She walked around her room. Despite all of her toys, she felt really bored. She stepped out of her bedroom again and headed down the stairs. The entry room was packed full of adults dressed in suits and dresses, carrying silver plates of tiny finger foods and pretending to laugh and smile at each other. She heard a piano playing somewhere: she'd seen at least three pianos when she'd walked through the house.
"Excuse me, pardon me, coming through," said Sarah as politely as she could. People stared at her as she nudged her way through the crowd. "Has anyone seen my Mum or Dad?"
She made her way slowly back into the living room. Finally, she found her Dad, chatting to somebody with bright white hair and glasses with gold frames. Whoever this was, he sure looked important. Sarah shrugged, and tugged at the edge of Dad's jacket.
"Dad?" She said, "Can you set up the Wi-Fi?"
At first, Dad ignored her, and kept talking to the important-looking man about something called 'stocks'. Sarah continued to tug at his jacket until the important man started staring at her too. At last, Dad sighed, and glared at her.
"What?" He snapped.
"You promised me you'd set up the Wi-Fi," she said, crossing her arms.
"You want that now?" said Dad, "Can't you see I'm busy right now, dear? I'm talking with the Mayor. I'll do it later."
"But I really need it for something now."
"Go back to you room, Sarah," said Dad, turning back to the Mayor, "this is not a party of kids."
Sarah couldn't help it. She felt a hot anger rising in her like steam from a kettle. It rose in her chest, and it burst from her in a loud, long scream.
All of the adults backed away as though she were a bomb. Still she kept screaming. Then a strong arm wrapped itself around her waist and her Dad lifted her up and carried her like a fireman out of the room, Mum following closely behind.
Dad nearly threw Sarah onto her bed, and she bounced across it like a bouncy castle. Finally her screaming stopped.
"Do you have any idea how embarrassing you are, young lady?" Her mother said. Through her perfect make up, she looked furious. "Do you know how many good business opportunities you've ruined with that little stunt of yours?"
"I DON'T CARE!" Sarah yelled, "I don't care about your stupid bizness octopuses!"
"They're the reason why you’re have everything, Sarah," said Dad, "You cannot imagine how life would be without them."
"Oh yes I can!" said Sarah, her voice sore from all of the yelling, "This isn't my real house! You aren't my real parents!"
Mum staggered backwards as though Sarah had hit her. They stared at each other for a moment, and Sarah watched in horror as Mum's eyes became shiny with tears. Uh oh.
Mum turned away, and Dad laid an arm over her shoulder, whispering softly in her ear. Then he turned to stare at Sarah, his face twisted with rage.
"You see what you've done?" He growled, "Well, I hope you're happy now you made your Mum cry. It's time you learned a lesson!"
Dad reached up to the edge of the doorframe and took a key.
"You will stay in this room until the dinner party is over," he said, inserting the key into the door, "You will learn to appreciate what you have."
Dad slammed the door shut, and with a click locked her in the bedroom. Sarah listened, frozen to the edge of the bed, as she listened to her Mum’s sobs disappear down the corridor.
Sarah was alone in her bedroom. And just like before, it had ended with her Mum in tears.
Chapter Eight
Clothes Line
The party went on into the late night. Sarah yawned. She'd lined up her new soft toys on the bed, so she had someone to talk to.
"I can't stay here," she said to the big teddy bear, "This isn't home."
She looked at the toy bunny rabbit. "What did you say? Yes, I know they're my parents, but...they're kind of not, do you know what I mean?"
The teddy and the bunny said nothing. She slumped back on the bed. She had to get out of here. But how? How could she get back to her real Mum and Dad? She couldn't send a letter or an email to Santa for help. Maybe I’ll have to stay here forever...
Sarah shivered, and put her hands in her pockets. She felt some pieces of paper in her hands, and pulled them out. It was the golden tickets. Of course! She completely forgot! She remembered what Santa’s letter had said: these will get you to where you need to go.
Sarah sat bolt upright, clutching the three tickets in her hands. This was it. This would be how she escaped. She jumped up to look out of the window, and peered out into the dark night.
The snow had stopped, and the light from the house’s windows stretched over the field like torchlight on a white blanket. And sure enough, even though the street was gone, the same postbox stood in the same place. A bright yellow light glowed in the letter slot.
Sarah bolted for her closet and began pulling all of the clothes from their hangers. She'd need as many as she could get: it was a long way down. Tying the legs and sleeves of her clothes together in the tightest knots she could think of, she made a long rope out her clothes and carried the pile to window ledge. She grabbed one end, tied it to one of the legs of the bed, and then threw open the window as wide as she could.
Sarah gasped as the freezing night air hit her. Rushing back to her closet and throwing on the warmest clothes she could find that she hadn't used for the rope, she returned to the window. She looked down: her bedroom window was right above one of the windows below. She'd be spotted easily. She took a deep breath. I'll have to be very quick then.
She picked up the pile of clothes and threw them out of the window. It rolled out into a long rope, the last few sweaters hitting the snow below with a soft flump.
Sarah climbed up and sat on the edge of the window, her boots dangling into thin air. Her heart drummed in her chest as she wrapped her hands around the rope. She gave it a tug. The knots held, and the big heavy bed didn't budge.
"Here we go," she muttered to herself, "I'm going to climb down now. In three two -"
A knock at the door.
"Sarah?" Dad called, "Are you ready to talk now?"
Sarah swung herself out of the window just as she heard the key turning in the lock. She scrambled down as fast as she could, heart pounding as she heard a yell from her room. A shadow fell over her, and she looked up. Dad's silhouette looked down at her.
"What are you doing!" He roared, “Get back here!"
He grabbed the rope and pulled. Sarah started rising back up towards the bedroom. Cold sweat dripped down Sarah's spine as she climbed faster and faster down the rope, but Dad pulled quicker too. Then she came to the end of the rope.
"Gotcha!" said Dad, "Just you wait until I get my hands on you!"
Sarah closed her eyes and let go. Dad screamed as Sarah fell through the air. Wind whirled around her for what felt like a whole minute, then – flump – cold, soft snow surrounded her. Kicking her feet out, she stood up and brushed herself off. Had she broken anything? She moved her arms and legs and climbed to her feet. No. Everything’s still working.
"Don't you dare move!" Dad yelled from her bedroom window, and he disappeared from sight. Through the nearby window, all of the adults all stared at her. She turned and ran.
The snow was soft and fresh, and she kept tripping up, but the red postbox in the distance was getting closer and closer. Please work, she thought, clutching the tickets tight in her fist, please, please work…
Sarah heard the roar of an engine behind her. She peeked over her shoulder and saw two angry-looking headlights of what looked like an off-road car racing towards her. She forced herself to keep running. Come on! Almost there!
The lights from the car blazed brightly on the postbox as she threw herself at it, as though giving it a hug. The car swerved to the side, and out stepped Dad. Sarah could barely see him through the blazing car lights.
"Sarah!" He called, "What on earth are you playing at? Get in the car!"
"Sorry Dad," said Sarah,
taking one of the tickets and inserting it into the letterbox, "But I don't belong here. And Santa says I need to see two more houses!"
The postbox opened, and that same warm golden light spilled out. Sarah stepped inside, and once again everything went dark.
Chapter Nine
Second, Third, Forth Hand
The only thing Sarah could hear was her breath. It was fast, but it was getting slower. In the dark, she had time to think about what had happened. That house...my parents were so rich there...but were they happy? Sarah certainly hadn't been. What did Santa want her to go to that house for? Was she supposed to have done something? Seen something? Learned something? Well, the only thing that she learned from that was that Santa gave a lot of presents to rich people. Why? What did they do to deserve all of those gifts? Her rich-version parents had not been nice people. The whole experience just made Sarah even surer that Santa was being unfair. I'm still going to sue you, no matter what happens. Just you wait, Mr. Claus!
Sarah reached out and felt her soft duvet again. Curious, she touched her chest. Sure enough, all of those warm winter clothes were gone, replaced by her usual pyjamas. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed a handful of her duvet and pulled it aside.
Once again, she was in her bedroom. Her real bedroom. Morning light streamed in through the window, flakes of snow floating past. She checked her clock. 7:30am, 25th of December. Christmas morning again...Sarah sat up and rubbed her forehead. Another Christmas? She loved Christmas but she wasn't sure how much more present opening and slices of turkey she could take. She'd always liked that song that talked about it wishing it was Christmas every day, but now she didn’t agree.
Slowly, she stepped out of her bed and tip toed to the door. She placed a shaking hand on the handle and pulled.
There was no long corridor outside. In fact, there was barely any landing at all. Only two plain white doors were up here along with Sarah's own bedroom door. The bottom of the doors were covered in scratches, and the floor didn't have a carpet, only bare floorboards. Just like my real house! But this was slightly different. In Sarah's real house, Mum and Dad had spent weeks cleaning and polishing the floorboards to get them looking nice. In this house, though, the wood looked rough and was covered in splashes of old paint: it just looked as though they'd forgotten to lay a carpet.
Slowly, Sarah turned to face her bedroom. It had changed again. It was as different from the bedroom in the rich house as it could get. It was tiny, barely big enough for her to lie down in. An old mattress and bedsheet were squeezed into one side. The closet was gone, replaced by an old chest of drawers that looked like it wasn't even secondhand, but possibly third or fourth hand. It creaked when Sarah opened it. Inside, the clothes looked plain and simple, and Sarah instantly spotted holes in two different shirts.
"Sarah!" Her Mum called, "You awake dear?"
"Y-Yes!" Sarah stammered.
"Come on down quickly, dear!" She said in a cheerful sing-song sort of voice, "I want to see you open your presents!"
Sarah slipped into a pair of jeans, shirt and jumper. The jeans were a little long and the jumper was just a little bit too big, but they were comfortable. She headed out of her tiny bedroom and down the stairs. Every single step creaked and one step was even broken, covered in tiny splinters of wood. She looked up at the wall. There weren't pictures in frames like in her real house, but plain photos stuck to the wall with sticky tape. She was a little bit scared of what she’d see in the living room: part of her longed to dash back to her bedroom or to run straight out of the door and for the postbox. Come on, she told herself, be brave. You have to see this, just like Santa told you.
She reached the bottom of the stairs and nearly jumped right back up them when something dark and fuzzy dashed out from the pile of smelly shoes in the corner. "Tinder!" Sarah gasped. It was the same cat, but he seemed thinner, his fur more wild and clumpy.
"Don't worry, I've already fed him," said Dad, stepping out of the living room. Sarah stared at him. It was definitely her Dad, but Sarah barely recognized him with that beard. Big, dark bags hung under his eyes, as though he'd been awake all night. His pyjamas weren't really pyjamas at all but just clothes that looked like they'd gotten too ruined to be proper clothes anymore. He smiled at Sarah as he took a big mouthful from his cracked coffee mug.
Dad laughed. "You feeling alright?" He said, "You look like a goldfish with your mouth hanging open like that. Come on, your Mum's been waiting all morning!"
Sarah followed Dad into the living room. Like her bedroom, it was far too small: it could barely fit the three chairs, old TV and Christmas tree inside. The walls were a bare brownish color, with small patches of other colours where Mum and Dad had tried and failed to paint it a different color. The chairs looked like they'd been pulled out of a field somewhere, with great big chunks of them ripped out and the sponge inside showing. And the Christmas tree! Sarah had never seen a Christmas tree that was shorter than her until now. But even though it was small and the branches were thin, it was covered in all sorts of weird and wonderful decorations, and even a few more photos of Mum and Dad all smiling. Sarah couldn't describe it, but the tree seemed...cheerful.
"She's doing it again!" Dad laughed, "You sure you don't need glasses, Sarah? It's not too late to ask Santa..."
"Oh, stop teasing her!" Mum gave Dad a playful slap on the arm, smiling as well. "It's Christmas! Are you excited, dear? You've been a really good girl this year, so it looks like Santa bough you something special.
Sarah looked under the tree and knew straightaway that there was no Uberwoman of any type. Three small presents were spread under the tree. For some reason, though, she didn't feel disappointed. After only one minute of ripping open gift wrapping, she had five chocolate bars, two new books and a cute soft toy dog.
"Do you like it?" Mum said, beaming at her, "Santa knows it's not much, darling. So he's given me a bit of money so we can pick up some extra things when January sales start. How does that sound?"
Sarah didn't know why, but even though this was the smallest collection of presents she'd ever got, she was strangely...happy. Why is that? Is it because of Mum and Dad’s smiles?
She smiled back. "That sounds, great, Mum."
Mum and Dad gave her a big hug. "Merry Christmas!" Dad said in his best Santa-like voice.
Chapter Ten
Aunt Tilly and Uncle Foster
"Oh, that reminds me," said Mum, glancing at the clock on the wall, "I've invited Uncle Foster, Aunt Tilly and their families around for Christmas dinner. They should be here in about an hour. Best start getting ready."
Sarah's heart leapt. Uncle Foster? Aunt Tilly? She hadn't seen them in ages! Uncle Foster was always so funny, and Aunt Tilly always gave her extra sweets when Mum and Dad weren't looking. Did that mean cousin Lisa was coming too? Lisa was like a sister to Sarah. She hadn't seen her since last Christmas!
"Go and play, dear!" Said Dad, tapping her on the head, "We're gonna start cooking."
Sarah skipped up the stairs, her presents in her hands and feeling as though a balloon were inflating in her chest. She threw herself into her old mattress and immediately opened the first book: 'The Adventures of Uberwoman: the Mystical Woods.' She'd been so focused on getting the Uberwoman figure all year that she completely forgot about the new books. Hugging her new toy dog and munching on chocolate, she disappeared into the pages of the book as Uberwoman made her way through the strange woods towards the secret Tribe of the Seven Colours.
Before she knew it, there was a loud knock on the door, and the loud booming voice of Uncle Foster and the high-pitched laughter of Aunt Tilly made its way to her ears. She pulled herself out of the book - and I was just getting to a really good part! - and stood atop the stairs.
Uncle Foster and Aunt Tilly were covered in snow, and Sarah shivered from the cold they carried in with them. As they brushed themselves off, Sarah saw that they too weren't quite as she remembered them: Aunt Tilly, who normally wore really n
ice clothes, was wearing a brown sweater that looked really itchy. Uncle Foster wore a cheesy Christmas sweater with knitted reindeer and snowflakes on it. He looked up at Sarah through his big thick glasses.
"Well now, would you look at that!" She grinned, "Little Sarah ain't so little anymore! Come and give your Uncle a hug."
Sarah ran down the stairs and jumped into his arms.
"Whoops!" He staggered backwards, crashed into Aunt Tilly and they all toppled to the floor in a big heap.
"Careful, Foster!" Dad laughed, "You're going to scratch the door. Again."
"She's gotten big, ain't she?" said Uncle Foster, "What have you been feeding her? Spanners and hammers?"
"She's growing up to be a fine young lady," said Tilly, holding her hands and looking over her as though she were a doctor checking a patient. She she let go, Sarah felt the crinkle of a sweet wrapper in her hand. Aunt Tilly winked at her.
"And she's not the only one," said Mum, eyes wide, hand over her mouth, "Is that Lisa?"
Sarah spun around so fast that she nearly fell over again. Sure enough, there was Lisa, her fine blonde hair floating around her face even though there was no breeze.
"Hi Aunt Pebbleton!" she said cheerfully, then she eyed Sarah mischievously.
"You ready for a snowball fight?"
Sarah grinned back.
Sarah stepped out into the cold Christmas morning, clicking the door of number 12 shut behind her. The real street she lived in wasn't anything special, with lines of semi-detached houses on a road lined with cars parked on the pavements. But this street was really narrow, and the houses were two long rows of terraced housing on either side. With the snow on top, they looked like two long straight Christmas puddings. Lots of other kids from the street were out playing in the snow as well.