The snow fell gently over Eureka Springs, transforming the town into a living Christmas card. Every Victorian Street seemed dipped in powdered sugar. It was the eve of the town’s famous "Living Windows Stroll," and anticipation buzzed in the air as shopkeepers prepared to showcase their holiday spirit in quirky, Ozarka style by adding jolly well-dressed humans (instead of mannequins) to delight passersby in the shop windows downtown.
Up the hill at the Crescent Hotel, Maxwell John Michaelson adjusted his bowler hat in the mirror. A historian by trade and a dreamer by nature, Max had been entrusted with giving this year’s special "Victorian Santa" tour. The tour was a beloved tradition where local legends and lore came to life under the guise of historical accuracy—a task Max took very seriously. Well, mostly seriously.
"Max, you ready yet?" called Jane Bright, the bubbly owner of Eureka’s most eclectic gift and art shop, Visions on Main. Jane was Max’s best friend and, as of that evening, his impromptu co-host.
"Almost!" Max called back. He straightened his burgundy vest and added a flourish to his mustache with a quick twist. "What do you think? Festive enough?"
Jane peeked into the room; her arms laden with vintage Santa hats. "You look like you stepped straight out of 1888. Perfect! Now grab your lantern; the crowd’s gathering in Basin Spring Park."
The tour began as all great Eureka stories usually do—with just a hint of mystery. Max regaled the group with tales of the Crescent’s ghostly past, though he skillfully danced around the spookier details. This was, after all, a night for magic, not chills.
"And right here," Max declared, stopping outside a quaint Victorian home on Spring Street, "is where the town’s first Santa Claus Society met in 1885. Their mission? To ensure every child in Eureka Springs received a gift, no matter their circumstance. Quite ahead of their time, wouldn’t you say?"
A little boy in the crowd raised his hand. "Did they really meet here?"
Max paused, his blue eyes twinkling. "Well, that depends. Do you believe in Santa?"
The boy nodded solemnly. "I do."
"Then they absolutely did," Max replied with a grin, his voice tinged with just enough gravitas to make it feel true.
After the tour wound through the historic district, it concluded at Basin Spring Park, where a towering Christmas tree sparkled with multicolored lights. The townsfolk mingled, sipping hot cocoa and nibbling on MJ's Macarons as a quartet played carols by the stage which housed the town's life-size nativity scene. Max and Jane watched from the edge of the crowd, their Victorian costumes lending them an air of timelessness.
"Think we pulled it off?" Jane asked, adjusting her bonnet.
"Pulled it off? We’ve rekindled the very spirit of Victorian Christmas!" Max proclaimed. "And might I add, your bonnet is a triumph."
Jane laughed, but before she could reply, a booming voice cut through the festive chatter.
"Ho, ho, ho!"
The crowd turned as a man—no, the man—strode into the park. Dressed in a crimson suit trimmed with fur, he carried a sack slung over his shoulder. His beard, white as the snow, glistened in the lamplight.
Max raised an eyebrow. "Is that part of the event?"
Jane shook her head. "Not that I know of."
Santa made his way to the tree, where he reached into his sack and began handing out gifts. Not toys, but small, wrapped parcels containing handwritten notes.
Curious, Max accepted one and tore it open. Inside was a slip of paper that read: "For Max Michaelson: The courage to write that book you’ve been dreaming of."
Jane peeked over his shoulder. "What’s it say?"
Max flushed. "Nothing! Just… an oddly specific fortune."
Jane chuckled and opened her own gift. Her note read: "For Jane Bright: The time to take that pottery class you keep putting off."
One by one, the townsfolk opened their parcels, each containing a note that seemed to know their hearts' desires. The crowd buzzed with delight and wonder as Santa handed out the last gift and tipped his hat.
"Merry Christmas, Eureka Springs!" he called out before disappearing into the night, leaving behind only a trail of shimmering snowflakes that seemed to sparkle just a bit brighter as he faded out of sight.
Later, as Max and Jane walked back up Spring Street, their lantern casting long shadows on the curbside, Max mused, "Do you think…I mean... could that have actually been the real Santa?"
Jane smirked. "Well, you’re the historian, Max. What do you think?"
Max considered this for a moment, then grinned. "Well, I think this beautiful town has a way of making the impossible seem possible, not just at Christmastime, but all throughout the year."
Merry Christmas from Eureka Springs, Arkansas.❤️
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