It was almost midnight.
Jack had been in bed for nearly five hours but he was still awake. His eyes were willing his eyelids to meet but he was determined not to go to sleep until he heard the sound that he knew must be coming soon; the tinkle of bells, a clattering of hooves on the cobbles and the gentle thump of a sleigh coming to rest in the farmyard. If he listened really carefully, he might even hear the front door being stealthily opened (he was clever enough to know that Father Christmas couldn’t really come down the chimney, especially since mum and dad would have left the fire to burn itself out when they came to bed an hour or so earlier).
He was confident that he could resist the urge to sneak downstairs after the visitor had gone, to poke at the parcels that would have appeared under the tree. That would be naughty and, anyway, being surprised on Christmas morning was part of the fun. All he wanted was to get a peek at Father Christmas through the window and the only way to do that was to stay awake until he came. But he was so tired and his bed was so snug and warm. His eyes would close for a few moments and, feeling himself starting to drift away, he would shake his head and change position. After a while, he tried sitting upright, which gave him the extra advantage of being able to see over the window ledge to the roof of the tractor barn, next to which he was sure the sleigh would have to land.
After he had heard his parents go to bed, Jack had opened his curtains and now, as he tried to stay awake, he could see the stars in the clear December sky. His teacher had once told him that the stars he could see were so far away that the light from them took millions of years to reach the earth, so every time he looked at a star he was really looking back in time.
There was something strange about the stars tonight, though. Maybe someone had briefly turned the power down all those millions of years ago because as Jack gazed at them, they seemed to fade into the blackness of the night sky. Then he became aware of a brighter light, shining from somewhere he couldn’t see but filling the sky.
He leapt out of bed and looked through the window but the light was so bright that he couldn’t see anything. It was even stronger than daylight, a clear silver-white that rendered everything else invisible. And yet, it didn’t hurt Jack’s eyes to look directly at it.
He was never going to see the sleigh in this light. There was only one thing to do. He put on his thick dressing gown and slippers, crept across his bedroom – praying that the wooden floorboards beneath the rug wouldn’t creak – and slipped out on to the landing. He peered into his parents’ room, amazed that they could sleep on while all around them was lit up, and, seeing no sign of movement, took the stairs very tentatively down to the front hall.
At his first sight of the front door, his heart sank. It was locked with the large iron key, as usual, the bolts had been drawn across, top and bottom, and the heavy wedge that prevented it from being opened from the outside had been slid into place. He knew that Father Christmas possessed a magic key that could unlock any door in the world, but there was no way even he would be able to overcome these obstacles. He would have to come in through the back door. Jack tiptoed down the corridor and into the kitchen, always ready to hide quickly if he heard the door opening.
But the back door was already open and the sheepdogs, who slept in the kitchen, were missing from their baskets. Had Father Christmas been in already and forgotten to close it when he left? Or was he in the lounge right now, placing presents under the tree and about to come back out and catch him out of bed? If that happened, all the presents would vanish and he would never come again. Jack knew he had to be very, very careful. Outside, it was still as bright. He could run into the yard and hide until the visitor came out, then watch him fly away.
He slipped outside and looked around quickly, adjusting his eyes to the light. There was no sign of a sleigh; the only thing he saw, sitting silently on the tarpaulin protecting the woodpile, was Virgil, the oldest and largest of the farm cats.
Virgil turned his head in Jack’s direction.
‘You’re a bit late,’ he said. ‘Are you ready?’
Jack was so shocked at hearing the cat speak that he failed to register that he had been asked a question.
‘You’ve learned to speak,’ he said. ‘How did that happen?’
The cat looked at him, a little disdainfully.
‘I haven’t learned to speak,’ he said.
‘It’s you that has learned to hear. I’ve been talking to you all your life.’
‘Sorry,’ said Jack, not really sure what he was apologising for.
Virgil tilted his head. He had heard something; something beyond the range of Jack’s hearing.
‘It’s time. Come along with me. I’ll show you the way. You don’t mind a bit of mud, do you?’
‘No.’ Jack was too overwhelmed at having a normal conversation with a tabby cat to consider that going anywhere muddy in his slippers might not be a good idea, or even to ask where they were going. Virgil led him out of the farmyard and into the pasture where the cows grazed during the summer months.
The light was still as bright. Its whiteness made it seem even more brilliant. Jack looked over his shoulder, hoping to spot the source, and saw, high in the sky, the most luminous star he had ever seen. As he looked, it seemed to grow and then shrink, like a beating heart in the blackness. He turned back and, seeing that Virgil was stomping ahead, broke into a run. He was careful to avoid any muddy patches; he had remembered that he was in his slippers and didn’t want to ruin them.
At the end of the field was a stile. Virgil jumped through a gap between two beams and Jack climbed over. He knew this next field well because his dad always complained about not being able to grow anything useful in it. All around the outside was overgrown grass but in the middle was a ring of stones, some almost the height of a man, the tallest standing alone in the centre of the circle. Dad had once told Jack that they had been put there by visitors from another planet and he was not allowed to knock them down because if he did the world would end. Jack and his friends would sometimes play among the stones, running in and out of them, pretending to zap each other with ray guns. But tonight he realised that there was something much more serious going on.
Inside the circle, and pushing and shoving for space around it, were all the animals from the farm; the cows, sheep, sheepdogs (being unusually friendly towards the sheep, Jack thought), turkeys and chickens (how did they get out?) and even the pair of donkeys and an old stallion that lived in the field that his father rented out to the lady from the village who rescued animals. More amazingly, there were wild animals – foxes, badgers, hares, rabbits and several hunting birds – all of whom seemed to be completely at ease with each other rather than chasing or escaping. Even stranger was that every one of them was completely silent.
At the foot of the tallest stone, with a respectful space around her, stood Dusty, the old ewe. She was long past breeding age and her wool was of poor quality, but she had avoided the inevitable destiny of her peers. There was something about her, Jack’s dad had said. He couldn’t imagine sending her to the abattoir. She was part of the farm and part of the family.
Dusty looked up and fixed her eyes on Jack as he approached. Her look was welcoming but, as he looked into those eyes he felt the same giddiness that struck him when he looked up at the stars and tried to imagine that the light he was seeing was millions of years old. It was though some presence behind the eyes went back through generation after generation of sheep. The circle parted as he reached its perimeter and, with Virgil still at his side, he walked through to the centre and stood in front of the old sheep. Somehow, he knew that she would also speak to him and that he would understand.
‘Bow’ hissed Virgil and Jack lowered his head respectfully.
‘Welcome among us, Jack,’ said Dusty. Her voice seemed papery, as though it were about disintegrate, but at the same time it was authoritative. Jack noticed how all of the animals looked directly at her. The dogs perked up their ears, as they did when Jack’s father called them.
‘We have waited a long time for you to join us, but now you are here, it seems that the ancient prophecies are starting to become true.’
‘What prophecies?’ Jack wanted to ask.
‘What’s happening?’
Dusty lifted her head and addressed the gathering.
‘Creatures of the field; creatures of the forest; creatures of the air; creatures of the world of humans – tonight we remember those who went before us and the promise that was made to us many, many generations ago.
‘Let us recount the sacred story.’
At this, Dusty turned to the old stallion, who clattered a hoof three times on the ground and cleared his throat.
‘We do this every Christmas Eve,’ whispered Virgil. ‘It’s a tradition.’
In contrast to Dusty’s wavering voice, the horse spoke loudly, in a deep resonating tone.
‘At the beginning was the sky; and from the sky came the water. And when the sun came the water retreated, and then came the land.’
There was a murmur of agreement from some of the animals. The horse continued.
‘And to the land came the creatures; some on many legs, some on their bellies; some on four legs, some on wings. And the creatures spread across the land and all was good.’
There was another round of murmuring. It reminded Jack of the people at church muttering their amens every time the vicar spoke. The horse stepped back from the centre of the circle and a huge marsh harrier flew to the top of the tallest stone. It stood upright and spread its wings before beginning to speak. Its voice was high and thin.
‘Then came the human. And the human claimed dominion over all of the creatures. When the creatures hunted for food, the humans hunted for pleasure. When the creatures grew fur to keep warm, the humans stole it to decorate themselves; when the creatures roamed free on the common treasury of the land, the humans imprisoned and enslaved them.’
At this most of the animals moaned or jeered. As the only representative of his species present, Jack began to feel nervous but Virgil, sensing his fear, rubbed against his leg and whispered that he mustn’t worry. One of the badgers took up the story.
‘The earth circled the sun many times, too many for the creatures, whose lives were short and brutal, to measure. And then came a time when even the humans fell into deep despair and turned upon each other as they had the creatures of the land.’
‘And the sea,’ called a voice from the back of the circle. ‘Don’t forget the fish.’
Everyone laughed as the badger added gravely: ‘the creatures of the land and of the sea and of the sky.’
‘Then came a night when hope returned to the world. A flock of sheep were grazing in the hills outside a city when a bright light – like the one that illuminates us tonight – appeared in the sky all around them. And they were very afraid.’
At this, there was a pause. Some of the animals, who, presumably knew what came next, whispered excitedly to their neighbours. Then, a tiny lamb was gently pushed forward from the flock of sheep. Her voice was quiet and shaky and, at a signal from Dusty, all the creatures fell silent again.
‘Then the big light came down to where the sheep were grazing and it spoke to them. It told them to go and find some humans who had made their bed among the animals to bring out a child.’
‘Bring forth a child,’ Dusty corrected, gently. ‘Carry on, little one.’
‘The light said that the child would save the humans from their despair and save the earth and all the creatures that lived upon it. The sheep had been chosen to be the first to see the child, to offer their wool to keep it warm and to carry a message from all the creatures of the world that they meant no harm to the humans.
‘And the child, though only a little cub, would understand and from then on humans and the creatures of the world would live in harmony.’
There was a cheer from the gathering and the lamb slipped back into the flock, nuzzling up to its mother, who licked it approvingly. A rabbit and fox stepped into the circle, eyeing each other warily.
‘You go first,’ said the fox, lowering its head.
‘But when the humans who had enslaved the sheep saw them leaving, they tried to stop them,’ said the rabbit.
‘And then the light spoke to them too and told them that they must follow their sheep and greet the new-born child as well.’
‘And so humans and sheep travelled together,’ said the fox, ‘until they came to a human place where creatures were imprisoned at night. And there they found the humans who had lain among the creatures to bring forth the child, and they were overcome with happiness.’
‘But they were too late,’ announced a cow, from the back of the circle, causing all of the heads to turn.
‘For they were not the first creatures to greet the child. Already, there were cattle, donkeys, mice and many smaller creatures there with the humans.
‘And the light returned and it was angry. The sheep pleaded to be forgiven but it was unmoved for they had failed in their task.’
‘Should have sent a cat,’ muttered Virgil. Then he stepped forward himself. He spoke less formally than the others.
‘The light was angry that its plan had gone wrong and so it decided to punish the creatures. It told them that the child would be the saviour of the humans in this life but the creatures would have to wait another twelve thousand sheep years before it would come back to save them.
‘Pretty rough, considering it was the humans’ fault they were late, I’d say,’ he added, eliciting a reproachful look from Dusty, who began to speak again.
‘My friends, you will have noticed that tonight, for the first time ever, we have a human child among us for our Christmas congregation of the creatures. For tonight is a congregation like no other that any of us has seen or will ever see again.
‘It is twelve thousand sheep years since that night. Look about you, the light that shines into our hearts is all around us once again. Tonight, our saviour is with us at last.’
There was a wild cacophony of bleating, mooing, whinnying, twittering and a host of other noises that went on for several minutes until Dusty’s commanding looks brought everyone back to silence. Suddenly, Jack had an awful thought.
‘Do they mean me?’ he whispered to Virgil. ‘Is that why I’m here. Am I supposed to be the saviour?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Virgil. ‘You can’t even do your own shoelaces.
‘The mice told me,’ he added.
The old ewe addressed the boy directly.
‘Jack, this light all around us is the light of the world. What is happening in this field tonight is happening to children like you all over the planet this Christmas Eve, in every farm, every village, even in the cities, where, they say, not even a blade of grass grows without human consent.
‘Our saviour is not one human, not one thousand humans, but millions upon millions, all over the earth, who tonight will learn the true story of how the creatures of the earth and the humans must live in harmony, for the sake of us all. Take this message to your heart and share it with everyone you meet. We who have watched you since your own birth have chosen you to be our voice.’
Jack stood silently, images coursing through his mind. He saw lions and elephants hounded by men with dogs and rifles; monkeys in laboratories; calves crammed into tiny cages; fish gasping on dried-up river beds; starving polar bears adrift on platforms of ice barely large enough for them to stand. He saw that the human dominion over the other creatures had been not stewardship, but savagery, and its careless destruction of their homes would take with it everything that had been given to all of them to share.
He began to sob. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
The creatures gathered around him, offering words of comfort. Despite the strangeness of it all, he felt as though he were among friends. From now on, he would never feel the same about any living thing, from the cats that lived on the farm and came into the farmhouse to curl up all over the furniture whenever they felt like it to the foxes that were constantly trying to breach the defences that his dad had put up to protect the hens.
‘Thank you for choosing me,’ he said, to the assembled crowd.
‘I’ll do my best, I promise I’ll never do anything to harm a living creature for the rest of my life. This has been the best Christmas Eve ever and I hope you all have a wonderful day tomorrow.’
As he finished speaking, and the creatures began to cheer, Jack heard a fluttering of feathers behind him and a strange sound, almost like someone gargling. He turned to see what was there.
‘About lunch tomorrow. A word, if you please,’ said the turkey.
Rob McIvor 