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"The Twelve Nights Before Christmas"


Prologue
Twelve Nights Of Christmas

By Begin Again

At the very top of the world, snow whispered against the windows, and sleigh bells slept on their hooks.

The workshop was finally quiet. Wood shavings curled on the tables, and the cookie smell lingered in the halls.

Over the roofs, a single brave star winked--and the North Pole winked back.
Santa stepped onto the porch, his boots creaking softly in the snow. He lifted his eyes to that bright speck above the northern lights and smiled. "Still watching over us," he murmured.

Mrs. Claus joined him, tucking her arm through his. "That star always reminds me," Santa said gently, "of the night the world first learned goodwill."

"And every year," Mrs. Claus replied, "we pass that light along."

Inside, the fire glowed, and the clock ticked toward midnight. The elves had gone to bed; even the reindeer dreamed in their stalls.

Only one lantern stayed lit on Santa's desk, beside a mountain of letters.
Mr. Jingles peeked in from the hallway. "Is it time, sir?"

"It is," Santa said, smiling as he hung his red coat by the fire and settled into his big chair.

Some letters asked for dolls or trains. Some asked for snow.
But a few—Santa's favorites—held quieter wishes: courage, kindness, belonging, and hope.

"These are the ones for Dream Post," Mrs. Claus said, setting a mug of cocoa by his elbow.

Santa opened a blue envelope and read in a low, warm voice. When he finished, he touched the folded page to his heart.

"Sleep, my little one," he whispered. "Santa's letter is on its way."

Mr. Jingles took the note and hurried to the door. The North Wind bent low, a soft lullaby in her breath. Together, they lifted the letter until it shimmered into a flake of light and drifted into the sky.

Across forests and oceans, it would fly—into quiet rooms, onto gentle pillows—becoming a dream that carried a story and a small, shining truth.

And so, under a kindly star, the Twelve Nights Of Christmas began.

Author Notes I hope to self-publish my Christmas stories in time for Christmas, so forgive me for rushing the season.


Chapter 1
The Candle In The Window

By Begin Again


After a very long and busy day in the workshop, the elves had donned their cozy long johns and were settling into bed for a well-deserved rest.

The North Pole was hushed except for snow tapping at the windowpanes and the sleepy jingle of bells in the sleigh shed.

A crackling fire glowed in the hearth, and two mugs of cocoa waited on the hearthstones. Santa's aching feet rested on the ottoman as he sank into his favorite chair.

Mrs. Claus smiled at her husband. "I know you're tired, but you can't be dozing off just yet. The North Wind dropped off another bundle of letters."

Santa's eyes twinkled. "I'm awake, dear. My eyes were just taking a quick little nap." He chuckled, shifted in his chair, and picked up the top envelope. Someone had drawn a tiny candle in one corner.

"Hmm — this one's from Elsa, and she lives in Norway. Let's see what's on her mind." He read aloud —

Dear Santa,
I am six years old and live in a tiny white house with my mother and my older brother, Eric. He says you won't find us this year because the snow is too tall. I say he's wrong.

If you could bring Mom and Eric new sweaters, that would be great. They go outside more than I do and need to stay warm. Mine still keeps me cozy, but I could use some nice woolly socks (with kittens, if you can). And maybe a book, because I love to read.

I have a tiny window candle, so I hope you can find me.

Love, Elsa

P.S. We loved the oranges last year, too.

Santa folded the letter and pressed it to his heart. "Sleep, my little one," he whispered. "Santa's letter is already on its way."

Mr. Jingles, Santa's helper, smiled and took the letter from the jolly old man. Outside, the North Wind waited, dressed in white that shimmered like crystals. She bent low, and Mr. Jingles held up the letter. She breathed once — soft as a lullaby — and the paper glittered, shrinking into a tiny flake of light.

Up they went together, skimming past the workshop roof and over the dozing reindeer, then across the dark sky where ribbons of green and blue shimmered. Without making a sound, they slipped beneath a curtain and set the glowing flake gently upon a pillow.

*****
The Dream

Elsa lay in her bed in the little attic bedroom under the slanted roof. The walls were pale blue, and a woven rug warmed the floor. Elsa pulled her grandmother's wool blanket to her chin, and a single candle flickered in the window, making the lace curtains dance. Tiny sparkles of the North Wind's dream dust drifted through the air.

Outside, the pines stood motionless like toy soldiers, and the world lay blanketed in snow like whipped cream.

Elsa yawned, stretched, and climbed out of bed. She hurried across the tiny room and pressed her nose against the chilly windowpane.

"It's so quiet," she whispered. "Even the stars appear drowsy."

A voice cleared its throat. "Ahem — stars get tired of twinkling, too."

Elsa spun around. Standing on the sill and wiping snow from his ears was a mouse dressed like a gentleman — a tiny green velvet coat fastened with shiny brass buttons and a crooked top hat with a feather tucked in the band. His red scarf trailed behind him as he bowed with a wobble.

"Who — are you?" Elsa stuttered. "Where did you come from?"

"Oh dear, where did I leave my manners? Of course, you must wonder what this is about." The little mouse straightened his back and stood as tall as he could. "I'm a messenger of dreams. My name is Minna, and tonight seems the perfect night for a lantern parade."

He swung his thimble lantern from his tail like a tiny sun, tipped his hat, and--poof!

Elsa, now dressed in a white fur coat and boots, stood wide-eyed. "We're outside!" she gasped, running her hand across the soft fur. She twirled around, laughing. "I've never seen anything like this."

Minna smiled. "My dear, that is what dreams are made of."

A family of beetles blinked out of a snowbank. "Why is everything so bright?"

"Wake up, my friends! This is Elsa's dream, and she's going to help Santa tonight. Want to come along?" Minna asked.

"We can shine!" the beetles said, and their shells began to glow honey-gold.

As they reached the fence, a deep hoo-hoo drifted down from above. Elsa looked up. On a snow-covered branch sat a large snowy owl, his feathers puffed like a winter coat. In the darkness, his golden eyes gleamed as he tilted his head.

"What is this?" he hooted. "A little girl, a family of beetles, a fancy mouse, and a candle lighting up my woods?"

"We're helping Santa see us," Elsa called, brushing snow from her sleeve.

The owl blinked once, thoughtful, then spread his great white wings so wide they brushed the pine needles. "Will I be of assistance?" he asked. "Your tiny lights can travel farther on my wings than from the tallest tree."

"What a perfect idea!" Minna said, pulling his scarf snug around his neck.

"The more, the better!" cheered the beetles.

Together they began their procession — Elsa's candle, Minna's thimble flame, the beetles' golden glow, and the owl's sweeping light above. Snow glittered like diamonds beneath their feet.

Across the valley, a window blinked on. Then another.

Elsa clapped her mittens. "Look! Everyone's lighting candles!"

"Of course," Minna said proudly. "Small lights invite company."

They followed the lane to a windy hill where two distant cottages sat with a dark gap between them. The wind lived there, snatching at flames. Elsa's candle trembled.
"It's too dark," she whispered.

"Then we share what we have," Minna said gently.

Elsa cupped her candle with both hands. Minna lifted his thimble high. The beetles climbed onto a fence post, shining bright as they could.

The owl opened its large silver wings. "Climb aboard. I'll carry your glow," he said, rising slowly across the gap.

On his feathers, their small lights grew brighter. The old fisherman in the far cottage saw the owl and chuckled. "Clever little souls," he said, lifting his lantern high.

One by one, the other windows woke. The dark filled with light.

"Look," Minna breathed. "A braided path."

It ran from Elsa's porch over the hill and down toward the sea — little flames, steady and brave. Elsa felt warm from the inside out. Not because her candle was big, but because it wasn't alone.

Soft bells sounded — silver and sure — as a sleigh slid past the moon.

A voice echoed through the night, "Ho, ho, ho — anything can happen when you believe!"

A tiny spark drifted down and kissed Elsa's mitten -- warm as a secret.

Minna made a slight bow. "Mission accomplished. Before your toes freeze, go back to bed and dream of a Merry Christmas."

Elsa yawned and crawled into bed, remembering the pathway of light. She thought the stars above the mountains winked as Minna said goodnight.
 
*****

Moral -- Even the smallest light can glow bright enough to help someone find their way.
 
*****

Back at the North Pole, Mr. Jingles warmed his hands by the fire and smiled. Tomorrow would bring another letter, another dream, and another Christmas tale to tell.

*****

North Pole Note -- Christmas Traditions in Norway

Christmas, known as Jul in Norway, is a season of warmth, light, and family traditions. The celebrations begin with Advent, when candles are lit each Sunday and star-shaped lamps glow in windows across the snowy towns.

On Christmas Eve — families gather to bake gingerbread houses and decorate their trees. The main celebration comes when families share a hearty meal of lamb or pork ribs, followed by sweet rice pudding with a hidden almond. Whoever finds it wins a marzipan pig!

After dinner, Norwegians sing and dance around the Christmas tree before opening gifts from Julenissen, their very own Santa Claus.

Author Notes Norway Christmas Traditions compliments of Google... I'm not sure about using Twinkle Star as the font... thoughts and suggestions appreciated.


Chapter 2
The Gift Box - Chap 2

By Begin Again


As the holiday season approached, the North Pole was a beehive of Santa's workers, rushing to make all the toys that Santa's sleigh would deliver around the world on Christmas Eve. At the end of each day, the lanterns dimmed, and a quiet hush settled over the North Pole.

The elves called out soft goodnights to each other as the workshop lights winked out one by one.

Outside, the stables rustled with sleepy yawns and loud snorts as the reindeer curled into straw with their tails tucked and noses warm.

Even the North Wind seemed to whisper softer, brushing glitter from the eaves as it swirled about.

Only Santa's lamp still burned--a single glow in the great white world known as the North Pole.

Mr. Jingles checked the calendar by the door and nodded. "'Tis the eleventh night before Christmas, Nick."

The jolly old man hung his jacket on the rack, gave his red suspenders a snap, and eased himself into his big overstuffed chair. The leather gave a little sigh as he sank into it.

A delicious aroma drifted from the kitchen — freshly baked cinnamon stars. Soft Christmas notes hummed through the walls as Mrs. Claus prepared steamy cups of cocoa sprinkled with peppermint chips.

Soon she appeared with a tray balanced in her soft hands. "The night crew needs its fuel," she teased, setting the cocoa and cookies beside a tall stack of letters. "These are the new arrivals today."

Santa's eyes twinkled. "Guess we'd better get to it then. Every child's letter deserves to be read."

He chose an envelope with neat, careful writing and a tiny box drawn in the corner. He read in a warm, low voice —

Dear Santa,
Christmas is a time of giving, but I don't have the money to buy the kind of gift my grandmother deserves.
Since you are the best gift-giver ever, I hope you can help me. I found a little box on my Oma's shelf. It is empty, but the angel carving is beautiful. And it smells like vanilla inside.
Is it all right to give a gift that isn't new?
Love, Greta

He touched the folded page to his heart and whispered, "Sometimes the best gifts are the old ones. Sleep, my little one. Santa's letter is on its way."

Mr. Jingles hurried to the door. The North Wind bent low, humming like a lullaby, and sent her frosty breath across the letter.

Whoooosh!

Her magic turned it into a tiny flake of light, which drifted into the night and landed in someone's dream.


The Dream

Tonight was a very special night for Greta because Santa had sent her a very special dream. As she drifted in a deep slumber, she found herself standing in a familiar cottage - one she hadn't visited for a very long time. It belonged to her Oma — her grandmother.

The walls were warm with candlelight. Lace curtains made moon shapes on the floorboards. The black pot-belly stove purred softly as the fire crackled inside. Something sweet — maybe vanilla and almond — scented the air.

Her gaze drifted to the fireplace mantel. Suddenly, her eyes widened in surprise — a small box just like the one she'd found in her closet. It was brown with a carved angel on top and a gold ribbon wrapped around it.

She glanced around, but nobody was there. "Silly girl, you are imagining things," she said, laughing and berating herself.

The sigh grew louder as she reached for the box once more. Greta leaped back again.

Oma's box whispered, "I didn't mean to frighten you. I haven't been touched in a very long time."

Greta's eyes widened. "You — you can talk."

A gentle breeze lifted the curtain, and the North Wind tiptoed in -- sparkling like the frost on the window.

"You're a very special little girl. Oma's box can't talk to everyone, but she can feel the love in your heart." She lifted Oma's box off the mantel and held it in front of Greta. "Shall we look inside?" she whispered.

Greta beamed. "Oh, yes. Is there something special inside?"

"Open it and see."

Greta lifted the lid and heard a tiny click. She peered inside.
 

A white flower with woolly petals resembling a daisy lay pressed against a lace handkerchief. The North Wind smiled. "It's an edelweiss. They grow in the mountains, and symbolize courage, purity, and devotion."

Greta murmured, "It's beautiful."

"It's from the year your Oma and Opa climbed the mountain," the Wind said. The flower carried their favorite memories when they came home."

Greta looked inside the box and saw a small paper heart with glitter sprinkled at the edges.

"Your mama made that when she was five," the Wind smiled. "She said it gave her courage. She carried it in her pocket to school because she knew Oma's love would always protect her."

There was a curl of pink ribbon from a baby dress.

Greta traced it with her finger. "Is it mine?"

The North Wind nodded. "You wore it on your first Christmas. Your Oma said you looked like a fairy princess."

Beneath the ribbon, a tiny recipe card, browned at the corners — Vanillekipferl.
Greta breathed in. "Oma's vanilla crescents."

"Handed down from generation to generation," the Wind said, "like a warm hand to hold."

At the very bottom, almost hidden, lay a silver bell no bigger than Greta's thumb. When she touched it, it gave a soft ting.

"That rang the night your Opa came home late in the snow," the Wind whispered. "Your Oma listened for it at the gate."

Greta's eyes stung, but in a good way. "The box isn't empty at all," she said softly. "It's full of love."

The North Wind smiled. "Love takes small shapes so it can fit in small places."

Greta looked around the cottage. The clock ticked. The stove hummed. Outside the window, a single star twinkled above the rooftops.

Greta said, "I want to give it back to Oma. But how do I make it a gift from me?"

The Wind said, "Add something of yours, and something true."

Greta thought for a moment. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a strand of red yarn from her scarf. She tied it into a small bow, just like the ones she helped Oma tie on cookie bags each Christmas.

She turned the paper heart over and wrote in careful letters — I will help you bake this year. And I will listen to your stories over and over because they are your memories.

She placed the heart and the red bow inside the box and closed the lid.
The North Wind tied the gold ribbon into a neat bow. "There," she said. "Old and new together — that's what makes a gift."

From far away, sleigh bells whispered — soft as laughter. A silhouette slid across the moon. "May your Christmas dreams come true," a kind voice called on the wind. 

Outside, the snow sparkled brighter for a moment, as if the stars themselves had smiled. The little cottage glowed softly until it faded back into Greta's dreams.
 
*****
On Christmas morning, Greta woke to the soft clink of cups in the kitchen and Oma humming a carol.

On the mantle sat the little gift box, tied with its gold ribbon. A sprig of fir lay beside it, and the air smelled like vanilla crescents baking.

Greta opened the lid. On top of her yarn wreath and heart lay the tiny silver bell she'd heard in the dream — and a note in Oma's flowery hand —
 
"Love never leaves, mein Liebchen — (my darling)
It waits to be remembered."

Greta pressed the bell to her cheek and smiled. "I remember," she whispered.

Outside, the same brave star lingered a moment above the roofs, then tucked itself into daylight.

*****
Moral:
The best gifts are the ones we share from our hearts.


North Pole Note -- Germany

Germany has many unique Christmas traditions. The four Sundays before Christmas, families light one more candle until all four are glowing and warm.
There is a festive atmosphere during the whole month of December. Christmas markets and stalls sell traditional German delicacies such as Christmas stollen, hot, sticky, roasted almonds, 'Lebkuchen' hearts (gingerbread hearts), and other Christmas sweets. Other markets sell hand-blown, painted glass baubles of all sizes and colors.
On December 6, kids celebrate St. Nicholas Day. They clean their shoes, place them by the door, and wait. By morning, St. Nicholas fills the shoes with small surprises, such as a small toy, chocolate, or nuts.
Friends and family celebrate this merry and festive occasion, and people sing Christmas carols. Often, children prepare and recite a poem for St Nicholas on that evening.
On December 25 (Christmas Day) and December 26, the family gathers for celebrations, and Christians visit Christmas mass. Depending on the region, some towns have the tradition of the Christkind, a representation of Jesus as a child. He appears as an angel with blond hair and angelic wings, bearing gifts.


Googled from - A to Z Kids Stuff


Chapter 3
Three Kings Chap 3

By Begin Again

Evening had settled over the North Pole.

Mrs. Claus and a group of giggling elves were covered in flour from head to toe in the kitchen as they baked tray after tray of sugar cookies shaped like stars and mittens. The smell of cinnamon and butter floated down the hallway.

Near the hearth, a few older elves sat by the fire, finishing small projects -- painting toy trains, stitching teddy bear scarves, and humming Christmas tunes as the clock ticked toward midnight.

At his desk, Santa smiled at the chaos and wiped a crumb from his beard. "Sounds like Christmas is sneaking up on us faster than a reindeer in a snowstorm," he chuckled. "Better keep those cookies coming or I might not have the strength to make it." He chuckled and winked.

Mrs. Claus peeked around the corner, holding a tray piled high with fresh cookies. "You say that every year, dear."

Jingles climbed onto the ottoman near Santa's feet and asked, "What's on the list tonight?"

"A new letter," Santa said, holding up an envelope sealed with a gold star sticker. "From a little girl named Sofía in Spain."

He slipped on his reading glasses and began in his warm, deep voice —

Dear Santa,
I'm so excited because soon it will be time for the Three Kings Parade, but I don't know what gift to bring. It needs to be something very special.
Everyone brings candy or toys to share, but I want my gift to be something that means more.
Can you help me think of the right thing to give?
Love, Sofía

Santa smiled softly and touched the letter to his heart. "Sleep well, my little one," he whispered. "The Three Kings will help you find your answer."

Mr. Jingles scurried to the door as the North Wind bent low, blowing her frosty breath across the letter.

Whoooosh!

It shimmered into a tiny flake of light and drifted out into the starry night.

*****
The Dream

As Sofía drifted into her dream, she couldn't believe her eyes.

The indigo sky above wasn't just dark — it was a sea of tiny diamonds, each one twinkling like it had a secret to tell.

In the distance, a soft jingling carried on the wind. She turned and saw a line of camels moving slowly across the sand. Their hooves left silvery prints that shimmered in the starlight, and each wore a necklace of little bells that sang with every step.

The three riders sat tall and graceful. Their robes rippled in the cool breeze — one shimmered gold, another deep royal purple, and the third gleamed with green silk richer than any emerald. Embroidered threads caught the light as they rode closer, and Sofía gasped softly. "They're real," she whispered. "The Three Kings."

The eldest smiled kindly and guided his camel toward her. "We've heard that you're wondering what gift to bring to your parade," he said, his voice deep and comforting. "We can help you."

He reached into his saddlebag and drew out a small book painted with the image of a rising sun. Handing it to her, he said, "This book holds wisdom. The words inside help hearts to shine from within."

The second king dismounted, holding a small loaf of bread wrapped in linen. "The bread stands for kindness," he said, placing it gently in her hands. "It fills more than hunger — it can bring peace to the soul." 

The last king stepped forward. From his cloak, he revealed a tiny golden heart that glowed softly like a candle flame. "And this," he said, "is love. It is the one gift that never fades."

Sofía held the three treasures close, and as she did, their lights blended into a single golden star that sparkled in her palms.

The three kings lifted their eyes toward the brightest star and then bowed their heads.

The eldest smiled and said, "Remember, Sofía--the truest gift is the one that comes from your heart."

The camels lifted their heads, their bells chiming softly as the figures faded back into the sea of stars.

*****
Sofía woke to the sound of church bells ringing. On her nightstand lay the tiny golden star from her dream 
— and beside it, a warm loaf of bread wrapped in linen. The smell was heavenly, and her stomach rumbled.

She hurried to get dressed for the Three Kings Parade. The streets were alive with music and laughter, children waving ribbons as bright confetti danced in the air.

Sofía tucked the star in her pocket and held the bread carefully as she walked.
Near the church steps, an old woman sat wrapped in a thin, threadbare blanket. A cardboard sign beside her read, Tengo hambre. -- I am hungry.

Sofía stopped. The bread was still warm in her hands.

She knelt and offered it to the woman. "It's all I have," she said softly, "but it's yours."

The woman's eyes filled with tears. "Then you already have the best gift, niña," she whispered. "A giving heart."

Sofía smiled. The golden star in her pocket felt warm, almost glowing.

That night, after the parade, she placed the star inside a small glass ornament and hung it on the family's tree. It caught the candlelight and sparkled like a promise — one she meant to keep forever.

Moral:
The best gifts are the ones we share from our hearts.
 
*****

North Pole Note — Spain

In Spain, Christmas celebrations last a little longer than in many other places.
After Santa's visit, children look forward to El Día de los Reyes -- the Day of the Three Kings!

On the evening of January 5th, colorful parades fill the streets. The Three Wise Men ride on camels and horses, waving to crowds and tossing candy to the children. Laughter, drums, and bright paper crowns fill the air with joy.

Before going to sleep, little ones leave out water and straw for the kings' camels — and a few treats for the Kings themselves.

When morning comes, they find small gifts waiting, just like Sofía did in her dream.

In Spain, Christmas is a time to share, to give, and to remember that every act of kindness — no matter how small — shines like a star in someone's heart.
 


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