My family had decided that we would celebrate Christmas at my bonus dad's brother's place, this year. And what a time we had. We arrive there at 3:15pm and immediately the alcohol is brought out. I don't mind, as I like the alcohol. We chat with friends and family and come dinner, we are overwhelmed by an enormous amount of delicious food. To all of our surprise, they've made enough food to feed an entire nation. We stuff ourselves full and begin watching 'Donal Duck wishes a merry Christmas' on TV - a mighty fine Christmas tradition here in Sweden.
Suddenly we are interrupted. We notice there is someone knocking on the door. 'Who is it?!' the entire crowd goes. No one answers. With frightened steps someone - I can't remember who - approaches the door and opens it. And there he is. Santa Clause is standing in the hallway. Joy lights up in everyones face as they see him and his sack full of presents. But I can't help but think that there is something odd about this Santa. I am very suspicious about him. Something just isn't right. He is very happy. He is nothing like the Santa Clause I met when I was but a child.
At my dad's. The year is 1995. In pure excitement I am looking out the kitchen window, scanning the surrounding for any signs of a fat, red man with a beard and lots of presents. Time is moving slowly and even back then I was a very impatient boy. I start to get a little frustrated waiting for him. But then - there he is, walking down the street towards our house. I let out a yelp in excitement and rush to get my father to witness this Christmas miracle. As we look out the window we see him entering the gate. But there is a problem: it is not our gate that he has entered. It takes a while for him to get back out from where he has been. I notice that he is looking very lost. I brush it off and make my way to the living room where I continue my anticipation for Santa to arrive.
After 10 minutes someone is knocking on the door. Santa has found his way, at last. My father goes to open the door while I'm sitting on the couch, about to burst from pure joy. Then he walks in and our eyes meet. I suddenly freeze all movements. He is staring at me with such intensity that I become scared. He slowly walks up to me until he is a mere 20cm's from me and looks down at me with stern eyes. He coughs, and I notice that he smells of a very strong scent. I can't quite identify what it is, so I let it pass. With a broken voice he asks me if I've been a good boy. I nod my head in a scared and nervous manner. He doesn't say anything. He simply continues to stand there, letting a minute pass. Then he drops his sack on the ground with a thump, and I flinch out of fear. Another minute passes without either of us moving an inch or saying anything before he finally turns around and staggers his way out.
I conclude that Santa is weird. My father agrees. Then I return to year 2008 and I say to myself: "This one is definitely a fake".