Santa Claws: Chapter 4, Part 1

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.”

Santa Claws: Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

“What kind of friend shoots you in the butt?” mourned Rudolph.  “At least shoot me in the face, where I can see it coming! People have no class nowadays.”

         Jonathan was scouring the room for some sort of exit and thus only half-heard his ally.  The room was bare except for an empty closet, a locked door, and a barred window.  There was not even a vent to let in air or heat.  Artsy snowflakes mottled the light blue wallpaper, painted in a linear slant from corner to corner.  He had torn down some of this wallpaper in hopes of revealing a concealed switch or passage, but to no avail.  He had also charged at the door like a Green Bay Packers defensive lineman, but this had only resulted in some bruises and one unfortunate incident with his funny bone and the doorknob.  His last resort had been to command Rudolph to charge at the door, to which the animal had replied that he was no one’s doormat, that he was a free reindeer living in a free realm, and that never again would his kin submit to the oppression of humanity.  Jonathan had not the faintest idea what he was talking about, but he decided to lighten up on the commands.

“Santa shot you in the leg, Rudy,” he reminded his friend.  “And I for one am just glad he used a tranquilizer instead of a sniper rifle.”

“Amen to that, brother,” said Rudolph.  “Still, Santa and I used to be good pals.  Heck, just a week before he started going all crazy, he and I were roasting chestnuts on an open fire.  I don’t like chestnuts, and I hate the song even more, but it was good times.”

Jonathan walked across the room and tugged on the bars in front of the window in vain.  “Well, if Santa doesn’t let us out soon and stop these antics of his, he’ll never roast a single chestnut ever again.”

“What does that mean? You’re going to kill him?”

“No, I’m going to give him a big hug and thank him for kidnapping me.” Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Yes, if I run into the man, I’m going to kill him.  That’s the only way to stop someone like this.”

Rudolph squinted, and something changed in the way he looked at his new friend.  “Irony isn’t a precious metal, you know.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.  Let’s just get out of here.”

Jonathan punched a wall.  “That’s what I’ve been trying to do for the past twenty-seven minutes, and you’ve just been standing around doing nothing!”

“False.  I have been thinking. And I know exactly what to do.”

“I’m not going to join you in singing about yourself,” said the boy, crossing his arms, “especially since we did that five minutes ago.”

Rudolph shook his head and turned toward the window.  “Watch and learn.” He reared up on his back legs, rested his front hooves on either side of the window, and forced his snout between the iron bars.  Then he closed his eyes and brightened his nose by a few hundred lumens.  Indeed, it was so bright that Jonathan had to cover his eyes and watch through the spaces between his fingers.  Rudolph turned his nose off for a few seconds before increasing its brightness again; he followed this pattern several times, backed away from the wall, and trotted over to the boy.  “Go and do likewise, human.”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow.  “Do likewise? Now?”

“No, not now.  Just, you know…in general.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t given the blessing of a glowing appendage.” The boy sighed and approached the window.  “What did you just do, anyway?”

“I’d stay away from the wall, if I were you.”

He had taken a step back per the reindeer’s suggestion just in the nick of time.  There was a massive cracking sound, and then the wall broke away from the rest of the building in an instant.  The two companions found themselves exposed to the frigidity of the arctic.  A light wind strung with snowflakes gusted ahead of them, toward an expanse of icy, snow-laden hills.  The window had been rather clouded with thick frost and had therefore been useless for viewing the outside world; now Jonathan could clearly tell that the shadow of night still covered the land.  He did not have time to dwell on the question of how it could still be dark, however.  He was too busy noticing the rather gargantuan yeti that was standing in the foreground, holding the detached wall over his head as if it were a box of pizza.

“What in the world is that monstrosity?” he exclaimed, rushing to Rudolph’s side.

“Oh, don’t worry about him,” said the reindeer.  “That’s Frosty’s grumpy second cousin, Abominable.  He doesn’t talk much, and when he does, it’s Latin, so there’s just no point in trying to have a conversation.  He is good for getting you out of really sticky situations, though.”

“Would he be able to help us with Santa?”

“Afraid not.  His wife only lets him leave the cave for fifteen minutes every evening.  They have eighteen kids and are thinking about adopting a couple more.  The dad-life, you know.”

“Wow.  That sounds terrible.”

“I’m sure it is.  Then again, rumor has it you’re only fifteen, and I’m a mere sixteen hundred, so maybe our thoughts on the matter will change.  Only time will tell.  Now let’s get going, Legcheese!”

The reindeer stepped out into the cold with the crunch of the snow beneath his hooves, and Jonathan scurried after him.  They both nodded in thanks to Abominable, who waved with his free hand and said “Valēte” with a kind smile.  Jonathan hugged himself for warmth and gazed up at the cloudless sky.  There was little light pollution here at the northernmost part of the world; he was able to see with great clarity a smattering of stars, constellations, and even a few galaxies.  With some trepidation, he realized that he had no idea which direction was north, west, east, or south; in fact, he was not sure how one could travel farther north at the northernmost point of a sphere! He supposed that no matter where one headed from such a point, he had no choice but to move south.  But an imperfect man could not expect to walk in a straight line from a single location, so at what point would “south” become “southwest” or southeast”? And why in the blazes did they not teach this in school? Fearing an aneurysm, he decided that he hated geometry and attempted to turn his thoughts elsewhere.

Regardless of the direction, the duo were moving toward a cluster of hills illuminated dimly by the stars.  Jonathan was departing from the danger of Santa’s compound, but drifting so far from a place of manmade light brought him great discomfort.  It was the chillness of the land made him most uncomfortable, however.

“I don’t think I can stay out here more than a minute or two, Rudy,” he said, his teeth chattering.  “We human beings usually don’t have much fur to protect us from inclement weather.”

“You’ll be warm in a moment,” replied his ally, motioning toward a building ahead of them.  “Just be patient.  We’re about to kill two harp seals with one stone.”

“Why would you kill a seal? They’re like 50 percent as cute as unicorns.”

“It’s just an expression, Legcheese.  Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

He resented the statement (primarily because his mother had bought him Toy Story underwear as an early Christmas present), but he was too cold to argue.  “Why are we going this way?” And not back to the compound to confront Santa? he wanted to add; but he stayed silent on the matter.  “If your goal is to escape to a place of safety so we can think of a plan to stop Santa, can’t we just fly out of here?”

Rudolph looked back at him and shook his head.  “I’m afraid not, human.  Shortly after Santa lost it, he installed several reservoirs of automated homing missiles at key locations around his house.  If we so much as throw a snowball thirty feet off the ground, it’ll be vaporized.  And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want little bits of Rudolph scattered all over the North Pole.  That would not be a pretty sight.  And in all honesty….”

He continued to speak for a minute or two, but Jonathan was too busy shivering and reflecting on the evening’s events to listen.  Also, he wondered if a man insane enough to surround his house with homing missiles might take additional measures to secure his residence.  Were they on camera right now? Was Santa watching their every move across the frozen landscape, his paunch rising and falling with laughter as they walked into a trap? Did an army of corrupted elves await them in the hills ahead? All of this is reasonable speculation, he thought.  If Apo could raise the dead and make them hostile to a common enemy, and could give a group of wild birds the ability to fight like demon-ninjas, then I wouldn’t be surprised with the depth of Santa’s corruption.  He kicked a mound of snow in his frustration.  Curse you, Apo! You have made the past few months of my life a living hell!

Once they reached the building in the hills, Rudolph nodded toward the door and Jonathan opened it.  A blast of warmth hit him and brought immediate relief from the icy fingers of the north.  They were in a massive warehouse filled with bins, snowmobiles, pallets, stacks of boxes bound in plastic wrap, and several electrical boxes.  He was shocked by the sheer size of the building’s interior; he figured that it was larger in square feet than many a town.  As he looked closer at the wrapped products, he realized that they were all manner of knickknacks beloved by the children of the world.  Every toy one could possibly imagine was here—and not in Santa’s bag, as one would expect them to be before the dawn of Christmas morning.  It all began to make sense to him.  Santa’s “gift” to poorly behaved children this year was punishment, thought he, and no one got the presents that they asked for.  The elves created the presents in his workshop and stored them in this warehouse until further notice.

“There will be some warm clothing in some of these bins,” Rudolph explained, shaking off some of the snowflakes that remained on his fur.  “Take whatever you need and meet me over at that green electrical box over there.  Then I’ll tell you the next part of my escape plan.”

Jonathan frowned.  “Why don’t you just tell me the plan right now? I’m not fond of being in the dark.”

“Fine.  There’s a barbed-wire fence that surrounds Santa’s house; it’s three hundred feet from the house in every direction, and very tall.  Because of this, and since Santa has homing missiles, the only way out of the complex is through a gate that’s about six hundred feet from us.  On top of being covered with barbed wire, the fence and gate are also electric, so you’ll turn into Long Jonathan Silver’s breaded chicken if you touch them.  That electrical box over there will let us power down the electricity in the fence and gate, and even let us open the gate.  After that, we need to take one of these snowmobiles and drive over to the gate as fast as we possibly can.  I can run faster than those other pathetic excuses for reindeer (especially Prancer; the dude is useless outside of winning dressage contests), but we’ll need the speed of a snowmobile to reach the gate before someone closes it.”

“That last part seems like quite a gamble,” Jonathan pointed out.  “What if we don’t reach the gate in time?”

“Then we’ll have to bribe, seduce, or injure the gatekeeper.  Unfortunately for us, Santa hired a wealthy, asexual elf who walks around in full body armor.  So let’s get it right the first time.”

“Right.” Jonathan left his friend’s side and proceeded to dig through the storage bins until he found some sweats, the thickest socks he had ever seen, a moleskin shirt, and a windbreaker with a woolen inlay.  He also found a massive bag of beanies shaped like pandas’ heads, so he donned one and followed the reindeer to the electrical box.  The animal glanced at him and snickered but said nothing.  Once they reached the box, Rudolph informed him of the steps he needed to take to turn off the fence’s electricity and open the gate.

“But don’t open the gate just yet,” the reindeer implored him.  “No one will notice that the electricity is off, but an open gate is rather obvious.  We’ll need the snowmobile ready for us the moment we open it.”

“Understood,” Jonathan replied.  “But last time we tried to get away, that evil fool caught us.  How’s it going to be any different this time?”

“He still thinks we’re locked away in the room at the compound; the last thing he’ll expect is that we’ve escaped the room and left the property.  And once we’re out in the expanse of the arctic, no one on earth will be able to find us.”  Rudolph’s lips curled into a grin, and his fur stood on end with excitement.  “Are you ready to leave the property, Legcheese?”

The boy nodded.  “Absolutely,” he lied.

Out of the warehouse the snowmobile soared with a great growl of its engine.  Jonathan was quite tempted to take off one of his outer layers and wave it in the air with a series of exuberant yowls as he drove with his free hand (he was pretty sure he saw someone do that in a movie at some point), but he thought it would be a better idea to focus on driving.  After all, this was the first time he had ever been behind the wheel of a vehicle, and he quickly realized that even a slight error at a great speed would result in at least a few broken bones or a body-sized snow rash.  Rudolph was buckled into the back seat, panting like a dog and excitedly looking around in every direction.  They zoomed past Santa’s home, which was nearly as large as the warehouse, and Jonathan was able to see inside through some of the windows.  The largest portion of the complex, it seemed, was a factory filled to the brim with machinery and busy elves.  He was amused by the little pointed hats that moved to and fro, most of the elves being too short for their heads to be visible above the windowsill.

Per Rudolph’s instructions, he made a gradual right turn and curved around a corner of the house.  They decelerated and swerved around a snowman dressed in a blonde wig and a tight dress, and the boy could have sworn he heard his reindeer companion catcall at the inanimate object.  Then they continued forward, moving along the side of the house and approaching its front yard.  After several seconds, the gate became visible ahead of them.  Also visible, beyond the boy’s right shoulder, was a small stair that led to a side door in the main building.

“Ahead of us!” Rudolph shouted, barely audible over the roaring engine.  “There’s the gate!”

“I have lost weight!” Jonathan replied, thrilled.  “But how do you know that? We just met a couple hours ago.”

“Don’t call anyone a ho, do you hear me? Especially not Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

“Sorry, bud.  I don’t drink beer.”

“OK, let’s stop talking and just focus on—WHOA!”

Rudolph’s sentence was cut short when Jonathan made an abrupt slant directly toward Santa’s house.  They shot past some benches and a blacktop, where several elves were playing duck-duck-goose.  They jumped a ramp and glided over a wandering tauntaun.  They nearly knocked over a mobile restaurant, out of which Abominable was selling tacos (what kind of meat he used in his recipe, neither passenger dared to guess).  As the side wall of the house grew near, Rudolph proceeded to snuff and snort and scream and shake his antlers against Jonathan’s back.  He even tried to distract the reckless driver by declaring that no one was home right now, that beyond the gate there was the most magnificent city full of gingerbread houses and pony-shaped candy canes, and that he and Jonathan were actually related—but he could only prove it if they took an ancestry test.  All of these attempts were to no avail.  The boy was determined to reach his destination, and perhaps only Ms. Unicorn herself, miraculously cresting a hill of snow in her regal stance, her hide ablaze with its natural luminescence, could halt his desperate flight.  But she did not make an appearance, and Rudolph could only watch in horror as his new friend stopped the snowmobile alongside the stair and leapt out onto the snow.

“I won’t be long,” the boy promised, breathing ice crystals into the air.  “Normally I wouldn’t leave someone out in the cold like this...but you’re a reindeer, and you’re made for this sort of weather.”

“My goodness, Legcheese.  What in Dale’s tiny beard are you doing?” Rudolph pressed against the seatbelt, but Jonathan had secured it tightly.  “Let me out of here! I thought we were going to be best friends!”

Jonathan swung back around.  “You don’t understand the potency of what’s in that cauldron, Rudy!  The man who created the potion that corrupted Santa...I met him in person.  His goal was to completely wipe out the memory of Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.  We stopped him...but he must have taken it to the next level with Christmas.  He wasn’t satisfied with removing the memory of the holiday; he wanted to transform a kind gift-giver into a borderline murderer.  Santa is evil through and through.  I’ve already told you that there’s only one way to stop someone like that.  And if I don’t stop him, and he gets worse over the next year...well, then there may not be enough children for anyone to have a best friend.”

“Bro, that was so deep, Adele was rolling in it,” commented the reindeer, his eyes wide.  “You’re pretty intellectual for a teenager.  And while I sit here, covered in snowflakes and impressed, I also have to wonder if maybe you’re jumping to conclusions.  Why do you think death is the only answer?”

“I’ve fought zombies, Rudy!” Jonathan’s hands flew all over the place to emphasize his point.  “I’ve fought corrupted turkeys! I’ve fought a mad scientist and his mother! None of them would stop until they were stopped for good!”

“You’re just a boy.” Rudolph was clearly trying not to cry, probably because frozen tears would be extremely painful.  “Surely there must be some innocence left in you.  And I’ve already told you that Santa and I have been close for so many years.  I don’t want him to die, and I think that deep inside, neither do you.  There has to be another way….”

“There isn’t.” The boy’s tone permitted no response.  “Now if you don’t mind, I need to go save the world.”

Santa Claws: Chapter 2, Part 2

The story continues as we draw near to the heart of the story.  After this post, we're about halfway through, readers!

Jonathan bounced around in Santa’s bag like a ball in a pinball machine.  He had hoped that the bag would contain an abundance of plush teddy bears and clothes wrapped for Christmas day (every child’s favorite gifts, of course), but he found that swords, daggers, assault rifles, bazookas, and bombs were the norm.  He realized that his captor had no intention to bestow gifts on the well-mannered this year; he was more interested in afflicting the unrighteous.  No room for mercy, thought Jonathan as the pointed end of a sword sheath pricked his stomach.  No allowance for discussion or redemption.  Only widespread punishment.  Every time the sleigh ascended, his stomach would flip—and so would the weapons surrounding him.  When the sleigh landed, he would attempt to escape his confinement—especially when Santa would come across a house without a chimney.  “Now how in the snowflake am I supposed to get in there?” the man would grumble before walking away to get a lay of the land.  A minute later, he would scoop up his bag and enter the residence.

On one of these occasions, he seemed more perplexed than usual (judging by his inordinate amount of grumbling) and paced back and forth before trudging away from the sleigh.  Jonathan punched and kicked at the canvas-like material, and even attacked the bag with a couple of swords and knives.  He could not make the slightest tear.  He also pretended that he was Super Pumpkin, placing his hands on his hips and declaring that the bag would fall before him as had so many foes...but this only seemed to bore his adversary.  Next, he cycled through several of the incantations he had heard Witch chant; all to no effect.  His last option was to seize one of the assault rifles and load it with ammo so he could shoot his way out.  Before his finger could touch the trigger, however, he suddenly found himself exposed to the moonlit sky.  The bag had fallen away, and he was able to see scrapes and bruises on his arms and hands from the precarious journey.  Then he turned his attention to his surroundings and discovered that he was lying on a grassy hillock overlooking a large manse.

“I know that house,” he muttered to himself, rising to his feet with some trouble.  “I sure hope Stanley Pharmacist has been a good boy this year.”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want further bloodshed, would we?” replied a soft, anxious voice behind him.

He swiveled around in haste, reaching into his pocket for Ms. Unicorn.  Something in him died when he remembered she was no longer with him.  “Who is that? I swear, if I have any more surprises tonight, I’m going full Norman Bates on someone.”

“Norman Bates is an overrated serial killer in cinema,” the stranger replied, inching out from behind Santa’s sleigh.  “Hannibal Lecter is the MVP in my book.”

Jonathan was taken aback by the creature that now stood before him.  “I didn’t know reindeer had a propensity for horror movies.  Come to think of it, I didn’t know reindeer had a propensity for speaking.  Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’m using the word ‘propensity’ correctly.”

“I don’t know what that word means,” admitted the reindeer, “but I do speak! And if you are who I think you are, then you shouldn’t be all that surprised by a talking animal.  You frequently sojourn with a speaking gourd, or so I’ve heard.”

“Correct.” Jonathan caressed his beard in thought.  “As much as I’d like to talk about that backstabbing squash, I’m pretty shocked that I’m having a conversation with Rudolph the Red-Nosed friggin Reindeer right now!”

The animal’s nose brightened and he pranced in a little circle.  “So you’ve heard of me?!”

“Heard of you? Everyone knows about Rudolph! We even sing a song about you.”

The reindeer’s nose was now so bright that a pilot could have spotted it from New Mexico.  “That’s great! Feel free to sing it at any time.  You know, especially since I saved your life.”

“Saved my life?” Jonathan’s eyebrow furrowed.  “Not so sure about that yet.  We still need to get out of here.”

“‘ey there, Rudolph!” shouted a voice nearby.  “What in Dale’s tiny beard are ya doin’? Ya know Santa’ll give us da whip if ya stray.”

In half a second, Rudolph looked as menacing as his corrupted master.  “DASHER, I’M MAKING A NEW FRIEND HERE.  YOU’RE GOING TO SHUT YOUR MAW RIGHT NOW, OR SO HELP ME....”

Jonathan’s eyes lit up, but nowhere near as bright as Rudolph’s nose.  “Dasher? You mean all of the reindeer from the song are here?”

“They’re not all that special, really,” replied his antlered savior.  “It wasn’t long ago that they never let me play in any reindeer games.  Then one night, Santa asks me to guide his sleigh, and suddenly they all love me.  The next day, they invite me to play their games with them.  Sounds fun, right? Until you realize that their ‘games’ are poker, blackjack, and ping-pong.”

“That sounds like a miserable experience,” Jonathan confessed.  “I guess I don’t really need to meet them.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t.” Rudolph shuffled a few steps closer to him.  “This is the best conversation I’ve ever had in my life, but I think we need to get going.  I can’t keep guiding Santa’s sleigh in good conscience; I can’t condone this violence or the bruising of Mrs. Claus’s hip.  So come on! Jump in the sleigh and let’s skedaddle! But...well, I haven’t even gotten your name.”

Jonathan gave him a warm smile and held out his hand.  “I’m Jonathan Legcheese! Put ‘er there!”

Rudolph stared at him blankly.  “I can’t bend that way.”

“Oh, right.” Jonathan stepped over to him and petted his head.  He could have sworn that the reindeer whinnied in glee, but since only horses are supposed to do that, he wondered about it for the rest of his days.  “Now is it OK if I call you Rudy?”

“No.  That would be demoralizing and unforgivable.”

“Great.  It’s nice to meet you, Rudy.”

The reindeer rolled his eyes.  “Likewise, Legcheese. Now let’s get a move-on!”

Jonathan stepped around the massive bag of weapons and came to the side of the sleigh.  He stopped and surveyed the land that extended out from the hill on which he stood.  There were trees all around, but he was able to make out Farrell Road directly to the south, as well as a few scattered homes and a church to the southeast.  He knew that this church would be packed with members of the local Christian community, as well as those who only attend on Christmas and Easter, in less than eight hours.  They would have likely heard about the devastating attacks in the night, and he was sure many a prayer would be lifted up on behalf of the victims.  Although his parents had never emphasized the importance of being a part of a church, Awana had invited him to hers several times in the past couple of years.  He had always come up with an excuse, of course.  He was too busy with homework, or he was hanging out with a friend, or he was combing Ms. Unicorn’s hair.  Only the last one was a valid excuse, but even that was something he could have postponed.  Why do I always run from that? he asked himself.  Is it indifference or fear? Isn’t this something I should give some serious thought to?

It was, but he had no time for such depth of introspection.  He hopped into the apple-red sleigh and took hold of a pair of leather reins that directed the reindeer.  The animals themselves were a sight to see: eight hale and hearty beasts, their coats undulating in the crisp wintry air, possessing eggshell-colored antlers that seemed to be dappled with silken fur.  They were much larger than Jonathan had imagined; all of the cartoons had depicted them as the size of average dogs.  He would have greeted them but for Rudolph’s rather disappointing description of their interests, so instead he looked beyond them, into the northern world.  Somber bursts of trees writhed in the open country for miles, interrupted occasionally by the populated hills and vales of Vacaville’s wealthy.  Although the moonlight did not offer much in the way of long-distance illumination, Jonathan was aware that far beyond the trees and hills lay Winters, the town he had been nearest to on his Thanksgiving adventure.  He hoped that this quest would not be as challenging as the battle atop Melonir.

“I’m ready when you are, Rudy,” he announced untruthfully.  In fact, the moment he lost Ms. Unicorn, he felt as if all motivation within him had been shattered, in addition to any confidence that he once owned.  His identity had been wrapped up in her.  Now he wondered how he could fight, continue, or exist without her in the picture.  Jonathan was old enough to know that she was gone, and that desperately wishing for her to come back would not do him any good.  Thus, he attempted to turn his thoughts elsewhere...and to his own surprise, what he wanted to do more than anything was return home and see Awana.  She was not Ms. Unicorn, of course, but she had the same tendency to encourage him, cheer him on, believe in him, and bring a smile to his face.  She had been there for him for years, never giving up on him despite his stubbornness and childish behavior.  And now she was miles away, probably beside herself with grief and paralyzed with fear.  I want to go back to you, he thought to himself.  You wanted to enjoy a carefree Christmas together, and we’ve been separated.  Awana, all I want for Christmas is you.  This brought a new thought to the surface: What would she do if she were here? The answer was obvious.

“Rudy!” he shouted, leaping back out of the sleigh.  “Hey Rudy, listen.  The family who lives in this house right here—I know them.  They’re good people.  I can’t just fly away on this sleigh without trying to help them.  I have a feeling it isn’t easy to make the cut on Santa’s ‘good boy list’ this year.  Stanley won’t make it.  I don’t have much hope for his pet goldfish, either.”

Rudolph galloped over to him.  “Stanley? Goldfish? Look, Legcheese…I want to help people.  I’m more good-natured than any of these heathens, especially Blitzen.  I think he’s demon-possessed, to be honest.” Rudolph turned his head to the right and mugged one of the more obtuse-looking reindeer.  “With that said, Santa is hyped up on some serious crazy-juice right now.  He could go at least three rounds with Captain America.”

“Regardless,” said Jonathan, “I grew up with Stanley.  He’s my friend.  I can’t just abandon him to this fate.”

Rudolph’s mouth became tiny as he bowed his head.  “Santa has already been in there for a few minutes.  It doesn’t take him very long to do what he wants to do.  I’m afraid that if we decided to go in now…well, it wouldn’t be pretty.”

Jonathan’s heart sank.  “You really think so?”

“Yeah.  We just need to get out of here, regroup, and come up with a plan so we can stop him from doing even more damage.”

“OK, fine,” Jonathan agreed.  “We can take the sleigh back to my house and decide the next step with my friends.”

“Hold on!” one of the reindeer protested.  “Hold the phone.  That's quite enough talk of escaping.  We’re not going anywhere.  Our job for the past seventeen centuries has been to guide Santa all over the inhabited world and wait for him while he does his job.  That’s not changing now.”

Rudolph sighed and bounded over to his comrade.  His nose, which had been shining brilliantly, became dull.  “Comet, you ignorant lout.  Santa isn’t doing his job.  He used to be kind to so many children, even the ones with questionable behavior.  Only every now and then did he actually give anyone coal.  Now he—oh, it’s just too horrid to say it!  You know what he’s doing! And you’re just going to stand there like a lemon? We’re in a position to stop this madness! We have to!”

Comet shook his head.  “You may be our lead reindeer, but you’re not our leader.  I will stand by Santa until the very end.  That’s my duty, and it will never change.”

“SO SAY WE ALL!” declared the reindeer in unison.

Rudolph sauntered back over to Jonathan.  “This is bad news.  I haven’t heard news this bad since Frosty told me what happens to him in the summer.  I’m going to lose my antlers over this, Legcheese.  I really am.”

Jonathan pursed his lips in deep contemplation.  He looked Rudolph up and down and glanced at the other reindeer several times.  After about a minute, he thought that a lightbulb had gone off in his head, but he realized that it was just Rudolph’s dully shining nose.  “Who needs those nincompoops, Rudy?” His new comrade seemed shocked by his words, so in defiance he added, “Yeah, who needs ‘em? They’ll just slow us down.  And no Christmas story or song that I know has ever said that you need other reindeer to fly.”

Rudolph’s eyes widened, and he began to stamp his hooves in excitement.  “You’re right, Jonathan! By gum, you’re right! How did I not think of this myself?”

“Too busy talking, probably,” grumbled one of the reindeer.

“I’ll poison you in your sleep, Cupid,” Rudolph replied.

Jonathan heard a door slam to his right, and his heart jumped at the thought of what might have transpired in Stanley’s house.  Gritting his teeth, he made a reluctant turn toward the sound.  What he saw and heard at that moment was not at all what he had expected.  Santa came lurching out of the home’s side door, the panic on his face obvious even from fifteen yards away.  He fell to one knee in his flight.  A few bruises were visible on his cheeks and forehead.

“YOU’LL NEVER SHOW YOUR SORRY FACE BACK IN THESE PARTS AGAIN, YOU HEAR ME?!” shrieked a woman as she caught the closing door.  Jonathan recognized her as Stanley’s mother, a matron almost equal in size to her retreating foe.  In her closed fist she held a rolling pin.  “If you ever try to lay a hand on Stanley or his beloved Dennis again, nothing will save you from my holy wrath.  I swear it upon my honor as a lady!”

As Santa was making toward the sleigh in all haste, Jonathan and Rudolph looked at each other.  “We need to go,” they said simultaneously.  Jonathan whisked something from the ground and pocketed it with a brisk movement.  Then he leapt onto Rudolph’s back, and the reindeer reared up like a mighty stallion.  He threw in a lusty neigh for good measure.  The boy would have fallen off if he had not grasped the gnarled antlers before him at the last half-second; somehow he was able to steady himself and look over his left shoulder.  The rotund psychopath was already just a dozen feet away from them.

“Hi-ho, Rudy! Away!” Jonathan cried, and Rudolph burst into the air like a rocket.

Soaring bareback on a reindeer was only slightly more comfortable than dangling from a flying turkey’s feet, but it was not any less terrifying.  Jonathan clutched Rudolph’s antlers until his knuckles turned white, and he kept his eyes closed for about a minute.  When he found the courage to open them, his stomach turned.  Flecks of streetlights, smudges of trees, and slithers of creeks and streams passed beneath and behind them as one commingled blur.  Once they flew farther south beyond the rural areas of northwestern Vacaville, roofs mottled the earth below in dark patches.  It took a minute or so for Jonathan to adjust, but once he did, he found that it was actually somewhat relaxing.  Rudolph was flying only a bit faster than the average man could sprint, probably aware that his guest would not be able to handle a higher speed.  His years of guiding a sleigh had trained him to move steadily through the sky.

“Rudy!” Jonathan shouted as the wind sliced past them.  “How did Santa get like this? I expected a jolly man who eats an unhealthy number of cookies, not a merciless serial killer.”

Rudolph did not take his eyes off the horizon.  “Technically, he hasn’t killed anyone tonight; he has just injured lots of children, and has told me he plans to kill any who have a murderous way about them.  As far as how he got like this…I don’t know every detail.  I only know what I witnessed.  Santa was overcome with this gradual change starting some time in October, and I thought it was a little odd.  I told Marilyn Monroe and Frosty about it, but Monroe was giving me the silent treatment at that time, and Frosty—ever the optimist, you know—told me that besides God, Santa is the only person we can rely on to never change.  I mean, the dude’s been around since the third century.  Once he reached the age of seventy-three, he was granted long life so he could annually do the very thing he had loved to do in his normal span of life—secretly bless others (especially children) with gifts.  But I guess Frosty doesn’t know squat, because I’ve never seen Santa like this.  He’s off his rocker, Legcheese.

“I found it a bit strange when the guy showed up to his own house on Halloween dressed like Jason from Friday the 13^th, but I figured that maybe he was going through a midlife crisis.  Then he got angrier and angrier over the course of November, to the point where it was really hard to have a conversation with him.  He started shutting himself off from society, forsook his weekly fishing trip with Dale the elf, shaved his chest, and gained sixty-two pounds.  Then, on Thanksgiving night, he flipped his lid and pushed his wifey onto her tookus.  I followed him into his secret room and saw him standing in front of this massive cauldron, breathing in its fumes like some sort of teenager with a hookah.”

Jonathan felt both sleepy and sick.  “Surely you could have said that without so many words.  But seriously? There was a cauldron in his secret room?”

“Yes, there was.  It was a black cauldron, and inside it was this brownish-black concoction that—”

“Shoot.” Jonathan chewed his lip.  “Shoot, that’s not good.”

“I know! Only witches are supposed to use cauldrons. And witches are evil!”

“Not all of them, Rudy,” said Jonathan.  Man, Apo and M.D. have ruined another holiday.  They’re a plague even after death.  “You talk too much, but thank you for telling me about the cauldron.  I think I know what we’re dealing with here.”

It was far easier to navigate to his house through the city streets than in the air, he discovered.  All of the homes melted together, and he did not have the slightest inclination as to where they should be going.  Rudolph did not seem to be swayed by this, judging by his intent facial expression; Jonathan surmised that, if the reindeer was indeed as old as Santa, some ancient genius must have implanted a rudimentary but effective GPS in his brain.  His shining nose lit the way ahead of them for a couple dozen feet, relieving the sense of all-encompassing darkness.

As they continued their journey, the boy found that he could safely let go of his ride’s antlers and latch onto him using his legs.  He shivered as the December wind grew increasingly icy.  If only I had brought a coat, he thought, pouting.  Not that I had much time to think once evil-Santa showed up in the house.  He is too sneaky and too fast for someone so plump.  He thought he heard a light jingling sound somewhere, but the wind and sounds of the night must have been playing tricks on him.  Three holiday potions, all destroyed.  The potion of resurrection, destroyed.  The portal potion, destroyed.  That’s five potions.  He gasped and felt his heart skip a beat.  That’s only five.  Apo left behind the potion that turns goodness to blight.  And he left it in the North Pole.

“Legcheese!” Rudolph shouted over the undiminishing breeze.  “Legcheese, I think my reindeer sense is tingling.”

“Can’t you just pee in the air? Why do you feel the need to tell me that? Have you heard of TMI?”

“No, that’s not what I mean! I mean—whoa!”

The reindeer made an abrupt slant southwest that nearly knocked Jonathan off his back.  The boy screamed and clutched onto the antlers.  He was about to jam his heels into his ride’s ribs and call him roughly four derogatory names when he noticed a glint out of the corner of his left eye.  There were the eight reindeer pulling Santa’s sleigh, the bells along their reins jingling in the wind and shimmering in the moonlight.  Santa directed them with a ferocious countenance and malicious intent in his unblinking eyes.  He swerved the sleigh back toward Rudolph, but the reindeer made a rapid ascent and dodged Dancer by a hair’s breadth.  Then he soared higher and higher with all speed and desperation, as if hoping to make the moon his destination.  He moved with greater swiftness than Jonathan had thought him capable, and the boy prepared to congratulate him as the sound of bells receded from his ears.  But before the words could escape his lips, Rudolph let out a cry of pain and stopped moving.  Jonathan yelled his name, but there was no response.  He looked around frantically, seeking the cause of his ally’s sudden lack of movement… and noticed a tranquilizer in his back leg.  Santa had used one of the weapons in his arsenal.

“Rudy!” he shouted.  “Rudy, wake up! Stay with me! We need to keep going!”

But it was useless.  Rudolph lost all momentum, and together they began to plummet toward the earth.  Down and down they spiraled, and as the wind of their flight battered Jonathan, he felt that he would soon lose consciousness.  The roofs and streetlights grew nearer and nearer in his dizzying vision.

“I’ll stay with you, buddy!” he promised.  “No matter what, I’ll stay w—”

A hundred feet before they could hit the ground, Santa’s bag came sweeping over them.  The wicked man tied a thick knot around the top of the bag and released a maniacal laugh as he directed his loyal reindeer toward the North Pole.