A Christmas Story, by Gordon Lawrie

The first few Christmas trees were, as ever, an event. This year, the fashion was something a little different, a strange variety of fir tree with no needle-drop. Only keen observers would have spotted that each tree had its own lighting pattern, though.

Many more trees appeared as Advent progressed, more than ever before; even small gardens seemed to have fifteen or twenty.

By the time anyone had cottoned on, the aliens were in total control. Their proclamation was in light-speak, of course, not that any Earthlings understood.

But this year the decorations wouldn’t be coming down on Twelfth Night.


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