Novella

The cold winds of winter arrived this morning just as the sun peeked over Crisp Mountain. I lay in bed listening to the elves pottering around the workshop outside my door. Checking their hammers, counting their nails, sharpening their saws and measuring their rolls of wrapping paper. The chugging sound of the Receptacle - the giant machine that sorted letters from children all around the world - coughed along with their preparations. Although it wasn’t December yet a small stream of letters had already started to arrive. My morning would be spent with a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a pen in the other, sitting at my desk and validating who was naughty or nice. The letters from the nice boys and girls get sent to the workshop while the others are sent to the coal shed. In the coming days the entire workshop floor will be layered in sawdust and bootprint-covered letters. There’ll be shouting and screaming, crying and moaning, fighting and arguing. Enemies will be made and friendships will be broken. But all will be happy and peaceful in the end when everything is packed onto my sleigh and Rudolph leads the way. Only… This year will be slightly different.

This is the first year that I have been honest with the elves about who I am. Contrary to the myth that the media has created I’m not the boss of the elves. I work in partnership with them. Do you think that I could make all the toys that they do? I’m not a carpenter or a cobbler or a painter. They are masters - geniuses - in their craft. I simply deliver the presents they create. We’re all workers but of a different kind. Without me their final products would gather snow in the North Pole. A mountain of toys as immobile as the North Star itself. And without them I’d have nothing to deliver. It’s directly because of our well oiled partnership that I’ve delayed in taking this first step. I hadn’t wanted to upset our familiar equilibrium. Yet, at the same time, I’m unable to put another black boot in front of the other like every other year. My mind has been cracking up like the surrounding ice sheet.

Of course I’m not talking about revealing to the world that I’m black. This would be considerably easier. How I wish it was that simple. Another myth the media has cast about me is that I’m a jolly, old, fat, white man. It’s insane. I can be grumpy sometimes - especially in the morning. I admit that I was overweight at one time but that was before all the exercise I got from delivering these presents. Do you think any of those artists who created this image of me have ever actually seen me? Never. Only a handful of children around the world have ever caught a glimpse of me. They even had the cheek to create images of me taking a nibble on some cookie that a child had left out for me. Yes, I admit it, I’ve taken a bite of some food now and then. Sometimes a sip of some milk too. It’s hard work delivering those presents. But most of what the children leave out for me I bring back to the elves for our party or give to the reindeer. Those deluded artists are copying an image that the Catholic Church disseminated hundreds of years ago. Those supposed religious men were the first to change the colour of my green suit. They dissolved my true image in their holy water and only kept my beard and black boots. I should have put a stop to those myths immediately when the Church first spread them hundreds of years ago. But they snuck them out when I was in hibernation in between Christmases. And then of course the rush of Christmas that year was uniquely intense. So many children needed presents. And then the excess of the after-Christmas party. Things just kind of slipped away. That’s life isn’t it? I’m only human too. 

No, this year is different in an entirely different way. This year, with the support of the elves, I’ll begin my transition. Shaving my beard will be step one. A big step. I’ll truly be saying goodbye to my old self when I shave tomorrow. And what will Mrs. Claus think? Well, she was an even bigger beard than the one on my face. She never existed. Being Santa is a lonesome life at times. Perhaps that’s why the Catholic Church wanted to hide the real me from the world. They didn’t want people to know that I can be sad sometimes. It’s hard to understand their reasoning. Their motives behind making me a fat, white, married man are as chequered as the fake pixels used to create that false image.

I’ve been forced to hide who I am for as long as I can remember. It’s time for me to be the real me. In the North Pole at least. No one else apart from the elves needs to know yet. 

I’ll start this journey by being honest. I’m scared. Taking this first step reminds me of placing the first boot print in a forest freshly covered in snow. I have no idea of which way to go. There are no markings to lead me. I feel utterly alone. I’m as solitary as the pine trees that are weighed down with as much snow as I am with worries. All I can do is hope that I’ll retain the support of my friends as I search for my true path. 

Day one has been as hard as those striped sticks of solid sugar that the elves love to nibble on. News of my transition was leaked to the world before I woke up. I didn’t even have a chance to shave my beard before Elgar - a good elf friend of mine - came knocking on my bedroom door.

       ‘The world, they know.’ He said when I opened the door.

‘Know what?’

‘About you. About your transition.’

‘How could they know? It’s only the elves that know.’

        ‘Well some elf must’ve leaked it.’

‘Who would do that?’ I said, stroking my beard and pulling just a little too hard on the long hair. 

‘If I had to guess… Elspar. He wasn’t here for this morning’s roll call.’

I should note at this point that all the elves in the workshop begin their names with “El”. I’m not sure how it is for other elves around the world but that’s the tradition up here in the North Pole.

‘Elspar? Oh dear.’ I could feel the blood drain from the back of my head and pool around my cold feet. The room began to sway like I’d drunk too much chocolate milk.

‘Sit down, sit down.’ Elgar said, but I didn’t listen. Knowledge of my journey on this new path was meant to be kept to the North Pole only. I hadn’t wanted the rest of the world to find out. They had no right to know in my view. This was my personal life. It had nothing to do with my work life.

‘I haven’t told you the bad news yet,’ Elgar continued, ‘the letters... They’ve stopped arriving.’

It was this news that knocked me down onto the edge of my bed. The ageing springs heaved under my bony bottom. ‘Stopped arriving?’ 

‘Yes. Not one letter has arrived today. And all the good boys and girls would have woken up in different timezones by now.’

‘Oh no. Oh no-no-no.’

‘Elzar is checking the Receptacle just in case it’s not working properly.’

‘But there’s never been a problem with it in the past, has there?’

‘No...’ He said, his head dropping.

‘It’s not the Receptacle then.’

‘Well... I haven’t even told you the worst part yet.’

‘How could it get worse than no letters?’

‘The other Elves… They… They…’

‘They what? Look at me, please.’

His head lifted slightly but his eyes looked past me.‘They’re going on strike.’

‘On strike?’ I jolted up from the edge of my bed. I couldn’t stand still. A shock of panic had raised the hairs on the back of my neck and forced me to pace around the room. Elgar did his best to dodge my unpredictable boot steps. ‘That’s like saying I refuse to deliver the presents.’

‘I know, I know.’ He said, climbing up to the safety of my chest of drawers. ‘They say that without children’s letters there’s no reason for them to work. They want you to agree to stop your transition. They want you to say to the world that it was a mistake. That it was fake news.’

‘Fake news. Fake news is just another word for lies. Only naughty boys and girls lie. If I said it was fake news then I would be lying. Have I ever lied to you Elgar? Or to anyone?’

‘Never.’

‘Then no. No, I can’t do that.’

‘Then I’m afraid we’re stuck like that chewing gum of yours.’ He pointed to the chewing gum I’d stuck underneath my bedpost last night. I looked back to him and stared, searching for an answer that neither of us had. His little legs were dangling over my chest of drawers and the little bells on his boots chimed with each kick of his foot.

‘Tell me Elgar. Have you ever lied to me?’

‘Never. You shouldn’t have to ask me that.’

‘Then tell me the truth now. What should I do?’

His bells stopped chiming. He became almost statuesque like an elf on a shelf. After a long time - an ice age - he spoke. ‘Do you remember what you told me when I first arrived in the workshop?’

‘I’m ashamed to say that I don’t. How many years ago was that now?’

‘Hundreds. But it feels like yesterday to me. I still live by those first words you said to me. I came in here not knowing a saw from a hammer. I hadn’t a snowflake’s idea what I was doing. I was wandering from workstation to workstation trying to figure out what everyone was up to. Then all of a sudden I saw your boots coming straight towards me. I thought I was about to get trampled but you stopped right at the tip of my nose. Then you held out your hand for me to hop onto. You lifted me up and asked me my name. I can still smell the chocolate milk on your breath. After I told you my name you said. “Just do your best Elgar. That’s all that any of us can do. Do your best and you’ll find your way.” ‘

‘But what is my best now? What do I do?’

‘Doing your best is being the best you. If you’re not true to yourself then you’re not doing your best. You need to do what you feel is right for you.’

‘What if I fail? What if I ruin everything?’

‘Then it wasn’t meant to be. The world will always go on without us. But as long as you failed at being true to yourself then you can be happy in knowing you’ve done your best.’

I sat back down on my bed. His words had drawn that poisonous energy from me. ‘Thank you Elgar.’

‘We’re friends, aren’t we?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then you never have to say thanks. You’ve done the same for me in the past. We’ll be together through thick and thin.’

The secretary of state phoned today. Not the American secretary of state. The Vatican City’s secretary of state. He’s the second most powerful man in the Catholic Church. He plucks the strings of all the political and diplomatic functions of the gilded city that is the Vatican. To speak of unseen power is to speak of him.

I’d arrived back at the workshop at about half past midday after a long walk around Crisp Mountain. The rising sun cast my shadow in a long dark line out in front of me. I’d tried to clear my head from the sleigh crash of events that was yesterday. But not even the penetrating polar wind could cleanse my thoughts of self doubt. My arrival into the workshop from the gathering gale outside was met with a tortuous silence. Only a single light was on. It was hanging down from the rafters high above. Row upon row of empty solitary workstations stood like headstones in a vast abandoned graveyard, leading up to the tomb that was my desk at the back. The stained glass windows that lined the sides of the workshop shone down a cold puddle of empty colour. The smell of disinfectant hung in the air when normally it would have been a manic fusion of sweat, sawdust and burnt metallic sparks. No tools were clanging. No steam was hissing. No wheelbarrows full of toy parts were crashing. No shouts for more wrapping paper. The energy that I lived for - the energy that drove me - had been devoured by my selfish actions. I was the one to blame for all this. All the elves had been driven from their natural setting to the tavern across the road; drowning their sorrows in mugs full of chocolate milk. 

The shrill tone of the telephone from the far end of the darkened workshop snapped me out of my depression. It sounded like a warning. An alarm of some kind. Be careful. Before I’d even put the receiver to my ear he’d already started talking.

‘Get me Santa, immediately.’

‘Who is this?’ I asked. 

‘It’s Jornaldo Greasemo. He’ll know who I am.’

‘Ah yes, Jornaldo. I remember you. You asked for the light blue tea set with the frilly tea cosy back in Christmas 1961.’

A curtain of silence dropped on the other end of the line. I waited patiently for him to gather himself and respond.

‘Santa?’

‘Speaking.’

‘How do you remember that? I didn’t even remember that?’

‘I have a very good memory for presents. And for those who've been naughty or nice.’

‘I can assure you Santa, this call is from a nice boy - I mean a man. A nice man. Do you know where I’m calling from?’

‘The Vatican.’ All workshop phones had our own form of GPS tracked caller ID. Along with the incoming phone number it would display the location of the caller. An indispensable tool on those rare times my sleigh had broken down and I had to call the elves for assistance. 

‘Do you know why I’m calling?’

‘I’m not omnipotent.’

I heard the squeak of a chair as he sat up and the rustling of papers in the background. ‘A mountain of division has risen in the world from the news of your transition. I’m sure, as you know, that like most divisions in the world today this is largely driven by the social media algorithms. But there’s very little we can do about that. Even the reach of the Catholic Church has its limits.’

‘Yes, I know all this.’ I began stroking my beard. Hearing a voice from the outside world confirming my internal terrors was like an arrow piercing through my rib cage.

‘Well, it may surprise you but I’m calling you to offer our support.’

‘Your what?’

‘Our support. We want to support you in your decision. We want you to stick with the path you're on.’

‘But… But…’

‘I know, I know. We’re not exactly the type of institution you’d expect to lend a hand to those who’ve been outcast. We’re no good Samaritans.’ A chesty laugh burst over the line. I could almost feel his pungent breath of whiskey and cigars penetrating through the receiver. ‘But you’ve got to remember your history. Or rather our shared history.’

‘You know about that?’

‘Of course I do. It’s a well kept secret for many reasons but those presents you gave the three wise men to deliver to Jesus and his siblings is why I’ve stuck with the Catholic Church. Well, one of the reasons. The pay isn’t so bad either.’ Another chesty laugh along with the slapping of what I think was his meaty thigh. Or it could have been his belly.

‘I would have delivered the presents myself but I didn’t have Rudolph to guide me back then. Time was of essence when clouds were so dense in other parts of the world.’

‘Well, one good deed deserves another. We’re here for you Santa. We’re here to repay our debt.’

‘There’s no debt to repay. I deliver presents to those who believe in me. The only balance sheet I check is whether you’ve been naughty or nice.’

‘How about our shared interests then? We’re here to maintain those. Strengthen them even.’

‘What shared interests?’

‘Oh come now Santa. You can drop the act. We’re both men here - or one of us still is anyway.’ That chesty laugh again. I heard ice cubes in a glass clink as he took a long slurp on a drink before continuing. ‘We have a common goal. People can do whatever they like as long as they abide by our system.’

‘What system is that?’

‘Capitalism of course. Consumption. Clear unobstructed channels of exchange. Cash. Cold hard cash. Electronic, physical, crypto, whatever class of cash you choose. As long as you keep spending cash. Especially with us. Those collection baskets don’t fill themselves.’

The receiver slipped from my hand and dropped to my sagging shoulder. How truly twisted some children became as they grew older. And how truly mean children were because of those who raised them. An anger burned inside my chest like a log fire.

‘Hello? Santa? Hello?’

‘I’m still here. But you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’m not this person you think I am.’

‘Isn’t that what this is all about?’ Again that awful laugh burst over the line. It felt as if an infectious liquid was oozing out of the receiver and into my ear. ‘People see you as the pinnacle of capitalism and consumption. We’re in this together Santa. You’re a Father just like I am. I’m Fr. Greasemo and you’re Fr. Christmas.’

‘You’re wrong about me.’

‘We’ve all been wrong about you, isn't that what this is all about?’ That damn laugh again. ‘Come now Father, why do you think the Vatican city is the eighteenth richest country in the world? We’re just as capitalist as you.’

I placed the receiver back on the hook and silenced that chesty laugh. I allowed my body to slump against the wall and slide down to the workshop floor. Feeling alone is bad. Feeling misunderstood is worse. Feeling both is unbearable.

My boots stand to the side of the fireplace as the logs rage ferociously. I’m sitting in the darkness of the tavern lit only by the flickering of the red flames. My feet sting with the heat the logs are emitting but the pain is irrelevant. My mind is elsewhere. Their note lies on the ground in front of me. A spilled mug of chocolate milk lies beside it. 

Gone to the real world. Need to find work. We couldn’t wait any longer. Sorry.

They’d tried at least. Three days without a letter from even one child in the world is almost an eternity for an elf. Especially during Christmas. I’m proud that they managed to wait so long. An elf’s mind is as tightly strung as the violins they craft. They have one sole purpose; to make presents for children. I know how they feel. It’s my job to read letters and deliver the presents. Now my life is like one of the logs on the fire. 

Only one elf has stayed; Elgar. He used the excuse of maintaining the tavern and the workshop so they wouldn’t fall into disrepair. He said someone had to keep things ticking over until the rest of the world saw sense. But I see the goodness in his heart. He’s stayed because of me. He’s told me that with time, acceptance will follow. I just have to be patient. To help my patience I took a keg - a human sized bottle - from the elf bar before settling down in front of the fire for the night. I needed something to take the edge off the last three days. Especially after the other letter that arrived from the real world.

It arrived at afternoon time after the elves had left. Thankfully they weren’t here to read it. I’d rushed over to the Receptacle like a mad man when it had rattled to life. My beard almost got sucked into the intake vent as I waited for the letter to drop out. Elgar had come running into the workshop having seen the letter streak across the sky like a shooting star. We thought the frosty division had been cracked. We thought we’d be able to call the elves back from their journey to Ellesmere Island (the closest inhabited island to the North Pole; a journey of over 800 kilometres). 

I tore open the envelope like a puppy tearing at a new toy. Elgar shouted for me to calm down and be careful not to rip the letter. I steadied my shaking hand and slid it out from the envelope. My heart sank like a sea lion dipping its head under water. The letter had the formal stamp of the government of the United States of America. It was from their Democratic Party. 

Dear Santa,

We have been made aware of recent changes in your workshop located on the North Pole. Although your region doesn’t fall under our jurisdiction, the latest update informs us that a mass migration of North Polians is currently underway. 

This is troubling news considering the pressure that migrants can place on a country’s resources and the political divisions they can cause. We believe the reason for this migration is due to your recent decision to transition from Mr. Claus to Mrs. Claus. 

Let it be known that we fully support the rights of individuals to choose their own path in this world, whatever that may be. We stand by the rights created by our founding fathers that each individual is a free man - or woman. But with these rights come responsibilities. Just as our founding fathers had responsibilities to the slaves that they owned, so too do you have responsibilities to the workers you manage. As strong as our support is for the rights of the LGBTQ+ community we are even stronger for those of the workforce. Workers rights must not be sacrificed to those who command them. We urge you to reconsider your recent decision and halt your transition. If not for your sake, then for those that work for you.

Sincerely,

The Democratic Party of the United States of America

P.S - God Bless America

The letter slipped from my hand. I felt like I’d eaten too many cookies. Their lies, their political games, their attempted manipulation, it turned my stomach inside out. Didn’t they know that I could tell who was naughty or nice? Elgar scurried over to read the letter as I steadied myself on a workbench. 

‘North Polians?‘ He asked.

‘They mean elves.’

‘Why not call us elves then?’

‘They probably think it's an antiquated word. One of their many well paid political advisors probably told them to use that term so as to avoid any possible offence.’

‘They don’t seem to pay you the same consideration.’

‘No.’

‘This thing about slavery too, don’t they know you’re black?’

‘Of course they do. The words they chose are intentional.’

‘Why are they doing this then?’

‘They want me to continue with my transition. But they don’t want to support me since it’s already going so disastrously.’

‘But they urge you not to continue? It says so here at the end.’

‘These are just their political mind games. I see through it as clearly as a letter from a naughty child. They want me to continue so that I end up ruining everything that I’ve created. Then they can step in with a person of their own choosing to replace me.’

‘Replace you? But there’s only ever been one Santa.’

‘Yes, but children need Santa. If I can’t do the job any longer then someone else will have to.’

‘You can’t be serious, can you?’

‘I hadn’t thought of the possibility until reading this letter. Perhaps they're right. If I want to continue on this journey of mine then maybe it’s best to step aside.’

‘No one could replace you. You’re Santa. You're the only person for this job.’

‘I used to think that. But maybe their president can do this job better than me.’

Elgar stormed out of the workshop. I was left leaning on a workshop bench with my head hanging low. I tried to call after him and apologise. I hadn’t meant to upset him. It was a half-hearted attempt on my part. What could I really apologise for? He needed to know the truth. 

It was from there I shuffled out across the snow to the tavern and rummaged through the remaining supplies of chocolate milk. 

As I write this entry now I’m staring at my toes through the holes in my off-white socks. I never had enough time to stitch them back up or to ask the elves to make me a new pair. They were always so busy with their own work. I never wanted to distract them with something minor like a pair of socks. Now I don't have anyone to help me.

The left were wrong about so many things in their letter. Their stupidity was as viscous as their pernicious search for power. How ludicrous it was that they believed I managed the elves. If anything the elves managed me. This hadn’t been a top-down structure like companies in the real world. This had been a symbiotic relationship. Without the elves there is no Santa. Without Santa there are no elves………... My day of resignation hangs over me like a noose in the wind. 

I was in the stables when the stranger burst through the door. Elgar had ordered me to do something useful with my time while I was considering my resignation. He said he couldn’t stand the sight of me drowning in a mug of chocolate milk. Apparently I reminded him of an elf that had lost the ability to hold a nail steady or cut in a straight line. He suggested that I work on the sleigh while the reindeer were still out on their annual graze. It was time I did something with my hands other than pour another drink. 

I checked the calendar and the reindeer weren’t due to return for another week or so. Every year after Christmas they left our village and roamed around the surrounding lands eating the nutritious interstellar dust that accumulates on the North Pole. Their current absence has given me the time and space I need to do the repairs on the sleigh that I’ve been meaning to do for so long. Things like securing the side rail, replacing the landing clamp, adding sealant around the copper nails and sanding and polishing the runners along the bottom of the sleigh.

After an hour of this work I discovered that Elgar was right. My mind was beginning to calm itself. The tight reins of stress slackened as I worked the bolts on the side rail and jimmied off the rubber cushions surrounding the  landing clamp. I rediscovered the joy that came with a purpose in life. The same joy I’d experienced when I first built this sleigh. Back when there were only eight reindeer and me; before Rudolph came along. There were only a handful of Elves back then too. Of course there were far fewer people in the world as well. I’d never imagined us growing so big. 

This inner calmness that had descended on me like snowflakes in a light breeze was broken with a bang from the stable door. There in the open doorway stood a blue faced man with frosted hair and chattering teeth.

‘Santa?’ He asked, his breath hung in the air like a cloud of death.

‘Yes?’

‘You’re black?’

‘Step in out of the cold and close the door.’ I shouted, rushing up to help him. ‘What’s all this about?’

‘You’re suit.. Why… Is it green?’ His frozen mind was searching for words as I closed the door and sealed off the cold outside. He collapsed onto a bed of hay while I was ringing Elgar from the telephone on my sleigh. I told him we had an unannounced visitor who needed hot chocolate immediately.

‘Relax, just breathe,’ I said, covering him in the rug I kept in my sleigh. ‘What madness drove you out into that cold.’

His body was jittering like he was sitting on a deranged massage chair, forcing out his answer in intermissions.  ‘The Democrats… We heard… About their plan… They’re trying… To manipulate… You… They want you… To fail… They want to… Put their… Own man… In your… Suit… And black boots.’

‘I know that. I’m Santa. I saw through their plan as easily as I see your chattering teeth.’

‘You did? Oh… Thank god… Well… That’s good news… My bosses… Will be..  Very happy.’

‘Your bosses? Who are they?’

‘The… Republicans.’

‘All of them?’

‘Well… Any… Number of them… But Donald… Trump right now… Although… Everyone… Is fighting… For a chance… To take… To take…To take the throne.’

‘Relax young man. Just breathe.’

‘There’s no… Unity… In politics.’

‘Rest. Just rest. We’ll talk more when you’re warmer.’

Elgar soon came in with the hot chocolate and introduced himself. It was then I discovered that this young man was called David Simmons, an ex-Wall Street banker who now worked as an senior analyst for the Republican party. When he’d discovered the plan by the Democrats he’d informed his seniors and volunteered to be parachuted in here to deliver the message to me personally. No more phone calls or letters. Their words had to be delivered face to face. By the end of this explanation I could see his cheeks had returned to a rosy red. The pale blue tint had been banished by the warmth of the hot chocolate. His teeth had stopped chattering like a pair of castanets and the cold fell away from him like an old memory. 

‘I owe you my life Santa. I would have died out there if it wasn’t for you.’ He spoke with the steaming mug cradled in both hands just below his chin.

‘I’m just glad we were here to help. Another few days and maybe no one would have been here.’

‘Don’t say that.’ David said, ‘This place needs you. The world needs you. I’m here to offer you our support. The Republican party have got your back. We're behind you all the way. Whatever you need, we’ll help.’

‘Why do I sense something twinge inside you when you say that?’

‘Twinge?’ His eyes shot open. I could tell this was the first time in his life that his dishonesty had ever been openly called out.

‘Yes. Inside your heart,’ I pointed a finger at his chest, ‘a muscle twinged as you said that last sentence. It’s a sign of dishonesty or ulterior motives. Would you like to tell me the truth or should I search for it myself?’

‘I’ve told you the truth, I swear.’ 

His breathing quickened. Short. Rapid. Breaths.

‘There’s that twinge again. Please David. I know you. I still see that little boy who asked for a calculator and Megatron robot for Christmas in 1992.’

‘How do you remember that?’

‘I remember everything.’ I caught Elgar rolling his eyes and had to correct myself. ‘Well, not everything. I have a terrible day-to-day memory. If it wasn’t for Elgar I’d never find my boots. But I do remember everything that I delivered to good boys and girls. Now, will you tell me the truth or not?’

His bottom lip quivered. It was in a battle against his stiff upper lip. His naughty and nice side were grappling for control of his mouth. His bottom lip finally won out. ‘I’m sorry Santa. It was all my idea. I convinced my bosses that if we supported your transition then we could foster a closer relationship. With time this could allow for easier access to drilling rights in the Arctic Ocean. I just… I didn’t know.’

There was no twinge in his heart this time. Instead his shoulders dropped and the empty mug swung from his fingers. The weight of lies and dishonesty had been lifted from his body. It reminded me of the reasons why I’d decided to begin my transition in the first place. A journey I still haven’t started after five days of madness.

‘It’s ok. Thank you for being honest David. You know, I never judge anyone on the lies they’ve told but what they do to make amends.’

‘Thank you Santa. We need more people like you in this world. Especially in politics.’

‘No, there are good politicians already. It just needs less people who are willing to take advantage of the system.’ I stood up from my kneeling position and looked to Elgar. ‘Ready my sleigh with fuel. This man needs a lift home.’

‘On it.’

‘Santa?’ David asked, looking up at me like the little boy I remembered.

‘Yes?’

‘What are you going to do now?’

‘If I’m responsible for rewarding children for being honest, there’s only one thing I can do.’

‘I hope the world can understand.’

‘They will. As Elgar said, it’ll just take time.’

I was on my way home from Ellesmere Island where I’d dropped David off using my sleigh. Short journeys like this without the reindeer were safe but for long excursions like on Christmas Day I needed the extra oomph that all nine of those magical creatures provided.

The cold wind whipped against my newly shaven face like the flapping of an invisible scarf. From the moment I could grow a beard I’d always had one. It was a way for me to assimilate into what was expected of me. What was expected of men. Now it felt so strange to feel so bare, almost naked. A good kind of strange. Flecks of snow stuck to my dark skin before melting away like the twinkling stars in the night above. This was my first step in casting off the old me. I admired my smooth face in the rear view mirror and imagined what I would change next. What I had the potential of becoming. The future was no longer a shrinking barrel but a wide open plain. 

To my disappointment there was no sign of the elves on Ellesmere Island. David and I had scanned every inch of the surrounding land but we couldn’t find even a single lost hat or glove or even a tiny line of footprints in the snow. It was my guess that they’d already pushed on towards the mainland of Canada. They’d find it no problem to build a boat or a sled to help them navigate any difficult terrain. For elves, when a problem was put in front of them, it was only a matter of how long it would take rather than if it could be done.

Before parting ways David thanked me again for my honesty and for showing me how to live his life. I could tell by the beat of his heart and the grip in his handshake that he meant it. It reinforced to me the positive impact I could still have on this world. I needed to stay true to my course, do what I felt was right, and my life would still have meaning. 

What I thought was a shooting star skimmed over my head as I continued home. My brow furrowed when a second shooting star followed not far behind it. Two shooting stars in the same direction? Then a third and a fourth and a fifth. I couldn’t believe it. These weren’t stars at all; these were letters. The telephone on my sleigh erupted.

‘Do you see them?’ Elgar shouted.

‘I do. Are they really letters?’

‘They are. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. Flowing in non-stop.’

A warm feeling filled me up from the inside like the first sip of hot chocolate on a cold night. ‘What do they say?’

‘I haven’t had a chance to look yet, the Receptacle is working in overdrive. This is more than a one elf job. How long do you think it’ll take you to get back?’

‘I’m going up to max power now. I’ll be there in five minutes.’

I switched on auto-steering, gritted my teeth and stamped down on the accelerator. The night’s air poured over me like a torrent of freezing cold water. The sleigh went up beyond any speed I’d been brave enough to test before. Stars turned from dots in the sky to blurred lines and the whir from the engine screeched like a banshee. All I could do was grip on for dear life and hope that I’d screwed in the guard rails tight enough.

My face was frozen in a grimace when the sleigh popped and crackled to a stop outside the workshop doors. The warmth of the inside stung my face like a thousand bees as blood tried to force its way back into my frozen veins. I couldn’t even speak. Elgar was working furiously at the giant machine that was the Receptacle. It looked like a mix between a locomotive engine and an oversized air conditioning unit. But rather than sucking in air, the Receptacle sucked in letters.

‘Some help would be nice.’ Elgar managed to shout as he jumped from one control to the next. Steam hissed from one of the valves as the Receptacle kept pumping and chugging.

‘Ing unging.’ I said through frozen lips, failing in my attempt to say “I’m coming”. 

I reached the controls as quick as my body would allow and began diverting power through the Receptacle to where it was needed most. Elgar and I worked like two sailors on a swaying ship battling against a howling storm, guiding it up the mountainous waves and down the cavernous troughs. Envelopes burst out from the Receptacle at one point and showered down around us. There must have been hundreds of individual letters from children that lay scattered on the workshop floor.

‘More power to the intake valve.’ Elgar shouted.

My eyes darted from the needles of the pressure gauges to the dials that signified intake and output. ‘It’s up as far as it’ll go.’ 

I was losing hope as we sweated through the constant re-calibrations. We dodged and darted past each other like two mad men at the helm, shouting figures and orders. The rumblings of the gears and cogs that powered the Receptacle roared over our words. I thought the machine would surely break and we’d be drowned in a sea of letters. But just as the storm reached its peak, the weather broke. 

It was Elgar who noticed it first. I was too consumed with bouncing from one set of controls and switches to the next. He had to hop on my shoulder and shout in my ear for me to calm down.

‘It’s over Santa. We’re through the worst of it.’

His voice snapped me out of my frenzy. He was right. The steady chug of the Receptacle was the reassurance I needed. 

‘Holy Christmas,’ I said, wiping the sweat from my brow, ‘that was insane.’

It was him who laughed first. Then me. We were in fits of nervous laughter and relief as we rolled down the stairs. Christmas was back on the cards. We’d have our normal lives back. We’d have stories to share with the other elves when they arrived back too. Would they ever believe that only one elf and Santa had managed the Receptacle by themselves? It would be the stuff of legends.

‘We have a lot of work to do.’ I said. 

‘This will be the tightest Christmas on record.’

‘Do you think it can be done?’

‘It can always be done.’ Elgar said, ‘It’s just a matter of putting your mind to it.’

We’d reached the output flap of the Receptacle. Letters were rolling out in trays, stacked and ordered according to their region and time of receipt. 

‘I’ll get a brush out and start sweeping up the letters we missed. You start on the letters here.’ Elgar said.

I couldn’t take the smile off my face. Neither could he. I picked up the first letter on the tray and opened it. The corners of my raised lips were torn down like a demolished building.

Dear Santa,

This year I don’t want any presents.

Why would I ever want presents from a man pretending to be a woman?

I never want any presents from you again.

A man is a man and a woman is a woman.

Fact!

Donnie

I glanced back at Elgar. He was too busy sweeping. I quickly scrunched the letter up and stuffed it deep into my pocket. I couldn’t let him know. I tried to ignore those hateful words that swarmed around my mind like a gang of marauding bandits. I picked up the next letter and read it. Like the second lashing of a whip it contained a similar message. As did the next letter. And the one after that and the one after that. These weren’t letters to Santa for presents. Each and every one of these letters were filled with hate.

The children hate me. The children hate me. Oh my god. The children hate me. 

My teeth ground against each other like the unforgiving treads of a tank. I’d read each and every one of the letters like I was reading my own obituary. Most of them were from good children, children I remembered from last Christmas, children for whom I had bright hopes for in the future. Michael from Bantry in Ireland. Jamal from Tulkarm in Palestine. Nancy from Sedona in America. Afsoon from Ghazni in Afghanistan. Not one of the letters was a request for presents.

Elgar couldn’t watch me continue. He’d switched the Receptacle from “output” to “storage” after I’d read the two hundredth letter. All new incoming letters were being boxed off and stored for firewood when the need came. But that still left the letters that had already been processed. There were thousands of letters stacked in trays at the foot of the Receptacle. Each from a different child from a different part of the world. There were no words of support Elgar could offer this time. To my shame I’d shouted at him to leave. I’d told him that I didn’t need him here. With spite drenched words I’d asked him why he was still around when all the other smart elves had gone. He’d left for the tavern not because he wanted to, but because I’d given him no other choice. 

I became obsessed with reading the letters. Their hate consumed me. I thought at first it was the promise I’d made myself all those years ago that was making me do this. The promise that no letter from any child would go unread. No matter what time it was received, every single letter would be read by me. If the elves couldn’t make the presents in time for the child that year then the wishes would be forward and reviewed the next year. But every letter would be read. No exception. Every time. Even now.

To the opposite side of the pile of opened letters grew an equal pile of empty kegs of chocolate milk. Its dark liquid helped me wade through the grim task of what I was doing. Hate begets Hate. And I felt this hatred changing me - metastasizing inside me - squirming like a tapeworm through my guts and devouring all the love and compassion that filled me from the bottom of my crooked toes to the top of my balding head. 

On letter number 1,953 the chocolate milk pulled back the curtains on the slow turning cogs of my mind. It was then I understood why I was doing this. I wasn’t doing this because of the promise I’d made myself. I wasn’t even doing this to wallow in the hatred that these children had for me. I was doing this because it was the end. This would be my last task as Santa. When I finished reading these letters it would be over. No longer would I shoot down chimneys, shimmy down drain pipes, cling to window sills, balance on the hand rails of balconies or slide open windows. My time as Santa was over.

It’s only at the end of our journey that we think of the start. And so like the zipping of a yo-yo back up its string, my mind wound back to the beginning. I thought of how I first became Santa. It might surprise you to learn that I was born in the heat. I adored the heat. Strange as it seems now. I’m not sure what year it was that I was born but I know where it was. Galoa Island. A small island in the country of modern day Fiji. On the snow coloured sand of those beaches I often wore nothing at all. I was dressed only in the heat with the perfume of the sea air on my skin. My playpen was the sand, my jungle gym were the coconut trees and my swimming pool was the sea. The culture I learned from my brethren dug the foundation of who I am today. Tales that were told around the open fire taught me that when someone does something good for you, you give it back ten times more.

It wasn’t until I’d taken my first steps out of childhood that I met the person who’d show me how to pull on those famous black boots. I’d been relaxing under the shade of a young coconut tree thinking about life and its meaning; all the thoughts we think when we allow our minds to drift. Her shimmering outline caught my eye first. I turned my head thinking it was a mirage. My mind couldn’t understand her bright red hair. I’d never seen hair this colour before. It was a flaming colour of red. So much so I thought her head must be on fire. Her skin too was an unfamiliar colour. It was as white as the clouds that streaked across the sky. She left barely any footprint in the sand as her outline drew nearer. She called me by my name and yet I’d never met her before. I ran to her. I was drawn to her presence like raindrops falling to Earth. My eyes refused to blink as she beckoned me to kneel with her. I watched as she drew a circle in the sand with her wand-like finger. 

‘This circle is your soul. Can you see?’ She asked.

I nodded my head.

‘This is the limit of who you are. Your life. Your time. Your knowledge. Your being. All that you are and ever will be is inside here.’

I felt a light sea breeze on my back but not a single grain of sand shifted in the circle she’d drawn.

‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘how can you grow if all that you ever will be is inside here?’

My mouth hung open like the Giant Trevally fish that I used to catch. I wanted to answer her. My stomach twisted in over itself with a need to impress her. I moved and then stopped. I’d hesitated in drawing a bigger circle around hers. But doing that didn’t make sense. It would be wrong. If all that I would ever be was inside that circle then how could I grow bigger? What would push the boundary of this line that defined me? My head swung from side to side, unable to answer her question. An honest answer was better than a wrong one.

‘We grow by doing this.’ 

She took my hand in hers and extended my finger. Her skin was as soft as the polished underside of a seashell. She pressed my finger into the sand and linked my circle with another circle. And then another circle and then another and another. 

‘Love. Compassion. Forgiveness. Understanding; these are the keys that unlock the links and allow our souls to join - to grow.’

Of course. The answer hit me on my forehead with what felt like an audible slap. 

‘Do you want to learn how to teach this world about these things?’

She held out her hand. Her arm was like the wing of a White Tern, immaculately white and elegantly symmetrical. I linked my hand in hers and left the “real” world behind. 

That day was as dream-like then as I remembered it today. It was the start of a long journey. I’d never once given up. I’d kept a hope for the future alive by rewarding all the children who practised love and compassion. I’d never stopped. Until now. I’d failed her. I’d sacrificed the needs of this world for my own. I was meant to teach this world about all the lessons I’d learned from her and yet who I am got in the way of that. I’d been selfish. My selfishness had turned the children against me. I’d made them hate me. I’d destroyed what she’d taught me………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………. The chocolate milk has shtarted to hit me. Hard. I’ve never felt fuzzy this. Even holding pen now is right hard. Siehsh. I sisieh. I should hauve shtopppped. I’uve left Elgarrt a nottte exhplayning my decshison to leaf. Decision. He ish to carll bachk awll thee elfes amd betweeun thenm all theahy can decshide wwhiuo the nexhyt Shanta ish. IUm gouing fuyor a wlak inh the shunnow. DThe Lonhg waulk in the shnow…………………

I awoke to what I thought was the rising sun. Its glowing red light penetrated through the tiny slits of my eye lids. I refused to greet the day it was heralding. I’d planned on never waking up again. That was why I’d stumbled out into the North Pole’s wilderness last night. I’d wanted to lose myself in a fresh sheet of snow and be discovered thousands of years from now as a frozen relic by archaeologists.

A wet rag was rubbed across my face. From my chin all the way up over my balding head. I blindly waved my hand in front of my face and shoo-ed away whoever was playing nurse. Again the wet rag was rubbed up the length of my face. I growled a warning to whoever was doing this. When I felt the wet rag touch my chin again I staggered up to my feet and raised my fists, ready to fight whoever had tested my patience.

My fists and my mouth dropped in tandem when my googly eyes focused on who was there; Rudolph. It was too early for him to be here. Reindeer stayed out in the extremes of the North Pole as long as they could to consume as much interstellar dust as they could. To sacrifice even a day of feeding was a perilous decision. He was risking his own future health on my behalf. 

The chill in the air cut through my chocolate milk hangover. My blood sugar was dropping as rapidly as the temperature. Worst of all I’d lost my hat somewhere in my late night stumblings. After embracing Rudolph I turned around and searched for a familiar landmark. But I had no idea where I was. The entire expanse of snow stretched out around me like a sugar coated pancake. 

Rudolph kneeled down on his front two legs and invited me to hop on. His thick fur felt like a rug heated up by the fire. He smelled of home somehow. When he kicked off into the air I hugged him tight, missing this close contact with another being. I’d felt so isolated - so rejected - these last few days that even just hugging this beautiful being was a therapy I sorely needed.

A light dusting of snow was thrown up when he came in for his landing. His hooves skidded on the icy ground as we stopped just outside the barn. I welcomed him home with a fresh bale of hay and a warm bucket of water which he slurped greedily. Ice cold water can be a difficult thing to drink even for a magical reindeer like him.

‘Rudoplh, how did you know?’ I asked, stroking him just below his antlers. His red nose glowed in appreciation.

‘Someone told him.’ Elgar’s voice called from the rafters.

‘Elgar? You called him?’ I almost dropped to my knees as I stared up at him.

‘When I saw you stumble out into the darkness last night I knew there’d be only one way to find you. Rudolph didn’t even hesitate when he heard my call. He was here in less than an hour and went searching for you as soon as I gave him your hat to sniff.’ 

I caught my old hat that he threw down from the rafters and pulled on it over my head. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘There’s nothing you need to say. Rudoplh and I both know what it’s like to be different. The main thing is that those of us who are different, we stick together. We don’t go drowning our sorrows in a mug of chocolate milk.’

‘But… The children… There’s no need for me any more. It’s time for a new Santa. Someone who can still give meaning to your life and Rudolph’s. It’s time for me to step away.’

‘Coddle-flop.’

‘Elgar! There’s no need to use that word.’

‘There is. You need to snap out of it. You’re falling into a pit of your own making - and you’re dragging us with you. The message you taught me and Rudolph is to always be kind. Be a good person. It’s time for you to remind people of that message.’

‘How? When all they do is hate me. How can I do that?’

‘Come with me. I found a way.’ Elgar swung down from the rafters and landed at my side. ‘To the Receptacle.’

Rudolph followed behind as we marched over to the workshop and arrived at the giant machine in the far corner. I noticed immediately that the receiving tube had been inverted and the output tray had been re-arranged so that it looked more like an input tray.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked.

‘Well, while you were out chasing snowflakes last night I was in here working on an idea I had.’ He hopped up onto the Receptacle and danced from lever to button as he explained what he’d done. The little bells on his feet jingled with the same excitement as his high pitched voice. ‘Do you remember old master Elthor?’

‘Of course, he designed the very first Receptacle..’

‘You probably don’t remember this but you paired me up with him as his apprentice when I first arrived. I worked with him day and night on every version of this machine, helping to fix any fault and tinker with its pressure valves to extract maximum efficiency. His voice was ringing in my head all last night. I knew there was something to gain from all his ramblings. And then it hit me. He’d once said that the Receptacle acted more like a magnet than a machine. It used the polarity of the North Pole to suck in letters that were sent to Santa. Well, if a magnet can attract letters it can also repel them.’

‘What are you getting at?’

‘What if instead of using the Receptacle to receive letters from every home around the world, we switched its polarity to send out letters to every home in the world?’

‘And say what?’

‘Remind them of the lesson you always taught. To be kind.’

‘Can it be done?’

‘I think so. I’ve tested it with a letter to the tavern and it worked. But there’s only one way to find out.’

‘I don’t know. Wouldn’t it just make things worse?’

‘Worse? What have we got to lose?’

I looked from Elgar’s eyes to Rudolphs. Each had their head turned to the side in a plea of desperation. They weren’t doing all this for themselves. They were doing this for me. It was time I hopped on board with their plans instead of trying to abandon everything. ‘You’re right. Let’s fire this last shot. I’ll get a pen and paper.’

The letters were sent. Elgar estimated the final number to be almost three and a half billion. One letter for every home in the world. I’d dictated the words to him and he’d written them in his elegant handwriting. My penmanship was as poor as a local doctor’s. Rudolph had supervised our efforts. He flashed his nose when he agreed with what I’d said and dimmed it in disagreement. We must have gone through about fifty drafts before we all agreed on what would finally be sent. The letter explained who I was, who I am and who I always would be. Who I was on the outside was going to be a more honest reflection of how I felt on the inside. But my values wouldn’t change. The only real change is that I would be a Mrs. instead of a Mr. This wasn’t a letter that described a doctrine of war or hate or retaliation against the rejection I’d faced. This was a letter that would show the kindness I wanted to see in the world. I wanted to open myself up. Whether people accepted me or not after reading this letter would be up to them. But at least I would have tried my best.

At 6.30 am North Pole time, Elgar flipped the switch. The Receptacle shook the entire workshop as if a violent gale was raging outside. It rattled so hard that we heard the pinging sound of bolts flying off somewhere within it. The noise sent Rudolph bucking out through the workshop door and into the safety of the barn. Elgar and I took cover under a table, using the lids of rubbish bins as shields. A great light flashed from the inverted Receptacle like the shimmering haze of the northern lights. It was brief in its luminescence but it left a dazzling static in our eyes for minutes afterwards. When the threatening sounds of the Receptacle shuddered to a stop the workshop was filled with a gripping silence. I felt like I was at the bottom of an eight foot grave with no way out. Had we done the right thing?

By 1.35 pm North Pole time I was tracing my finger along the rim of a keg of chocolate milk while Elgar finished the task of changing the Receptacle back to a receiver. Rudolph had returned with a mouthful of hay and was laying at my side looking for another head rub. Impatience was eating me up like the hunger for Christmas dinner. 

‘All set.’ Elgar’s voice called. He poked his head out from under the machine and saw the keg at my side. ‘Really?’ Black grease stains were streaked across his face making him look like a fearsome warrior.

‘It was here when I sat down. I swear.’ I said.

‘Well move it back to the tavern. You're not having another drink until after Christmas day.’

‘Fiiiiiine.’ The word sighed out of me like a deflating air mattress. With drooping shoulders I picked up the keg and dragged my feet across the floor.

‘Rudolph, follow him and make sure he doesn’t have a sip.’

I tisked in frustration and exhaled loudly. ‘I’m not a little child you know?’

‘Yeah, yeah. Keep an eye on him Rudolph.’

I heard Rudolph’s clip-clopping hooves behind me as we walked out of the workshop. Our feet then crunched in the soft snow when we crossed the narrow path to the tavern. The setting sun was fighting against the darkness as the short day ended. Rudolph’s nose glowed in happiness at making sure I did what I was told. He nudged me through the tavern doors when I tried to take a quick sip from the keg. I had to bribe him with a bowl full of warm sugar water to stop him from turning back and telling Elgar. We sat like two criminals in the centre of the tavern sharing the fruits of our crime, a devious smile passing between our faces. 

‘I knew it.’ 

Elgar’s voice shot me out of my seat so fast that I spilled chocolate milk all over my trousers. Rudolph's nose went dark with fear and his hooves skidded on the wooden floorboards as he tried to hide the bowl.

‘Elgar, we were… We were just resting.’ I tried to explain.

‘Yeah right.’ Instead of marching towards us he headed for the keg of chocolate milk and poured himself a glass. ‘If I can’t stop you, I might as well join you.’

Rudolph’s nose slowly returned to normal as did my heart rate.

‘Any of you know a good song?’ Elgar asked while he pulled up a seat beside us.

‘You’re the elf, you should know plenty.’

‘Not all elves are good singers.’

Without any prompt Rudolph stood up proudly on his four hooves and leaned his head back. A high pitched bleating sound interspersed with clicks and snorts broke through the air. Elgar dropped his glass to shield his ears with his hands. I did the same and shouted at Rudolph to stop. When he’d finally used up all the air in the giant wind bags that were his lungs Elgar and I were left dizzy.

‘I don’t recall hearing that one before.’ I said.

Rudolph swivelled his head from side to side. The bright red light of his nose played off the walls like a disco light. 

‘Maybe I do remember a few songs after all.’ Elgar said. His walk showed signs of dizziness as he swayed over to get a new glass of chocolate milk.

‘Please, any song will do.’

He raised his glass in a toast and was about to sing when a rumble was felt from the ground below us. I looked up in fear at Elgar before turning to Rudolph. Was this the breaking up of the ice sheet that climate change had been threatening? Was it an earthquake? Or a tsunami? Elgar provided clarity to the fog of fear that had fallen down on me.

‘The Receptacle.’ He shouted. He hopped down to the floor and ran towards the door. Rudolph and I followed close behind. We burst out into the snow expecting to see a stream of light stretching across the night’s sky and down into the workshop. Instead we saw only the star speckled sky. The ground itself was still shaking though. We looked from one another before we found the cause of it. Outside the limits of the village there was an army marching towards us; an army of elves. Their tiny feet stamped the snow covered earth causing the vibrations we felt. A smile broke across Rudolph’s face, spreading to mine and finally to Elgar’s. The elves were coming home. 

Onwards they marched, their tiny figures becoming more and more distinct as they came closer and closer. The front of the crowd finally came to a stop at my knees. A disturbance of some kind spread from the back of the crowd. It moved towards us like a shark’s fin cutting through the water. An elf was being forced towards the front of the crowd; it was Elspar. He kept his eyes to the ground, unable to look at me. This was the elf we’d suspected of leaking the news of my transition to the world. The elves mumbled and bustled in coercion and forced him to speak up.

‘Santa, I…’ Elspar spoke.

I raised a hand to stop him. ‘All I want to know is if you have come back here to stay?’

‘I have. We all have. If you’ll have us?’

‘Of course I will. There is no Santa without the elves. We’re a team.’

A cheer rose up from the crowd.

A voice somewhere in the back shouted. ‘The real world isn’t a nice place.’

Another voice chimed in. ‘They made fun of our size and our voices.’

‘They treated us like children.’ Shouted another.

‘I know what it’s like to be rejected,’ I said, placing my hand on Elspar’s shoulder, ‘but it’s with good friends that we learn there's hope. There’s a community, a family, a place for us all. I had Elgar here to support me and Rudolph too. You all had each other. We need to pull together. To stay together. There’s hope for the real world too. We need to remind them that there’s no way off this planet yet. We all have to find a way to live together. This world is as much ours as it is theirs. We’ll work together to help them understand.’

Another cheer rose up. 

A voice from somewhere within the crowd shouted. ‘We don’t care if only one child asks for presents this year, we’ll make it the best Christmas they’ve ever had.’ 

A wave of agreement swept over everyone.

‘Let’s hope it’s more than just one. Elgar may have put Christmas back on the cards. If it wasn’t for him there’d be no hope. Three cheers for Elgar!’ I said, lifting him up onto Rudolp’s back. The rest of the elves cheered around him as we paraded into the workshop.

The happiness of this event still glows inside of me as I write this. It almost feels like Christmas again. The only worry I have is that it’s been almost twenty four hours since we sent out our message and no letters have been received. How long can this happiness last for before I need to reconsider my position again? If the children don’t respond to my letter does that mean I need to step aside? The elves need a Santa just as much as I need them. Despite everything that Elgar and Rudolph have done for me, perhaps I really amn’t the one for them anymore.

Not one letter has dropped through the Receptacle today. Nada. Nic. Nichts. Niente. Not even a letter of hate has been received. It’s as if the world is utterly indifferent about what I sent. My plea for understanding was as insignificant to them as a forgotten one cent coin at the bottom of their wallet. Is their silence better than their anger? I’m undecided. 

All day long we waited. The happiness of welcoming the other elves home has dissipated like the heat off my nose in a cold wind. I’ve spoken to Elgar privately about the gravity of the situation. Despite his objections I’ve stood my ground. It was my turn to be firm with him. I’ve told him that if no letters are received by the end of tomorrow then we’ll send out another letter to the world. I’ll inform them that I’ll be stepping aside and that a new Santa will be sought and put in place by next year. In the interim, Christmas will be cancelled for this year. 

The world might not be ready to be kind, but I’m ready to be true to myself. For too long I’ve changed myself to accommodate a world that now refuses to accommodate me. I’ll continue on in my journey in being true to myself. Just not as Santa.

Today I rode into battle. Me. Santa. I rode into battle. Rudolph led the charge. We tore through the icy blue sky on the sleigh. Elgar sat behind me ready to drop the “presents” on my mark. Fear and excitement fizzed through my veins like a shook up bottle of cola.

The reason for all this was a call from David Simmons in the morning. There was a fierce banging in the background on his end when I answered. His voice was raised so I could hear him over the racket. He told me that his government had been the source of all the hate mail I’d received. Their spy agencies had worked in tandem with social media companies to develop a mechanism to generate and send those fraudulent letters. Not only this, but they were also blocking the letters I’d sent out to the world. They had 2 warships docked in Baffin bay - the waters between Canada and Greenland - with the jamming devices onboard. He told me that the devices could be disabled with high powered magnets if we could get close enough. Before I could ask any questions there was a loud explosion on his end followed by muffled grunts and expletives. Then the line went dead.

Elgar had devised a plan before I finished relaying what happened. If we could drop powerful magnets attached to flotation devices close to the ships then the power of attraction would do the rest of the work for us. Rudolph was already standing at the sleigh after we’d rummaged through the workshop’s supplies. Not a word was said between us. I never asked either of them if they would come. They wanted to do this just as much as me. 

I needed all their support when we neared the battle ships. Missiles were fired without any warning. The first one zinged past the left side of the sleigh where its flaming backside left a burn mark. The second clipped Rudoplh’s hoof. The third skimmed just above my head. The sweat on my neck froze before it had a chance to run down my back. Then the tracer bullets rose up to meet us; rising like giant yellow dotted whips. They extended back in on themselves and followed us as we twirled and tipped from side to side. The military aggression of these sailors tested my patience. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth. It took everything I had to put at bay the anger I felt towards them. Elgar’s hand on my shoulder and his voice in my ear reminded me that they didn’t understand what they were doing. They were pawns that had allowed themselves to be used. They had entered into the military knowing they would have to sacrifice critical thinking. These were now the ignorant lashings of a group that were blindly following orders. They’d been brainwashed. They were just the tip of the spear. Those who held the spear were really at fault.

Elgar tossed our “presents” - high power magnets with helium balloons taped around them - over from either side of the sleigh like he was bailing out water from a sinking ship. When all had been dropped overboard Rudolph used his strength to take us up at a ninety degree angle. I swear I could feel my cheeks flapping against my ears from the force of our escape. We must have broken through the clouds like a bullet through glass. When Rudolph levelled off we congratulated ourselves on such a fine adventure. Before I could suggest returning home we caught sight of a plane flying towards us. Not just any kind of plane. A monstrosity of a plane. Its beastly engines chugged out sickly grey fumes in its wake. It was Air Force One. 

I called on my radio for it to stop its approach. The voice on the other end introduced himself as the President. He said NATO had signed an agreement for the North Pole to be incorporated into the USA. As such he was now the leader of the North Pole. In other words, he was the new Santa. Elgar’s words summed up my thoughts. I won’t repeat what he said. 

We flew towards the plane like a jousting knight. How dare they claim another land as their own. The North Pole was my home. It was Elgar’s home. It was Rudolph’s home. We never had a leader. We’re a shared community that works together for the betterment of all people. We are the only functioning democracy in this world.

The flashing lights of the plane grew brighter. The whine of its fearsome engines grew louder. Rudolph's nose flashed a dark, angry red. With no less than five metres between us I pulled on Rudolph’s reins and asked him to go up. His hooves clipped off the narrow slit that was the windscreen of the plane. A spider web crack was sent across it. The bottom rails of the sleigh skidded off the top of the plane and sent sparks flying outward. Elgar flung a jingling shoe of his into one of the whirring engines. A jet of flame and smoke gushed out the other end. The giant metal beast was defeated as we looked back and saw it plunge through the clouds. We followed it down just in time to see it pivot towards a grassy strip on the eastern bank of Greenland. 

We thought our battles were over until our eyes looked further inland. A snaking line of armoured vehicles was driving through the snowy fields. Rudolph’s grunt of tiredness echoed the sentiment of both Elgar and I. He clipped his hooves together and we zipped down to investigate. As we got closer I saw the lead vehicle was a yellow juggernaut digging its metal treads into the pristine snow and tearing up the earth. The leader of the convoy was a red haired menace shouting incoherent words when I tried to reach him on the radio. While I wondered what we could do to stop this many vehicles, Rudolph took control of the situation. He guided us over the entire line snorting as he went. Stardust that had been trapped in his snout from months of grazing was now sprinkled over the vehicles as they rode below. Their gears jammed and their engines choked. Their snaking line became like a shepherd's staff lost in the snow. No further would they go.

Of course none of the elves believed us when we returned home. They told us our noses were as long as the dark evenings from telling such stories. My still trembling hand reminds me of the danger and the action we just experienced. Elgar had no argument with me drinking a mug of chocolate milk tonight. He even shared one with me as Rudolph fell asleep in front of us at the roaring fire in the tavern. From all the excitement I’d almost forgotten the reason for doing all of this. Still no letters have arrived. The uncomfortable cloak of worry has settled back down on my shoulders. What am I going to do?

They arrived as a trickle at first. Like the drip-drop of water from a slowly melting icicle. According to Elgar, by six this morning we’d received ten letters from China, sixteen from Australia and five from New Zealand. I was asleep in bed when all this was happening. The quiet hum of the Receptacle hadn’t disturb my deep sleep. It was only by eight when this hum had transformed into a strained chugging and wheezing that I woke up. 

I continued to lie there with my eyes open; chewing the inside of my cheek and listening to the sound of letters flying in from the Philippines, Samoa, Japan, Russia and the Korean peninsula. Crates of letters were being stacked and packed by the Receptacle and pushed out on its tray. The smell of wood chippings drifted in under my door as the elves kicked up dust from busying themselves around the workshop. 

There was a static in the air that refused to let me sleep or move. Years before I would have been awake with a cup of coffee, neatly dressed, sitting at my desk near the back of the workshop, reading through letter after letter and placing it in the naughty or nice pile. Elgar would then delegate the toy making to the next available elf depending on their skill set and level of work involved. This time the fear had me. What would the children say?

‘Wake up,’ Elgar shouted, banging on my door, ‘you have work to do.’

‘Elgar?’ I asked, pretending to be half asleep.

‘You know well it’s me, stop stalling.’

‘The children, they…’

‘Yes, there’re letters here back-dated for months. We’ve never been so far behind on work.’

   ‘They’re asking for presents?’

    ‘Yes you old fool. And we can’t start until you tell us which are naughty or nice.’

‘I’m… I’m coming. I’m coming!’ The excitement was bursting out through the sleeves of my pyjamas. When I’d pulled on my dressing gown I tore open the door and faced a line of elves standing at their work stations with tools ready in their hands. Their chattering stopped as they turned to look at me.

‘Up here.’ Elgar called. He was standing on my desk beside a cup of steaming coffee. A tall stack of letter filled crates sat to the right of my desk. ‘We’ve been waiting all morning for you.’

‘My apologies.’ I muttered, keeping my head low as I walked to my desk. I’d never been at fault for delaying the elves before. I’d always prided myself on being ahead of my work. Oftentimes it would just be me in the workshop alone in the early morning and late at night going through letter after letter. It’s why I’d moved my bedroom beside the workshop years ago. 

Before I’d even sat down a round of applause had burst through the workshop. Shouts of joy and encouragement reached my ears and tingled the hairs on the back of my neck. I looked at Elgar as if to ask what the reason for this was.

‘We’re all glad to be back.’ He answered, when I took my place beside him. 

I looked across the workshop and saw all the elves with smiles on their faces, clapping and fist pumping the air. Old Elwag with his grey beard and toothless grin. Elridge with his hairy sideburns and lip piercing. Elmut with his nose that looked like a badly screwed bolt. Eldaz with her sparkling earrings that I always admired. Tears were summoned to my eyes.

‘Here,’ Elgar said, ‘Your first letter as the new you.’ Beside the letter was an elegant fountain pen. What looked like diamonds crowned the top of it while its case was wrapped in a swirling colour of pink and deep green. On its side was written my new name; Mrs. Claus. My journey would finally begin.

‘Thank you.’ I said, raising the pen. I took a deep breath to steady the giant waves of my emotions. ‘Let’s get to work, shall we?’

Another cheer went up from all the elves. I settled into my seat and saddled my golden spectacles onto my nose. The first letter was from Sofia in Palestine. A good girl. Straight to the nice pile.

‘First up.’ Shouted Elgar. He called out what was on her list and a wave of tools clanging and saws sawing was sent echoing around the workshop. Santa and the elves were back. 

Rudolph was leading the way. The eight other reindeer silently clip-clopped through the air behind him. He was leading us home after the longest night in Christmas history. The elves had worked so hard that they didn’t even have time for a celebratory song when we’d kicked off. Toys were still being quality checked while all nine reindeer had been getting ready to fly. The schedule had been as tight as the new silk gloves that I wore.

Our first stop had been David Simmions and his family. A special delivery to thank him for his help and to make sure he was ok. He and his daughter even joined us for a short sleigh ride as we delivered presents to their neighbourhood. Good deeds are never forgotten by me, the reindeer or the elves.

I was so tired that I could barely hold the reins as we made our way home. White lights reached up to us from below as we navigated somewhere over Ireland. This side of the world was still fast asleep. I dangled my hand out over the side of the sleigh and watched the cool white clouds drift over my gloved hand. From our extreme elevation I could see the sun cresting over the horizon. It was breaking through the darkness far beyond in great shafts of golden power. Soon the people below would wake and presents would be found. Families would gather and share stories of the past year. Friendships would be cherished and good times would be had. But this wasn’t just the end of another year for me. It was the beginning of a new life. 

The sound of the sleigh phone caused the reindeer to grunt in annoyance. It dragged me out of the sleep I’d been dozing into.

‘Yes?’ I asked, still half asleep.

‘Sancha?’

‘Elgar?’

‘You…’ a hiccup interrupted his speech, ‘I want to tell you something.’ Another hiccup broke over the line.

  ‘What is it?’

    ‘You have the wisdom of a badger and the determination of an elephant.’

‘How much chocolate milk have you had?’

‘Not enough.’ A loud laugh followed.

‘You know this line is for emergencies only?’

‘Well I’ve got an emregency you are snot goin to belief.’

‘Elgar, I can smell all the chocolate milk you drank from here.’

‘Don’t chew lie to me.’

‘I’m on the way home. We can talk then.’

‘No… No, I need to say this now.’

‘What is it?’

‘You…’ I heard him take in a long exhausted deep breath before lip trilling close to the receiver. ‘You are the best friend an elf could ever have.’

‘Thank you.’

‘No, I mean it. I mean it.’

    ‘Thank you.’

     ‘You don’t believe me do you?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘You don’t. I know you don’t.’

  ‘Elgar, I do.’

  ‘What we’ve been through.’ I could hear a spray of saliva hit the receiver. ‘Me, you and Randolph. That means something.’

  ‘It does.’

‘They didn’t understand me when I was telling them tonight. They’ll never understand. Ever. Ever, ever. They may listen to us tell our story, but unless the’ve gawn through what we’ve gawn through they’ll never undersand. Am I right amn’t I?’

‘They’ll understand Elgar. You said it yourself. It’ll just take time.’

    ‘No, I meant acceptance when I said that. With time they’ll understand how to accept the new you. And they will. But to understand our story, they can only understand it by living it. Can’t they?’

   ‘Maybe. But we shouldn’t stop from trying. You taught me that too. Never give up.’

   ‘Good.’ Another hiccup interrupted his next words. ‘I’ll never forget you Sancha.’

   ‘I’m hanging up now Elgar.’

‘Ok, ok. I’ll be home soon.’

‘No, you’re home already. I’ll be home soon.’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘Goodbye Elgar.’

‘Byegood Sancha.’