It's cold this Christmas Eve atop our wintry world as the snow drifts flurry about in a circular motion upon the icy artic lair of the great benefactor of children, Mr. Claus (or Satan as he is known by his little green, slave minions). The blue midnight sky lit by the magnificent North Star, shone brightly across the snow-covered landscape, gracing the enchanted castle, which has been home to history's greatest anonymous toymakers.

As we approach the rooftop above the factory beneath, we can hear the sounds of heartfelt laboring from the ones who make that special night happen once a year.

"Okay, okay who did it," the elfin chief screamed. "Who sent Mrs. Claus a gift wrapped bottle of peppermint douche? Was it you, Kaybler?

The elf nodded, head bowed low. Unexpectedly, a shot rang out which found the little green runt gasping for life in a pool of his own blood and urine.

"Just because his uncle is some famous cookie maker who has hollow tree franchises all across the globe, doesn't cut him any slack up here," the foreman elf defiantly stated with gun in hand.

The elves continued working, tiptoeing over their former colleagues body as they hastened to keep their deadline, occasionally stepping into his puddle of goo.

"Okay, I want no more of this low level crotch thinking. The elves with the lowest productivity will be hanging around the shop this Christmas Eve when Santa delivers his goods, is that understood?" the elfin foreman said in an ultimatum.

"Does that mean hanging around as in goofing off or hanging around as in by our necks?" another trembling worker murmured.

"What in the elfin universe do you think I mean? Do you think that the Great and Powerful Claus is going to give an elfin tool tinkers damn about some elfin little peon elf, who doesn't know his elfin head from a hole in the ground.

"It's time!" the heralding angel proclaimed. "It's Christmas Eve! Make ready the sleigh!"

And with that, the factory maze became a frenzied precision machine loading the magic sleigh with enough gifts and toys for every child on earth. The only thing was…most children would not be receiving gifts this or any other year, especially if they didn't fit Santa's profile. What was secretly known was that Santa planned to take over the world one day through the children who were pliable to his mind control…but that's another story!

Looking upon this seasonal display of forced gift giving to those who rarely appreciate the thought or the effort, the prettiest of Santa's helpers, the Snow Angel, stood in the distance with arms outstretched fulfilling her only purpose for the season, to look beautiful in the glistening snow to all travelers approaching the front entrance to the castle. Every time someone would lie in the snow and spread their arms and legs to make an angel imprint, they were secretly paying homage to this loveliest of beings.

And she was beautiful, breathtaking actually and yet this simple task of illuminating her quite grace and loving spirit did not hold the same interest to her as it did in other season's past.

As Santa's sleigh was preparing to take off, she hid herself amongst his sacks of toys in hopes of providing Christmas cheer to some lost soul who will be passed over this holiday season. And there were many for her to choose from for most of the girls and boys homes that Santa passed in the night went without consideration, especially if they were of an ethnic color or didn't speak English or if they just pissed Santa off for no apparent reason.

Later in the evening, when the toy giver was making a delivery for some rich kids on the affluent side of town, the snow angel had translated herself to the poorer neighborhoods in hopes of finding at least one deserving soul to bless this holiday season.

While gliding by a dingy house with faded paint and an overgrown lawn, she viewed through a house window an old woman sitting in an easy chair, her lights dimly lit, heat on bare minimum, watching the lights from the passing cars dance across her walls. She could not afford Christmas lights and did not have the strength to decorate even if she had them.

The snow angel sensed the woman was in fear and could see it from the expression on her face.

She entered the house, passing through the walls as if they were not even there and stood by the chair where the woman was sitting.

"Oh, how I wish my only son would call me tonight," she said silently as her fears increased being near death. "I'm so afraid! Oh God, help me. I don't want to die alone".

The snow angel was filled with compassion and wept along with the old woman who could not see or hear her presence. The angel gently wrapped her arms around the woman, invisibly, yet her loving touch was felt just the same.

As the angel's grasp grew tighter, the dying woman was encouraged and she began to sing the old refrain, "Hark the Herald Angels Sing…" with a smile that lit up her face. She stood up and sang as if she was singing before God Himself. She had joy, for the first time, in a very long time. After she was finished, she slowly sat back down in her chair and quietly gave up the ghost with a peace of spirit from the knowledge that she was not alone anymore.

As the snow angel was leaving, she blew out a pane of glass in the woman's front window, so the freezing cold temperatures would preserve her body, in case it was a long time before anyone checked in on her. And then she flew away as she watched neighborhood children making snow angels on the ground.

© Mark Edgemon, 2010

The End

Home

Ja-pas, the elf in charge of writing the assembly instructions for the toys, was in a very good mood. A few too many eggnogs only added to his dyslexic bliss. "Ah the spirit of giving," he thought. "What might I do to make some one special human feel the true warm spirit of the winter solstice?

"I have an idea." He map Googled. He procured the elements necessary for the gift and sealed them in a dense metal box.

"If he can open this," Ja-pas laughed, "it will make a believer out of him."

The Gift was magically left on the threshold, wrapped in gold ribbon. The recipient looked at it. He looked around. His AK-47 scanned the hills. "How did this get here? What might it be? A gift from my god?."

It was very heavy and dense. He had a number of his minions lug it to his inner cave laboratory. The gift was sealed and except for a microscopic indentation there was no appearance of an opening.

Welding torches were brought . "No that's not a good idea at this time. I would guess that this has to be opened in some subtle manner, unlike some of our operations." He smiled.

"You have a point," his number two opinioned.

He sat before it and meditated. For forty days and nights he meditated. He moved it out doors and placed it underneath his favorite tree. He sat again for forty days and nights. Nothing happened.

He then decided to just put it in his lap sitting in the lotus position and praying over it. It opened. The technology within was astounding. He reached and found an assembly instruction sheet written in every language. This was just like his electric tooth brush. "My god, anyone can assemble this! A gift, and what a gift."

He commanded everyone to leave save his number two and a few technicians. There they assembled the device. "Oh joy of joys the gift I have been waiting for all my life. The Great Ships Of Desert Pilot be praised."

In the mean time Ja-pas had recovered from his drunken stupor, wondered if it was a dream or had he actually done what he thought he had done. "Shit, this is a really big one. Nah gotta be a dream." He looked around. The energy sources for the sled were missing. Now what?

The former patron saint of sailors, demoted to schlepping cheap lead painted Chinese made products to children was loading up the "sky barge". He was going through the preflight check. Low and behold, no fuel!

"JA-PAS why the hell isn't there fuel in the sled?"

"Ah, not sure boss. Seems we never got a reorder from the Russians as per usual. I think it was diverted."

"What do you mean, I personally signed for it."

"Well, it's missing then."

"You know that weird former soviet reindeer, the red one we keep in the lead paddock, the one that worked near Chernobyl? He might be an answer." The boss commanded,

"Hook him up. Attach one line to his antler and plug the other into his butt. We'll use him as a power source for the propulsion systems. When I get back you had better have an explanation and the missing material or it's off to the toy manufacturing gulag in Mongolia."

"Yes boss."

Ja-pas wonders, "What the hell am I going to do? I have no idea who I gave…. It… oh shit!" The besotted memory kicks in.

Meanwhile the recipient of the Gift had it worked out. The final detailed instructions required were available from the Princeton University library. Amazing, he thought. It's all there. And The Great Camel Pilot gave me the tools. How grateful can I be?

He explained to the locally assembled group, "I will wire this up on their great religious holiday and have it delivered to the Holy Land. Oh Nameless One be praised."

December of that year the gift recipient has managed to travel through no mans land and is in the country of centrifuges, caves and stoning deaths for profit and gain. He sits with his hosts. They are amazed at the level of sophistication he demonstrates.

"Look the instructions are in every language of this planet. But I am the chosen one."

"Well how will it work," they inquire?

"Simple, very simple. We get a remote flying vehicle; a timer is set with an altimeter and as the vehicle descends, Happy New Year"

Meanwhile St. Nick is having trouble keeping airspeed with the reindeer as an energy source. The line keeps popping out of his butt. One of the smaller elves has to work hand over hand, reach and plug it back in, then return to the toy laden sled. "This is the shittiest job I've ever had," he bitches.

Our hero, flush with joy, wonderment, and forbidden drink, again illustrates the method of wiring for the final solution.

All are in wonder. How he received this. We thought he was a kook. The gods must think differently. We stand corrected.

Ja-pas is looking for the power source he misplaced. He comes across the wiring instructions. Pretty funny he says to himself. The green goes into the cathode and the red into the anode. That would allow for a timed released of energy. Boy if anyone got that in reverse. He laughed, what idiot would do that?

Off in a distant underground facility, our hero reads the instructions and for some liquid reason, gets it in reverse.

A giant mushroom cloud appears over the desert of Iran in the vicinity of the weapons labs.

St. Nick has just delivered a new AR-15 toy to a young girl who always wanted one like her brother's. He looks at the sky and notices the glow to the East. He looks at his Russian reindeer.

"Just wait. His ass is grass." He mumbles.

© Richard Tornello, 2010

The End

Home

It had to be perfect, the instructions were explicit. Melvin looked at them again with mild disdain. It was some kind of big anniversary yet again for the old lump. They'd run out of double gold jubilee dates back before recorded time so it was probably some newfangled concept they'd dreamt up to try and build more employee, what was it, 'Morale'. By the tree-star the only thing anyone wanted to do was catch up on sleep.

But here he was working double overtime to try and get this flying boatload of decorations to the North Pole for the little event on schedule. Melvin sighed loudly. His wife was going to give him a tongue lashing even if he did manage to get back in time for dinner tonight. Being married to the chief of toy safety did not lend itself to the kind of corners he had to cut to make these runs on time even if they were taking a low orbital approach these days. Standard elven magitech was enormously unreliable in any case. Why else would Santa have required the use of reindeer and especially one with a glowing nose in an age when even mundane humans had aircraft that could fly in hurricanes.

He was having trouble keeping the damnable creatures on course. He reigned it in with a swift application of the whip. He began to take a look up at the great glowing stars and reached out his hand absently for a the potato chips he had in the passenger seat but at that moment they decided to levitate as is natural with things going into freefall.

"Igvit!" Melvin swore to himself this was the third time this week. He'd really have to get that stabilizer looked at. The queer contraption he was riding careened downward and he went through the usual emergency checklist in the back of his mind grumbling all the while about the low pay and the ridiculous demands of this job.

Bringing the vehicle level he found there was still one red light on. It was the signal for Wondrous Intervention Supporting Humans or W.I.S.H. Melvin rolled his eyes but this one couldn't be ignored. After all the whole northern elf society was effectively built around the concept these days. If there was a holiday dream in someones heart they had a duty to fulfill it. Never mind that he'd get chewed out for being late anyway.

The little map on the wall now sported a marker showing the location from which the desire was emanating. Maneuvering the vehicle in close to the source he looked at the small dingy house that was the source of this particular trouble. Taking a few notes on the location he hopped out onto the dark and patchy snow cover and headed over to the child who was out attempting to restore a half melted snowman with chunks of blackened snow and Ice Cubes taken from the freezer. He was thoroughly engaged in his task and seemed oblivious to Melvin's approach.

Melvin tapped the child on shoulder. "Hello there child what is your name?" He asked. The child seemed rather startled for a moment and turned around quickly. He stopped for a moment examining Melvin who was waiting as patiently as he could manage given the circumstances. The child looked askance at Melvin and replied slowly "my name is Jimmy. Who are you?". Forcing a thin smile Melvin replied "The name is Melvin. I am a northern elf in the service of what you would refer to as 'Santa Claus'. Jimmy looked puzzled. "But I thought Santa only came around Christmas." Melvin did not want to explain the intricacies of North Polar society right now. "Yes he does but we have to work all year round to make sure that everything gets done for Christmas and people are happy." Overly simplistic but hopefully the kid would be satisfied. "Look you want something I got a message about it so just tell me what it is you need." Melvin realized he was being a bit rude and that poor Jimmy hadn't done anything to deserve this exasperation but he wasn't in the best mood to begin with. Deep breaths. Jimmy didn't seem to notice though "Well you know how Christmas is a time of light and cheer." Melvin nodded. "Well I didn't get what I really wanted see. This is a tiny town and we don't have many lights and I really wanted to see the lights this year like they have in the big cities on the tv like on new years and stuff. It really makes this glow on the people and they seem so happy and mommy really needs to be more happy and I think that would just be so pretty to see." While Jimmy stopped to take a breath Melvin thought about this request. "Well I'll take it back to the pole and we'll see what can be arranged. This is definitely outside normal operating procedure and…" Melvin realized that the blank expression on Jimmys face probably meant he had no idea about standard operating procedure. "I'll get back to you." Melvin said simply and got back into the transport vehicle.

Oh he was going to get quite the verbal lashing and maybe take a pay cut and oh sweet sweet sleep why was it denied him? As he hit orbit a curious grin spread across his face. Oh he'd be fired for sure after this one but wouldn't it be worth it? He quickly played with the controls and the rear hatchway opened wide.

The authorities were calling it a freak meteor shower and someone at NASA had been called up to run an emergency check for a new Near Earth Asteroid but Little Jimmy knew in his heart that the greatest Christmas light show of the century was the gift especially for him.

© Spacer, 2010

The End

Home

Christmas was near and the rooms were filled with parcels and toys ready to be delivered worldwide. Working in Santa's labs was a wearying job, sure thing. As a North Elf, Elthan had to satisfy the good little boys/girls everywhere, making the presents they had been asking for and arranging an appropriate gift wrap for everyone.

Many letters had been received this year, too, as usual. Some of them asked for easy-to-get things, as the SpaceStation 4, the new tri-pad and the like. But for others there could be no answer at all…

"Give my dead brother back to me!" one of them implored. "I want my home rebuilt like before the earthquake!" or so on: such requests weren't ever allowed to come true…The more their senders had kept wishing for those, the longer they would have been continuously disappointed.

There was nothing else to do for him and the other Elves in the snowy far North but making toys and packing them up. Inside the labs you could have seen many pointed ears, long noses and busy slim figures working hard at every corner…

At some point several jingle bells rang: Santa's sleigh had just arrived and was waiting outside to be overloaded before leaving again for delivering. Now it was Elthan'turn. The young Elf took the sack containing all the gifts he had just filled up with the fruits of his labours, then went for the door, his slouch hat on. Time was running out, hurrying Elthan, so he jumped onboard.

The sleigh was covered with many parcels everywhere. But this year there was quite a difference: one sack had a peculiar gift wrap inside, an unusual small metallic box.

He began taking flight and soon went past the White Range separating the Magic Realms from the common world. The lands kept uninterruptedly unfolding as the Elf glanced down, turning ceaselessly into plains, forests and deserts…The Elf was always worried whenever he flew, but every time he was afraid, just felt reassured simply by looking at the strong wooden sleigh he was on.

He had almost reached the first address for today, but a storm cloud bank coming westward unexpectedly made the magical transport go about. Misteriously a radiance glittered inside the clouds, then a brilliant figure came out and started chasing him unceasingly.

It was a winged being, full of light outwards, that was as good at flying as the sleigh himself. Such an appearance seemed unworldly…Whoever could be? Elthan didn't know.

The chaser began throwing a sort of electric burst at him, almost hitting the target, then attacked. For sure, such a terrifying creature wanted to tear him down or stop his transport from delivering, at any cost! The sleigh flew up and down under the guidance of its experienced driver. When another burst exploded nearby, the flying vehicle finally turned back, headed automatically toward the assaulter then gave out a weird sound of rage. Immediately after the chaser stopped, melting away little by little. What an incredible trick, surely coming from Santa's incredible powers his sleigh had been endowed with before!

The Elf looked at the magical transport again, being very appreciative of such a gesture. "Never been so afraid before during the many flights he had made…". The sleigh got back on track, there was no much time left…

In brief he was on the first target. The sleigh went slower on the way down, landing in an empty wasteland. There was nothing out there, except a tent village some miles away. "Strange place". Elthan was a bit dubious, so looked at the label on the parcel: the address was correct.

The Elf got off, walking at his faster-than-human pace, his slender hands firmly on the lead box containing the present to be given. When he saw the boy face nearby, Elthan understood he was the addressee.

"Here is the Christmas gift you've been asking Santa for!" the Elf told the child. The little boy looked surprised, then —by leaning on a crutch, cause he was one-legged— took the box with his small hands, smiling faintly. He looked nine, but his one-eyed face didn't show the happiness a child usually had.

The question arose in Elthan's mind "How did you lose your leg, little boy?"

"It was because of a minefield I stumbled upon while helping my wounded younger brother last month. I made it eventually, but I put my foot in the wrong place…"

"And your eye…?"

"Hit by a splinter during a grenade assault against the village while running to warn the younglings about the incoming attack…"

"You've been really a very good boy" the Elf nodded "Just one thing, please: why did you want this specific gift? I mean, why a box containing uranium inside?"

"Because of my parents…They have been suffering since the war has started, so I have been hearing them speaking many times about what they've been expecting most…"

"Uranium…How come? "

"Actually, I thought I could have used my Christmas wish, I knew I deserved a gift because I've behaved myself all year-round. I was sure that would have been appreciated as they couldn't have been provided with uranium by any other means before…"

"What are they going to do with it? It's a very strange present, very dangerous, too…"

"They will build a bomb, meant to exterminate all our enemies, I think…That will give us back our land, our freedom!"

"I see" the Elf said. He didn't want to inquire about any further, so came back to the sleigh.

As soon as he was in the sky again, Elthan considered the barrend lands of Midde East he was flying over now: several countries at war, each stood in arms arrayed against the other.

Maybe the spirit of giving for Christmas was going to be lost…

© Sergio Palumbo, 2010

The End

Home

Katie Claus stood upon a black stone outcrop, gazing down at the village called Spring. It was a small, valley hamlet built to shelter her grandfather's few human laborers, but Spring contained within its boundaries every friend Katie had ever known.

Behind her, its crenellated spires stretching high into the mists, stood her grandfather's castle: Winter. Its gray-black stones &mdash: spell-hewn to be impervious to ice and snow &mdash: stood out in stark contrast with the merciless, frozen tundra surrounding it. That ominous effect, combined with the hours their parents worked this time of year, led the village children to rename it Dread Winter.

"You can't do this," said Napoleon, her nanny elf.

"Watch me."

"I won't let you," he said, standing up so that his bald pate almost reached Katie's elbow. "I vowed to protect ya &mdash: keep ya from mischief &mdash: and Lord Peter knows you're up to mischief now lass."

Katie glared.

Though it cost him something, Napoleon held her gaze. "It's not right what you're planning. Cutting it would be a sacrilege, and a shame on ya &mdash: on yer whole family."

Katie pictured her grandfather; not the rosy-cheeked fat man dressed in red, but the true tough-minded delivery man, stiff and stern and intolerant of anything that might disrupt his precious schedule. She saw him standing before her in his seal leather suit, his hoarfrost-encrusted beard &mdash: yellowed from pipe smoke &mdash: billowing out behind.

"Lucy's a good girl. It's not her fault she slapped Braden. He pulled her hair; I saw it," said Katie.

"The boss must have a deadline. You can't do nothing to change a deadline."

Katie tightened her grip on the eighteen inch shears hidden beneath her green sleighing cloak.

"We'll see," she said.

Entering Dread Winter was not so hard as it seemed, for though the ancient castle was forbidden, it was not unduly forbidding. No guards stood watch this time of year, and the gates stood wide to let vent the deathly heat and noxious fumes produced below.

Katie slid down a peppermint-striped pole towards the fourth subbasement, the incessant thrum of machines growing louder as she plummeted. Napoleon followed her. His long nose quivered with fear as he strode from the landing alcove.

Glowing magical ice covered the Great Manufactory's floor, revealing strange creatures of every shape and size trekking across it in cleats, cussing and jostling and fighting to get their work done.

"How ya gonna hide in that?" asked Napoleon.

Katie ignored him, scanning the crowd.

Six polar bears pulling a sledge loaded with raw iron scraped slowly by, its portly driver idly flicking a black whip across their backs. Katie raised her green hood, timed her move, and fell in beside the second set of bears, her eyes downcast. To the driver her cloaked back looked like any other elf and to the milling crowd she looked like a servant tending the bears.

After they had traveled some distance the cavern roof opened into a massive dome, its interior filled with geodes reflecting the ice light from below. In the center of this expanse stood the largest machine Katie had ever seen.

Napoleon let loose a little squeal of delight and surprise.

"The Toy Engine," he breathed in reverence. "I only ever seen it the once and that with me da. He was a tinker, ya know."

The Toy Engine stretched for miles into the cavern, with tributary conveyor belts trundling raw materials in, and completed toys out, of its iron bulk.

Eight massive dire wolves ran with indefatigable strides inside circular treadmills, pouring energy into the engine.

Katie groaned when she saw them.

"Wrong end," she hissed. "He won't be here."

"Might as well go back," said Napoleon.

"No. I'm doing what I came to do."

Katie waited for a lull in the crowd then swung up onto the Engine's wide main belt. One of the galloping dire wolves rolled an eye at her, but no one else seemed to notice as she hunkered down behind a toy dollhouse. Napoleon came reluctantly after.

The crowds first thinned, and then disappeared altogether as Katie and Napoleon neared the machine's terminus. Only those with special clearance were allowed this far, and that did not include Katie Claus.

Grandfather stood amongst his most trusted security elves, reading an impossibly long list of names that rolled out behind him into the cavern. She slid off the conveyor belt and hid amongst a stack of crates her heart thudding in her chest. Planning the deed was one thing, but actually dashing across the floor in a headlong attack was quite another. Maybe she should just forget &mdash:

No.

With that thought foremost in her mind, Katie raced from her hiding spot straight towards him. His thug elves moved to stop her, but they froze at a gesture from the old man.

Grandfather turned a gimlet eye upon his youngest granddaughter.

"Katie?"

His deep voice brought her up short &mdash: that and his beatific smile. She skidded to a stop before him.

"You have Grandma's best kitchen shears."

"Yes."

"What were you planning to do with those?"

Her eyes flicked from his bearded face to the list in his hand.

"Lucy hit Braden yesterday and &mdash:"

"And got herself on the Naughty list. I know."

"It's not fair. She didn't mean it."

"Magic is balance, Katie, you know that. I can't change Naughty without changing Nice; not once the list is set."

"I do know it."

Grandfather cupped her chin in one strong, warm hand, lifting it to look into her eyes; eyes that matched his own.

"You came here with a purpose, dear. What was it?"

Katie reversed her grip on the shears, offering them handle first to her grandfather.

"If you must cut one name from Nice in exchange for Lucy's, let it be mine, Grandfather."

© David Alan Jones, 2010

The End

Home

"Logistics," said the man in brown.

"Logistics?" asked the female elf in red.

"Exactly! The management of materials as they flow through an organization, from raw materials through placing the product into the hands of the customer – which would, in this case, be children around the world. Big Brown – we know how to ship stuff." The salesman looked over at a pixie that was hammering away on a manual Remington typewriter, taking down every word being said between the two.

"Of course our only concern is making absolutely certain the children receive what they ask for. My dad, Mr. Claus, wanted to send his pardons for not meeting with you himself."

"I'll only forgive him, if I can call you by your first name, Ms. Claus. I believe it's Ruby?"

The petite, height-and-weigh-proportional elf, giggled. They didn't get a lot of human visitors at the North Pole, and all of her peers were under 3 feet tall. "And what should I call you Mr. Brown?"

"You can just call me what all the ladies call me – Mr. Big."

The lonely elf squirmed just a little, and smiled at the tall, dark, and handsome-enough salesman.

He continued his pitch. "The bottom line in this business is getting the product into the recipient's greedy little fingers, right or wrong? - and Big Brown is the prince of packaging, the duke of delivery, the king of – you get my drift."

"I appreciate your concern, Mr. Big - but we always manage to give the children what they want."

"I don't mean to belabor the point, Ruby – but how about that whole Zhu-Zhu pet fiasco last year? Supply certainly did not equal demand. There were parents desperate enough to try to buy the little buggers themselves resulting in that whole, ugly Jeff the Giraffe scandal. Whose fault was that really? – a hard working zoo animal - or your father's lack of logistics?"

Ms. Claus thought about this for a moment. "But our percentage of happy children throughout history far outweighs the disappointed ones."

"Perhaps it wasn't your dad's end of the business. Perhaps it was the production end – the elves."

Ruby looked over quickly at the elf on the typewriter. "Oh, no, no – the elves are hardworking employees, more like a family really – a family who doesn't need a union…"

"Say no more, sweetheart, a wink is as good as a nod. Just remember that Big Brown won't be happy until you are 100% satisfied, Ruby…100%…whatever it takes."

The tapping on the keyboard continued until the elf punctuated the period with his index finger.

"Does he have to do that?" The rat-a-tat of the keyboard started again.

"Well, daddy gets kind of suspicious, so he pays for Elmer to take down all my words in triplicate."

Mr. Big Brown looked rather sheepish now. "Well, it's time for me to let you think it over."

Ruby Claus held out her hand, and was surprised when the human brought it to his lips, kissing it softly.

"Just remember, if you'd like to talk again before I leave…Big Brown's deliveries are always right on time."

Ms. Ruby Claus practically purred. The salesman exited the room quickly and efficiently.

The crowd at the Polar Bare was sparse, even for this time of day - which was just after noon. It was pitch dark outside, of course. The salesman sat on the barstool furthest away from the door, drinking a malt & mistletoe concoction. He noticed a severe blast of air as the elf from Santa's office came in and sat down among some friends, leering at the North Pole dancers in the back. The Elf shot him a quick, evil sneer as he launched into a recollection of the day's events with his evil elfin buddies.

The salesman raised his glass to his lips, taking a deep swig of the bitter brew. "I thought you guys at the North Pole were all about the Christmas Spirit – but I haven't seen much of it since I arrived a few days ago."

The bartender crossed his arms. "The Christmas Spirit? – you can't handle the Christmas Spirit."

"I think could handle a pleasant ‘Merry Christmas' or two."

The six-foot elf backed up and put his hand upon a luminescent bottle of a red and green, swirling liquor. "I'd be happy to pour you a snootful of the Christmas Spirit, friend. The first shot's on me!"

"What do I have to lose?" he asked, banging his fist upon the counter for emphasis.

By the time the liquid was trickling down his throat the evil ice gnomes were upon him. He was, however, in an unbelievably jolly mood, as they dragged him out of the bar. "We heard about the whole ‘Maybe the whole Zhu-Zhu-pet disaster was cause4d by the elves', Mr. Big Brown. Who's so big now?" The pack of elves began kicking him, surrounding him.

But the salesman didn't care; he was under the influence of the Holiday Spirit. "I didn't mean to upset you – my mistake. I trust that kicking me is helping you have a Holly Jolly Christmas. Here's my wallet, take all my money as a gift. Here's my coat –I don't need it, I have the Christmas Spirit to keep me warm."

Suddenly there was a sound of growling and, through a misty haze, the blazing red eyes of six rabid reindeer appeared out of the darkness.

"Please, God, please don't eat me!" he shouted, lifting his arms to cover his face.

"Step back! He said the magic word," shouted one of the elves, and the mob dissipated almost immediately.

"The magic word - God?" questioned the salesman.

"NO, the magic word is ‘Please' – obviously," said the remaining elf, leaving the human to enjoy a peaceful night of bleeding to death in the cold.

From a jolly voice in the distance,
Big Brown thought he heard,
"Have a merry freaking Christmas
May you get what you deserve."

© Michele Dutcher, 2010

The End

Home

Where there's ice, where there's snow,
That is where ol' Frosty goes

The old rhyme jingles through my little elvish head as I hurry along the corridor, eyes on my feet, trying not to attract the attention of the fearsome black-uniformed Elfstapo Officers. I just hope they don't stop me, ask to see what's in my basket.

Because what's in my basket? Food enough for two, though I only get enough ration cards for one. And anyelf who gets food - that's the law - has to work for Big Red. I only need to be caught once, and my sister will starve. She can't work for Big Red - not with only one arm. She'd never be able to keep up with his murderous quotas.

But I have to pass through this section. The only thing worse than the not-so-secret elf police force is the not-so-secret reindeer police force, the Lighters.

Everyone's heard of Rudolph - he's in a song, after all - but somehow what happened to his children isn't as widely spread out. Have you ever noticed how - when you have a prejudice against, say, mutants, and one type of mutation in particular is suddenly considered alright… then nine times out of ten, in order to maintain their precarious position on the up-side of society, that one type will be even more prejudiced against any other type of mutation?

You haven't? Well… that's what happened nonetheless. The Lighters, they call them; they keep their noses covered most of the time, but there's nothing worse for a hidden mutant than seeing that terrible red glow speeding towards you through the sky. Sticking to the shadows doesn't help; not against the Lighters.

And that's why I was in this corridor; the only one that the Lighters aren't personally patrolling.

Aren't personally supposed to be patrolling, at least, according to the schedules that had been smuggled out. Still, as I hurried along, a horribly red spotlight suddenly picked me out.

"YOU!" yells a voice. Trembling in fear, I look up at the Lighter; four feet, snarl, long antlers. The red cap with the white bobble on the end - not just any Lighter, this, but an officer.

I try to say "Yes, sir?", but what babbles out of my mouth is probably a little less intelligible.

The Lighter snorts in disgust and tosses his head to the left. The Elfstapo agent standing there unrolls a poster. "You seen this elf?" asks the Lighter.

"N-n-n-no-no-n-nonono." I stammer. The elf in the poster is obviously a artist's impression; he's also got six fingers on his right hand.

The Lighter looks down his glowing nose at me, and snorts. "Show me your hand!" I hold out both hands, shaking and trembling. The Elfstapo agent holds my wrists and counts my fingers. Four per hand, plus a thumb. (Three quarters of a thumb on my right hand - relic of a little mishap in Big Red's toyshop three years previous).

The Lighter snorts again. "Pitiful." he says, spitting at me. Then his eyes narrow further. "What have you got in that basket?" he snaps.

"S-s-s-s-s-s-supplies, sir." I stammer. "F-f-f-f-food f-f-f-f-for my ev-ev-evening m-m-me-me-meal."

The Lighter frowns at me. "It smells like more than just one elf's evening meal." he snaps. "Elfranz! Check his basket!"

The Elfstapo agent takes my basket, peels back the cover, holds it up.

"Two meals." snaps the Lighter. "Do you have two ration stubs?"

"I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I" I stammer. The Elfstapo agent begins to go through my pockets.

And it is then that what I can only describe as a miracle happens. Somehow, the Elfstapo agent pulls two ration stubs out of my pocket. "All in order, sir." he announces.

The Lighter snorts. "Well, then. Be on your way, Elf, but be careful. No evil can evade the light of the Lighters."

I… have no explanation for the second ration stub. As he returns the stubs to my pocket, though, the Elfstapo agent winks.

On my return home, I find that the second ration stub contains the name of Elfranz.

© Casey Callaghan, 2010

The End

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