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Claus ducked beneath scaffolding.
Overhead, a conveyor belt transferred gloppy material into a large box. Occasionally, it would pop like a nutcracker and a glob of material would drip down.
A gray, metallic puddle formed in the snow.
He dipped his finger in it. The material had a grainy-slimy feel. And it was warm.
A cloud of gnats descended on the puddle. Moments later, the clicking of tiny legs scurried overhead; a column of spidery things crawled along the conveyor. They found the leak and began patching it. This was a strange land.
But Claus had quickly grown accustomed to it.
The gnats were not gnats but microscopic spies. The gray goo that burped from the mountain was the foundation of stuff—microscopic building blocks that could become anything. The human race was using them as synthetic stem cells, but the elven had been using them to make all forms of matter for centuries. These were elven secrets, but secrets no more.
Had she been watching us all this time?
A line of helpers skated past him. Hands laced on their bellies, they leaned back and glided on large feet. These helpers, however, were not the red-bearded helpers he had seen when he first arrived in the warehouse. These helpers had long gray beards that nearly touched the ground, with puffs of white hair growing from their ears. They were followed by a leaner set of helpers with pointy ears and shorter feet and clean-shaven faces. Their cheeks were cherub and glowing as they sang.
Things have changed.
This stuff from the mountain made these little fellows. She was using the gritty gray slime to make them. Humanity had been manufacturing functioning organs for years but had not crossed the critical line of building a person.
She’s creating life.
The spiders had patched the leak and were returning to the mountain. A cluster of black-bearded helpers slid beneath the conveyor with one of their brethren on their shoulders. It was a redbeard. By the looks of his pale cheeks, he had succumbed to the wilt, as Claus had come to think of it.
They just ran out of energy.
He had seen them throw redbeards inside the mountain for the past week. A door would open and belch sulfur before slamming shut. This one, though, was laid against the giant gift.
They placed him next to another redbeard.
In the weeks since he’d come to the warehouse, the mountain never stopped feeding the giant gift box. The walls were thick and heavy; they were metal-cold and rang when he kicked them. Like a bottomless pit, they never buckled and never filled.
A white cloud hissed from the mountain.
Claus was prepared to fetch the wilted redbeard before it was thrown inside. Instead, Naren crawled out. On hands and knees, he emerged from the open doorway and stood up. Steam rose from his sleeves and snowflakes stuck to his hair.
He’d been in and out of the warehouse for weeks, observing the redbeards, sometimes without sleeping. It was about that time the new helpers began popping out—the skinny ones and short ones, the clean-shaven and old, the blackbeards and graybeards, the pointy, the narrow, the gangly and hooked. He was somehow responsible for these variations.
Now he went to the fallen redbeards.
A variety of helpers watched him pull instruments from a bag—shiny discs and elastic tubes and boxes that lit up. He placed them on one of the redbeards’ foreheads and studied his watch. After a time, he moved it to his neck.
Claus approached cautiously.
Naren had done well to avoid Claus, seeing him from a distance and moving away. He was focused and undisturbed; he didn’t need a jolly fat man from childhood stories getting in the way.
Perhaps he didn’t notice Claus this time as he looked over his shoulder. The redbeard’s cheeks were already rosy.
Naren retrieved a syringe from his bag and injected something into an IV bag. He studied his watch. A few minutes later, the redbeard’s eyes fluttered open. He looked left and right then hopped onto wide, hairy feet. The helpers slapped their bellies and cheered. Together, they sped around the mountain like elders welcoming a newborn into the colony.
Naren started on the next one.
“I know why you’re doing this,” Claus said.
Naren didn’t look up, only repeated the same sequence with the discs and the straps and looking at the watch. Because Santa Claus didn’t exist. If he did, he couldn’t do what he was doing because nothing would make sense. And he needed the world to make sense.
He needed to focus.
“You’ve made sacrifices,” Claus said, “the world doesn’t know about.”
Claus knew about selfless service. He knew about living in obscurity, the joy of living a life that included the good and bad. No credit or blame. The life Claus had chosen was not always glamorous or appreciated. In fact, it rarely was.
Naren knew that life, too.
“I just want you to think about,” Claus said, “what you’re doing.”
The spies mingled with drifting snowflakes. The miser would hear what he was saying. Claus had an idea of what she wanted from him, but he wasn’t certain what she wanted from Naren. Or what he was doing.
We need to stop her was what he was trying to tell him without her hearing.
“There you are!”
Right on cue, the miser came around the mountain with a horde of helpers in her wake and the hateful little mutts under one arm. Her poopies wore bows like gift wrapping and growled whenever she stepped within ten feet of someone other than a helper. She was usually alone. This time she brought a guest.
A boy.
He was almost her height and slender. He looked shy, even from a distance. Claus squinted to guess his age. He was pretty good about knowing someone’s age just by looking at them and could sometimes guess their name. This boy appeared to be fifteen years old, yet something wasn’t right.
He was holding her hand.
“My men,” she called. “Working together.”
The hood was usually a deep tunnel of darkness, but Claus could see a sunburned chin and the faint wrinkle of a smile. She pulled the boy in front of her, drawing her arm across his chest.
“Find a chair, one of you,” she said. “Quickly now. Let’s do this properly.”
The helpers scrambled throughout the warehouse’s framework and returned with spare parts. In moments, they assembled a crudely fashioned throne more fit for a warring king than a jolly fat man.
“Sit, go on.”
She wiggled her fingers at Claus. The boy’s eyes were blue and wide. He was biting his lower lip. The seat was hard and lumpy and cold. When he was settled, she took a deep breath and squeezed the boy. He hid his face behind her sleeve. It felt like a shopping mall photo op, only there were no elven to move the line along. The boy hopped from one foot to the other.
From time to time, an excited boy or girl would surprise Claus resting in the living room or slipping a gift beneath the tree. There were things he had for moments like that, things that made them remember the Christmas spirit but forget the fat man in the room.
Not anymore.
“This is my son,” she finally said. “And this... this is Santa Claus.”
She released him like a racehorse. He grabbed the fat man in a desperate hug. His arms barely reached around him. Claus patted his shoulder, his face growing red. The miser rolled her gloved hands and silently mouthed a word at him.
Laugh.
“Ho-ho,” Claus wheezed.
“Very good,” she said. “Sit on his knee, darling. He won’t bite. He’s come all the way from the North Pole just to listen to you.”
“Did you?” the boy said. “All the way?”
“Of course he did. He got your letter.”
“Did you get my letter?”
Words would not come to the fat man. As was often the case since waking on the island, he had none to describe what was happening.
Claus also had no access to the database of letters he received on the North Pole, no assistance in recognizing the boy’s face. He didn’t even know his name. All he could do was pat his shoulder. And lie.
“Of course I did.”
The boy hugged him again and the helpers cheered. The ones with hats threw them in the air. The goldenhairs did pirouettes. The blackbeards shuffled their feet. The boy leaped off Claus’s lap and slid across the ice, and the helpers followed like a herd of tail-wagging puppies.
“Careful, darling. Slow down.”
The helpers grabbed his hands and swung him around like a clumsy ice skater. Infectious laughter trailed behind him.
“Watch what you say to my Naren,” she said while waving at her boy. “You don’t want to be on my naughty list.”
The poopies bared their teeth, and the spies hovered in front of him. They were watching, always watching. Asleep or awake.
A new batch of helpers joined the celebration. Their yellow hair was longer than their beards. The miser clapped and the poopies howled. Naren was still tending to the fallen redbeard. The helper’s cheeks looked healthier, but the eyes were closed.
“I rather like them all looking the same, Naren,” the miser called. “The ones with the red beards are my favorite, but okay. You know what you’re doing. My son has never been happier.”
The boy threw a harmless snowball at her. The helpers slung him across the ice. Back and forth he went, swinging in the melee until laughter caught in his throat. Without special shoes to grip the ice, he began to teeter backwards. If not for a graybeard’s big belly, he would have fallen on his head.
“That’s enough!”
The miser momentarily disappeared in a cloud of steam. She was standing several inches lower when the fog passed, the hem of her cloak soaking in a puddle.
“Come to Momma.”
The helpers guided him into her arm. She folded her sleeve around him like a protective mother goose.
“Naren, the new ones with the yellow hair are a bit too jolly. Did you see what they were doing? They can’t throw him around like that, he doesn’t know how to work the ice. Calm them down; make them more like them.”
She pointed to a small group behind Claus. They were serious, almost glum. Thick snowflakes stuck to their black overcoats. The poopies didn’t care for them. They were the only helpers that made them snarl.
“Well, this isn’t just a friendly visit,” the miser said. “I know you’ve been hard at work and making yourself at home, but I’ve come to make an announcement. Tomorrow is Christmas Day.”
Claus stiffened with anticipation. Without daylight, he’d lost track of time. He hadn’t escaped, the elven hadn’t found him, and now his time was up.
It’s Christmas Eve.
“I’ll bet you’ve been wondering what’s in the box?” She waved at the giant gift then touched the boy’s nose. “You’ve been such a good boy, I thought I’d let you open up a present early.”
“That’s for me?”
“Of course it is, darling. All of this is for you.”
She waved her arms—the warehouse, the mountain, the helpers and snow and Naren and Claus... the entire island. It was all for him. The boy’s mouth moved silently, oblivious to the absurd reality that this was all for him.
But it was.
Claus never quite understood why she was doing this. Her efforts were misguided and hurtful, but what compelled her had eluded him. It was everything that tarnished Christmas—possession and obsession, consumption and greed. He was just a boy; he didn’t know the world didn’t exist to serve him.
An expression of wonder and joy possessed him. He pushed her arm away and walked toward the giant present with eyes as wide as his mouth.
“No, darling. You can’t open it; the walls will crush you. We’re going to call out the magic word and let it open for us. Okay? Could we all begin singing a song? This is a very important moment. Everyone, come along. Let’s go.”
The helpers gathered around. Claus was frozen to the lumpy chair. She waved her hand and led the chorus of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” The helpers’ voices resonated, weaving together like sonorous fingers that tugged at the ribbons’ ends. The walls popped at the seams. A dank odor seeped out.
“Stop!” Naren threw his hands against the leaning wall.
“Naren, I told you to stand away.”
He shouted for the helpers and they rushed to his side. Some of them kept the wall from falling while the others picked up the fallen redbeard. He directed them to move him out of harm’s way.
“All right,” the miser said. “We don’t want to make a mess. Move along, hurry.”
The helpers followed his orders. Gently, they carried the redbeard to safety, taking their time to keep from jostling him unnecessarily. The very serious helpers dressed in black joined them momentarily then returned to stand behind Claus.
“Are we done? This is a big announcement and you’re fussing over a helper.” The miser sighed. “We need to start over.”
She muttered the chorus, first to herself then to the others. With a wave of her hand, they joined in. Even the serious ones sang.
The walls moved slowly at first but gained momentum. The miser hugged her son. The helpers hugged each other. Naren observed from far away as the four heavy plated walls crashed on the ground.
The floor thundered and debris was crushed. Snowflakes spit from the onward rush of wind, spattering Claus’s cheeks. The chair suddenly tipped back. One of the legs collapsed. He fell like an old man slipping on ice.
The serious helpers were there to catch him.
They lifted him into a sitting position. There was pressure against his head and a sudden sense of vertigo. He’d hit the ground harder than he thought. The miser impatiently waited for him to get up.
When he waved off the helpers and sat on a pile of snow, she said something muffled and garbled. Her words were all mixed up, like he’d been swimming. He knocked the side of his head to clear his ears.
“Merry, merry!”
Claus expected something as ugly as the mountain or as childish as the boy. But it was much more practical than that, so much so that it raised the short whiskers on his neck.
He didn’t expect a sleigh.
The sides glittered fire plug red with the illusion of yellow flames licking the front bumper. The golden rails were curled in the front, where reins lay empty. A timesnapper was mounted on the back. Over it, the conveyor’s shadow continued to churn the gray glop into a bedazzled bag.
The glop was fundamental matter that would form the essence of an idea—any toy or object or thing of desire. The bag contained a space-expander to hold it all. She could reach inside and pull out whatever she imagined.
All she needed was a glove.
The boy hugged the miser then Claus then three or four helpers before running around the sleigh. He climbed onto the railing and slid across the bench, his fingers exploring the fancy dials and switches. The poopies plowed through the deep snow and made a lap around the sleigh, tugging the thick harnesses in front of it.
The miser’s hands were folded over her heart. Steam puffed out from the hood like droplets evaporating on a hot stove.
“All you had to do was answer a letter, Nicholas,” she said. “And none of this would have happened.”
Letter. Claus received millions of letters. If he knew the boy’s name, he might know what she was talking about. Even if he did, even if he could recall the exact letter she was talking about, it wasn’t going to change anything.
“This isn’t about a letter,” he said.
“Not anymore.”
She went to the sleigh and sat next to her son. She explained what the instruments did and how to read the gauges. The poopies were still playing tug-of-war with the harnesses. There were no bells on the straps and far too few buckles for reindeer.
“Is this Santa’s?” The boy peeked at Claus.
“No, darling. This is ours.”
“Does that mean we’re going to—”
“It does. It’s going to be a big night.”
All this time, Claus really believed she would let him return to the North Pole in time to make his annual trip. This was all a negotiation. She wanted him to bring the elven to the island because she loved Christmas. She wouldn’t let it fail.
He had it all wrong.
She had a sleigh and a bag. And she was taking her son with her.
“Guess who’s coming with us?” she said.
The boy looked at Claus and burst into tears. He buried his face in her cloak. “This is the greatest day of my life.”
“I know.”
She hugged her boy as the snow fell around them. Some of the snowflakes even rested on the miser’s cloak without melting. The moment would have made quite a dystopian Christmas card that only she would love.
The boy broke away to squeeze the wind out of Claus. The miser gathered her poopies and watched her boy weep with joy. Claus wished he could celebrate with him. The boy had nothing to do with this. Nothing at all.
“Thank you for being so understanding.” She patted the fat man’s shoulder. Her breath was hot exhaust in his ear when she whispered, “You’re coming with us.”
“This isn’t what the world needs.”
“It’s what my son needs. And you need to lose a few pounds. Change is hard, Nicholas, but it can’t be stopped. Merry, merry!”
A cheer rose up from the helpers. Naren had revived the redbeard and watched him join his fellow helpers. They really had no idea why they were cheering. If they did, they would stop. The boy tried to join them, but the miser wouldn’t let him.
“I need you to stay here, Naren. Your daughter is back in the master suite. You can text her to make sure. I’m sure she’ll text you right back.” Strange, the way she laughed. “Trust me, she’ll be safe until we’re done, and then you can join her. Besides, the redbeards love you. So does my son. I can’t thank you enough. None of this could have happened without you.”
Naren looked tired.
“Walk me out.” She took his arm.
Claus’s bottom was frigid. He sat in stunned silence. His stomach was a block of ice. The realization of what she was doing touched every part of him with icy paralysis. She wasn’t going to relocate the elven. She was relieving them of their duty.
She’s taking over Christmas.
The reindeer wouldn’t do her bidding, but there weren’t enough harnesses to accommodate all nine of them. There appeared to only be two, and that wasn’t enough to carry the sleigh all night in a timesnap.
She was going to fail. Claus was helpless to stop it. And then he heard a voice inside his head that would change everything.
Don’t turn around.