The Christmas Creep

The Christmas Creep

After more than sixteen centuries, Santa still got a thrill when Christmas finally arrived. He literally existed for the day and the season, brought into being through sheer belief and the Powers That Be, though he’d evolved with the holiday over the years. Popular culture had both expanded and focused his role over the last century, making him truly a force to be reckoned with in his particular domain.

“Bring her down, Rudolph,” Santa called out, tugging gently on the reigns to guide his well-trained team down toward Kiritimati, aka Christmas Island, where they traditionally began the gift deliveries. Santa had settled in to delivering gifts promptly at midnight in accordance with local time zones and the International Date Line. That Christmas Island was first was merely a happy coincidence which always brought a smile to his rosy cheeks.

The team landed his sleigh on the first house, politely ignoring the fact its roof was entirely too small for such an arrangement, and Santa hopped out with a nimbleness that defied his girth. A bag of gifts slung over his shoulder, he slipped down a ventilation pipe (fireplaces being rather uncommon in the South Pacific) and into the living room.

A small, artificial tree sat in the corner, lit festively in red and green lights, with an assortment of wrapped gifts all around the base. Stockings, meanwhile, were hung along a bookshelf, and a plate of cookies was waiting in the usual spot on the end table.

No, Santa noted. The plate was there but only a few crumbs remained. He smiled and chuckled to himself. One of the parents must have had a case of the munchies and finished them off early. No matter. It happened more often than one might think.

Santa reached into his bag and retrieved the gift for the home’s only child, Mikarite. When he stepped toward the tree, however, he froze like the pond outside One North Pole. Another gift, in the exact same wrapping paper and of the exact same size, was already under the tree.

“That’s impossible.”

He lifted the other gift and noted that while the wrapping paper looked identical, featuring this year’s polar bear and snow flake print, it felt slightly different - thinner and cheaper. The name tag was in his distinctive handwriting, though, daring to proclaim it from Santa. Even the gift inside, which he could determine instinctively by Christmas Magic, was the same set of new soccer cleats that were in the official gift he’d brought.

Santa’s heart thudded deep in his chest. Fear wasn’t a part of his existence, but this was as disturbing as anything he’d ever encountered in all his years. His eyes flicked back to the empty plate. Maybe it hadn’t been the parents after all.

What could he do? It would be unethical to take the present, even if only to replace it with an identical one. He couldn’t leave both, as that would cause confusion and decrease belief in him.

And who the blazes had impersonated him and how? Had the elves concocted some grand practical joke as payback for the Christmas in July joke he’d played on them over the summer break? Unlikely, but he was at a loss for any other feasible explanation.

Santa returned the gift that had been placed there first and stuffed his own back into his sack. It seemed the least problematic solution until he had some answers. With a reluctant wiggle of his nose, he shot back up to his sleigh and guided his team to the next house.

#

“I’ve got nothing, Santa,” Ginger said. Even through the snow globe, his right-hand elf’s expression was sufficiently terrified to convince Santa she was not in on some joke at his expense. “Every single house?”

“Thousands so far,” Santa confirmed. “And every last one is the same. Occasionally the gifts are slightly different, but close to being the one I brought. When they are different, it’s usually just a bit cheaper in quality.”

She threw up her arms. “An impostor? But why? And how? I mean, it takes Christmas Magic to deliver the gifts while stopping time. Only you can do that.”

He’d already reached the same conclusion. “It’s like there’s another me out there.”

“It doesn’t work like that, though,” Ginger said. “People aren’t believing in different Santas.”

Santa nodded. They just looked at each other through the snow globe in silence while the sleigh raced on across the water toward the next island. What else was there to say or do?

“I’ll gather up the team,” Ginger said, referring to the elf logistics experts. “See if we can find you some answers.”

“Please do.”

“What about you?”

Santa sighed. “I guess I’ll stick to the schedule. Can’t risk any gifts not being delivered.”

“We’ll figure it out, boss.” With a task to perform under pressure, Ginger reverted to her traditional upbeat elvish self.

#

The story remained the same as Santa continued his routes through eastern Russia, New Zealand, Japan, Papua New Guinea, and eastern Australia. The impostor was mimicking Santa’s job, only doing it before he could. Because he was running behind the other, there were no cookies left for him or carrots for his team. Santa relied on those sources of fuel to keep him going through the night. Less than a tenth of the way through his list, he was woozy and the reindeer were showing signs of fatigue.

With a distressingly fully-loaded sleigh, Santa returned to One North Pole for updates and to swap out his load with the gifts for the next zone. Mrs. Claus, uncharacteristically, met him in the barn, bearing a very welcome tray of Christmas cookies. The reindeer handlers, meanwhile, were ready with an extra measure of oats and apples for the team.

“No luck yet?” Santa’s wife asked, unable to hide her concern.

Santa shook his head. “This could be the biggest disaster since…” He glanced Rudolph’s way and she nodded in understanding.

“Well, that night turned out okay in the end, didn’t it?” She said. “Maybe this is just setting the stage for another Christmas night of legend.”

He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. It didn’t feel like that kind of night, but maybe she was right. He needed that optimism.

“Boss,” Ginger said, calling him from across the shop.

Santa grabbed another handful of cookies and excused himself to see what his lead elf had come up with. Ginger, along with Snap, Pepper, Starlight, and Mortimer, pointed to a larger snow globe that was set up on a work bench.

“Find anything?” Santa said.

Ginger pursed her lips. “Not directly, but we can infer some things from what we don’t see.”

Santa looked into the snow globe and found what appeared to be a home’s internal security camera footage. It wasn’t pointed directly at the family’s Christmas tree - such video would inevitably fail if it might accidentally or intentionally try to capture his arrival. It did, however, catch a reflection of the tree in a family portrait hung in the hallway near the living room. It was subtle, only a couple of blurry pixels, but he could see when one moment there were no gifts and the next they were there. It was exactly what it would look like had he delivered them.

“And what does this tell us?” he said.

“Time stamp verification puts this at 11:55pm, just a few minutes ahead of you,” Ginger said. “We’ve been able to corroborate this with hundreds of others.”

That wasn’t much and the looks on the elves’ faces reflected his own sinking feelings. Once upon a time, this wouldn’t have been a problem. It used to be that he delivered gifts after the children were asleep and time was less specific. Over the years, though, it had generally become accepted that he delivered at midnight. There were sneaky ways around kids who were still awake, but he was now obligated to work within the restraint of belief and expectation.

“Thanks,” Santa said.

Ginger frowned. “So, how do we get ahead of this…other?”

Santa glanced up at the big world map posted on the opposite wall, the one that showed the various delivery zones for the gift loading crews. His eyes wandered over it until settling on one specific out-of-the-way spot. Maybe, just maybe…

Ginger smiled, clearly reading him. “You figured it out?”

“No,” he said, “but I do have an idea.”

With a twinkle in his eye and a bounce in his step, Santa hurried over to the sleigh and launched into the starlit sky. He even let out a deep, “Ho, ho, ho,” finally feeling a bit of the spirit that had been absent since his first delivery attempt.

#

Santa drove his team hard over the Pacific and the vast expanse of the Australian Outback. Finally, on that continent’s southern coast, he banked in for a landing on the outskirts of Eucla. It was a tiny town of only about fifty people, little more than a pit stop along the Eyre Highway. There were a small smattering of Christmas lights adorning the buildings, though, enough to give it a festive feel despite the mild summer evening in the desert.

“Stay here and wait for me,” Santa said to his team to allay their confusion over being left away from the house where he would be delivering gifts. Santa slung a sack over his back and headed for the small house he had in mind, this one with a classic chimney.

He slipped down and inside the home, dim save for a small tree in the corner and silent aside from some distant snoring in an adjacent bedroom. Thanks to his magic, no one would hear a peep from his presence, even as he allowed time to flow normally for a change.

Santa approached the tree and, to his immense relief, found there were no gifts from “him” yet. He unslung his bag and placed Elizabeth’s new skateboard under the tree, feeling an immense rush of joy from the act. He then indulged in the cookies and milk left out for him.

Forty minutes later, precisely on time, Santa came down the chimney.

“Ho. Ho. Ho.” Santa stood, crossing his arms across his chest and staring at the very startled other Santa.

Time had stopped at precisely five minutes to midnight, just as it would have for Santa at midnight. That they were both moving and able to interact meant this other Santa was also functioning on Christmas Magic.

“Well, this is awkward,” the other Santa said, dusting himself off and setting his sack on the floor.

Santa nodded, taking full measure of the other. They were, indeed, nearly identical. The other, however, was just a bit fatter. For lack of a better word, the other had a slightly greasy appearance about him. His mannerisms, too, were just a bit off - impatient and arrogant.

“To say the least,” Santa said.

“How did you…?”

Santa cocked a bushy eyebrow. “Get ahead of you?”

“Yeah.”

“Since settling on delivering at midnight, I took to using the official, legal timezones of humanity.”

The other looked puzzled for a moment, then nodded in understanding. “Eucla. It’s part of Western Australia that officially only uses Australian Western Standard Time. But the locals use what they call Australian Central Western Standard Time, which is forty-five minutes ahead.”

Santa nodded. “And because the locals consider it official, I was able to as well.”

“Nice little technicality there,” the other said. “I should have anticipated that.”

“Rookie mistake.”

The other gave a wry grin. “Okay, so that means you’ll have gotten to deliver a handful of presents this year. Well played. The rest are mine.”

“That would be a mistake,” Santa said.

The other puffed up his chest. “Oh? I’m sure you’ll tell me why, old man.”

Santa’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t take the bait.

“You’re the Santa of Christmas Creep, I presume?”

The other gave an exaggerated bow. “In the flesh, finally.”

Santa, in tune to all things Christmas, was well aware of how the holiday had evolved over the years. It was just over the last decade or two, however, when he’d felt an incredible and unpleasant pressure exerting on him from outside. Humanity had felt it, too, and named it Christmas Creep. Stores were displaying holiday wares earlier and earlier. Television specials, holiday concerts, and decorative displays were appearing before Thanksgiving and now even closer to the beginning of November. Worse, more and more people were giving gifts early and expecting the same of him when it was otherwise inconvenient to stick to the traditional schedule. All together, it was diluting the holiday season and invoking a general disdain rather than festive spirit.

He and the elves had actively worked against this creep, though their ability to influence the holiday so far out was limited. Black Friday had actually been one of their ideas, one they’d hoped would firmly mark the official beginning of the season and limit the damage from those trying to start it earlier. Unfortunately, it might have only made things worse in the long run as now retailers began Black Friday sales the week before Thanksgiving and now over the entire month of November.

Santa strongly suspected this latest development had allowed the Creep to manifest. There was now just enough belief in premature celebrating and Santa coming early to satisfy the Powers That Be. Santa had resisted this change rather than adapt to it as he had with so many others over the years, now he saw the result of that tactic.

“This isn’t going to end well,” Santa said.

Creep rolled his eyes, like a teen enduring a lecture from his parent. “Why not? I’m what you should have become. I doubt you’ll last the year, yet Christmas will endure. I’ll still be here and no one will ever be the wiser. After all, I’m Santa Claus.”

“And you’ll be presiding over a fading holiday, one that’s lost meaning.”

Creep chuckled. “You’ve already been doing a bang-up job of that, old man. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

Santa wanted to slap the Creep upside the head with his sack. He wouldn’t hand Christmas over to this dilution if he could possibly help it. The spirit of the holiday was still strong, despite its strains. It had to remain in strong hands.

“There’s room for the both of us,” Santa said.

Creep scoffed. “You’re just trying to save your generous ass.”

Santa had hoped to handle this diplomatically. The odds of that working were looking weaker by the moment.

“What I’m suggesting is that you could cater to those who shop early and celebrate early. I would handle the traditionalists, thereby keeping the spirit of the season strong.”

Santa didn’t like the offer, but did genuinely feel it could work. Besides, it was in his nature to be generous and giving this time of year.

Creep’s eyes narrowed and he let out chuckle that might have sounded jolly to anyone without a more refined ear.

“Nice try, Santa,” he said. “But I know you don’t really believe that there can be two of us. You know why? Because I’m you and I don’t believe it. So step aside, old man, and let me get on with the long night ahead. Enjoy your retirement in oblivion. You’ve earned it.”

Creep slung his sack over his shoulder. He glanced back, put his finger against his nose and gave a playful wink, and vanished up the chimney in a flash. Moments later, Santa could hear the clatter of reindeer on the roof taking flight.

He slumped down in the home’s recliner and stared blankly at the Christmas tree. Had he made a fatal mistake by resisting the pressure to change this time? He’d felt he needed to make a stand on principle. Was he going to pay the price for that attitude?

The Powers That Be wouldn’t listen to his pleas. The only way to stop the Creep was to change popular belief. But on Christmas night and when the pendulum was swinging against him? It seemed impossible. How to pull it off within the rules?

The rules.

Santa dug into his coat pocket and withdrew his small snow globe. He shook it vigorously, transforming the miniature version of One North Pole into a blizzard. Moments later, the snow intensified and then faded into the face of Ginger.

“How’d it go, boss?”

“As poorly as I’d feared,” he said.

Her face fell. “Peppermint sticks.”

“I need you to do something for me, and fast.”

The elf gathered herself, all business again. “What?”

“I need you to put together a list of those kids that are the biggest sticklers for rules. Starting with those in the closest time zones and working out from there.”

Ginger nodded. Santa knew her curiosity was burning, but the explanation could wait.

#

Santa guided his sleigh in for a gift refill after finishing a pass through eastern Europe. This time, the sleigh was truly empty, all the gifts having been delivered. The attitude of the elves had buoyed considerably and they set to work reloading for his next leg. Santa got out to stretch.

“I see an empty sleigh,” Ginger said, hurrying over from her station while trying to act nonchalant about it.

“Indeed.”

Ginger narrowed her eyes. “And?”

Santa grinned. “And what?”

The elf scowled. “You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?”

“Ask what?”

Ginger sighed. “Fine. How did you do it? How’d you set things right?”

Santa chuckled. “I dug deep into my bag of tricks. ‘Visions of sugarplums, danced in their heads.’”

“Huh?”

“I went into the dreams of the children from the list you compiled and gave them visions of an impostor delivering gifts early. I was able to startle many of them awake, right in that short gap between 11:55 and midnight. The curious ones went looking for signs I’d been there. When they found gifts from ‘Santa’ but delivered before midnight, they got suspicious.”

Ginger frowned. “But wouldn’t that actually make them more likely to believe in the Creep?”

“Perhaps,” Santa said with a grin. “Only, I then appeared promptly at midnight while they were awake and looking at the suspect gift.”

“Wait, what?! You appeared to them in person?”

Santa nodded. “I’ve done it enough before that it’s accepted as allowable under extenuating circumstances. Kids will accept it. I merely confirmed that their dreams had been true and that I was there to trade out the false gift for the real one. I then thanked them for believing in me and sent them off to bed.”

“Amazing.”

“I only had to do it enough times to create a bit of strong disbelief in the Creep. Since he manifested only just this year, it meant belief in his existence was right on the cusp of being enough. Only took a small nudge to push him back into the realm of un-manifested potential.”

“Well played, Santa,” Ginger said in genuine amazement. “But what about next year?”

Santa’s expression saddened a bit. “We’ve got a lot of work to do in the off-season. Send a memo to the team. I want ideas from everyone on my desk by New Year’s Day.”

Ginger smiled and saluted. “Sure thing, boss!”

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.”