Day 24

It was a house. Of sorts. A small cabin, really. Alone with blackness all around. Fin knocked on the door with his mittened hand.

A man, an old man, thinner than paper and as fragile, answered.

Day 23

Walking in snow-shoes was harder than it looked on television, but Fin got it after a few steps and falls. When the car had first died, he had tried Fiona on his mobile phone. Fiona first, he thought, then authorities of some sort. But his phone didn't get reception here. So he was walking. There was a patch of sky to the North that looked a bit lighter than the rest. He was following that. To a town, maybe, or house, at least.

Day 22

You could rent snowshoes at the airport. Right there at the airport! He rented them along with the two-door toyota without considering that he didn't actually know how to walk in snow-shoes.

He drove through the night, north and north, until the darkness told him nothing of what time it was. Then, about eleven hours and a hundred dollars of gas later, on an otherwise empty road with snow in fields of drifts on either side, his car began to slow down without him telling it to. It slowed and slowed and then stopped. Fin didn't know much about cars, but he knew they shouldn't do that.

Day 21

The customs card asked what kind of trip he was on. There was a box for business, one for pleasure and one for study. There wasn't any box for I'm-not-entirely-sure. He ticked pleasure and handed it to the customs guard. She was wearing a Santa hat.

Day 20

(ANOTHER GUEST STAR EDITION! STARRING GUEST STAR HARRY 'the man' MAN)

He walked down the long grey tunnel toward the plane. As the small lights went by, he remembered the science centre from his childhood. He remembered the sound of his father's voice outside the tube, apparently everywhere, calling for Fin, Fin, Fin, and Fin running from one source of the noise to the next.

Now there was no voice, except for the wind, the low long atonal engines, and their high whine. He was welcomed on board, and the low sounds left and old women stood up, stowing their hats, slowing the queues of younger folk and rucksacks.

Day 19

A winter wedding. Years passed, they dated and split and left and reunited, but one thing was always constant for Fin, it had to be a winter wedding. And, ten years later, it was.

Now they had daughters, and it was two weeks until their anniversary, just a few days until Christmas, and just a few days after Fin's mother's passing. 'Yes,' said Fin, after they had put the girls to bed. 'Yes, I have to go.' He was packing while they spoke.

Day 18

Because nobody told him not to, Fin got in the van with the rest, and rode back to Selema's.

They were all sat in the living room, brothers and dog and father and Selema, sitting, chatting as if it were a normal Sunday afternoon, not a Thursday at 3am. The carpet was the colour of new peas. Fin concentrated on it while he waited to be noticed. After a few minutes, two women, one older, one younger, came in from upstairs. Selema's mother went straight to her daughter, hugging scolding her at the same time. The other woman, the younger one, noticed Fin, and went to him. 'You're not one of my brothers,' she said.

This was the point at which Fin realized he had been focusing on the wrong sister.

Day 17

Selema didn't put up much of a fight. Just sighed and said, 'oh, alright. Fine.' They marched her, the brothers and father a small army unto themselves, towards where they had parked their seven-seater family van. Fin didn't know what to do. He didn't want to stay in the doorway alone for the rest of the night, but he couldn't go home until at least tomorrow, so he followed the pack, a few steps behind, with the dog.

Day 16 (Sorry it's late)

This time they ignored Fin, mostly, and focused on Selema. One of the new ones, in an orange polo-neck shook her shoulder gently. 'Wake up,' he said. 'We're all here. Danny, Barney, Rueben, me and Dad.' Another one, the oldest, probably Dad, said, 'that's enough of this, Selema. It's time to come home.'

Day 15

An hour took ages to pass. Two hundred and fifteen cars, and Fin's ribs and appendix throbbing with every breath. Just go home, they said, but he didn't. He told Selema he had run away. For one night, at least.

And then, just before car two hundred and sixteen, Danny was back with one, two, three, four other men. All big, all looking at him.

Day 14

'Oh my God,' said Fin. This wasn't as much like camping as he had expected. 'Who was that? Why, why was that?' Selema was already back lying down. 'Don't worry about it,' she said. Her eyes were closed. 'That's just my brother Danny. One of my brothers. I've got four. They take turns checking up on me. Every night another one. In rotation.'

'They don't mind?'

'Mmm. Don't know.' And then she sighed a bit and pretended to sleep until she was really sleeping. Fin didn't sleep. He stayed awake, watching cars pass and waiting for Barney.

Day 13

'Get off, get off!' said the man. From Fin's point of view, on the parka on the step, he was huge. The man kicked him again, this time lower down, near where Fin thought his appendix might be. Imagine if it ruptured, here, on the street. 'Aw, lay off, Danny,' this was Selema. She was awake now too, waving her arm drowsily at the man, Danny. 'He's from school. He's harmless. Carries a thermos.' Danny grunted, looking at Fin, not Selema. 'I'll be back in a couple hours,' he said, 'and I just might bring Barney, so there'd better not be...trouble.'

Day 12

'I've run away too,' said Fin. 'I've brought us some buns and oranges and soup, it's just in one thermos though, so we'll have to share the cup.' Selema was sitting, with the dog, on a what looked like a man's parka, old and flattened. She was in the same storefront. 'Thanks,' she said. 'I'm glad you're not like the rest of them.' She took an orange and began peeling. The dog watched. (Fin thought of Rupert, at home with his mother.) 'You can stay here tonight if you want,' she continued, pushing the dog away with her non-orangey hand.

The night was warm, and the traffic noise easy to get used to. Selema fell asleep right after she finished eating. Fin watched her and the street for a while, then slept too. He slept remarkably well until some time, some number of hours later, when he was awakened by a kick to his stomach.

Day 11

He had left his mother a note, beside the stove,

Dear mom,

I'm really sorry, I've had to run away for a bit. Don't worry, it's not because of you or my life. I'm really quite happy. I'll pop by tomorrow round dinner time (I brought some food for tonight). x Fin

Day 10

When he was sixteen, Fin had fallen desperately in love with a girl with pink hair, black boots, and a wonderful, terrible, deep mind. They had been in the same class until she dropped out and ran away. Fin ran into her one day downtown, she was sat in the doorway of a boarded up shop. She had a dog at her feet. "Selema!" said Fin, "I thought you'd moved out of town, or something. Some people at school think you're dead." "As far as they're concerned, I am," she said, "and as far as I'm concerned they are." Fin thought about this. He tried to look pensive. "Are you okay?" he said. "Would you ask an animal if they were okay?" she replied.

Fin fell in love about then. He waited until the school summer break and then ran away from home himself.

Day 9

At home, his daughters were chasing each other around. The elder was wearing oven mitts; she waved them threateningly. Still dressed in black, they were too young to hold onto sorrow for long. The coloured lights they had strung around and around the tree shone on them, a blue girl, then a green one, then a red one. "Do you really have to go next week?" asked Fiona. "On the day, on that day? Do you really have to go?"

Day 8

The cookies were from his mother. Fin had received them in the mail two days ago, for his birthday, today. His mother would have made them some time last week. Some time before the heart attack. Fin had brought them with him to the funeral, tucked in the inner pocket of his heavy coat, just there, against his shirt against his skin. The car was empty, Fiona and the girls had gone home hours before.

Day 7

(Today's installment will be provided by SPECIAL GUEST STAR WRITER Harry Man. I don't know what he's gonna do. I can't be held responsible).

Fin made wonky stars. His mother picked up each one and placed them on the tin foil, and licked her fingers and dunked her hands in the warm soapy water of the sink. Fin wanted to do the same but he couldn't reach. (He was also still holding a star). Three o'clock came and the oven filled the kitchen and made both their cheeks go red. It made Rupert fall fast asleep.

So here he was, the wind burning like the oven opened and the cookies were ready, only now he was outside, in the cold, waiting for the hearse bearing his mother to pull away first, before opening the door to his cold car.

Day 6

Fin thought. And then he remembered, and then he was excited. "How many days?" he asked. "Six days and one night," said his mother, "and then Father Christmas comes." "No, not him, Santa." "That's another name for him," "Father Christmas?" "Father Christmas." "Father," repeated Fin under his breath. "Father Christmas, Father," quietly, punching out stars.

Day 5

Sometimes Fin and his mother made potato balls at the counter, sometimes they made other things. One day they were making cookies, cutting rolled batter into either star or tree shapes. "We should always make cookies," said Fin. He had the star cutter and was trying to fit as many as he could onto his batter without cutting off any tips. "Cookies are for special occasions," said his mother, "to make them even more special." "What special occasion are these for?" asked Fin. Rupert was by their feet, watching, waiting for drops or spills. "You know," said Fin's mother. "Think about it a little; you know what the occasion is."

Day 4

Fin's mother was tall and nice and had lovely black hair. She didn't often get angry or sad. She would let Fin push a chair to the counter while she prepared dinner so he could watch. "Like this," she said, pressing a soft, white ball of potato, "so that it becomes flat." Fin pressed his own potato ball too hard and most of it fell off the counter. "Try again," said his mother, and the next one was perfect.

Day 3

When he was five, Fin got a labrador puppy and lost his father. Each day, after school, his father was there, until one day, after school, he wasn't, but the dog was. Fin named the dog Rupert. Every day after school they waited for two hours together on the front steps for Fin's father to come home. After a month Fin's mother sighed and said, 'The neighbors,' and made them move around the house and wait at the back.

Day 2

Forty-five years before this, to the day, when Fin was born, it was much warmer. His mother looked at him, red in the nurse's arms, and noticed the how the sun shining in from the winter looked like it was shining just for Fin, just to surround him. That was when they lived in the South. And Fin's father was there too. Smiling in shorts.

Advent story Part 1

Fin stepped out his car and took three steps. The snow was past his ankles, it seeped through his socks and burnt. It was dark out (though that didn't mean much at the time of year, it was always dark out), it was late. He walked back to the car to make sure it was locked. It was. To make sure the lights were off. They were. Then he walked away again, this time more than three steps, this time he kept going.