. This bike should be too small, you think, but it doesn't matter. You cycle home with sweets and tinsel, relieved about all the things you've left behind in that shop. There are so many things you'll do differently this time.

Background

I think this was my favourite piece from the horror story Advent Calendar that I made. I spent a lot of time in the summer scribbling Christmas stories and this one came out of nowhere.

Writing little stories is a strange process. It works best when I write longhand. I’ll sit and sketch sentences, little phrases that might grow into something. For a while, it feels like I’m getting nowhere, that maybe I’ve written all the good stories I’ll ever write, and nothing more will come. But, if I give it time and space, something usually does - and often something that surprises me.

All my best stories are written in the space of a few minutes. It’s a strange process. It works most times, although the anxiety that it won’t means I don’t try it as often as I might. I always felt jealous when people described stories as coming from outside them, but writing this, I see that is indeed how it works for me.

I’ve reached the end of 2024 exhausted, but I’m looking forward to playing with some new ideas over the next week. Sitting down with a notebook and finding new things.

Recommendations

One of the best books I’ve read this year is Daisy Johnson’s Hotel, a collection of short stories set in a haunted hotel.

I pick up a lot of books from Amazon’s daily Kindle deals. Buying books for 99p can’t give much back to the publisher and author. But, at the same time, it feels wrong to buy a new hardback and then be offered it at a fraction of the price a week or two later (as recently happened with the new Julia Armfield book). There have been a few recent books I’ve not bought at full price, feeling sure they would turn up on the offer.

At the same time, Johnson’s book was one I wouldn’t have read without it turning up as an offer. I thought I’d seen it recommended somewhere but looking back I can’t find that post anywhere.

Hotel is a wonderful series of very short tales, originally broadcast on Radio 4. They are eerie, often evading the classic horror-movie tropes. The first chapter in particular is a virtuosic piece of horror writing, and one I loved. The book is 150 pages long, but does more than many longer books.

This is a discounted book that feels worth buying as a hardback.