She was the first of the six Santa's helpers to arrive, and the quiet of the old limestone building offered momentary respite from the extravagant Dickensian hullabaloo ruling the town square.
At the narrow oval window overlooking the flat roof of Perk's Coffee Shop next door, Earl Pringle's pet crow, Poe, pecked at the pane, tap, tap, tap, and glowered with murderous intent, but then again Poe was a moody cuss.
He was tiny for a crow, barely larger than a grackle, but he cocked his shoulders and flared his wings as if trying to convince her he was indeed a ferocious raven.
She pretended to startle because she knew what it was like to be on the short side, and everyone needed an ego boost now and again, even small crows trying to prove worthy of poetic names.
Poe gave a "caw," satisfied that he'd scared her, and flew away to find new town folk to terrorize.
She moved to the window clouded with decades of dirt and grime, called, "Go forth and nevermore."
Hey, were those snowflakes?
Her obsessive-compulsive gene wished for Windex and a cleaning rag, but her curiosity gene overrode it. She undid the rusty latch, and with some effort, shoved open the window for a better look at the street below teaming with tourists. The smell of dark roast and yeasty pastries teased her nose, and her mouth watered.
No. No more sweet treats.
Behind the theatre and the town square, Lake Twilight stretched sapphire blue, a dazzling jewel in Hood County's crown. If she leaned out the window and craned her neck, she could just make out her Uncle Floyd's houseboat where she was crashing for the holidays and/or until she got her life straightened out.
Delicate white flakes coasted silently from the sky, sprinkling trees, roofs, cars, and heads of passersby. Her West Texas heart leaped joyously.
She'd grown up in the desert surrounded by oil and sand, far away from water and snow. And she was thrilled by the white stuff here in North Central Texas, even though she knew the ground was too warm for it to stick. For this one spectacular moment, Twilight looked like a shaken snow globe.
She took a deep breath, savored the sight for as long as she dared, then reluctantly, pulled back inside and shut the window.
With a dreamy sigh, she kicked off her Skechers, and plunked down onto the creaky rocking chair, the white paint distressed dingy and chipped by advanced age and a vast collection of butts.
Zipped herself into knee-length, black-vinyl, spiked-heel boots that were part of her sexy costume. Topped her chestnut, chin-length bob with a green elf hat and examined the results in the mirror.
Turned sideways, sucked in her gut.
"What do you think, John? Give it to me straight. I know I'm no Eartha Kitt, but put me in a couple of pairs of Spanx and I can pull off this hot elf thing. Right?"
She spun around to get a rearview, but her ankle turned in the stilletoe boots and she had to grab hold of the mirror to keep from toppling. "Okay, okay, Spanx and deportment lessons."
She took a second look, brushed her hair back from her face, and reapplied her lipstick. Good enough.
The other assistants would be here soon and they'd need the dressing room. Time to clear out.
Carefully, she minced her way down the stairs, went past the stage where the stagehands were setting up, and into the auditorium.
The Twilight Playhouse was one of the oldest existing theatres in the U.S. that still hosted performances, and it was the only building on the town square to have kept its primary function since the town was founded in 1875.
The theatre in fact predated the township, having been built the previous year, next door to what was then a saloon. Now, it was a fine dining restaurant nostalgically called 1874.
A few years back, when Emma and Sam Cheek took over as owners, the Playhouse had undergone a historically correct renovation, so while everything looked the way it had almost a century and a half ago, and the exterior was one hundred percent original, the auditorium was essentially brand new.
The theatre held three hundred people, and during the month of the December, every performance sold out. This year's Christmas play was Elf and on Saturdays and Sundays they held a two p.m. matinee.
Numerous green wreaths, with red velvet ribbon streamers connecting them, hung from the white limestone walls, festive and inviting. Stacks of programs sat on the apron of the stage, waiting for Santa's helpers to pass them out to theatregoers at the door.
From the slip of light filtering in through the open side doors, the Italian crystal of the colossal chandelier aggressively created rainbows, dappling the stage and orchestra pit in luminous prisms that twinkled and danced when the heating/air conditioning unit stirred the dangling glass.