Photo by Ivan Lopatin on Unsplash
Mason finished setting the new, undamaged piston rod in place, holding the half of the broken rod between his teeth and the rest of it behind one ear as he hung upside down in the engine. Reaching as far as he could, blood rushing to his head, he rotated the crankshaft with his fingertips, moving all four of the replaced rods smoothly.
One steam engine repaired.
Pushing up, backing out, and twisting sidewides, then stopping a moment to get unstuck from the broken rods catching on things and making sure nothing else broke on the vehicle, he finally escaped and landed on his feet in the good solid Midwest clay soil. A deep inhale reminded his lungs how they worked, and blood returned to his feet, making him lightheaded.
“All fixed, Fat Man.” Mason eyed the jackalopes chowing down a bison carcass before turning to his customer. Damn stupid, if you asked him to take those psychotic carnivorous bunnies with razor sharp antlers and teach them to fly, but he and Santa didn’t shoot the breeze much. “Try not to bounce her off any more buttes.”
“You are a good man, Mason Carter.” The large man approached his steampowered ride. He knocked his boots against it and climbed aboard.
Mason snorted. “Sure Nick, I believe that based on all the coal I got growing up.”
Picking up the reins tightened them. The jacks raised their bloody mouths from their feast and hissed. The man-in-red’s voice rumbled out, “You are a good man, but you were a very naughty boy.”
“That I was.” Mason tucked his thumbs into his Levi’s. “Still am according to Amy.”
“Your woman should know naughty.”
“That she should. But she is a good a girl as they come, now.”
Nick touched the brim of his straw hat. “Thanks again for coming out at midnight. Presents are under the tree and payment in the bin.”
“See ya around, Fat Man.”
“Tell your granddad I said hi.” Santa clicked his teeth and the jacks came to attention, two dozen of those crazies leaped together, once, twice, the steam engine screamed, and the sled took to the sky.
The bison blood and skeleton faded, as these thing were wont to do when the magic recedes from the word of modern man. Mason focused on the Fisher constellation as he moved back into the world he lived in most days. White glittering against the eye-burning black circled counter reality for a heady moment before wobbling rainbows trailed into his mundane world, a single moon visible in the December Christmas night sky.
After tossing the metal rods into a very particular pile for melting down later, he walked wearily from his clapboard workshop next to the railroad tracks to his adobe house. Slipping into the warm building, he checked the tree, noting the presents had doubled to eight, and tucked the stuffed coyote his grandfather had given him back into his son’s arms. His granddad was such a narcissist and was tickled pink his great-grandson looked so much like him.
Poor kid. Life isn’t easy for those of his bloodline that see through the veil, and little Lucas could see everything. Mason hovered over the crib, just breathing and watching the baby blowing bubbles into the fur of the stuffed toy, the little chest raising and lowering with each precious moment of life.
The mundane beat out magic any day.
When the chill air had thwarted the overheated cheeks from hanging upside down, Mason climbed under the wedding ring quilt his wife had been gifted from her ex-coworkers at the Last Ace Saloon. He pulled her back gently against his front, and she wiggled into place. Kissing her shoulder, he snuggled deep into their joint nest.
“Everything good,” Amy sighed, more asleep than awake.
“Yeah, I got Nick back on his way.”
“I hope you got paid this time.”
His late-night customers rarely paid in coin or livestock, and the complicated trade of favors between supernaturals was beyond anything his woman needed knowing. She understood his grandfather made sure they would never go hungry, but in return for that wealth of support his grandson might need to crawl out of bed at midnight on a Christmas. That was enough for her. Food and safety for her and her littles. Mason’s hand drifted across her soft belly and kissed her shoulder again. “He dumped a load of coal into the bin for us. No worries about heat this winter.”
(words 750; first published 1/18/2026; written 1/14/2026 – Joined a new writer’s group this week (1/13/2026). The challenge given to each person in the group to bring to the next meeting was write a 750-word story based on a random roll. Mine was – character: A Man; plot: gets stuck in Santa’s sleigh; setting: in the Wild West.)
