Fiction by Jennifer Willis
Erlend dropped the spoon into his bowl and made a sour face. The Christmas porridge was ruined, though he’d watched Harold prepare the holiday treat with his own hands. The rice pudding was on the gloppy side, but Harold was generous with the cinnamon and sugar.
Alva took a taste and her lips puckered.
“Something must be done,” Erlend muttered into his thick beard. Alva shushed him, but Harold was already snoring away upstairs and nothing could be heard above that racket.
It was superstition, or family tradition—whatever Harold wanted to call it as long as Erlend got his Christmas porridge. Now it was Christmas Eve, and Erlend had been looking forward to the holidays in the new homestead—as much as a grumpy nisse could look forward
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