Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-35711173-20181124050253

This story came to me today. I had struggled with a couple of other Christmas stories, but this one flowed pretty well.

I am not sure what to categorize this as except Weird. I think we should have a class for Holiday themed Creepypasta. -- My name is Seán O’Brien, and I am twelve. It’s an awful feeling when you realize that you don’t look like your mother or father. I love Mam and Daidí. If they had lied and told me they had adopted me through an agency, I would have believed it, end of story. My parents kept saying I would resemble them more when I grew up, but the older I got, the less I looked like either of them. They are tall and thin. I am short, with blonde hair, twinkling blue eyes, a small nose, rosy cheeks with dimples and a round belly. Everyone else on both sides of the family has flaming red hair and green eyes. Their ears are both round. Mine are deformed, with a pronounced enough point that I wear my hair long to cover it. Dad never could even grow a mustache, but I would have a full beard if I didn’t shave every day. I am the only four eyes in the family, but Mam says the wire frames I picked fit my face. I did what any kid in my circumstances would do. When they were out, I searched for adoption papers. They’re both clutter bugs. They caught me cleaning up and arranging everything. Next, I saved up my allowance for a genetic test kit from 23AndMe. I expected them to tell me something like I was Polish and have a second cousin in Chicago. Instead, they said the sample was not readable. When I tried again with the replacement kit they sent, they emailed me the same thing. Finally, they said the samples “Weren’t within human parameters.” That was bizarre. I had to find the truth. Fall break was two weeks. I spent it with my Aunt Brigid, Mam’s sister, while her son Ryan went to Philadelphia. Her family still lived in Scituate, Massachusetts where Mam and Daidí grew up. Our clan had been there since Miles O’Brien arrived from Ireland in 1847. If they adopted me, the record would be in Brockton, the seat of Plymouth County. Aunt Brigid let me go around town when I was walking Bruno, her German Shepherd. Nobody would touch me with him watching every move. Bruno liked to run, so I took him to Saint Mary’s Cemetery on Meeting House Lane. Our family has been buried there since the Civil War. As we played fetch with his squeaky green bottle, I walked back and forth and read the gravestones of my ancestors. Then I came to one that made me shit my pants.

Seán Shamus O'Brien Beloved son of Ryan and Mary Nov. 2, 2007 – Nov. 8, 2007

My name, my birthday, and my parent’s names. I was dead. Bruno understood my pain the way dogs always do, so he leaned into me and gave me a big doggie hug. When I recovered, I took pictures of the headstone. It was real. The town newspaper was named the Scituate Navigator. I read I had died of inoperable congenital heart disease. I printed out my obituary and my picture of the tombstone and showed my Aunt. “Tell me the truth,” I said. “Who am I?” She became white. “I can’t say.” She phoned my parents. After that, she tried to pack my bag. It was hilarious. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t get my clothes to fit in my backpack. Nobody in the family can pack or wrap anything. I finally did it. Early the next morning, she drove me to Boston and put me on the first train to Philadelphia. Ryan stayed the break with us. I was a stranger in my own house. Daidí and Ryan played Destiny 2 together on the PS4. Shooting fake aliens bored me to death, so I hung in my room and did Raspberry Pi programming to make an Advent calendar for Mam. I enjoy creating things, but I can’t remember my parents ever giving me something they had made themselves. Our family has several unusual Christmas traditions. Mam always said Santa Claus wasn’t real as they brought out the presents. They invariably left a fifth of Green Spot Irish Whiskey on the mantel above the fireplace. Every Christmas Morning, I found the bottle on the floor and empty, yet Mam and Daidí smelled fresh and acted sober as judges. I was dying to know what strange ritual they did every year with the whiskey. So I made a spycam from a Raspberry Pi and a cheap digital camera. I watched on my computer as a fat man in a red fur suit crawled out of the fireplace. His face blew my mind. He looked just like me. I rushed out to the living room, my jelly belly trembling with rage. “You,” I shouted. “Seán, you have been a very good boy,” he said condescendingly. “What toy would you like?” “Answers,” I yelled. “Who am I? Why am I here?”

Santa uncapped the bottle and took a long drink. “It early 2007. Mrs. Claus and I were having some … difficulties … with our marriage. And I had been working extremely hard at tooling up production of the Nintendo Wii. Fabrication of the GPU chips was the worst problem. Finally, Tina, the manager of the project, solved the problems and that night we celebrated. She partied a bit too hearty and started to massage my shoulders. One thing led to another and … a man has needs. Tina didn’t want to keep you. She is determined to rise the North Pole corporate ladder, no matter what.” “You cheated on your wife. I am your love child, and you dumped me off here.” “Yes, but no. I watched both your parents their whole lives, and they were such good people. They had such a hard time getting pregnant. They even wrote me and said a baby was the only present they ever wanted. Then he was gone. The first Seán Shamus O’Brien dying shattered them. When you consider it rationally, I did the best thing for everyone. Your parents are so grateful for you that every Christmas they give me a gift.” I felt stunned, but everything made sense now. “How many half brothers and sisters do I have?”

“There have been others. They are all very successful,” Santa said, “One name you might recognize is Bill Gates.” He took another pull on the bottle. “That Advent calendar is fantastic. Such imagination. I could use you in corporate HQ. You know, get into the family business.” I said something I never thought possible, but I meant every word. “No. My family is here. They’re the ones who love me.” “Well, leave a note if you ever change your mind.” With that, he finished the bottle, tossed it away and climbed back up the chimney. I sat, trying to absorb everything. Then I realized that a noise I expected wasn’t there. Daidí’s band saw snoring. He looked at me. “I’m sorry, Son. You had to find the truth yourself. You would never believe us if we told you.” I smiled. “You’re right.” I picked up the discarded bottle and put it in the trash in the kitchen. “I’m going back to bed. It will be Christmas morning soon, and you will love what I made for you.” for you.” 