In the cozy little village of Fiddlesworth, Christmas was never about reindeer or elves. It was about chickens. Specifically, the “Cluck-tastic Christmas Parade,” a zany annual tradition where everyone in town competed for the Golden Egg Trophy by dressing up as chickens and clucking their way through the streets.
Timmy Plum, a scrappy ten-year-old with a wild imagination, was determined to win this year. Last year, his paper-mache chicken hat had melted in the rain, and the year before, his wings fell off mid-parade. But not this time.
“I’m tired of losing, Lucy!” Timmy declared, pacing around his garage-turned-workshop. Lucy Tweed, his best friend and the only person brave enough to entertain his wild ideas, sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by glue sticks and feathers.
“Timmy, you’re pacing like a chicken that just saw a fox,” Lucy said. “What’s the plan this year? We can’t just glue some feathers to a jacket and hope for the best.”
Timmy grinned, pulling out a box labeled DISCO LIGHTS AND MAGIC. “This year, we’re going big. Full-on rooster disco costumes. Lights, music, and... ”—he held up a roll of tinfoil—“chrome tail feathers.”
Lucy raised an eyebrow. “Chrome feathers?”
“Trust me,” Timmy said confidently. “We’re going to blow their socks off. Or claws. Whatever chickens have.”
The week before the parade was a flurry of activity. Timmy and Lucy worked late into the night, transforming their ordinary clothes into dazzling disco rooster suits. They rigged tiny LED lights to the feathers, added speakers to the chest, and programmed the music player to blast a medley of disco hits.
“This is either genius or the worst idea we’ve ever had,” Lucy said, gluing a particularly stubborn feather to her sleeve.
“It’s genius,” Timmy replied, accidentally stapling his glove to the workbench. “Definitely genius.”
On the morning of the parade, Timmy and Lucy stood proudly in front of Timmy’s house, their costumes shimmering in the winter sunlight. The chrome feathers sparkled, the lights blinked in perfect rhythm, and the music started with a triumphant thump thump of bass.
“This is amazing!” Lucy cheered.
Timmy nodded, adjusting his oversized rooster helmet. “We’re unstoppable. Let’s go win this thing!”
As they strutted into town, heads turned. The other contestants—families dressed in everything from fluffy hen outfits to a suspiciously turkey-like costume—stared in awe.
“Is that Stayin’ Alive?” someone whispered.
“It’s disco chickens!” another person gasped.
Timmy and Lucy exchanged a victorious high-five. “We’ve got this,” Timmy said.
But as the parade began, cracks started to show. Or rather, sparks.
The first sign of trouble was subtle. Timmy’s right arm started blinking out of sync with the music. Then Lucy’s speaker crackled ominously.
“Uh, Timmy,” Lucy whispered, “is it supposed to smell like burnt toast?”
“Burnt toast? That’s not—OH NO!” Before Timmy could react, his suit’s music player glitched, cranking the volume to maximum. The opening beats of Disco Inferno blasted through the speakers, causing nearby parade floats to shudder from the sheer force of the bass.
“Turn it down!” Lucy shouted.
“I can’t! The buttons are stuck!” Timmy yelled back.
As the music grew louder, chaos erupted. The vibrations sent a cascade of feathers flying through the air, landing in the face of Mr. Buckle, the reigning champion. He stumbled, tripping over his elaborate chicken tail and falling into a cart of decorative eggs.
“MY EGGS!” Mrs. Crumple, the town baker, shrieked.
Meanwhile, Lucy’s lights began flashing like a miniature fireworks display. A toddler in the crowd screamed, “It’s a chicken robot invasion!”
Timmy tried to turn off his suit, but instead, he hit the “dance mode” button. His legs started moving uncontrollably, and before he knew it, he was moonwalking down the street. Lucy, caught between laughter and panic, clutched at her costume, only to accidentally trigger her speakers, which began blaring Kung Fu Fighting.
The crowd was in hysterics. Parade floats wobbled precariously, people in chicken costumes flailed about, and the mayor’s prized giant chicken balloon deflated with a sad pfffft.
“Timmy, what do we do?!” Lucy cried.
“Keep clucking and hope for the best!” Timmy shouted, his legs still stuck in dance mode.
Just when it seemed the chaos couldn’t get any worse, Mrs. Fluffernoodle, the town’s actual chicken and unofficial mascot, strutted into the fray. She paused in front of Timmy, tilting her head curiously at his blinking lights and disco music.
“Not now, Mrs. Fluffernoodle!” Timmy groaned.
But Mrs. Fluffernoodle had other ideas. With a decisive peck, she hit the emergency off-switch on Timmy’s suit. The music stopped, the lights dimmed, and Timmy’s legs finally stopped moonwalking. The entire square fell silent, except for the soft clucking of Mrs. Fluffernoodle.
The mayor stepped forward, covered in feathers and holding what was left of his hat. “Well,” he said, looking around, “that was... unorthodox.”
As the chaos settled, the townsfolk burst into applause. “Best parade ever!” someone shouted.
The mayor chuckled, shaking his head. “Timmy Plum and Lucy Tweed, I don’t know whether to scold you or thank you. But I do know one thing: you’ve given this town a Christmas we’ll never forget.”
He held up the Golden Egg Trophy. “The winners of this year’s Cluck-tastic Christmas Parade are... Timmy Plum, Lucy Tweed, and Mrs. Fluffernoodle!”
The crowd erupted into cheers. Timmy and Lucy beamed as they accepted the trophy, with Mrs. Fluffernoodle perched proudly on Timmy’s shoulder.
That night, as the town gathered for a feast, Timmy looked around at the laughter and joy filling the room. “You know, Lucy,” he said, grinning, “we might not have had the most graceful parade, but we definitely had the most fun.”
Lucy laughed, raising her glass of sparkling apple juice. “To disco chickens and heroic hens.”
“To the best Christmas ever,” Timmy agreed.
And somewhere in the corner of the town square, the mayor’s chicken float gave one final creak before collapsing with a muffled splat.
It was a Christmas Fiddlesworth would remember forever.
