Mabel and the Christmas boxes T h a n o s K a l a m i d a s Part of the Medieval Marvels series Mabel and the Christmas boxes Thanos Kalamidas Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Mabel and the Christmas boxes Mabel and the Christmas boxes Thanos Kalamidas Part of the Medieval Marvels series Thanos Kalamidas An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Mabel and the Christmas boxes M abel dusted the grand staircase with a flair that was entirely unnecessary, waving her duster around as though conducting an in- visible orchestra. The manor was alive with the echoes of footsteps, the clatter of dishes, and the occasional snore of Old Mr. Grumblethorpe, who was supposed to be polishing the silver but often fell asleep under the dining table. Mabel had other priorities. It was Boxing Day, the day after Christmas, when all the gifts from the grand festivities had been cleared away, leaving behind a mountain of boxes stacked in the storage room. Not just any boxes—grand, luxu- rious boxes of every shape and size, from the tiniest velvet pouches to enormous crates that could fit a pony. Thanos Kalamidas Mabel had been tasked with tidying up the storage room. “Tidy up” was a loose term, Mrs. Grimshaw, the head maid, had really meant “stack the boxes neatly and don’t touch anything.” But how could she not? Each box was a story waiting to be told. “That’s it,” Mabel muttered to herself, shoving her duster into her apron pocket. “I’ll be careful. I’ll only look. What’s the harm in that?” The storage room was dimly lit, with sunlight sneaking in through a single dusty window. Mabel tiptoed between the piles of boxes, her imagination already running wild. She picked up a small, gold- trimmed box no larger than her palm. “This one must have held diamonds,” she whis- pered. “Or... perhaps a key to a secret treasure vault! Yes, that’s more likely. And the key is now with... oh, the Earl of Bumblethorpe, who is hiding it in his hat.” “Mabel!” came a sharp voice from the doorway. Mrs. Grimshaw’s imposing figure stood silhouetted, hands on hips. “Are you working or hatching some nonsense?” “Working, Mrs. Grimshaw,” Mabel chirped, hastily dusting the box she’d just set down. “Just... inspect- ing the, er, structural integrity of these fine boxes.” Mabel and the Christmas boxes Mrs. Grimshaw raised an eyebrow. “Structural in- tegrity, is it? Well, inspect less and stack more. And if I catch you dawdling, you’ll be polishing the kitchen pots until New Year’s.” Mabel sighed dramatically, ensuring the sound carried after Mrs. Grimshaw’s retreating footsteps. She turned her attention to a long, flat box. “Definitely a sword,” she declared. “A knight’s sword, given as a gift to Sir Edmund. He’d look dash- ing in armour. But... oh dear, what if it’s cursed? Yes, that would explain the odd smell coming from his study.” The sound of snoring reached her ears. Peeking into the next room, she found Mr. Grumblethorpe sprawled under the table, hat over his face. She tip- toed back and couldn’t resist climbing atop a particu- larly large box. “This one,” she announced to an imaginary audi- ence, “must have held a royal puppy. A fluffy, white one with a golden collar. If it were mine, I’d name it... Lord Snuffles.” She flopped onto her back, pre- tending to pet an invisible dog. “Oh, Lord Snuffles, how splendid you are! Would you like some tea? A biscuit?” Thanos Kalamidas The box creaked ominously, and Mabel bolted up- right. “Maybe Lord Snuffles was heavier than I thought,” she muttered, climbing down before the whole stack tumbled. As she rearranged the boxes, another idea struck her. What if the boxes weren’t just for the lords and ladies of the manor? What if they were meant for her? Surely, she deserved a gift or two... or ten. Her eyes gleamed as she imagined the possibilities. “A dress made of silk, like Lady Agatha’s. I’d twirl about in the ballroom and curtsy so elegantly. Then there’s this big box... hmm, perhaps it held a... a new pony! I’d name him Muffin.” She picked up a bright red box and shook it gently. “Marbles? No, jewels. Or... oh, definitely chocolates! The fancy kind with caramel inside. But... wait! What if it’s a hatbox? With one of those ridiculous feathered hats Lady Agatha wears?” She plopped the box on her head and struck a dramatic pose. “Why yes, I am the talk of the town! They’re all jealous of my exquisite taste.” “Mabel,” came Mrs. Grimshaw’s voice again, star- Mabel and the Christmas boxes tling her so much she nearly dropped the box. “Have you lost your wits entirely?” “No, ma’am,” Mabel said, hurriedly placing the box back where she found it. “Just... rehearsing for a play. About hats.” Mrs. Grimshaw shook her head, muttering some- thing about “too much sugar in the Christmas pud- ding” before marching off. Mabel sighed with relief. She couldn’t resist one last inspection, though, and wandered over to the biggest box of all. It was taller than she was, tied with a ribbon as thick as her arm. “What could possibly be in here?” she wondered aloud. “A throne? A baby elephant? A secret passage to Narnia?” “Why don’t you open it and find out?” came a mis- chievous voice behind her. She spun around to see Thomas, the stable boy, leaning against the door- frame with a grin. “Thomas! You nearly scared the life out of me!” “Well, you’re lucky I didn’t catch you actually open- ing it,” he teased. “What’s the penalty for snooping? Peeling potatoes until Easter?” Thanos Kalamidas Mabel stuck her tongue out at him. “I wasn’t snoop- ing. I was... investigating.” “Oh, is that what you call it?” Thomas said, step- ping closer. “So, what do you think is in that giant box?” “Could be anything,” Mabel said, eyes gleaming. “But if I had my way, it’d be... a flying carpet.” Thomas laughed. “A flying carpet? What would you even do with that?” “Oh, lots of things,” Mabel replied, striking a hero- ic pose. “I’d fly over the manor, rescuing kittens from rooftops and throwing cakes at mean old Mrs. Grim- shaw.” Thomas doubled over with laughter. “You’d better not let her hear that!” “She won’t,” Mabel said confidently. “Unless you tell her, of course. But if you do, I’ll tell everyone you still sleep with that stuffed rabbit.” Thomas turned red. “How do you know about Mr. Flopsy?” Mabel smirked. “I have my sources.” Mabel and the Christmas boxes As the two of them laughed, the boxes around them seemed to shimmer with possibility, each one holding not just gifts but the boundless dreams of a curious girl. And while Mabel knew she’d never actu- ally receive a pony named Muffin or a flying carpet, the fun of imagining them was the best gift of all. Thanos Kalamidas II. The morning sun streamed through the grand win- dows of the manor, its golden light illuminating the polished floors. Mabel’s chores were almost done, but her mind wasn’t on polishing candlesticks or fluffing pillows. It was on the boxes. The mysterious storage room sat in the east wing, and every time Mabel passed by, she swore the box- es called her name. So after carefully arranging the last cushion in Lord Hemmington’s study, she set off, broom in hand and a pillowcase tucked into her apron for “smuggling purposes.” “This,” she whispered to herself as she tiptoed down the hall, “isn’t sneaking. This is investigating.” Mabel and the Christmas boxes Inside the storage room, the sight of the boxes piled high sent a thrill through Mabel. She clutched her broom like a royal sceptre. “All right, suspects,” she said, addressing the boxes. “You’ve got secrets, and I’ve got questions. Let’s make this easy.” She strode to the first box, a grand one tied with a red velvet ribbon. She rapped it lightly with her broom handle, listening closely. “Hmm, hollow. Definitely empty now,” she mused. “But I bet it held something magnificent, a set of di- amond tiaras for Lady Marigold! Or... or maybe a treasure map!” Her broom slipped, and she stumbled into a stack of smaller boxes. They wobbled dangerously. “Steady now,” she muttered, righting them. “We don’t need a Box Avalanche of ‘94.” She crouched in front of a particularly ornate box with golden trim. “You, my friend, clearly held some- thing important,” she said. “A dragon egg, perhaps? Yes, I can see it now. If I’d found it first, I’d have raised it as my own. Taught it tricks. Named it Sir Puffing- ton.” Thanos Kalamidas The image was so vivid she laughed aloud, but her daydream was interrupted by the arrival of Daisy, one of the younger maids. “Mabel, what are you doing?” Daisy whispered, her eyes darting nervously toward the door. “If Mrs. Grimshaw catches you...” “She won’t,” Mabel assured her. “I’m on a very im- portant investigation. Do you think this box looks dragon-y?” Daisy frowned. “What’s a dragon-y box supposed to look like?” “Like this!” Mabel gestured dramatically. “It’s gold, fancy, and definitely suspicious.” Daisy rolled her eyes. “It probably held napkin rings.” Mabel gasped, clutching her chest. “Don’t be ridic- ulous! Who puts napkin rings in a box like this? Nap- kin rings don’t need such drama.” Before Daisy could argue, Mabel began a full-scale operation. She pulled out her broom again and start- ed tapping boxes. Mabel and the Christmas boxes “What are you doing now?” Daisy asked. “Science,” Mabel said, tapping a smaller box. “This one is light. It might’ve held... silk gloves!” She tapped another. “This one’s heavier. Maybe a cursed goblet!” “A cursed goblet?” Daisy snorted. “Yes! It would’ve belonged to an ancient king. Any- one who drinks from it turns into a frog.” Daisy giggled despite herself. “And what about that one?” She pointed to a plain wooden box in the cor- ner. Mabel considered it carefully. “Hmm. It’s unas- suming. That means it’s hiding something big. A se- cret diary? A royal letter? Or... a squirrel in a suit of armour!” Daisy doubled over laughing. “A squirrel?” “Yes!” Mabel declared. “It escaped the queen’s gar- den, and now it’s hiding here. I’d name him Sir Nut- tington.” As Mabel’s theories grew wilder, the inevitable hap- pened. She reached too far for a particularly intrigu- ing box, and the entire stack came tumbling down. The crash was deafening. Thanos Kalamidas “Mabel!” Daisy shrieked. “Uh-oh,” Mabel muttered. Sure enough, the heavy footsteps of Mrs. Grim- shaw echoed down the hall. The door flew open, and there she stood, her ever-present scowl deepened to new levels. “What,” Mrs. Grimshaw barked, “is going on in here?” Daisy froze like a deer caught in the headlights. Mabel, however, straightened her apron and said confidently, “Detective work, Mrs. Grimshaw.” “Detective work?” Mrs. Grimshaw repeated, her eyebrow arching dangerously. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve been investigating these boxes, trying to uncover their secrets.” Mrs. Grimshaw crossed her arms. “And what, pray tell, have you discovered?” Mabel launched into her findings with the enthusi- asm of a scholar presenting a groundbreaking thesis. “That one held a dragon egg. That one had a cursed goblet. And that plain one over there probably con- tained a squirrel knight!” Mabel and the Christmas boxes For a moment, Mrs. Grimshaw simply stared. Dai- sy looked like she might faint. Then, to everyone’s surprise, Mrs. Grimshaw’s stern expression cracked, and she let out a laugh—a deep, hearty laugh that echoed off the walls. “A squirrel knight?” she repeated, wiping a tear from her eye. “Oh, Mabel, you’ve quite the imagina- tion.” Mabel grinned. “Thank you, Mrs. Grimshaw. I take my work very seriously.” Mrs. Grimshaw shook her head, still chuckling. “Well, detective, not all treasures are as grand as you imagine. Most of these boxes just held practical things—clothes, tools, maybe a bit of silverware.” Mabel tilted her head. “No dragons or goblets?” “Afraid not.” “Hmm.” Mabel tapped her chin thoughtfully. “That’s disappointing.” As Mrs. Grimshaw helped them tidy the fallen boxes, Mabel couldn’t resist one last comment. “Mrs. Grimshaw, if you ever find a dragon egg, you’ll let me know, won’t you?” Thanos Kalamidas “Of course, Mabel,” Mrs. Grimshaw said with a rare smile. “And if I find a squirrel knight, I’ll make sure he joins your service.” “Perfect,” Mabel said. “Sir Nuttington and I will make an excellent team.” Daisy giggled, Mrs. Grimshaw shook her head fondly, and Mabel, undeterred by the lack of dragons or curses, felt certain that the manor’s mysteries were far from solved. Mabel and the Christmas boxes III. The manor buzzed with energy as the evening ap- proached. Lord Fitzroy was hosting his annual Box- ing Day dinner, and the dining hall gleamed with polished silver, flickering candlelight, and the chatter of nobles. Downstairs, the servants hustled to pre- pare, but Mabel’s focus was elsewhere. From her vantage point in the pantry, she peeked out through a sliver in the door, eyes wide as saucers. The guests began arriving, each one more extrava- gantly dressed than the last. She stifled a gasp when Lady Agatha swept in, wearing a pearl necklace that practically screamed, I have enough money to buy my own country. Thanos Kalamidas “Did you see that necklace?” Mabel whispered to Daisy, who was busy arranging plates. “Probably worth more than this whole manor,” Daisy replied, rolling her eyes. Mabel grinned mischievously. “If I had a necklace like that, I’d trade it for a pirate ship and sail the sev- en seas.” Daisy smirked. “Knowing you, you’d name it some- thing ridiculous. What was it last time? Sir Nutting- ton’s Revenge?” “No!” Mabel hissed. “It was The Flying Otter. Much classier.” Daisy burst out laughing, earning a sharp glare from Mrs. Grimshaw, who had appeared out of no- where, as usual. “Less chatter, more work!” she barked. Once the dinner began, Mabel found herself in the rare position of having nothing to do. She took full advantage of this by sneaking into the shadows of the dining hall to observe the nobles. “Lady Agatha’s pearls, definitely cursed,” she mut-