[I'm still new here and this is a work in progress. I hope you enjoy and I work out how to use this site soon. Thank you for your patience.] 

The day is still dark when Llewellyn closes the door to his cottage, boots pressing the snow with satisfying sighs. Around him the unending glitter of lights, pine trees and candy canes seems almost like a flurry of fire flies; although ones with far more colourful personalities. He slows to tighten his scarf, feeling the sting of frost that’s gathered along the edges from flecks of snow that silently fall.

Christmas town lies dormant, only a few like Llewellyn moving their way towards the tall workshop manor, it’s lights already lit, like a large fireplace warming the whole town. There’s a strong scent of fresh hay and wood fires and gingernut biscuits. Llewellyn’s breath heaves out of him.

Today is the day, he feels himself tremble. The Santa who ran everything passed away not a week ago, and with December looming ever closer, one of his grandsons will take over. A shiver runs through him, but not from the cold even if he blames it outwardly. After a time thoughtlessly gazing up at the steps he’s only started to get accustomed to he moves up them, almost slipping but catching himself.

The inside of the workshop is warm, filled with conveyer belts and assembly statons, computers and abacuses live along side. A distant hum of wood working equipment and the clatter of screwdrivers and sewing machines make the air hum, it’s always busy.

It’s seven thirty, almost time for the ceremony; a first glimpse into a future unknown to all. He peels off his scarf and coat, tossing them onto his seat, his table is covered in music sheets and the innards of music boxes. He lifts his quill but feels no compulsion to work. He decides to head to the kitchen for tea and bread with a dollop of butter.

By the time he’s drank the last of it and munched his last bite he realises he’s late, not taking the time to wipe off his face or hands as he dives through the series of heavy doors and barging over-noisy into the grand hall, with it’s large fire place, many other elves turning to stare at him, the faces of the Claus family wearily shaking heir heads or frowning.

The brothers are gathered around a large snow globe, Santa’s hat levitating in it’s sphere of light above the perfect replica of Christmas town. The room is hushed, elder elves talking in whispers to the gathered Claus family, four brothers and a sister, each one likely hoping to take over the position as head of the family.

Llewellyn dips his head low and creeps towards the front, he can feel the thrum of magic from that globe, a swirling vortex of snowflakes dance on the translucent globe of light.

The youngest of the brothers has his eyes on the clock, while the eldest fidgets and squirms, they’re all wearing suits and ties. The middle brothers have opposing expressions of smugness and anxiety while the sister, her hair a red flurry of autumn leaves gazes longingly out the window.

A long slow chiming of notes from a beautiful but unrecognisable instrument brings everyone to attention, the Elder Elf, with his long beard and heavy brows shuffles forward, his old green gown trailing behind him, he clears his throat and coughs, “Today, we discover the new champion of Christmas magic. The young shall wear the hat that has fallen from the old. We shall honour the Christmas spirit and allow it’s light to guide us and whomever it selects shall lead us.” The old elf turns, casting his short bony fingers over the film of light surrounding the model of Christmas town, it scatters like sleet caught in high winds, the green hat rises and turns, it levitates and glows as though burning, becoming to bright to look, until it begins to descend again, it’s colour shifting to a bright holly berry shade. It remains in place, as though thinking before gliding over to the anxiety-ridden brother and dropping onto his plump, brown haired head. Much to his dismay; and that of his younger brother who’s eyes are wide with shock.

“The hat of Cringle has selected Dylan to take the reigns,” The elder elf calls out, arms stretched out, looking almost brittle enough to snap. “A truly great blessing, and one with many responsibilities.” He turns his sharp old nose towards the man who’s now lost all the colour of his plump cheeks and is currently trying to hide behind his mess of curly hair.

“I, uh,” his lip trembles, “This is unexpected, isn’t it. Are you sure there’s not been some mistake?” He asks, fingers curling around the white rabbit fur brim, he’s trying not to tremble.

“Magic does not make mistakes. Come, I shall bring you to your office. It is time for the rest of you to get back to work.”

With that the crowd slowly departs and Llewellyn watches Dylan’s back disappear down the long private hall towards Santa’s office. Somehow he has a good feeling about the choice, though he cannot explain it.

 My first thought of the day had been to lift my phone and look at the slew of emails that had arrived in the early hours. So many people saying the same thing, have you seen the news? Are you safe, Llewellyn, are you safe? I'd imagined them all strange, paranoid or playing some trick on me as I rolled over and went back to sleep. I was wrong, but how can I be blamed. The truth came to me later as I watched the news, bleary eyed and toast in mouth. A hospital in America they said. A Ukrainian city, a Starbucks in Minnesota. Reports seemed to pour in, faster and faster. My tea went cold. 

 I hope again that this is all some hoax, the screaming, foamy mouthed creatures filmed on phones and on news cameras merely the work of some sadist or another, a publicity stunt for the next zombie film. I hope again. 

The real world outside the television seemed much the same as usual. The traffic is the same and the buses run two minutes late. I timed them as I went to get milk. The newspapers said the same as the television, 'The end is nigh' the Daily Mail said, 'More inside' I didn't dare to look on page fifteen, where the outbreak was reportedly pictured in detail. A lady with a matching tracksuit rolled her eyes and bought her scratch-card. 

I had just finished my second cup of tea when the lights, vivid blue and painful to the eyes, pulled up. The virus is in the water. It's in the water, I drank it. I was approached by people, genders known and obscured by their white radiation suits. My blood sample was taken and my mouth swabbed. 

I am infected. 

As I write this, my fingers begin to chill and my heartbeat is slowing. We are unable to leave our homes. On the news, zoo animals are being butchered and the infection spreads in ever widening pockets. 

I drank more tea and ate my dinner, it was a steak I had saved for the weekend. I called my brother and my boyfriend and I tried not to cry as I told them I loved them. 

My saliva is turning to foam, I will go to bed, I will sleep with picture of Dylan. I hope I miss him when I have turned. This may be my final entry. Goodbye.