Chapter 4
The Man With All the Toys
Awana tiptoed alongside a defunct conveyor belt and studied
the workshop as surreptitiously as possible.
There were perhaps three dozen elves in the vast room, some hammering
nails into wooden paraphernalia, some sewing, some molding plastic or rubber
into all sorts of interesting shapes, and some boxing up gifts. The factory seemed to be divided into many
departments: sports, toys, games and media, clothing, grocery, arts and crafts,
and an absurdly large “miscellaneous” section that held all kinds of weird
stuff. There were massive machines
scattered throughout the room; the elven carpenters were able to design objects
to a certain degree of accuracy by dragging their fingers along large
touchscreens and modifying dimensions, colors, compositions, and textures of
objects. Then they would press a
separate button, and out of the machine would come the item on a conveyor
belt. Although Awana had never pictured
Santa’s workshop as so technologically advanced, she was more taken aback by
the expressions on the elves’ faces.
There was not a smile in the room; indeed, every individual seemed
forlorn and worn out nearly to the point of exhaustion.
“Come on, Phil,” said an elf with a
pointy green hat, brown coat, red slippers with bells at the end, and a
miniature icicle of a beard drooping from his chin. “Just push yourself a little bit longer. We’re almost done for the day.”
“Dale, I been workin’ muh tush off da
past twenty years,” muttered Phil, a tear rolling down his cheek. “This ‘as been a right joy, but no
longer. What’s da point of makin’ all
dese toys if dey’ll never be found in da hands of childen?”
“You don’t know that’s the case.” Dale
patted the young elf’s shoulder. “I have
a feeling everything will be OK this time next year, and Santa will deliver all
the gifts that he didn’t deliver this time around. Sure, the kids missed a Christmas...but next
year they’ll have double the presents!”
“Dat’s a right dumb way of lookin’ at
things, and I won’ believe it. What’s
gonna happen to Suzy, Dale? When is she gonna get her sled? When she’s
thirty-four?!” Phil burst into tears, totally ruining the paper windmills he
had been working on.
Dale shook his head. “Suzy will get her sled, Johnny his pair of
skates, Nellie her storybook, and Ralphie his official Red Ryder, carbine action,
two-hundred shot range model air rifle.”
He’ll
shoot his eye out! thought
Awana, but she kept it to herself and remained hidden. And when in the world did Johnny boy ask
for skates? She started fuming, silently.
“Just
be patient,” Dale continued, the first to break a smile in the entire
room. He then cupped his hand around his
ear and whispered loudly to Phil, “Plus, rumor has it Santa is actually feeling
much better now. Frosty confronted him
and they are now enjoying some warm milk and cookies over in the hot springs as
we speak.”
“You
really is a lyin’ oaf, Dale. I
seen the whole troupe land no more den two hours ago. An’ do you ‘member what Rudolph said? Da only one can get to Santa in ‘is secret
room is locked up in dat cell right up dere,” Phil motioned toward a cube
suspended from the ceiling above Awana’s head, “and none of us can fly or jump
or climb to reach it, Frosty least of all.
An’ seein’ we was able, none
is strong ‘nough to open da door! It’s a
blim-blammin’ fools’ errand.”
They
spoke some more, but Awana had heard enough.
She turned away from them and slowly made her way back to the door from
which she had entered. Fiddlesticks!
How did Santa get back here before we did? This ruins everything! How am I
supposed to rescue my sweet Johnny boy without the element of surprise? She
wove around some wrapped presents and hurdled over a rocking horse. The Halloween Friends (or most of them,
rather) were waiting in the back corner by the door, where she had left
them. Witch and Frankenstein’s monster,
engaged in what appeared to be some profound dialogue, were hovering in place
on their flying brooms. Bat and Cat were
having an Old West shootout with a couple of broken wooden guns; Cat did an
exceptional job of feigning death but then coming back with a vengeance to make
Bat rue the day he was born.
“Your
clandestinity surpasses that of the most learnéd brigand,” mused Frankenstein’s
monster to Awana, tying snug one of her Hello Kitty scarves that he had
around his neck. “I daresay that even
Jack Sheppard, that renowned gaol-breaker of yore, would afford to acquire
knowledge of his craft under your tutelage—scandalous as such craft may be.”
“Your
words are so kind but difficult, like a hungry guinea pig,” the girl replied as
she stopped a foot away from the group.
“And speaking of guinea pigs...will you be mine, Frankenstein’s
monster?”
“Will
I—will I be your guinea pig?” The monster seemed horrified.
“You’re
flying on a broom and you almost have the strength of Samson. You’re exactly what we need right now.” She
realized that the horror did not leave her ally’s eyes. “Oh, ‘guinea pig’ is just an expression. It means that I need your help.”
Frankenstein’s
monster swallowed. “I see. Yes, young Humphfree....Pray proceed.”
“Cool
beans. Santa has kidnapped Johnny and
has him God-knows-where. Also, it turns
out that Santa made it back here before we did.
I’m guessing that’s why those crazy missiles were set to fire at
anything that came near; good thing Witch put those wards up to protect us!
Anyway, I just overheard this champ named Phil claim that the only way into Santa’s
secret room is through the person locked away in that cell up there. None of these elves are able to set that
person free. Do you see where I’m going
with this?”
“‘tis as clear as a crystal ball, my
sweet,” replied Witch, exchanging a glance with the monster. “And yet how do you know the young Jonathan
is even here in the North Pole?”
Awana sat down on a present wrapped in
a pink bow and placed a hand on her forehead.
“I don’t know, Witch, but I have to hold on to my faith. Because if Johnny boy isn’t here, it means
he’s dead—and I can’t accept that.”
Sympathy
swelled in Witch’s eyes, and suddenly she seemed more a kind grandmother than a
wielder of the Dark Arts. Frankenstein’s
monster nodded slowly, his eyes betraying the introspection of his brilliant
mind. Bat flapped his wings in place,
cocking his head to the side in thought.
Cat took a nap.
“I’m
not sure how these elves are going to react when they see us,” Awana admitted,
her heart leaping with trepidation. “We
should be ready for anything.”
“They
seem normal enough!” Bat screeched. He
flew a few feet closer to the workers to get a better look at them. “I mean, using you and Jonathan as the
standard, they seem normal.”
“We
haven’t talked much, have we, Bat?” Awana asked.
“Cat
has a monopoly on my daily conversations,” the creature said mournfully. “I’m almost sure she wants to have my
children.”
Awana
tried to look disgusted but failed. She
knew Cat’s struggle quite well. “OK,
Halloween Friends, now is the time to rise! Now is the time to fight back
against the system! Now is the time to hold a rebellious fist up to all that is
wrong with the world and declare, ‘No, bro, I won’t go!’ You have the power to make a difference! Be the best
version of you! Look both ways before you cross the street! Yeah!”
Witch
furrowed her eyebrows. “Dearie, you
don’t make public speeches very often, do you?”
Awana
sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.”
The
workers were busy sewing and hammering away when they beheld a sight they never
could have expected. From behind a stack
of wrapped gifts there came a group led by a tall cocker spaniel—except it was
no cocker spaniel at all. It was a young
woman with spiked hair, a furry face, walrus-shaped earrings, a black-and-white
ugly Christmas sweater, camouflage pants, and black lace-up heels. Behind her the squad followed confidently:
there was a broom-flying elderly lady with an algae-colored face, a black
trench coat, and a pointy hat; there was a little brown-black critter with
frantically flapping wings; there was a sable cat with a flitting tail who
seemed to be a bit bored; and there walked a giant ape-like fiend possibly
ascended from the deepest abyss, its arms held out in front of it. At the sight of this final member of the
party, many of the elves shrieked and declared that the harbinger of death had
come at last, that their deaths were now imminent, and that they wished they
could go back to the old days before monsters roamed the earth. More than a few of them fled for their lives,
knocking over racks of clothes, tripping over soccer balls, and stepping on
Legos (resulting in an excessive amount of cussing). Phil the elf fainted. Dale the elf, on the other hand, stood his
ground and crossed his arms as the party reached him.
“Unwelcome
guests!” he shouted so that all his people could hear him. “What brings you to Santa’s workshop? Speak
quickly, lest you feel the sting of our wrath.”
At
least ten elves started climbing up some curtains and imploring the monstrosity
to deliver them a merciful death.
“Hey
there, good sir,” Awana greeted him with an awkward wave. “So we’re from this town called Vacaville,
and Santa kidnapped by boyf—my ex-boyfriend, I mean.”
Tears
filled Dale’s eyes. “Your ex-boyfriend?
Oh, hon….Do you want to talk about it?”
“Um…no,
that’s not why I came here. You see,
Santa took—”
“But
why is he your ex-boyfriend and not
your boyfriend?”
Awana
groaned quietly. “Listen, my love-life
is not important. What’s important is—”
“Oh….”
The elf nodded, his countenance one of compassion. “Oh, dear.
He broke up with you, didn’t he? He was dealing with his own
insecurities, wasn’t he? But he made it seem as if you were the problem, because he wasn’t capable of coming to terms
with what was lacking within himself.
Isn’t that right?”
Awana
was shocked. She tried to take another
seat on the nearest present but almost fell on the ground when she found that
it was an empty box. “That
is…ridiculously perceptive. That’s
exactly what happened! We were together for a year, and then he just broke up
with me out of the blue. He said I
wouldn’t accept him for who he was, which was nonsense. I just didn’t accept the violent side of him,
because I don’t think that’s really him.
Or at least…I don’t think that’s who he really wants to be. And…wait, why are we talking about this?”
“Because
you need it,” Dale said softly.
“Regardless,”
said Awana, now all business, “my beloved Johnny boy might be somewhere in this
compound. Santa came to his house and
kidnapped him. We need to talk to Mr.
Claus ASAP and get the love-of-my-life back, and I overheard that the person in
the cell up there can help us get into Santa’s room.”
“Then
you heard rightly,” replied the elf.
“Santa’s prisoner is the only one who knows the code to his room. Over the past month, we’ve tried knocking on
the door, kicking it down, and letting Rudolph go full-blown psycho on it…but
nothing works. We need the code.”
“Rudolph?”
Awana’s eyes were brighter than a Christmas tree. “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer? The one from
the song?”
“Oh
gosh, you’ve heard that, too?” Dale’s face looked mournful. “I apologize to your ears. Truly, I do.”
Awana
was now having a very difficult time
not thinking about meeting the celebrated reindeer. “Um…listen, Dale. I’m pretty amazed by all of this right now,
but we don’t have any time to lose. I
see that the cell up there has a steel door, and it just so happens that
Frankenstein’s monster here is practically a bodybuilder. I mean, just look at the dude. So I was thinking….”
“Say
no more,” the elf told her, smiling. “We
have been waiting for a hero to set the prisoner free and figure out what’s
going on with Santa. Sure, he has claws
and is really terrifying, but someone
has to confront him. Otherwise…well,
Christmas may never be the same.”
Awana
turned to Frankenstein’s monster and nodded.
He nodded in return and sat back down on the broom that Witch had
prepared for him.
“Be
careful, dearie,” the hag said to him.
“Balancing on the broom is only half the battle. Wouldn’t want you to fall down and become
Frankenstein’s monster’s carcass.”
“Indeed,
to return to such a state seems altogether loathsome to me,” the creature
agreed. “I will take your warning to
heart, fair Witch. And if perchance I do
plunge from this rather frail contraption, I entreat you to resort to any
altruistic means to spare my life; and yet if you have it not within you, or cannot
muster the courage or haste, then prithee remember that I forfeited my life for
the noble preservation of such a wholesome holiday.”
“I
will do my best to interpret what you just said to me,” said Witch, “and to
honor it.”
He
gave her an anxious grin. Slowly he
ascended in the air, and all heads in the room turned to watch as he approached
the cell.
“Dear
God Almighty!” one elf shrieked. “The
beast flies!”
Some
of the more panic-prone elves scattered in pandemonium, but most had come to
realize what was happening. Higher and
higher he ascended—ten feet, twenty feet, thirty. He reached the cell, which was a cube that
hung down from the ceiling as a single chunk of stainless steel. The door was half a sphere bolted to the side
of the cube facing the expanse of the workshop.
Frankenstein’s monster studied it for a moment before grasping the side
of the door that did not possess bolts.
He grunted and growled and roared as he exerted much of his energy
pulling the slab of steel. Awana began
to fear that perhaps it was more than a match for him when bang! It flew open and separated from its hinges, then skipped
across the floor as a stone across water.
The monster’s hands fell by his side as he took a moment to recover;
once he was ready, he reached in to the cell and took the prisoner up in his
arms. Finally, he made his way back down
to his companions—now holding a plump, elderly lady with spectacles, a red ugly
Christmas sweater, and black tights. The
room erupted in applause, but some elves were still screaming and lifting up
desperate prayers that they and their families might escape the wrath of the
demon-man.
“Mrs.
Claus!” Dale exclaimed, jumping for joy.
“Mrs. Claus, you’re OK!”
“Thirty
pounds lighter, but yes, I’m OK,” said the woman as her savior set her
down. “I don’t know how Jesus managed to
go without food for forty days. I could
eat a polar bear right now.”
Cat
walked up to her soundlessly, stood on her back legs, and put her front paws on
the woman’s knee. As Mrs. Claus held out
a hand to pet her, Cat made a coughing sound and spat a furball into the
extended hand. The woman looked at it
with disgust and quickly cast it aside.
The black feline returned to her companions, appearing dejected.
“I
just want you to know that I would have
eaten it,” Bat shrieked. “You know that,
right, Cat?”
“Meow,”
said Cat.
“You’re
Mrs. Claus?” Awana asked, jumping several times. “The real Mrs. Claus? Santa’s
wifey-boo-chick?” She whistled and shook her head in disbelief. “Johnny needs to write a biography about my
life. Or maybe I can ask that Mr.
Cornelius to do it….Anyway, ma’am, I’m Awana Humphfree!”
The
old lady took the girl’s hand, disgust still on her face. “It’s nice to meet you, dear. And I have to say, my husband was totally
right about you.”
Awana’s
eyes lit up. “He had good things to say
about me?!”
“Mostly
good,” remarked the woman. “Yes, mostly
good. You weren’t on the naughty list,
at least.” She turned her attention to the greater part of the room as some of
the elves carefully circled around her.
“While I would love to stand and discuss these matters, it’s imperative
that I find Mr. Claus immediately. I
have been going absolutely mad thinking about it, but he has horrific plans for
Christmas morn—plans that could very well change the world.”
“That’s
why we’re here,” Awana interjected, “and that’s why we got you out of that
cell. It’s Christmas morning as we
speak, and Santa has already done some truly terrible things in our hometown. Maybe even all over the world. He has kidnapped Jonathan Legcheese,
too. I need to find my beloved Johnny
boy and figure out a peaceful way to end Santa’s reign of terror. And these adorable elves claim that you can get
into his secret room, where he has locked himself up.”
Mrs.
Claus did not seem quite able to stomach the thought of her husband doing
terrible deeds; she exhaled audibly and frowned. “If he hasn’t changed the code, then yes, I
can get in to his room. But if it’s
Christmas, then a full month has gone by...and no one has been able to stop
him.”
“With
all due respect, ma’am,” said Awana, “you haven’t had us around this
past month.”
The
woman adjusted her spectacles and took a closer look at the group. “And who are you guys, exactly? What do you
call yourselves?”
Awana
placed her hands on her hips and attempted to look heroic and taller at the
same time. She failed. “We are the Halloween Friends! Er...minus a
few members. And we save the world
pretty much every month!”
Mrs.
Claus sighed and reached for her wallet.
“So do you guys charge by the hour, or per job?”
“Wait,
what?’ Awana took a moment to figure out what she meant. “Hold on, Mrs. Claus! Stories and songs tell
us you’re a jolly soul, just like old St. Nick.
And you already know I wasn’t on the naughty list. We’re doing this for Santa, for Johnny, and
for the world—not for a quick buck. So
please don’t be such a negative Nancy!”
The
woman nodded slowly and studied Awana’s eyes for any hint of deception. “The name’s Annie. But I see your point, young one. You’re right: I have been a jolly soul for
many, many years. Longer than you would
believe. Nick and I have kept each other
jolly over the years. Serving God’s
children, still unstained by the graver trespasses and sorrows that tend to
plague young adulthood and beyond—well, that kept us joyfully busy. I think that once I saw him turn into someone
else...something inside me died. Maybe
if I had my sweet, jubilant husband back, I would be back to normal.”
“And
a big burrito sure wouldn’t hurt, Mrs. Claus!” Bat suggested.
“I
will take that under advisement, flying one.” Mrs. Claus stood up straight, and
some color suddenly flushed into her face.
“Right. This is our time to make
a change, to return the world to one of pure elation and peace. The strength is already available to us, and
we are more than capable of seizing and using it for the benefit of all. Evil will not be victorious this day, my
friends, not while we stand together!
Let’s save Christmas.”
“Ohhh,
wow,” remarked Witch, her jaw open. Her
gaze turned to Awana. “Now that
is how you make a speech, dearie!”
The
girl rolled her eyes. “Let’s just get
this over with. For real this time.”
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