Over the River and To the Moon

July 23, 2044

Ginger was busy reviewing the elves’ upcoming duty schedules when something on the background television snagged her attention. She peered up and saw video from what appeared to be the surface of the moon and its first permanent habitation - Armstrong Base. She increased the volume.

“…the consortium just gave approval today for the first child to visit Armstrong Base. Vivian Olovski, seven-year-old daughter of the base’s first commanding officer, Case Olovski, is tentatively scheduled to make the trip in mid-November for a sixty day stay. Officials are heralding the educational opportunities and…”

Ginger tuned out the rest of the details as pictures of the precocious child at her elementary school’s science fair flashed by. Mid-November for sixty days. That little tidbit seared itself into the back of her mind. Christmas fell into that span. The moon. Presents.

“Peppermint sticks!”

Ginger muted the television and snatched up the snow globe from her desk. Shaking it vigorously, she initiated a call straight to Santa. The big guy answered after a bit, his  sun-burnt face resolving out of the dancing snowflakes. Even behind the mirrored sunglasses, his irritation was clear.

“I thought I told you to only use this for an emergency,” he said. Just underneath his less-than-jolly voice Ginger could hear the crash of waves. Aruba? Santa hadn’t disclosed where he and the missus were taking their summer vacation this year.

“It is,” she said, suddenly less certain it raised quite to that level. “Well, sort of.”

Santa’s scowl deepened, a difficult thing to do while sipping something exotic from an umbrella and fruit-laden glass.

“It involves a tricky delivery.”

Santa shook his head. “We have tricky deliveries every year and Christmas isn’t for another five months. That doesn’t sound like an emergency to me.”

Ginger got the hint. “Sorry, probably not. I just, well, it’s something we’ve never seen before and…”

Santa’s stony expression hardened further.

“…and we have those every year, too,” she finished. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Do that.” Santa’s face vanished from the snow globe and the flakes settled out over the miniature re-creation of Christmas Village.

Ginger set the globe down and sighed. She was embarrassed for having interrupted Santa’s private time and knowing it hadn’t really been necessary. In the back of her mind, though, she had a nagging suspicion it might be more of a problem than she initially feared.

Santa had entrusted her with immense responsibility as his number one elf. She oversaw most of the entire operation, particularly on the 364 days each year not directly tied to the delivery of gifts worldwide. What had he told her about handling such responsibilities when they became too great? Form a committee and delegate.

#

October 17, 2044

“What’s the problem?”

Snowball wilted and Ginger quickly apologized for snapping at the chief engineer.

“Sorry,” she said, softening her tone. Geez, in her old age, she was getting as bad as Santa. “What did you need?”

“Well, the sleigh conversion is going according to schedule,” Snowball began, having trouble keeping his eyes off the floor. “But the protective bubble we’d been developing for the reindeer isn’t working. It can protect them from the vacuum of space, but there’s an interference with their flight magic. Either they can breath or move, but not both at the same time.”

Ginger removed her glasses and pinched her nose. Outfitting Santa’s team for a trip to the moon had been nothing but one seemingly insurmountable problem after another. Christmas Magic was powerful stuff, but even it had rules. Flying off-world hadn’t been part of Santa’s legend. Worse, any time Ginger tried to broach the subject with the big guy, he ignored her or changed the topic. Granted, his sole responsibility in the lead-up to the big day was to monitor the kids and polish up the naughty and nice lists. But on this one topic, he was being unusually obstinate. Ginger secretly suspected he was aware of the situation and didn’t have any answers of his own, which terrified her.

She said, “Have you tried thinking outside the box?”

The elf frowned. “Uh, maybe?”

Ginger shook her head. “Perhaps you’re thinking about this too much like an elf. How would a human approach it?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. They rely on spaceships and spacesuits to go into space. Christmas Magic doesn’t factor into it.”

“Then maybe you should consider their approach.”

Snowball looked at her incredulously. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “Uh, okay.”

Ginger felt for the guy, but she knew she didn’t have the engineering know-how and this one had to fall upon their experts. Leadership and delegation, she thought for not the thousandth time, sucked rancid peppermint sticks. She was a born control-freak and relying on others was testing every fiber of her elfin being. If there was one who was worse than her, it was Santa himself. How could he tolerate not only delegating things to her now, but actively avoid any participation in those aspects of Christmas preparation? What had allowed him to change in recent decades?

She reached for her snow globe to ring him up, even if only to ask about his thoughts on leadership rather than the moon mission. No, she thought, pulling back her hand. Not yet.

#

December 25, 2044

Regardless how stressful the buildup to Christmas was each year, the arrival of the actual day had always filled her with joy. The heavy work was done and now she and the other elves could mostly just kick back and enjoy the moment as Santa made the deliveries. Sure, they still had to load the sleigh during stops back at the North Pole, and the odd storm or other headache might crop up, but all in all it was a happy time.

Usually.

“Two hours, Snowball,” Ginger said, trying to hide the urgent desperation in her voice.

The chief engineer, poring over one of the toy making machines, looked as frazzled as a kindergarten teacher on the last day before break. He grunted something as he kicked the machine and uttered a few very un-elf-like words.

“These machines were never meant to craft materials of this kind!” He kicked it harder, as if that would help.

Santa was already ten hours into making his deliveries. The moon delivery was due in two hours as Armstrong Base worked on Greenwich Mean Time, right in the middle of Christmas Day worldwide. The team tasked with making the delivery possible had concocted spacesuits for the reindeer that, on paper, should work, but in reality had proved to be too stiff in the legs when under vacuum. An ex-NASA engineer, who’d been a perennial on Santa’s nice list as a kid, had given them a few suggestions without knowing who exactly it was he was helping.

The machine chimed pleasantly and began chugging like a locomotive. Snowball’s eyes lit up and that hint of optimism lifted Ginger out of her grim funk. The engineer pulled at several levers and twisted still more knobs.

“Is it working?” Ginger asked.

Snowball eyed the readouts and pursed his lips. “Maybe. But, even if it is, we’ll be cutting it awful close to get the suits sewn up.”

“The tailors are all on standby,” Ginger said.

Snowball grunted. “It’ll still take a Christmas miracle.”

Ginger couldn’t help but grin. “Funny, that.”

#

It might only be one gift, but every delivery mattered on Christmas Day. Ginger’s spirits soared as each of the custom-fit reindeer spacesuits was finished and transferred to the barn just as the team was due in for a reload. And this wasn’t just any reload, but the first to be delivered off-planet.

There was a buzz of excitement when Rudolph’s red nose came into view followed soon after by the team sliding expertly into the barn. With an efficiency that would make a NASCAR pit crew weep for joy, elves descended upon the sleigh and team and set to work. Santa hopped out to stretch his legs and give them space.

“You appear to be in unusually good spirits,” Santa said to Ginger as she walked up to him. “Been a while.”

Ginger nodded sheepishly. “You were right. I know you’ve been avoiding the topic to teach me a lesson. And, well, lesson learned.”

Santa’s brow furrowed. “What lesson was that?”

Ginger heard the genuine confusion in his voice and her stomach churned like bad eggnog. Had she completely misread the last six months? Had he been so utterly removed from the elves’ project to make his journey to the moon possible that he had no clue what was involved?

“Uh, leadership, and such…” Ginger let the words hang like fog from her breath.

Santa looked as confused as Ginger felt.

Ginger prompted him. “The moon delivery?”

Santa perked up. “Oh, that one. No need to fret over that. It’s already been delivered.”

Ginger felt her jaw drop, but no words came out. What could she even say to that? How? When?

Santa must have picked up on her discombobulation and smiled. “Took a bit of planning to get it done, since going there clearly wasn’t possible. Snuck it aboard the last resupply mission. Even included a self-contained clockwork elf to make sure it’s placed under whatever passes for a Christmas tree up there.”

Ginger wanted to slap the smirk off Santa’s fat, rosy cheeks. The big guy’s smile started sliding off on its own when he saw the ice in Ginger’s eyes.

“You shipped it!?”

Santa actually took a half a step back from the elf one-tenth his size. “Uh, well, yeah. In a sense, I suppose. What else was I going to do?”

Ginger clenched her fists to keep them from shaking. “Maybe,” she said, drawing out the word, “you could have delivered it in person. You know, on the sleigh we’ve been working half a year on outfitting to make it happen. For example.”

Ginger’s frustration over the last few months must have finally clicked for Santa as he looked mightily chagrined. “Wow, well, yes, I suppose that would be one option. But since it’s already delivered and it’s such a long way…”

His words trailed off when Ginger’s frown became close to showing teeth.

“I’m sure the Powers That Be will be understanding.” Ginger said this with a sweet, innocent tone, completely opposite the dire threat implied. The Powers That Be, the aspects of the universe that empowered Santa and Christmas magic, were notorious sticklers for rules. One such rule was the personal delivery of all presents.

Santa’s rosy cheeks blanched. “Maybe I should see to it that gift is placed personally,” he said. “Besides, it’ll be an adventure to travel to the moon.”

“If you think it best,” Ginger said, unable to hide her sarcastic pleasure at his discomfort.

“You really got the sleigh and team outfitted for that trip?” Now that Santa had conceded his neglect on the matter, his professional interest was roused.

Ginger shrugged as if it had been nothing. “Delegating doesn’t mean neglecting.”

Santa nodded in understanding. Perhaps a lesson had been learned from this episode, after all.

“Guess I’d better hit the head before this next leg, then,” Santa said, hitching up his pants. “Don’t think there are any rest stops along the way.”

Santa ho ho ho’d at his own joke as he walked away.

Ginger, still steamed, felt Snowball sidle up beside her while she watched the elves get the reindeer dressed in their festively-colored space suits. From the chief engineer there was a sense of unity and pride.

“Couldn’t help but overhear some of that,” he said. “Did he really not…?”

“Nope.”

“And he wasn’t going to…?”

“Nope.”

“Wow.”

“Yup.”

They stood in amiable silence for a bit longer before Ginger called over Trotter, the reindeer herd-master.

“The team’s a bit jittery,” Trotter said, “but they’ll get it done. Those suits fit much better than the last set.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Ginger said. “Snowball did good work.”

Snowball blushed in pride as the herd-master nodded.

“Now, I do have a favor to ask,” Ginger said to Trotter. “I’d like to make sure the team has plenty of energy for the trip.”

Trotter looked offended. “We’re already feeding them the finest oats we’ve got.”

Ginger shook her head no. “I’m talking something special. Maybe something we’ve got locked away in shed number thirteen.”

The North Pole air between them dropped a few more degrees. Trotter and Snowball exchanged a look.

“Uh, Ginger,” Trotter said, cautiously. “There’s only one edible thing locked away in there.”

“I know.” She gave him a look that carried all the meaning necessary. Trotter looked nervous.

“But, what about Santa?”

Ginger snorted and smiled. “He gave me full authority over this project. I’m exercising it. Make it happen.”

Trotter looked to Snowball, who only shrugged.

“Right, Miss Ginger,” Trotter said. “How much?”

“All of it. And be quick about it.”

“Right away,” Trotter said, racing off.

When they were again outside earshot of any other elves, Snowball said, “Are you sure that’s wise?”

Ginger smiled. “No, but it’ll be fun. And you can’t say it’s not keeping in the Christmas spirit of kids and too much sugar.”

Snowball chuckled. “But four cases of giant caffeinated Pixy Stix? Those things aren’t even street legal anymore, right?”

“No, they are not.”

After the gummy bear incident of 1978, Santa had banned any sugar consumption by his team in the week leading up to and on Christmas Day. He didn’t even allow them to clean up crumbs from the cookies he ate.

Snowball shook his head and smiled. “We’ll just call it rocket fuel then, eh?”

“Exactly, Snowball. It’s the only way to fly.”

Story Seed Vault

Forgot to get a post up linking to this (very) short story I wrote back in 2017. It's for the Story Seed Vault, a collection of tweet-sized sci-fi inspired by science news stories. When I heard about the site, an article I had read not long before immediate popped to mind and the story soon followed.

The story was untitled, but for convenience I'll call it Beet Burgers.

The Confession of Mrs. Claus

My Dearest Children,

I find myself penning this letter to you against the day that God’s largesse comes to an end. Among other failings, I lack the courage to speak the truth to you in person. I wish it were not so, and many times I’ve convinced myself that today would be the day we all sat down and I could come clean. I’ve failed each time. So here, hiding behind Death’s cloak, I’ll tell my tale. Our tale.

To begin, I was born human, not of the fairy realm as I have always told you. It was a few centuries after the time of Jesus, in Roman-controlled Lycia. My childhood was unremarkable and I married a brewer, a man I thought I loved with all my heart. About three years later, though, when I was unable to produce a child for him, he cast me out, blaming my barrenness on practicing witchcraft and consorting with demons. I was already devastated and these unfounded accusations he used as cover for divorce led me to, well, snap. I most certainly was not a very forgiving Christian.

While many of my family didn’t believe his accusations, my father did. He allowed no one to associate with me. I had to flee and turned to begging and other less savory things to survive. I prayed to God to save me, to set things right, but it seemed my voice fell on deaf ears. With the fire of revenge burning deep in my soul, I turned to a woman purported to be a real witch. That old crone told me what I needed to do and I eagerly proceeded without thought to the consequences.

On the next full moon, I stood naked on the shores of the Dalaman River, the blood of three sacrificed kittens smeared across my body, and called forth the demon. (Yes, dear children, surely this comes as a shock. I apologize, for this is among the least of my sins. Should you wish to stop reading now and curse my memory forever, I will understand.) Sinterklaas, named by the old witch, appeared before me like ink’s shadow against the dark of night. I could feel the heat of his immense form – standing upright as a man on cloven-hooves, scaly of skin, and with glowing red eyes that laid bare my dark soul. He reeked of decay and sulfur. I was afraid, yet so far gone in my thirst for revenge that I stood my ground and begged him to slay my husband in the most painful way imaginable.

The demon agreed, contingent upon my sworn devotion to him, that I would remain his consort until death and beyond. Furthermore, I had to bring him fully into this world. I was young and foolish and prideful, and I agreed. I bound Sinterklaas to this world by taking him as a lover, his lust and depravity contagious. It shames me to admit it, but I reveled in the demon’s evil.

Sinterklaas wasted little time in hunting down and killing my former husband. I watched and laughed and encouraged the demon as he tortured and then ate the liar’s new wife, forcing him to witness the entire thing before becoming the demon’s next victim. There is no forgiveness for my role in that affair. I may not have been entirely of my own mind by then, but I brought that state upon myself.

The demon and I moved across the region in an orgy of death and unspeakable carnal pleasures. I soon discovered that Sinterklaas had a keen fondness for children – ambrosia to the beast. I was there for it all, for so had I promised. I helped, both in finding targets and then…worse.

It was every bit as horrific as it sounds, and I was lost in my love for this demon. Things changed before long, however, when I realized I was with child where I’d thought such a thing impossible. Oh, I was still consumed with evil, but now I saw glimpses of a future. Before that point, there was nothing but destruction – unending until the Apocalypse. Sinterklaas saw the physical change in me, for I became swollen in a matter of weeks rather than months, and he looked forward to his spawn becoming a blight upon the world. He thought it would curry him favor with the devil himself. I was so proud and eager to bear his child.

After a month, I gave birth. Not to one child, but nineteen. They were small and stunted, with yellowed skin, pointed ears, and born with small, sharp teeth. The touch of the demon was unmistakable, yet I bonded instantly to them as any mother would to her child. I was overwhelmed with a joy that now competed with my lust for evil.

Unfortunately, Sinterklaas’s taste for children surpassed the desire to see his offspring’s destructive potential. One night, after stepping outside the home we’d coopted for but a couple minutes, I found the demon had skewered every last child with a wooden pole and hung it over the fire. I remember clearly how that forked tongue licked his lips while his dark red scales glistened with the fires of the pit. He told me with glee how we would share the finest of feasts that night.

It was then I snapped out of the demon’s influence. Surely, the connection between mother and child is a thing of God, more powerful than the influence of a demon. I could feel his pull, that sworn vow feeding an immense desire to join and feast and let him take me over and over, but I resisted and fled. Sinterklaas must have assumed I would soon return, for he didn’t follow.

I wandered, lost and broken, until I found myself on the outskirts of Myra. One thing I’d learned in my time with the demon was that it avoided holy sites. He never spoke of it, but I had picked up on this aversion and wondered if a priest might be a match for the foul creature.

I found the church in the heart of Myra, far grander than what I’d grown up with in the small village. It was very early in the morning when I stumbled into the courtyard and I hesitated there when I saw a young boy praying at a statue of Jesus on the cross. I couldn’t make out most of his words, but it was clear that he was praying for his father’s health, that the man might work again. The demon’s influence still touched me and I’m sure I scowled even as the boy’s plight tugged at a softer part of my soul.

While the boy’s back was turned, a man in priest’s vestments slipped in quietly and knelt at the boy’s bag which was laying on a bench several feet away. I watched the priest place a few coins and an orange into the bag and then just as quietly slip away and pretend to enter from another direction. He consoled the boy and said to trust in prayer.

When the boy left, the priest saw me and beckoned me inside. I was afraid that I might burst into flame on crossing the threshold, but nothing happened. He was young, maybe a few years older than me, with curly hair and a full beard and friendly eyes.

I asked him why he had helped the boy in secret, since it seemed deceptive – like faking a miracle. The priest just smiled and said he felt it was his obligation to help those in need, to give to the poor, to act as God’s emissary on Earth. Children, he said, had a particular need.

And when he mentioned children, I broke down and told him my tale. All of it. I wasn’t sure he believed me, since neither he nor God smote me on the spot, but it turned out that he was aware of the stories of our misdeeds and saw my appearance as a sign he might be able to help end the killing. He felt that with the strength of his faith, the demon could be banished back to hell, and then I could seek absolution for my sins.

I disagreed on both counts. Yes, I believed the priest probably could have sent the beast back to that fiery pit, but I refused to allow Sinterklaas off that easily. And, furthermore, I didn’t believe it was right of me to ask forgiveness. I wanted to suffer for the horrors I’d committed. I deserved nothing less.

I told the priest I wanted the demon to suffer commensurate to the pain it had inflicted during its time on Earth. He seemed unconvinced piling more vengeance upon my original sin would make anything better, but when I told him the idea that came to mind he at least agreed to let me go ahead and try. As he put it, everything was in God’s hands, and this would be a test of my faith to see it through.

I returned the next day to Sinterklaas, but the demon had already moved on. I feared I had lost my opportunity, but then I heard rumor of deaths in a nearby town that smacked of the demon’s handiwork. I followed that lead to the next and the next, each leading me farther from my home and always north. I wondered if the demon wasn’t fleeing – either me or the priest. Was it able to know where I had gone or my intentions? I don’t believe so now, but couldn’t say for certain what its motives were back then.

After nearly a year, traveling on foot through foreign lands and begging charity from those whose languages I couldn’t speak, I finally caught up with the demon near a remote village in the northernmost mountains. It was a realm of snow and cold and dark, unlike anything I’d ever known to exist, and its own sort of hell. The hearty folk who lived there, however, seemed a cheerful lot save for those touched by the demon’s hunger. It was in a dark, icy cave not far from one of these villages where I found Sinterklaas, who just gave me a fanged grin as if he’d known all along that I would chase him.

What then, dear children, do you think I did? Why, I gave myself to him in contrition, or did a very good job of pretending. I laid with the beast and begged for more, trying to distract it from one lust for flesh with another. As before, I was soon carrying the demon’s offspring and I further used this to entice it to stay close that it might feast again upon their succulent flesh. The creature of deception, fortunately, was susceptible to it as well, for it never saw my true intentions.

When I gave birth, this time to seventeen sons and daughters, the demon’s hunger was such that it could wait no longer to indulge. Before it took a single child, though, I held aloft the priest Nicholas’s blessed cross. Sinterklaas laughed, shaking my faith, and told me I lacked the power to banish him after pledging myself to be his consort for eternity. I agreed and told him I had no intention of leaving his side. Rather, his punishment would be mine as well.

I proclaimed there and then, humbled before God, that my love for you, my children, was inviolate. That I would protect you and cherish you for all time, in this world and the next. That I wouldn’t stand for Sinterklaas stopping your lives before they could fulfilled. And, toward this end, I would help serve out the demon’s sentence – that it remained bound to that icy cave save for one night each year when it would be allowed out only to bring gifts and joy to the children of the world. And on that night, to fulfill my sworn obligation, I would lay with it. The demon screamed in rage and lunged at me, but could cause me no harm. The cross burned him and me as well, binding us to this arrangement. I wept tears of joy, touched by God’s love that I felt completely undeserving of, and left the cave with all of you in my arms.

So yes, dearest children, I may call you my little elves, but you are really the offspring of demon and human. Given your kind natures and boundless love, I think the freewill of man in you has overwhelmed any of the inherent demonic influences save the superficial. I’ve been blessed to have spent these centuries with you, doing good work and bringing joy to children, and I hope that you feel it’s been a worthwhile endeavor in spite of the circumstances that brought it about and my keeping this dark secret from you. You also know the truth, painful as it might be, that the man you’ve always believed to be Santa is in fact your father and nothing like the fiction I created. He doesn’t keep his own counsel each day of the year save Christmas in careful observation of the children, but rather is safely locked away in that cave where he can do no harm.

If you’re reading this, then I expect it is because I’ve passed on from this world to the next. I never did ask for absolution and don’t believe I could have been fully forgiven for my deeds after binding myself to the demon. While I’m uncertain, I believe when I pass it will be with Sinterklaas as well. By now, the popular influence of the legend of Santa Claus will live on even without our presence on Earth. You may find yourselves at a loss for what to do next. Perhaps you’ll pass on to the next world, a better one, as well. I just don’t know. What I can say, though, is I don’t fear for your fates. Be good, be true to yourselves and to one another, and you’ll always walk the bright path.

Yours forever in love and Christmas spirit,

Mom

Santa vs. the Neighbor

Santa awoke with a start. Missus rolled over and grumbled, clearly awoken by the same thing.

"The damn neighbor again," she said. "As if wearing red underwear on the outside of that awful blue spandex wasn't enough, flying supersonic over the North Pole again? At this hour?"

Ah, so it had been a sonic boom. That was getting old. Half the elves were frightened by them and the other half cheered enthusiastically when he flew by. The reindeer herd was skittish at best with the big day less than a week out and they needed their sleep between training runs.

"Not very neighborly, is he?" Santa said, rolling over in hopes of ending the conversation.

"Gonna be a rough Christmas if the herd can't get a decent night's sleep."

He could read between the lines. They'd had this discussion several times since the alien-posing-as-super-human built (no, grew) his house (make that a fortress) next door to 1 North Pole. Missus hadn't taken to his manner of dress, activities at all hours, or the crowd of misfits he associated with. She expected Santa to do something, confront the guy. He wasn't exactly the confrontational sort but a courtesy call was at least in order.

"I'll pop over there in the morning."

"Mmm-hmm."

Santa sighed at his wife's skeptical response. What could he do? He was jolly by nature, so jolly it would have to be.

#

Following his team's training run, Santa made a stop in front of 2 North Pole. He'd visited once, when the neighbor first moved in, but things had changed a little bit since then. The structure - all massive columns of clear and white crystal set at angles - was both beautiful and intimidating, and apparently still growing. Fortress was certainly a good word for it, though it was unlikely to ever face a siege up in these parts. Even the polar bears had the good sense to stay away. The other difference was the addition of a junker out in the front yard up on blocks.

Santa's team pulled up alongside the eye-sore and he scoffed with a "ho" while disembarking and tromping up through the snow to the front door. There was no doorbell or knocker, not even a handle, on the thirty-foot tall monstrosity, just a single massive keyhole halfway up.

Summoning up his mighty voice, Santa boomed out, "Jingle, jingle!"

Almost immediately the door opened and there stood his neighbor. The man was tall, statuesque, and handsome to a fault. His hair was black, combed back save for a stray curl that dipped across his forehead. He was dressed in his usual working costume - blue body suit that left little of his muscled bumpiness to the imagination, red boots, cape, and aforementioned trunks, and yellow highlights, including the conspicuous logo on his chest that was most certainly not a letter despite the uncanny resemblance.

"Greetings, neighbor!" Santa couldn't help but sound cheery. And, since he knew all the good deeds this man had done for humanity, he couldn't rightly be too upset at the odd minor indiscretion.

"Hi Santa." The man said and shook Santa's hand with a grip like steel. "What brings you over?"

"Oh, was just out with my team on a training run this morning," Santa said. "Been meaning to drop in and see how you were getting settled in."

The man shrugged. "Getting along alright, I guess. It's quiet. I like the solitude."

Santa jumped on the best passive-aggressive opening for which he could have hoped. "Speaking of quiet, I've been meaning to ask you about those occasional fly-byes you've been doing over my place."

The man cringed apologetically. "I know, the sonic booms are a bit much, aren't they? I'm really sorry about that."

Santa chuckled in a low voice that was almost sub-sonic. He knew the man to be sincere.

"Yes, well, I don't mind them so much, but it is spooking my herd." Santa thrust a mittened thumb over his shoulder toward the reindeer hitched to his sleigh. "What with Christmas only a few days away, they need their beauty rest."

The man held up both hands. "Say no more," he said. "I'll do what I can to avoid buzzing your place, especially at night. But, you know when a sweatshop in Bangladesh is fully engulfed, well, every second counts. You know how it is."

Santa nodded, then realized by doing so he'd more or less just conceded that his neighbor's motives took precedent over the Christmas operation. Santa couldn't rightly call him out on that because, well, it was Christmas and there was nothing more important to his own very nature, but he wasn't blind to the ethical dilemma. He was irritated at himself for so easily giving up his point.

"Right, thanks," Santa said, managing not to grumble. In a brief moment of pique, however, he turned things back on the neighbor. "Oh, and I noticed that wreck out in your yard. You know, my elves could come over and salvage it for scrap. Wouldn't take them more than an hour to have it stripped clear."

Take that, he thought. Yeah, I called you out on it.

"That's very kind of you to offer," the man said, non-plussed. "But that's the spaceship in which I crashed on Earth as an infant. My adoptive mother was tired of my enemies poking around the farm for it in hopes of extracting technological secrets or that sort of thing. I just brought it up here, but the new room to store it in hasn't finished growing yet. Shouldn't be more than another day or two and that...eyesore...will be out of the way."

Santa’s rosy red cheeks flush further. Now he felt like a complete tool. He should have remembered that tidbit about the man, having brought him gifts since he was a wee little thing.

"My mistake," Santa said, trying to salvage some face. "Had no idea. Sentimentality is a precious thing."

An awkward silence hung between them for several shakes of a jingle bell.

"Well, I hope I haven't kept you from saving the world again," Santa said, hitching up the belt on his belly. "I should be off to finish the day's training with the team. Breaking in a new reindeer this year. You know how that is."

The man nodded in polite agreement. "Stop by any time."

Santa waved farewell and started back for his sleigh when the man called out.

"Oh, I've been meaning to stop by and thank your wife for the new outfits. I really appreciated the gesture, but I'm not sure it'll work out."

Santa caught his step as he flushed with humiliation. Missus had sent the guy a new costume? Or costumes? And hadn't even mentioned it to him? That was bold and could've been construed as rude, depending on what she'd sent.

He turned back. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize she'd sent you anything."

The man just shrugged like it wasn't any big deal. "I liked the one that replaced my red trunks and boots for a solid blue look, but the media raked me over the coals for the change so I went back. And the all-black look... Yeah, I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet."

Santa nodded, unsure what he could even say.

"Anyway, I really appreciated her gesture and I'll pop over to thank her in person as soon as I can. Unfortunately, there's a chemical spill situation breaking in Uganda that I should probably go lend a hand with."

Santa said, "I'll let her know and please go, don't let me get in your way."

The man saluted with a couple fingers from his brow and launched into the air, his red cape whipping in his wake.

Santa couldn't believe how such a nice, wholesome man could invoke such irritation in him. Most of it was directed at himself and his wife, not the neighbor.

"Peppermint sticks!" He grumbled all the way back to the sleigh, decidedly not looking forward to speaking with Missus over his afternoon hot cocoa.

#

The remaining days in the lead-up to Christmas Eve had been blessedly quiet. The neighbor, whether intentionally or not, hadn't done a supersonic flyby over 1 North Pole and preparations for the big day had gone smoothly. Santa's unsettled instinct, however, proved prescient, and everything went sideways with about six hours to go before Christmas deliveries were to get underway.

Santa was outside, giving his sleigh its final inspection with a team of elvish mechanics. The sky, perpetually dark this time of year, exploded with brilliant yellow and orange fire, turning the winter wonderland into a hellish landscape. Concussions that made the neighbor's sonic booms pale by comparison rocked the region several seconds later. The reindeer herd began bleating in panic and Santa had to rally extra handlers to get them under control.

Smoke and flame obscured what was going on in the sky, but Santa's assistant Ginger was by his side within moments, anticipating his questions.

"Looks like some extra-dimensional warship, about four miles long, has engaged your, uh, neighbor, in some sort of grudge match," she said, gazing into her snow globe. "They're going at it right over his fortress."

The heat rising in Santa's veins could have roasted chestnuts. He watched simultaneously in person and through the elf's snow globe as the scenic peak of the nearby Frosty Mountain was obliterated in the crossfire. Chucks of molten metal and slabs of dislodged granite rained down on his property, where they changed into harmless snowflakes via the protective Christmas magic. Still, his defenses didn't help against the noise and shaking, and everyone was in disarray. Had this battle been joined six hours later, Santa's magic would have reached a peak where he could intervene with a miracle. For now, however, he could do little but stand by and watch.

"What should we do, Santa?" Ginger sounded as worried as he'd ever heard the elf. That tone brought him back into the moment.

"We prepare for Christmas, just like always," he said, the jolly gone from his voice. "Make sure everyone stays on task."

"And that?" Ginger nodded toward the neighbor's property.

"Won't be a problem." Santa tried to sound convincing. It shouldn't be a problem, he thought, as long as they didn't let it be a distraction.

"Got it, boss."

As Ginger hurried off to carry out his wishes, Santa excused himself from the last bit of the sleigh inspection. He trundled back to his office where he pulled out the final versions of the nice and naughty lists. Dipping his quill in a pot of ink, he scratched out one name from the nice list and added it to the naughty.

#

There had been some rough Christmases in the past, but this one was certainly among the bottom ten. All the gifts were delivered, the cookies and milk consumed, and Christmas cheer spread to every corner of the world. Nothing technically went wrong. The entire vibe, though, between him, his team of reindeer, and the support crew of elves back at the North Pole, was off. Santa, in a rarity, was glad to be done rather than disappointed that the holiday was already over.

Over, that was, except for one last delivery.

Santa guided his team to land in a scorched patch of ground in front of the heavily damaged remains of 2 North Pole. The neighbor's fortress hadn't fared particularly well in the battle, but it had survived more intact than the interloper's flying warship which was now in rubble spread across several dozen square miles. The smell of burnt plastic and molten metal assaulted his nose.

The fortress was empty. He could sense that much as he slipped in through the shattered door. Inside, massive columns of crystal had fallen amongst the various trophies and mementos from the hero's exploits. It was a mess.

Without a stocking in sight, Santa produced one and magically affixed it to a relatively intact, bare stretch of wall. Into it, he stuffed a handful of coal. Deep in his heart, he knew the alien meant well. He even knew the guy had probably just saved the Earth. In spite of all that, though, the passive aggressive part of him felt good about sending this not-so-subtle jab for the incessant unneighborly behavior everyone at 1 North Pole had been forced to deal with recently.

With a twinkle in his eye, he let out a final ho, ho, ho to mark the end of the season.

#

Santa oversaw the unhooking of his reindeer team, thanking each for their good effort. The elves swarmed over the sleigh and pressed him for stories about how the deliveries had gone. His spirits lifting, he indulged them all, putting off his own desire to settle into the recliner in front of his fireplace.

When he finally got away and let himself in the front door of his house, Santa realized something was amiss. They had a guest.

"Welcome home, dear," Missus said, wiping her hands on her apron as she hurried over to give him a big hug. She was in remarkably high spirits. "Everything go well?"

"Well enough," Santa said, looking over her shoulder and feeling that Christmas cheer fade as he saw the neighbor sitting at the dining room table, still in costume, eating cookies and drinking a mug of hot chocolate. The man raised the mug in a toast while his eyes twinkled good-naturedly.

"Hello Santa."

It was impossible for Santa to be anything but a gracious host, no matter how uncomfortable that might be, so he nodded and greeted their neighbor. Had the guy opened his stocking yet?

Missus guided Santa to the dining room by his elbow. "Our neighbor just came over to apologize for all that mess yesterday," she said cheerfully. Santa couldn't believe this was the same woman who'd decried their neighbor almost daily since he'd moved in.

"And I'll have it cleaned up as soon as possible," the neighbor said.

"He even asked me if I'd help him landscape the place, afterward," Missus said, practically tittering. "Some pines with Christmas lights, maybe some winter flowers, it'll be beautiful when we're done with it."

We? Santa just nodded. "Sounds lovely."

"Oh, and you have to try these snickerdoodles he brought over," she said, handing Santa a cookie as if he hadn't just eaten upwards of a billion of them last night.

"They're my mom's," the neighbor said. "I made a quick trip down to Kansas so I wouldn't show up empty-handed."

Santa nodded. He munched on the cookie, remembering that he'd had this very recipe, baked by the neighbor's mother no less, many times before. They were good.

"Empty-handed, hardly," Missus said. "He also brought this. Which he made himself. Such craftsmanship!"

Missus picked up from the table a small snowman figurine, each of the body pieces a singular, perfect diamond. Santa knew, instinctively, just where those diamonds had come from - crushed into existence from a certain stocking full of coal. Touché.

Shamed, Santa gave up. He couldn't hold grudges or be angry, not in the face of a gift and gesture of goodwill on Christmas. "Thank you," he said. "It's beautiful."

"You're most welcome," the neighbor said, standing such that his cape swayed dramatically behind him. "And thank you, Mrs. Claus, for your hospitality. I should be off to start cleaning up my mess. Merry Christmas to the both of you."

Santa shook his hand and stood beside his wife as they watched the neighbor fly off.

Missus sighed, leaning in to her husband. "He sure can fill out that costume. Looks better up close, in person."

Santa cast a sideways glance at his wife, which she completely missed as her gaze lingered on the vanishing speck.

"Wouldn't hurt you to work out once in a while, huh?" She nudged his bowl full of jelly and returned inside.

Santa grumbled a few things about keeping up with the neighbors under his breath before sighing and finally closing the door.

Christmas Leftover

Third consecutive year for writing a Christmas story. I think that official makes it a tradition. Different feel from the last couple years. Hope you enjoy it.



Christmas Leftover

Santa took a long, deep breath of the salty Pacific air. Ordinarily, these last couple deliveries in American Samoa marked a pleasurable end to a long night’s work. Something was off tonight, however, and he couldn’t quite place his finger on it.

His team had done its job remarkably well and the post-Christmas evaluations would be nitpicking. That wasn’t it. The weather had been cooperative, aside from a few dicey moments in the northeast Pacific and that spot of hail in Uruguay. That wasn’t it, either.

Santa climbed into his sleigh and sent his team off to the very last house on his route. When he reached back into his pack to fetch the young girl’s gift, he discovered two packages there. That was it.

“Peppermint sticks!” Santa’s curse drew wary glances from his reindeer.

When was the last time something like this had happened? In the early years, it had been a regular problem until his wife convinced him he really did need to check his list twice. Then the elves put together a quality control program—the department of redundancy department, he liked to call them—and there had been nearly no miscues since. It felt like a breakdown in the system and left an otherwise fine season on a sour notes.

Santa dropped off the young Samoan’s gift and then took a look at the wayward package. It was addressed to Kristi. The address, in elvish script invisible to human eyes, said she lived in Rockham, Oregon in the United States. That would make it nearly dawn, if he wasn’t mistaken. At least there was still time to make the delivery before its absence was noted. He set his team on the course with all due haste.

While the reindeer blazed out across the open water, Santa shook the snow globe on his sleigh’s dash. Within moments, Ginger, his most trusted elf, appeared among the swirling flakes.

“What’s up, Santa? All done?”

“Not exactly,” Santa said.

Ginger’s demeanor changed from playful to profession in the blink of an eye. “Problem?”

“Route’s done, but I have a spare gift in the bag,” he said. He gave her the details. “I’m en route now, but I want you to check the delivery schedule and see if you can’t figure out why it wasn’t on there.”

She nodded somberly. “Get back with you shortly.”

Courtesy of Santa’s own reality, the trip across the Pacific was brief and uneventful. He spent the time recalling up the young Kristi’s gift request. It was a disc golf basket, uncommon but nothing particularly noteworthy.

The address was out in the countryside, just high enough in elevation to have enjoyed a light Christmas snow. Colorful lights illuminated the home and a wisp of smoke rose from the chimney. The eastern horizon was revealing its first hint of pre-dawn gray.

As the team came in for a landing, Rudolph flinched and then banked abruptly. The others followed suit and the sleigh was whipped around roughly. Santa was about to chastise his team lead when he felt it—a powerful aversion to the house itself. It wasn’t cold or evil in nature, just adamant. What in the North Pole was going on?

He directed the team to land just in a clearing just off the property line. They pawed nervously at the ground, but otherwise ignored him. He couldn’t blame them, sharing their agitation.

The snowflakes in his dash globe began to swirl and Ginger’s image returned. He hoped she had an answer for him.

“Sir?”

“What’d you find, Ginger?”

“I can’t explain it. She’s on the master list, clear as day, but not on the delivery schedule. This kind of thing shouldn’t be able to happen.”

He bit back his retort. It wasn’t her fault and she didn’t need to be on the receiving end of his tongue-lashing. Even if someone else had screwed up, it was ultimately on him, and he had a feeling there was more to this than just the delivery schedule.

“I can’t set foot on the property,” he said.

“You…what? Like unholy ground or something?”

Santa stared at the house for a bit. Something nagged him in the back of his mind.

“Does Kristi have a sibling?” Once, long ago, he probably would have been able to remember off the top of his head. He’d gotten lax in recent centuries, relying too much upon his support system.

“Just a sec.” Ginger vanished for a minute and then returned. “Yes. Trevor, age eight.”

That made him three years older than his sister. Santa knew, instinctively, that Trevor was on his good list this year. But he only had a present for Kristi. He would have remembered trying to deliver one here for Trevor.

“He doesn’t have a delivery scheduled,” Ginger said.

No, he didn’t. It all came back to Santa like a kick in his bowl full of jelly.

“Santa?”

He shook his head and ho-ho-hoed. “It’s okay, Ginger. I know what happened.”

“You do?”

“This is an old job.”

Ginger frowned. “I don’t follow.”

Santa grinned. “Pull up Trevor’s file. You’ll understand. In the meantime, I have a gift to unwrap.”

#

Trevor awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. He’d heard a clatter outside. When the sleepiness cleared his head, he decided it had actually been more of a thump. His room was still dark, but the clock said three minutes to six, which was close enough to his school wake-up time that he wouldn’t get in trouble for getting up. He slipped out from beneath his sheets to see what was the matter.

Pulling aside his curtain, he could just make out the shadows of bushes and trees against the brighter snow on the ground. There were still stars in the sky, but those on the eastern horizon were fading. Nothing immediately struck him as being out of the ordinary until he spotted something dark and circular laying in the snow just beneath his window. A ball? It was too dark to tell for certain. What he did know was that it hadn’t been there when he’d gone to bed. It had been snowing lightly at that point and would have covered whatever it was.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Trevor crept out of his room and down the hall. Kristi, his sister, must have already been awake, as her door cracked open and she poked her head out.

“Where are you going?”

“Outside,” Trevor said in a whisper.

“Why?”

“I think something just hit my window. I want to see what it is.”

“I’m coming, too.”

Trevor didn’t want her tagging along because it meant having to help her into her boots and coat, but if he refused she would probably wake their parents. Christmas morning or not, that wouldn’t go over well.

“Fine, just stay quiet.”

Once they were properly dressed, they crunched through the snow around the side of the house over to Trevor’s window. He peered around again, but saw no one. Aside from their footsteps and Kristi’s breathing, it was also silent.

“Is that it?” Kristi pointed to the dark circle. From here, Trevor could tell it wasn’t a ball.

“Yeah,” Trevor said, bending down to pick it up.

It was a dinner-plate sized disc of heavy plastic with a lip around the circumference. He recognized it as a disc golf disc, like a Frisbee but used for throwing into the metal baskets rather than playing catch. Their parents had introduced them to the game last summer while camping.

“What is it?” Kristi asked.

“A disc.”

“Santa came! He got my letter!”

Trevor raised an eyebrow. “You asked for a disc?”

“Well, I asked for a basket, actually,” Kristi said. “You know, so you and me could play together while we’re at home.”

Trevor was taken aback by her Christmas wish and found himself ashamed by what he’d asked of Santa this year. What kind of a kid asks Santa to skip over their house? A disappointed and self-centered one, and just because Santa hadn’t brought him what he’d asked for the year before.

“That’s a really nice thing you asked for,” Trevor said. He meant it.

“Wait, is that the basket?” Kristi practically squealed with delight and charged across the yard. Sure enough, Trevor could make out the very thing for which she’d asked. To his eye, it appeared to be set up just outside their property line.

Trevor just twirled the disc in dumbfounded amazement, smiling when Kristi declared that it was indeed a brand new basket, complete with a bow. As the disc turned in his hands, he noticed a dark smear across the back. On closer inspection, it appeared to be handwriting.

He walked around the side of the house to where their Christmas lights provided sufficient illumination to read by. In elegant handwriting were the words, “These things take time.”

Santa had delivered last year’s gift after all, whether Trevor deserved it or not. His sister not only wanted to play with him, but play something they both enjoyed.

Trevor walked back around the side of the house and called out to his sister, “Is there another disc over there?” He was pretty sure he already knew the answer.