Winner, Adult Category When Santa Claus (white beard, twinkling eyes, fat and ageless) first contacted James Burgess through the Internet at 8.30 p.m.on December 20, 1997, James (balding, cold eyes, overweight and 49), was livid. James was in his office checking share prices and thought that he must have keyed in the wrong code. Instead of the NASDAQ index, here was the face of some grinning fool with `Ho Ho Ho' scrawled across the screen. He muttered something unprintable and hit the keyboard viciously. The amount of junk on the Internet was unbelievable, any idiot could set up a web site. Ah, that was better. The familiar list of figures flickered in front of him. He rubbed his tired eyes and studied them minutely. The light was dim and the office quiet. None of his staff still at work, he noticed. Even young Stevens, the newest recruit dashing off at seven sharp just because his wretched wife had had a baby recently. What kind of an excuse was that? Vaguely he thought of his own wife and boys waiting at home, then dismissed them from his mind as he decided to check his E-Mail. His contact in New York might have an update on the latest deal...here it was...Oh no! Not that idiot again! He gazed at the message in disbelief. Hello James , it read. Working late again? What would you like for Christmas? Love, Santa Claus . "What the...?'' James muttered. The message must have come from some member of his staff who fancied himself a wit. James' mouth tightened. He made a mental note to ask his secretary to issue a curt memo throughout the office tomorrow. He rubbed his eyes again, staring blankly at the idiotic message on the screen before stretching, yawning and grimacing.

What was that tightness in his chest? Must have a medical one day...He got up, collected his briefcase and left the office. Santa Claus wisely gave James time to cool down before contacting him again at 8.55 p.m. on December 22.

This time James was in a good mood having made a tidy little sum for himself through a hot tip on an obscure Australian gold mine. Santa left his message in James' mailbox. Hello James , it read. Working late again I see! What would you like for Christmas? James stared at the message then chuckled to himself.

Two could play at that game. He typed his reply rapidly. Hello Santa. I'd like a 50-foot yacht, a Lear Jet and Michelle Pfeiffer. He stared at the screen.

After a minute, his reply appeared. So sorry. Ms Pfeiffer already booked. `Ho ho ho' said James to himself. Santa Claus indeed! He went back to checking the Dow Jones Index. Meanwhile, back at the North Pole, Santa was getting cross.

So much for modern technology! He'd been relying on his new Internet web site to reach hard cases like James. Only two more days to go! Maybe he should use a little magic to override the Dow Jones Index. James would be furious but it was worth a try. But James was more frightened than furious. He sincerely thought he was going mad as Santa's smiling face gradually filled his computer screen, overriding the figures he was studying. "Bloody hell...!'' He pushed his chair back from the desk and rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Hello James. So sorry to interrupt, but what do you want for Christmas? What did it mean? His head was swimming. Moving as if in a trance, he pulled his chair forward again and typed a few words. Are you the real Santa Claus? He pause, unable to comprehend what he had done. He stared around the office. It was totally silent apart from the muted hum of his computer. In a sudden panic, he reached behind the machine and switched it off. There was a slight popping sound. The screen went black. he reached down to pick up his briefcase and shrugged on his jacket. He was sweating slightly and his chest felt tight. At the door, he glanced back at his desk and his heart gave an almighty thump. There were four words glowing on the dead screen. Yes, it said simply. Of course I am. As he walked to his car, James breathed deeply, inhaling the cool night air and making a mental list. One, book for a medical check-up first thing tomorrow morning. Two, get the computer technicians to check his machine - immediately.

Better still, take the damn thing away and get him a new model. He slackened his stride and put his hand on his chest. Damn heart still hammering away, but what a fright he'd had. Bloody Santa Claus of all things, as if he were some silly kid. Kids...his mind wandered. Only a couple of days to go till Christmas. Presents for the boys. Of course his wife organised all that side of things these days. Not that his boys believed in Santa any more. He'd taken care to stop all that nonsense once he considered that they were old enough for rational thought. His wife had protested. Some rubbish about a child's fantasy life, but as he pointed out to her, where does a fantasy life get you these days? Not very far in the business world, that was for sure. As he reached his car he paused, shivering slightly. The car park was deserted and a cold wind off the sea rustled the dry palm leaves against the wall. Are you the real Santa Claus? . How could he have typed such nonsense? Suppose someone had seen him. And where did the reply come from? He slid into the driver's seat, and sat for a moment gazing blankly through the windscreen seeing in his minds eye the words glowing faintly in the darkened office. Yes, of Course I am. By 7.30 p.m. on Christmas Eve, the streets of Hamilton were largely empty apart from a few cocktail party stragglers weaving their way home past the glittering store windows of Front Street. Office buildings were deserted, apart from the sixth floor of James' block where lights still burned and James himself sat glued to the screen of his new computer. The collapse of a Japanese bank that very morning had created reverberations throughout the financial world and James, torn between fascination and horror, was following the CNN financial news network update. It was all bad news. Finally he groaned and pushed his chair away. He sat for a moment rubbing his chin, lost in thought, the screen flickering away silently in front of him. When he looked back again, he felt too drained to register anything more than mild surprise.

Hello James. Do you know what day it is? All right, James said to himself.

I've gone mad. That's all it means. Who cares? Here goes. He typed slowly and laboriously. Of course I do. Pause. Here it comes... What do you want for Christmas? Pause. Silence. Last chance you know...I'm very busy. He's very busy! Who is this joker? James hesitated and as he sat quietly, an old saying of his grandfather came back to him. He typed the words carefully. Health, wealth and happiness. Silence. The screen went blank. That's it, thought James. I'm going home. I've had enough. But when he looked again, words and figures were filling up the screen. He saw his own name and peered at the right hand column, age, weight and blood pressure...It was a comprehensive medical report. He peered at the figures for blood pressure and winced. His weight? Surely not! Life expectancy...what the hell? The screen went blank again before a new set of figures appeared. A financial report! His trained eye took it in at speed and it looked pretty good. It also looked familiar -- it was his! Total assets etc. etc. Nothing to be ashamed of here. Even today's crisis would make little real impact. In fact it made a pleasant contrast to his medical report....Did that make sense? Before he had time to think about it the screen went blank again. Health, wealth, here it was...a picture, brightly coloured. It took him a moment to recognise an old photo, a holiday snapshot he'd taken of his wife and the children. All smiling at him. God she looked so young and pretty. When had he last seen her smile at him like that? As he stared, the screen went blank. In the background he heard a church clock striking the hour. It was getting late, but then, he thought confusedly, it's always later than you think...Once more the screen flickered into life.

Nothing complicated here. Just Santa's smiling face and three words: Go home James. James went home. In the doorway of his house, he met his wife, dressed to go out, giving instructions to a baby sitter. Both women looked surprised to see him. "But I told you about it,'' his wife explained, flustered. "I was just going to see mother. The boys are in bed and she's all alone on Christmas Eve and I didn't expect you back until much later...'' "Cancel just this once,'' he said firmly. "She won't mind.'' He picked up the phone at the same time pressing a wad of notes into the hand of the astonished baby sitter.

"Go on, it's Christmas Eve. Go on home.'' His wife shocked, watched him on the phone.'' "Just this once. I've been working so hard and we'd like some time alone together. We'll see you tomorrow of course.'' He put the phone down and turned to her. "What's come over you?'' she asked, still hesitating in her coat. "Oh nothing. Christmas, you know...'' he said vaguely. "Here, let me.'' He slid the coat off her shoulders. "That's all right. You sit down by the fire. Let's have a talk.'' He disappeared toward the kitchen, then stuck his head round the door. "Have we still got that bottle of champagne in the fridge?'' Much later, as they sat by the fire with the lights dimmed and the empty bottle glinting in the hearth, she said with a catch in her voice, "You know, when you said you wanted to talk, I thought, that's it. I thought you were going to tell me that you were leaving me, running off with your secretary or something.'' "No!'' "I did. Well you've been so distant...'' He pulled her closer. "I'm sorry.'' Silence, then..."My secretary is married with six kids.'' "So...?'' "Come on, it's almost midnight. Santa will be here any minute and we're blocking the fireplace!'' "But you don't believe in Santa Claus.'' "Says who?'' Giggling like children, they crept up the stairs.

He paused on the landing. "Boys asleep?'' "Yes.'' "I won't be a minute.'' He crept into the darkened bedroom. His older son lay fast asleep, but the younger one turned and muttered drowsily, "Has Santa been yet?'' He hesitated, then bent down to tuck the blanket in and whispered, "Not yet, but he's on his way.'' But while all was sweetness and light at the Burgess household, at the North Pole, tempers were getting frayed. Santa was working late again. "You're still at that wretched machine?'' his wife complained.

"I thought all the deliveries were done, it's almost Christmas Day.'' "Just one more message,'' Santa grunted into his beard. Then he smiled, at the screen. "He was a tough one, but I got him in the end.'' "That's right,'' his wife agreed. "But come along now, I wish you'd never opened the web site if you're going to be on it all the time like this. Bad for your blood pressure.'' By the time Santa went to sleep on Christmas morning, the Burgess household was in full swing. In the midst of the uproar, James felt someone tugging on his sleeve and turned to see his youngest son. He bent down so that the child could whisper in his ear. "Have I? You show me.'' Together they slipped down the hall and into James' den where he kept his personal computer.

"Look at that!'' Awed, the child pointed at the screen. James knew what he would see. The smiling image filled the screen and the message was short and to the point. Happy Christmas James. His son was saying something. "What? Oh Santa? E-Mail? Sure, all the time. How else would he know what we all want for Christmas?'' PHOTO Computer graphic by Ashley Mayne, age 12