Twelfth Night

Christmas; a lacing of bulbs strung across our front door was how it began. Lovely it was, everyone said. Why wouldn’t we add more? Fashion and the prevalence of flashing coloured, white or copper lights cheap as chips, inspired us. Wound round trees and bushes, festooned in the climbing rose, tripping down the path to light the way to our house. The candy sticks were a tad vulgar perhaps, similarly the blow up snowman not in the best of taste. Our pièce de resistance though was a golden sleigh pulled by reindeer, the flashing synced to mimic the movement of a jostled red Santa and the galloping quartet. A triumph we believed. To celebrate Christmas, a window of gladness in the dark of winter. Our display the best in the town.

It wasn’t our fault that we missed the date, 6th January, 12th night. How were we to know that it would bring bad luck to the whole street, the demons of the holly and ivy trapped to create havoc. A power outage lasting seven days.

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