Hello peeps!

Here is a short story I wrote for the Christmas season! If you want to listen to the audio, done by Brian Wiggins, you can hear (along with others) for $1 on my Patreon.

Otherwise, I hope you all enjoy!

Shami

Three Coins

Shami Stovall

            Finn halfheartedly skateboarded around the cold city park, eyeing the only other two kids playing out on the grass. Although Finn was nine, and both Caleb and Asher were way older at the age of twelve, he knew what they were doing was wrong.

            They were throwing a kitten back and forth as though it was a football.

            The tiny animal’s peach-colored fur had lost all its luster. On the first throw, the kitten had screamed. On the second throw, it had cried. The sounds it made had grown weaker and weaker with each toss, eventually drowned out by Caleb and Asher’s incessant laughter.

            The two boys wore thick winter gloves, and the small kitten’s claws were just no match.

            “Hey, watch this,” Caleb said, gripping the kitten by its tail.

            He spun the creature in a wide arc, the motion too fast, too cruel. The kitten’s limbs twisted unnaturally, and for a moment, Finn thought he saw its small, terrified face lock onto him, as though it knew he was watching.

            Caleb released the kitten like a slingshot. It sailed through the air, limbs splayed, a desperate, weightless thing. Asher didn’t even try to catch it. He was too busy doubling over with laughter, his breath a burst of fog in the icy air. The kitten hit the ground headfirst with a sickening thud.

            Finn flinched, his whole body recoiling as though the impact had struck him instead.

            The kitten lay still, its small frame crumpled in the frost. Its weak, warbled cries were the only indication it was still alive—it was obviously asking for help.

            Asher snorted. “Cats don’t only land on their feet!” He scooped up the kitten and then cocked his arm like a quarterback, his grin as wide as it was thoughtless.

            With shaky movements, Finn skated to the edge of the grass, just feet from where the other boys played. “Hey,” he called out.

            Caleb and Asher turned to face him, though neither said anything.

            “You shouldn’t do that to kittens,” Finn said.

            The two boys were so much older, bigger. He hadn’t imagined telling them what to do, but there was no one around—no adults, no one to intervene. It was just Finn. And since the kitten’s voice wasn’t reaching their ears, hopefully his would.

            Caleb rolled his eyes. “Get lost. It’s our cat.”

            “Yeah.” Asher tensed, readying his arm for a Superbowl throw. “We can do whatever we want.”

            Finn’s chest burned with something he didn’t quite understand—rage, fear, sadness—it all tangled together in a knot so tight it felt like it might choke him. Despite that, he persisted.

            “W-Wait.” Finn stepped off his skateboard and picked it up. “How about…” He held out the board. “We make a trade?”

            The underside of his skateboard was detailed with all his favorite things—Minecraft creepers, Spider-Man, and even a popular YouTuber’s logo. It had taken Finn six months of saving every penny of his allowance to buy it.

            Asher and Caleb, their eyes wide, hurried over. They snatched the board from Finn and examined it. The beautiful artwork. The custom blue wheels. It barely had a scratch.

            “Yeah, we’ll trade,” Caleb said with a smirk.

            He took the kitten from Asher, and shoved it into Finn’s hands.

            Although the kitten’s body was cold, the knot in Finn’s chest loosened, just a little. He turned away from the other two boys and carefully tucked the animal into his jacket.

            “Everything will be okay now,” Finn whispered. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

            And as the sun was setting, Finn ran all the way to his house, his breath visible as he went.

***

            No vet was open in their small town on Christmas Eve, so Finn did the only thing he could think of—he bundled the kitten in soft blankets and carried it to the fireplace, where the warm glow of the flames cast flickering light across the living room. Unsure of what else to do, Finn raided the fridge, pouring milk into a bowl.

            Then he hesitated, his mind racing.

            “Maybe this, too,” Finn murmured, filling another bowl with water and a third with chicken broth. The bowls clinked faintly as he carried them to the fireplace and set them on the bricks beside the kitten.

            The creature was so still, its breathing faint and uneven. Finn’s heart twisted painfully as he unwrapped the blankets and examined it. Broken whiskers, swollen paws, matted fur—it looked so small, so fragile.

            It was a little boy.

            “You’re going to be okay,” Finn whispered, his voice trembling.

            Finn swaddled the kitten again, tucking him securely in the warm folds of the blanket. Then Finn reached out to gently stroke the kitten’s tiny head.

            “And I’m going to name you…” His voice faltered as he glanced down at the kitten’s little face. “I’m going to name you Snick. Like Saint Nicholas, but mushed together. You deserve a name as special as Christmas.”

            The kitten’s ear twitched slightly, and Finn smiled. In his heart, he decided the little creature had heard him and approved. He stayed close, his small hands stroking the kitten’s fur with the utmost care, whispering reassurances and hopes that he would grow stronger.

            The front door opened and Finn turned, smiling.

            “Dad!”

            His father stepped into the house, trailing winter’s chill behind him. Snowflakes clung stubbornly to his thick jacket and the wild curls of his beard. His boots, built to withstand the harshest cold, thudded heavily against the floor. With sharp, perceptive eyes, his father immediately noticed the swaddled kitten and the trio of bowls placed near the fire.

            “What’s all this?” he asked, his voice roughened by the cold, punctuated by a cough.

            Finn shot to his feet, words tumbling out of him in an excited, nervous rush. “Caleb and Asher were at the park, and they were throwing this kitten, and I did what you said, and I used my words, and I told them not to, but they wouldn’t listen, so I traded my skateboard to them, and I’m worried the kitten might not eat anything so I got him everything I could. Can we keep him, Dad?”

            Perhaps a less patient father wouldn’t have kept up with the rapid-fire explanation, but Finn’s father nodded along with every word, his gaze distant, as though witnessing the event himself. But then he sighed, glancing around at the small house, where two people lived, but with just barely enough room.

            He coughed again, this time wheezing, the heat in his lungs the uncomfortable kind, even in December.

            “I named him Snick,” Finn added, his voice softer now. “I thought it was cute, just like him.”

            Finn’s father was just about to remove his jacket, but he decided against it. “I think the gas station might sell cat litter,” he mumbled.

            Finn’s eyes lit up. “Really? Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

            He threw his arms around his father’s broad middle, holding him as tightly as he could, the cold of the man’s coat barely registering against his own warmth.

            “I’ll be right back,” his father said. “Make sure the little guy stays toasty.”

            “I will, Dad! I promise.”

***

            Finn and his father shared their Christmas Eve dinner not at the table, as was their usual habit, but seated on the floor near the fireplace. The warm glow of the flames flickered across their faces, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to embrace the small bundle swaddled in Finn’s lap. Snick hadn’t eaten a single bite of the offerings Finn had brought, but his small chest still rose and fell in weak, steady breaths. Finn clung to that fragile rhythm like a lifeline, refusing to let despair creep in.

            His father reached out, his large, calloused hand brushing gingerly over the kitten’s tiny frame. With a sigh, he leaned back and stretched. “I’m heading to bed,” he murmured. “It’s been a long day, and turkey always knocks me out.”

            Finn nodded, but his gaze never left Snick. His father rose, leaving the boy with a soft pat on the shoulder and a lingering glance at the fragile life cradled in the blankets.

            The house grew quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire and the faint sounds of the world outside.

            Reaching for the small stack of books beside him, Finn opened one to a story of snowy forests and festive miracles. His voice wavered as he read aloud, the words more for himself than the kitten, but he imagined—hoped—that Snick could hear him. He read about kindness and magic, about warmth in the coldest places, and as the night deepened, his voice became just a whisper.

            Finn didn’t want to wake his father.

            Midnight crept in unnoticed, its arrival marked only by the chime of the kitchen clock. The sound stirred Finn from his thoughts, and he closed his book.

            Then he lifted Snick from his lap and placed him beside the bowls. He was determined to make sure the kitten had everything he needed before going to bed, so Finn quickly got up, made an impromptu litter box, set it near the washing machine, and then returned to the living room, intent on wishing Snick a Merry Christmas before retiring for the evening.

            But upon spotting the kitten, Finn almost gasped.

            He was awake! And now Snick was drinking from the milk bowl.

            “You’re feeling better?” Finn rushed over to the fireplace, his body light, his hopes high. “I’m so glad! And just in time for Christmas.”

            He knelt next to the kitten, trying not to move too quickly and frighten him. Finn wanted to hug Snick, and bring him all the food in the kitchen, but that would probably be overwhelming… He glanced at the distant fridge, wondering what a kitten would like most for a hearty snack.

            “Thank you.”

            Finn froze. He hadn’t been the one to speak—and the otherworldly voice hadn’t belonged to his father. With his breath held, Finn returned his full attention to Snick.

            “Did you say something?” he whispered, his words barely audible.

            Snick tilted his head up, his bright green eyes gleaming in the firelight. They shimmered like emeralds, more vivid than any Christmas ornament Finn had ever seen. Then, to Finn’s astonishment, the kitten gave a small, deliberate nod.

            “I did. I said thank you.”

            The room fell silent save for the crackling of the fire. Finn’s breath caught, his mind reeling. Talking animals only existed in movies, books, and video games—never in real life. Despite this, Finn couldn’t help but smile, all fear melting away with the warmth in the room. Perhaps Christmas really was a time of miracles.

            “You’re welcome,” Finn said. “Are you feeling better?”

            “I am,” the kitten replied.

            “W-Well, that’s great. I can make you a bed, and in the morning we can—”

            “Isn’t it Christmas?” Snick interrupted, his head tilting ever so slightly to one side.

            Finn blinked, thrown off by the simple question. “It… is, yes.”

            “Then I have gifts,” Snick said, his tone unhurried, his eyes alight with good will. With paws that were no longer swollen, he pushed the blankets off his body. Three gold coins tumbled onto the hearth, the metal clinking against the bricks.

            They were much larger than normal coins—perhaps double the size of a quarter.

            “I want to truly thank you for saving me,” Snick said. “So, I’ll allow you to pick who gets each of these coins.”

            Finn didn’t understand what that meant, but he assumed it was good, so he scooped up all the coins and examined them. The gold was warm to the touch, worn smooth by age, but faint designs were still visible. The first coin bore the image of a treasure chest, the kind he’d only seen in pirate tales. The second showed two snakes coiled around a winged staff, the symbol strange yet familiar. The last bore a lump of coal, simple and rough yet somehow heavier in his palm.

            “I get to choose who gets them?” Finn asked, his fingers brushing over the smooth, warm surfaces of the coins.

            He turned them over in his hands, studying the faint engravings. The treasure chest caught his eye, and he held it up toward Snick.

            “Whoever you give that coin will never want for money again,” Snick stated. “They will always have enough to do the things they dream of—but never so much as to grow idle or ungrateful.”

            Finn held up the second coin, the one with the snakes and the staff. He had seen this before. He had. “What about this?”

            “Whoever you give that to will have perfect health.” Snick’s bright green eyes darkened for just a moment. “The person who receives it will still grow old, for even magic has its limits. But whoever receives this will never suffer illness or disease of any kind, even if they already have it.”

            Without hesitation, Finn reached out and offered the coin to Snick. “Then this is for you,” he said earnestly, wanting to make sure the kitten recovered.

            Snick’s eyes somehow went wider, but then the kitten giggled and shook his head. “Oh, no thank you. Your kindness has been enough. You see, I am from a long line of cats called the miut—cats who used to be worshipped as gods. When humans treat us right, we live for a very long time. In return, we shower our humans with gifts.”

            “You’re not hurt?” Finn asked.

            Snick shook his head. “All thanks to you, my human savior. Thank you so much. Every pet you offered, every kind whisper—I felt and heard it all. They healed me.”

            Finn hesitantly brought the coin back to the pile. Then he held up the last one.

            “That coin ensures that whoever receives it will find only coal this year,” Snick stated. “All their other presents will disappear.”

            That sounded like a cruel trick, but perhaps there was someone—or two someones—who deserved it.

            “Can I give this coin to my dad?” Finn held up the one with the feathered staff. “He said smoking hurt his lungs.”

            Finn didn’t know what was wrong, just that his dad had to take it easy, and that he was constantly coughing. Would the coin really make him better? Would he stay healthy until he was an old man?

            The coin vanished in the blink of an eye, straight from Finn’s grasp like it never existed in the first place.

            “What a beautiful gift,” Snick said. “I like your dad.”

            Finn nodded and smiled. “Yeah, I love him so much.” Then he picked up the treasure chest coin. “This one…”

            Snick tilted his head, watching with unblinking curiosity. “You can give it to someone,” the kitten whispered, “or you can give it to yourself.”

            “Me?” Finn hadn’t considered himself initially. Weren’t gifts meant to go to other people?

            Finn’s mind churned, searching for someone who needed the coin more. Someone who always needed money, always struggled.

            His thoughts drifted to the animals in their small, forgotten town. Abandoned cats and stray dogs roamed the streets like shadows, left behind by people who thought their crimes would disappear in a place where no one was watching. But Finn had seen them. Everyone had.

            The shelter was always full, its resources stretched thin. Too many animals. Never enough help.

            “I want to give this one to the nearby animal shelter,” Finn whispered.

            The coin vanished just like the first. It made no noise as it exited, no smoke show—it was just gone.

            “The shelter,” Snick said, whiskers twitching. “An interesting choice.”

            “Maybe they can help more animals then,” Finn said, uncertain of how a shelter worked, but desperate to make a decision that would make the most impact.

            “Now you just have one coin left.”

            Finn held up the last coin, turning it over and over in his hands. The rough image of coal caught the light, and he thought of Caleb and Asher, their laughter still echoing in his memory. They deserved it, he knew they did. But there was only one coin. And it was Christmas.

            “Do I have to give it to someone?” Finn asked.

            Snick nodded. “Before the end of Christmas day. If you don’t do it, I will.”

            “Okay. That’s fine. I’ll give the coin to myself—”

            “Wait, wait!” Snick walked over and placed a paw on Finn’s knee. “Didn’t you hear me? This coin replaces all other gifts. You’ll only receive lumps of coal. Nothing else.”

            Finn took in a deep breath, and then exhaled. “I know. I just… don’t want to make anyone that sad on Christmas.”

            “You’re too kind,” Snick said, his voice taking on a dreamlike quality, a soft echo of something ancient and wise. “But kindness isn’t always the answer. You can’t protect everyone. You can’t save everything. You can’t make all wrongs right. Punish those who deserve it, and then go celebrate Christmas with your father.”

            Finn hesitated, his thoughts a mix of guilt and resolve. He understood the wisdom in Snick’s words, even if they felt heavier than he could bear.

            “You can’t give all of yourself away,” Snick continued. “If you try, there will be nothing left. Not for you, not for anyone. Being kind doesn’t mean sacrificing everything.”

            Finn stared at the coin, knowing it would bring more unhappiness in a world that was already too familiar with that emotion.

            “Besides, don’t you want those two bullies to miss out on their presents?” Snick asked. “Or at least one of them?”

            Asher and Caleb had been cruel. “They’re already missing out,” Finn eventually whispered, smiling to himself.

            Snick tilted his head. “They have?”

            “They both had a talking magical cat who granted wishes—and they traded it away for a skateboard.” Finn petted Snick once more. “They lost out on everything.”

            And that explanation left Snick pensive, for the two boy’s cruelty had cost them so much more than they would ever know.

            “Besides, I can be reasonable three hundred and sixty-four days of the year,” Finn murmured, clutching the coin to his chest. “But for Christmas, I want to imagine that everyone is happy.” He glanced at Snick, his smile small but genuine. “My new kitten. My dad. Even Caleb and Asher. So… I’ll give the coin to myself. Because that way, my Christmas wish will come true.”

            And so the last coin vanished straight from Finn’s grasp.

            For a moment, Snick was silent. His ears drooped, and his gaze turned distant, as though he was peering into a place beyond the small, firelit room.

            Then Snick blinked and returned his attention to Finn, his expression unreadable. “I see it now,” he said, purring. “You are a human who would give all you have, even when it leaves you with nothing. A martyr, how unfortunate.”

            Before Finn could respond, Snick pressed his small, warm body against Finn’s leg, his fur brushing softly against the boy’s hand.

            “You will have no gifts this year,” Snick continued, his tone light yet full of mystery. “Only coal. But do not despair, my kind human. I have woven the magic so that, if you remain as you are—steadfast in kindness and hope—coal may one day become the greatest gift you could ever receive.”

            Finn shook his head. “Coal?” The thought was absurd, and he couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him. Who would ever want coal?

            “Merry Christmas, Snick,” Finn said at last, petting his new friend.

            Snick leaned into his touch. “Merry Christmas, my kind human,” he replied. “And thank you… for everything.”

***

            Many years later….

            The headlines in the news read: