The Founding of Emlenor, Part I: Creation

The northern land of Prevelas

Before the world was created, there were Three.  They occupied neither time nor space, but existed as spirits living in perfect harmony with one another.  All knowledge and power and authority rested within them; they knew all that would be, and they also knew light, for they were its source.  This light was good, and is even to this day, though the wicked strive to overcome it with darkness.  They will not succeed.

It came to pass that the Three were in agreement as to the creation of the physical realm, and their first ordinance was to create three jewels.  They spoke, and forth came the objects of their minds’ eye.  Flawlessly round were these stones, crafted of a material that the Three refrained from using in all subsequent creation; tamim it was called, unmatched in its beauty and resilience to any physical weapon.  The first jewel they named Armenor, and it is a construct of the purest, swirling white shade.  The second they named Prevelas, hued with a blue as that of the deepest sea.  The third they named Marnon, a stone of entrancing purple.  Each of the jewels are small enough to be clenched within the palm of a man’s hand, though a child might consider them to be larger than the average stone.  There they hovered, hanging upon nothing, upheld by the inexhaustible power of the three Greater Gods.

It is not known how long these stones remained in place, occupying the dark physical realm and visible only to their Creators.  But it is known that in these jewels the Gods instilled the elements of creation and destruction; and when came the fulness of time, they spoke once more, and from the stones there emanated great power.  Four spiritual beings were developed, outside of time just as were the Greater Gods; and the Gods loved them, and named them Crel, Gelnarost, Rulisce, and Argelas, and charged them to watch expectantly at the creation to come.  These are the same lesser gods we know today, though one has betrayed us and the Creators.  But his recent victories shall only be temporary.

Below the jewels formed an unbroken expanse of water, and the Greater Gods and lesser looked upon the deep with eagerness.  They spoke again, and out from the jewels burst a great light that flashed upon the sea! Everything the light touched they blessed, and looked they upon their illuminated creation with ineffable joy; but everything the light did not touch they did not bless, and thus they established a divide between the light and the darkness.

The Gods then proceeded to prepare their world for the coming races.  First they separated sea from sea, surrounding the orb of their world (fashioned in the same shape as the three jewels) with a protective film comprised largely of water.  Then they brought dry land up from the deep, and formed the highest peaks and lowest valleys.  Next, they caused all foliage and trees and fruit-bearing plants to sprout across the earth; such would be for shade and food.  Pleased with all things that yet inhabited their world, they turned their eyes to the vastness that lay beyond the heavens, and it was their joy to bespeckle the firmament with innumerable points of light—for, as you remember, the Gods are the source of light, and all light is a mirror of their perfection.  So it was that they also created the sun and moon, that all lights may serve as markers for times and seasons for the races to come.  And in anticipation of these imminent races, the gods deigned that creatures of the wing and creatures of the sea populate the earth—dragons, wyverns, hawks, falcons, eagles, vultures, ravens, fish, dolphins, sharks, whales, tortoises, and larger animals of the deep (though this list is not exhaustive).

And when the Three saw all that they had made through their power and the authority of their voice, they decreed that there be beasts of the land to roam upon the earth.  From the mouse to the bison to the cheranga, beasts of all sorts materialized from the dirt and proceeded to venture as their Gods-given instincts bid them.  The Three were pleased with the appearance and quirks of such creatures, but the pinnacle of their creation was yet to be.

Then they spoke again, and from the dust of the land there also grew humans, gnomes, dwarves, giluzions, giants, elves, and scaldrons.  From the salt and spray of the oceans they formed the aquins, who are one with the waters.  From the trees they also made the dryads, and from rocks the hardy petreins.  The Gods delighted in these beings above all other aspects of their creation, and into them they swept a mysterious Wind, which became a soul, and animated the peoples in personality and intellect and morality.  From the beasts of the field and the birds of the sky they withheld this Wind according to their own good pleasure, and thus they separated the peoples from the animals in the hierarchy of all created order.  Then they spoke to the races, and ordained that male and female of each race procreate and make their mark upon the earth—to care for it, to tend to it, to build kingdoms, and to live in peace.  They called this world "Emlenor."

And when they finished with creation, the Three determined that the jewels should reside in three separate locations in the world; and from these three locations there formed the three lands, now distinguished from one another (though the Gods made no such separation themselves).  Indeed, in the modern age, the people of one land are generally unaware that anything exists beyond their own.  In the north, upon the island of Azrabock, the Gods placed the blue Prevelas, and such became the name of that land after the Corruption.  In the south, in the forest called Sorlan, the Gods placed the purple Marnon, and such became the name of that land after the Corruption.  And in the center of it all, in Palenki Forest, beside a still river, the Gods placed the white Armenor, and such became the name of that land after the Corruption; and Armenor is exceedingly beautiful, a land unfettered by country or border, and from it there shall rise a great Sage to dispel the darkness that has impinged upon the light of the Gods.

Stains on Seattle

Seattle, this was my first time visiting you.  You had some of the best coffee I've ever tasted, seafood that exceeded my every expectation, a wealth of paraphernalia in Pike Street Market, the culmination of man's engineering and knowledge of physics in the Space Needle, and the elegant, mind-boggling displays of the Chihuly Garden.  I was struck by the friendliness of your citizens and the quality of your Uber drivers.  I was unable to find a restaurant that was even a slight disappointment.  In your renowned exhibits and famed streets I shed tears, stood in awe, and engaged in profound introspection.  Two days was far too brief a time to experience all that makes you unique.

You have much to offer, Seattle--far more, I'm sure, than I know.  It's likely that many of your prideful citizens think the very same, and are content to remain working, exploring, dining, and venturing within your bounds.  You offer the world to those who are your own, and to those visiting from afar.  But what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul?

There is nothing inherently wrong with your towering buildings, your perfected recipes, your robust coffee, or your sprawling markets.  In such things you are a titan, and to be recognized.  Consider Pike Place Market, for example.  Along that strip I saw wares of every kind I could imagine; people with God-given abilities created innovative items for others to enjoy, and sought to sell these to make a living.  What a lovely thing it is to encourage ingenuity! But at what expense do you offer the world to those who wander your streets? Alongside creativity and craftsmanship, you parade evil before the eyes of all.

Rainbow flags hang in the windows of many shops that line your streets.  Numerous crosswalks are striped with the colors of the rainbow, as well.  It is one thing to believe that homosexuality is not sinful (even though it is); it is another thing to celebrate it with flagrant displays.

Now if you are offended but still reading this, then I thank you for being mature and levelheaded enough to continue.  I have stated that homosexuality is evil, and I hold to that statement.   Before someone brands me homophobic, hate-mongering, or intolerant, I ask that my reader reserve judgment until he or she has looked carefully at my argument.  Why do I believe that homosexuality is wrong? I present my logic here:

1. God is real.

2. Of the countless religions that proclaim the existence of God, Christianity possesses the only book that has never been refuted.  It does not contradict nature, science, or itself; any claims to the contrary have not been backed by thorough research, and are derived from surface-level readings of the text or a misunderstanding of the full scope/progressive revelation of Scripture.  Due to these facts, it is highly reliable.

3. If the Bible is reliable and trustworthy, and claims that it was God Himself who inspired its composition (2 Timothy 3:16; 2 Peter 1:20-21), then it should be trusted as a document that not only presents historical events factually, but as one that is also authoritative in morality and ethics.

4. If the Bible is authoritative in morality and ethics, then the following sins listed 2,000 years ago are still sins today: "Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God" (1 Corinthians 6:9-10).

Am I singling out homosexuals? No, that is not my goal here.  In fact, right around the corner from Pike Place Market, I noticed a building with the words "Live Nudes" glowing in neon above one of its windows.  When I asked one Uber driver what I should do while in the city, he immediately notified me of the best bars with the best alcohol.  This is not just a problem with homosexuality; this is a problem with the heart of Seattle--and with many metropolitan cities in America.  We have normalized sin.  We have painted the streets and buildings with it so that it doesn't seem so bad.  We have done all we can to numb ourselves to the conviction of what is wrong, because no one likes to be uncomfortable.  No one likes dealing with matters of conscience.  The best way to kill the conscience is to view evil as something to be celebrated rather than mourned.  Things that would have been shameful 100 years ago, and deemed necessary evils 40 years ago, are praised in 2018.

 At this point, you may wish to tell me, "But Kory, we have just become more accepting of various ways of life.  It's a great victory that people are now free to be who they are without fear of persecution." That sounds like a noble rebuttal.  But what if "who we are"-- and I mean in the deepest recesses of our souls--is not as noble as we think? What if, in resigning ourselves to ourselves, we no longer recognize flaws in our nature as worthy of being combated? What if, in the presumption that we have gained more freedom in this past century, we have actually allowed ourselves to become imprisoned by the things that God calls unholy?

You see, to celebrate sin in the way that you do, O Seattle, you must disagree with at least one of my four premises.  Perhaps you do not believe God is real...but I have a feeling that many within your borders would claim that He exists, and is love.  I believe that premise 2 is where there would be some contention (and if you reject premise 2, you reject those that follow).  Many people have not read the Bible, other than some of its decontextualized passages such as, "You must not boil a young goat in its mother's milk (Exodus 23:19).  If they have read it, it was a cursory reading.  The fact is that most people are ignorant of what this book--now over 2,000 years old--teaches.  Ignorance is bliss, indeed.  But in your ignorance and blissful imprisonment to what feels right but is wrong, you willfully reject an unrefuted, inerrant, perfect book gifted to mankind by a perfect God.  You are doing logic, and your soul, a disservice.

Homosexuality is a sin.  So are sexual immorality, drunkenness, and all of the other things listed in the passage above.  And to be fair, I will openly admit that Christians are not exempt from facing these struggles.  And struggles are what they should be at most.  The Bible has always taught that this struggle is a war waged between the flesh and the spirit (see Romans 7).  What our secular society aims to do is deny the war and disguise it as a parade.

I pray that some have read this and felt conviction.  I hope God has used me to awaken consciences.  It is time, Seattle, to turn away from what is evil and turn to what is good.  It is time to put away idleness and, against your heart's desire, to take up the Bible and discover the Truth for yourself.  God says, "Woe to those who call evil good and good evil" (Isaiah 5:20). If you display rainbow flags, you are celebrating before the eyes of God and man that which is evil.  May you never do so again.  May God wipe away all your stains and make you white as snow.  I say these things out of love and out of deep distress for your future, and will pray for a change in your streets.

Fellow Christians, if you are reading this, then let us pray together for our society.

Santa Claws: Epilogue

Note: If you have not yet read the beginning of "Santa Claws," you can start by clicking here.

The final section of "Santa Claws" is here!  I want to personally thank all my faithful readers for sticking through to the end of this novella, which is part four of five in the "Holiday Pentalogy." I hope you laughed, philosophized, reflected, and grew teary-eyed as you read the tale.  I know I did as I wrote it!

Of course, careful readers of this epilogue may notice Santa's rather cryptic message to Jonathan; this sets up the final story! I have foreshadowed the plot of this last novella, as well as its ending, throughout the four stories over the past 13 years.  So feel free to reread the holiday stories to catch on to what I'm planning to do!

Once again, I must laud the ineffably talented Derek Nochefranca for creating three stellar images for "Santa Claws." I'm hoping to work with him again in the future!

Lastly, if you have become a recent fan of my writing, fear not; my writing career is just beginning (Lord willing).  Keep an eye out for some poetry, snippets from a new novel...and a novella about dragons.

Epilogue

Christmas

The unenviable newscasters delivered a confusing mass of information on Christmas morning.  Some focused on the events that occurred around midnight: cries in the night, sudden claw-marks, and a fat man moving in a quick blur of red.  Others decided to relay more uplifting details: unexpected gifts left in homes all over the world containing bandages, gauze, and anti-bacterial ointment; sleigh bells heard in the early hours before sunrise; and children waking to find presents they had requested up to five years ago.  The only thing the newscasters could agree on was that no one had the faintest idea as to what had happened, or as to what any of it meant.  Most importantly, perhaps, was the fact that not a single death was linked to the “Great Christmas Incident.” Any child or person injured in the confusion was able to make a full recovery.

What took place in the Legcheese household that morning might be considered the very definition of a full recovery.  Shameka and her husband were engaging in the most intense jitterbug session on the planet as “Thriller” blared in the background.  Bat and Cat were playing Hungry Hungry Hippos, but Cat kept winning because she insisted on eating the hippos.  Witch was flying in circles around the family room, throwing red and green mushrooms into the air to accentuate the festive spirit.  Frankenstein’s monster was sitting in a corner, wearing a Dracula costume; he had admitted, much to his embarrassment, that his creator (how he admired the selfish fool) had never thoroughly explained the holidays to him, and thus he had presumed all holidays to mirror Halloween.  Jonathan and Awana were sitting beside the Christmas tree, playing with toy ponies.

“The honeyed ham is almost done!” Shameka declared, busting a move.  “Will you go and check on it for me, Johnny?”

“I would prefer not to,” the boy replied.  The blue pony in his hand had just discovered that he was adopted.  It was a sensitive time.

“Wise words, young Jonathan,” Frankenstein’s monster said admirably.  “You have spoken neutrally, and none can fault you for rudeness or indifference.  It is as if Bartleby, the Scrivener has materialized in the flesh.” The creature burst into laughter, puzzling everyone.

Jonathan rose to his feet with a groan.  “Fine, mother! I’ll check on the ham.  But I expect a rather weighty allowance after this.  Especially considering an actual turkey came running out of that oven a month ago.”

“That was a one-time event,” Shameka assured him.  “I don’t cook anything below one hundred-fifty degrees anymore.”

Jonathan went in to the kitchen, bemoaning how sick he was of running around and doing errands for people and animals on the holidays.  He was not in the best mood after opening his presents.  Having contributed to saving Christmas, and probably the world, he had expected a massive sculpture of Ms. Unicorn leaping across the frosty dunes of the North Pole.  At the very least, he had hoped that Santa would somehow undo the heinous crime of shattering his beloved.  If that proved to be an unfulfilled request, he had planned on collecting her fragments upon returning home—but the floor had been spotless! Pummeling his parents with an endless series of questions had proven a fruitless endeavor.  They claimed they were unsure of what had happened to the pieces of the toy unicorn.

Everyone else seemed to be having the greatest morning ever.  Witch was mightily pleased with the new pet hawk that Shameka bought her; the creature was perched on her shoulder, launching streams of poop down its owner’s back.  The old hag gifted Frankenstein’s monster with a thick tome entitled, “Everyday English for Dummies;” he had only read the first page before confessing that his head ached.  Bat knocked Shameka’s socks off with a brand-spanking-new Battleship board; he had heard that her last board was ruined in an unfortunate caviar accident.  Mr. Legcheese blessed Bat with the most adorable little foot-mittens you’ve ever seen! (Bat almost looked grateful.)  Cat gave Mr. Legcheese a new apron with a selfie of her face emblazoned across its center.  The man had broken down crying, declaring that it was the most beautiful thing his eyes had ever beheld, that it might be better suited to the Smithsonian, and that he was not confident of his worthiness to don something of such unmatched magnificence.  Frankenstein’s monster gave Cat a scratching post.  He was indeed intelligent, but creativity was not one of his strong points.

Jonathan surprised Awana with earrings that were also snow globes.  No, these were not miniature snow globes; these were the size of soccer balls and contained figurines of the nine reindeer pulling Santa’s sleigh.  She was wearing them now, and while they did look incredible, it was a shame that her neck wasn’t strong enough to support them and her head.  To Jonathan’s dismay, Awana didn’t give him a gift at all, and had remained enigmatic about that very fact all morning.  Therefore, the only real “surprise gift” Jonathan had opened was from St. Nick himself.  It was an empty black notebook and a pencil overlaid with white paint, already sharpened.  Also inside the box was a note, far too brief: “I see you when you’re sleeping; I know when you’re awake.  I’ve granted you a gift for good; may you write for goodness’ sake.  Writing is a blessing; its power none can see.  Now write in your own ending; make it a victory.  Life and death are in your hand.  Love, St. Nick.”

The ham looked perfect, which successfully increased Jonathan’s mood by roughly twenty-five percent.  He shut the oven door and informed Shameka that dinner was ready.  When he turned to leave the kitchen, Awana walked straight into him and almost knocked him out cold.  Of course, this was not her intention; the snow globes, each thirty pounds, forced her to stare at her feet and made navigation impossible.

“Hey there, Johnny boy,” she breathed, swaying.  Unfortunately, swaying of any nature put too much weight on one side, and her head smashed into the nearest tray of gingerbread muffins.

“Are you flipping kidding me?” shrieked Mr. Legcheese.  He proceeded to throw a fit that lasted thirty minutes.

“Hey, Awana,” said Jonathan, blushing.  He lifted her head out of the tray and brushed crumbs off her face.  “Thank you for flying all the way to the North Pole for me.  And sorry about the snow globes.  I didn’t mean to give you an early onset of scoliosis.”

“Oh. My. Gosh.” Awana’s eyes lit up.  “That was such a thoughtful apology! And I accept it wholeheartedly.  Anyway, this is a good way to strengthen my neck muscles! I’ve been meaning to work out.”

He traced her face with his finger and smiled.  “Good.  Hey, you look like you have something on your mind.  What’s going on?”

She toed the ground nervously.  “Um...I was just wondering...what did Rudolph say to you that stopped you from trying to kill Santa?”

Jonathan nodded, not surprised by the question.  He dipped a spoon into some nearby figgy pudding (Awana had whipped it up an hour earlier) and shoveled it into his mouth.  “After Dale let him inside, Rudy explained something to me.  He said the potion that Apo made must have been some sort of anti-mercy tonic.  The more Santa breathed it in, the less merciful he became.  Instead of giving kids a second chance, he harmed almost all of them for the slightest evil deed that they had done over the year.  And Rudy pointed out that if I killed Santa, I wouldn’t be giving him a second chance.  In fact, I was acting exactly the way Santa was acting...and even worse if I actually went through with killing him.” He wiped away a couple of tears that rose to his eyes.  “I don‘t want to be like that anymore, Awana.  I don’t want to be merciless.  We’re only fifteen years old; let’s enjoy the few years we have left before we have to face the difficulties of adulthood.  We have a little innocence left, right?”

Awana chuckled and took one of his hands.  “You’re really growing, Johnny boy.  And you know what? Christmas is all about mercy.  ‘God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life.’ That’s why He sent Jesus to be born in the first place! That’s why we’re celebrating this day! People should receive punishment, because no one is truly good; but God shows mercy to many.  Jesus was born for the sake of mercy, lived for the sake of mercy, died for the sake of mercy, and rose again for the sake of mercy.  So we should be merciful to others.”

“You’re the wisest female human I have ever met,” Jonathan decided.  “Thank you for sharing that.  It looks like I have a lot to consider.”

Awana tried to hop, but failed due to the absurd weight of her upper quadrant.  “Johnny boy...come with me!”

“What?”

“Just--come on!”

She led him to the hallway and stopped right at the end.  Then she made an unusual gesture.  At first, Jonathan thought she was having a seizure...but then he realized she was trying to draw his attention to something.  Taped to the ceiling, and hanging upside down, was a present with green wrapping paper.

“What the snowflake?” he asked.

“It’s your present!” she exclaimed, bristling with excitement.  “Open it, Johnny boy!”

He cocked his head to the side.  “Should I like...take it off the ceiling or something?”

“No.  Just open it!”

He removed the top of the present and laughed.  Down from the ceiling, and surrounded by the inner walls of the box, was some mistletoe.

“Do you like it?!” she asked hopefully.

 He looked at her with tenderness and lifted her chin with one hand.  “What do you want, Awana? Do you want the moon? Just say the word, and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.”

“Why in Dale’s tiny beard would you do that?” Awana asked, reeling back in horror.  “Do you want to kill us all? That’s not my Johnny boy.”

“No, it’s a quote from It’s a Wonderful Life.  I just thought....”

“Oh, I know what you thought! Just shut your Johnny mouth and kiss me!”

They kissed.  It was a sweet, long-delayed kiss beneath the mistletoe as the applause of their companions, the catchy thrum of “Monster Mash,” and the unrestrained cursing of Mr. Legcheese played in the background.  When they were finished, Jonathan looked into Awana’s eyes, and the most relieved smiles stretched across their faces.

“I told you I’d get that kiss before the end of the year,” she teased.

“Huh? When did you say that?”

“Two books ago.” She pushed him playfully.  “Don’t you read, you silly goose?”

Jonathan smirked and turned his eyes to the glowing Christmas tree, the delicious food, the overflowing presents, and his friends and family.  His heart was full as he declared, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

“But the sun has only freshly crested the eastern hills,” Frankenstein’s monster remarked.

“No one cares, Frankie,” said Bat.

      T     H     E
 E     N     D

                  ?

Santa Claws: Chapter 4, Part 2

Annie’s hand lifted toward the keypad to the left of the door.  Awana stood behind her, mentally praying that everything would work out.  She fidgeted where she stood and glanced back at her four companions; none of the elves, not even Dale, had been bold enough to venture a look at Santa in his wicked state.  The evening’s events replayed through her mind, particularly Jonathan’s confrontation with the rotund man.  Santa had exuded such a daunting presence and moved so quickly that she doubted the ability of six companions—even with Frankenstein’s monster involved—to out-maneuver or restrain him.  She sincerely hoped it would not come to violence.  If my theory is correct, and he has consumed the potion of ‘goodness turned to blight,’ then the potion must be somewhere on the premises, she thought.  Not that Santa is likely to hand it over if we ask nicely.  But when he spoke in Johnny’s house...he was able to think and express himself.  Maybe he can be persuaded to change.

She looked down at her shoes and felt a pang of sorrow.  It was hard to believe that she had faced so much in just a couple of months: the memory of Halloween had been erased from her mind; she had joined Jonathan and his companions on a trek to the Vaca Hills and fought an epic battle not many miles from her home; she had fallen off a turkey and nearly died by tumbling along a mountainside, then engaged in another battle beneath the shadow of an impending super-eagle; now her childhood hero had executed judgment on the town—and the boy—she loved.  But once we get rid of the final potion, that’ll be it...right? We’re six days from the end of December.  Soon it’ll be a new year, and then there will be no more adventures! She looked up again, smiling.  And we’ll all live happily ever after.

“Are you ready, my dear?” asked Mrs. Claus, starting to input the code.

“Ready!” Awana answered.

The others muttered their agreement, but Cat made an unusual sound—something like an alert, warning purr.  Her fur stood on end, and it almost seemed as if she were ready to bolt.  Once Annie had put in the correct code, the door swung open of its own accord.  There was a rustling sound.  Faster than the eye can move, Cat lunged forward and bashed her head against Mrs. Claus’s calves.

“What in Adam Warlock’s name?” cried Witch, snatching up the feline.

Mrs. Claus fell straight back in response to Cat’s tackle, and a machete lodged in the wall where her head had been just a split second before.  Awana squawked and caught the falling woman, but even with all her jiu-jitsu training, she did not have the strength to bear her.  Together they collapsed in a heap on the floor.  Bat’s eyes filled with rage (he was already growing rather fond of the old lady), and he burst into the room, twirling about as various weapons were heaved his way.  Witch released a battle cry and zoomed in on her broom, followed by a very cautious-looking Frankenstein’s monster (having put his broom away after making a comment that he preferred moving on his own two feet).

“He--he just tried to kill me,” said Annie, her voice shaking.

“You said you lost thirty pounds?” Awana groaned and managed to squeeze away from the woman’s girth.

“My--my husband just tried to kill me, Awana Humphree.” The old woman sat down where she was, and tears rolled down her cheeks.  “How could he do such a thing? Is he truly lost?”

“Lost, ma’am?”

“Yes.” She fell against the wall nearest her.  “Is my husband really gone?”

Awana’s face hardened, and she shook her head.  “As long as he is alive, Mrs. Claus, we have to assume that he isn’t.  Shouldn’t we assume that with everyone this side of eternity?  The most we can do is urge them in the right direction while they still live.  And when they’re no longer alive—well, that’s in God’s hands.”

She studied the woman’s face with compassion but did not wait for a response.  In the face of all her fears, she rose to her feet and approached the doorway.  A quavering sigh left her lips.  May we be victorious, she prayed, and may Santa deliver presents to children once again.  Then she dashed in with a yell and joined the fray.

Santa was standing in the opposite corner of the room with his toy-bag, reaching in and lobbing various items at his assailants.  Out came a machete, a pair of scissors, a shuriken, a spear, and countless other items.  Bat twisted away from two shuriken and then ascended a foot in an instant, dodging an ax.  He crashed into the man’s belly, which did not make much of an effect.  Santa backhanded the poor creature across the room, and Bat slammed into a wall.  Seeing this, Cat let out a mighty meow, leapt out of Witch’s arms, and landed on her opponent’s chest; then she made frantic swipes with her claws and tore part of Santa’s red coat to ribbons.  The fat man fumed, turning as red as the coat, and tried to grab her—but she leapt over the razor-sharp appendages and slashed the back of his left hand.  Now beyond enraged, he seized her with his right hand and threw her out the nearest window.

It came as a surprise to him, then, when Witch smacked him in the face with her broom.  He turned his head slowly to her and exposed his menacing teeth, but only felt a second crack of wood to his chin.  With a grunt he arched his arms arched back and lunged forward with both sets of claws.  Witch stood in place without a morsel of fear in her eyes, and it seemed that the claws were right on her...when poof! she vanished in a puff of black smoke.  The observant eye would have noticed her reach into her alchemy bag and mouth a magic word before disappearing.  Frankenstein’s monster jumped through the smoke and slammed a powerful fist into the face of his enemy.  Santa staggered and made an attempt to recover when another fist came crashing into his paunch.  He was thrown into the corner of the room and became the monster’s personal punching bag for the next several seconds.  Bat snapped out of his daze, zipped over to the brawl, and proceeded to buffet the man’s head with his wings.

“OK, good game, guys!” Awana cheered them on, approaching from behind.  Witch reappeared in purple smoke, holding Cat in one arm and her broom in the other hand.  “Now, Frankenstein’s monster, hold him down where he is.  Bat, take a rest.  It’s time for us to have a chat.”

Her two companions heeded her words: Frankenstein’s monster pinned the heavy man in the corner by pressing his arms against the wall, and Bat alighted upon the ground beside him.  Witch halted a couple feet behind the monster, and Awana approached on the right.  Santa looked like nothing more than a wild beast trapped in a net.  His attention was everywhere at once, and his piercing red eyes flitted about in desperation.  Again and again he opened and closed his hands, eager to use his claws to maim or kill.  At first, Awana felt deep pride for her team’s victory; but then a great pity weighed on her heart when she witnessed such profound corruption up close.  It’s going to be OK, she reflected.  You’ll be OK, old St. Nick.  We’re almost done here.  You’ll be back to normal in no time.  We’ll find Apo’s evil potion and destroy it, and then we’ll save my beloved Johnny boy.  In the background, there was a chorus of elven voices and several other sounds that were difficult to make out; there may have even been the sound of hooves.  Awana collected her thoughts and opened her mouth to speak.  But just at that moment, Santa roared and lunged forward, knocking Frankenstein’s monster away from him like a rag doll.  In the same motion he smashed his hands against Bat and Awana, sending them soaring into walls.  Frankenstein’s monster collided with Witch and Cat, sending them sprawling across the slick floor.  So it was that most of the Halloween Friends were knocked unconscious while their adversary loomed over them.

Awana, lying flat on her stomach, placed her hands on the floor and lifted her eyes.  Her unexpected flight across the room had disoriented her; she thought she would see Santa directly ahead, but instead there stood a cauldron in an open closet.  Black steam and bubbles rose from the liquid contained within.  The potion! St. Nick has been breathing in its fumes the entire time!  She gritted her teeth and told herself to stand, but her body was still jolted from the man’s strong backhanded attack.

“You’ve won, Nick,” came Annie’s voice as the woman walked into view.  She stepped over Frankenstein’s monster.  “You’ve punished the ill-behaved children of the world.  You’ve kidnapped Jonathan Legcheese.  Now you’ve defeated the Halloween Friends.  You have dealt out judgment to everyone.  Isn’t it a good time to rest?”

Santa’s brow creased with thought at the voice of his wife.  “There is...there is still more work to do.  The evil must be vanquished.  All must be stopped.  Death must now come.”

Awana watched as Annie approached the man.  She struggled to her knees, but when she attempted to cry out in warning to the old woman, nothing came out.  She was exhausted from travel and battle.  But maybe...maybe I have enough strength to knock over that cauldron, she considered, the spark of hope in her heart refusing to go out.  Just like Super Pumpkin.  I have to try.

“Death, Nick?” asked Annie.  “Death? One month ago, you spoke only of coal.  If coal is the extent of the mercy you can grant to these children, then give all the children in the world coal! But not death, husband.  You can’t see what they might become, or the choices that they’ll make.”

She stopped a few feet away from him, and nothing separated man from wife except for the evil that consumed the man’s heart.  But such coddled malice might as well be as imposing as the thickest wall.  Even so, Awana observed the conflict in his face as he wrestled with the effects of the potion and the conscience-awakening words of his gentle wife.  He looked here and there, mumbling to himself, flexing his claws.  Awana stood and lurched toward the cauldron; she took hold of its rim and began to shift it away from the closet as silently as possible.  Mrs. Claus bridged what remained of the physical gap between her and the man before her, and she touched his chin with her hands.  She made him meet her gaze.

“I know you’ll come back to me, dearest husband,” she told him.  “For many generations you have been known as a jolly man.  That is who you are.  And I know in my heart that you are still good.”

That really seemed to get Santa’s attention.  His head turned to the side, and he revealed his teeth.  “No one is good,” he replied slowly, and without saying anything more, he lifted a set of claws in the air.

Awana screamed as the lethal hand lanced down at the woman, but her scream quickly ended when Jonathan suddenly appeared, sitting on the back of a reindeer, holding up a long double-edged dagger.  The claws met with the dagger in a great ding! that rang across the room.  Mrs. Claus retreated toward the open closet, her face pale with fear.  The reindeer, his red nose shining dully, moved into a position that gave Jonathan a better angle at Santa.

Awana’s eyes grew as large as donuts.  “Johnny boy.  Riding Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.  Saving the world.  Save your hubby yourself, Mrs. Claus.  I’m about to propose.”

Santa disengaged his claws from Jonathan’s dagger and studied his newest foes.  His chest heaved up and down from the fervor of battle and anger from his deathblow being thwarted.

“Man, I’m glad I grabbed this thing from Santa’s bag earlier!” Jonathan remarked.  “It’s not as undeniably majestic as Ms. Unicorn, but it’ll do the job.”

“We’ll see, Legcheese!” shouted Rudolph.  “Just remember our agreement: no killing! Although in all honesty, that might be a bit harder to follow seeing that this lunatic has apparently hurt an innocent bat, cat, witch, and—oh, good God! What is that thing?”

“Focus, Rudy....”

Santa huffed and puffed, and almost looked like he wanted to blow the house down.  He stamped his feet and opened his mouth in a furious cry.  Then he charged at the reindeer and boy before him, throwing his claws forward.  Rudolph created an extremely bright flash of light with his nose that momentarily blinded Santa, and the man was too dazed to see Jonathan’s fist come straight toward his nose.  The blow sent him reeling back.  He shook it off with a groan, regained his composure, and came on again.  This time he quickly reached down and lifted a sword from his bag, then flung it at Jonathan’s head.  The boy did not have the reflexes to dodge it, but Rudolph was not idle; he whipped his body around so that the blade missed Jonathan by a foot.  Now facing the other direction, the reindeer sent his back legs out with devastating strength and catapulted Santa into the ceiling.  Right at that moment, Bat and Cat woke up and noticed Awana and Mrs. Claus pushing the cauldron.

“Meow!” said Cat with great urgency.

“I don’t care if Jeopardy is on right now, Cat!” screeched her flying companion.  “Jonathan and the red-nosed horse seem to have Santa handled.  Let’s help Awana with the cauldron.”

“Meow.”

Jonathan and Rudolph continued to battle Santa as the four others pushed the cauldron out of the closet.  Awana was shocked by how heavy it was, and she marveled that Super Pumpkin had been able to move the cauldron in Armenor all by himself.  She had noticed upon first entering the room that the tile floor sloped gently toward a drain in the center.  All they had to do was muster the strength to push the object over, and the corrupting concoction inside would be long gone—far away from any weak-minded creature.  They pushed, and pushed, and pushed, grunting as they put their full strength into their effort.  They had to stop several times after moving the cauldron half a foot or so.

“Even if we move it any farther, we’ll never be able to knock it over with our strength,” Awana explained dismally.

“Looks like you could use our aid, my sweet,” said Witch, helping Frankenstein’s monster to his feet.  “I apologize for being out for so long.  I was having the most intriguing dream about an old boyfriend of mine from witch school.”

“No one wants to know, you old hag!” cried Bat.  “I’m sorry for saying that! I’m under a lot of stress right now.  Santa has backhanded me into a wall twice tonight.”

“Meow,” said Cat.

“How can you even think of eating right now, Cat? And seafood? Really?!” Bat flew into a fit of cursing.

Witch took a vial from a bag and spread it all over the tile near the cauldron, while behind her Jonathan blocked and parried blows from Santa.  Rudolph’s nose flashed again and again, blinding their vicious opponent for seconds at a time.  Frankenstein’s monster stood between Awana and Mrs. Claus, and he firmly grasped the cauldron.  Then, with a great sum of strength, he threw his body against the iron object and sent it gliding across the substance that Witch had spread on the ground.  It slid, then came to a stop, and tilted slowly.  Awana watched as it seemed to hang in place forever, although it must have only been a second.  Then Rudolph, somehow catching on to what the group had been trying to do, kicked out his back legs and knocked the object over fully.  Out of it the black liquid flowed and steamed and boiled and bubbled as it washed down the drain.  Soon there was nothing left.  The cauldron was empty, and Apo’s final potion was gone.

St. Nick fell to one knee.  Over the next several seconds, his face transformed from one of wildness and anger to joy and peace.  The laser-red of his eyes vanished, and his pupils returned to a solid black state.  His ferocious claws dwindled until his fingers were all that remained.  He lifted a hand to his mouth and felt the conversion of his spiky teeth to regular old pearly whites.  Then he rose to his feet slowly and examined the room around him.  Weapons mottled the floor; a bit of blood was specked on the tile, having dripped from the gash Cat had put in the back of his hand; the window to his right was broken, letting in the freezing air; the cauldron that “Aponowatsomidichloron” guy had delivered to him as an early Thanksgiving gift was on its side, devoid of all liquid.  Then he watched as Annie approached him from the opposite side of the room.

“Ho ho ho!” he bellowed, putting his hands on his belly.  “Oh, my sweet Annie! What have I done?”

Annie stopped before him and took his hands.  “My dear, sweet husband.  You forgot your first love, the very thing that drove you to bear gifts to the people of the world so many hundreds of years ago.  And you forgot that mercy triumphs over judgment.”

“How could I have forgotten?” His flushed face was stricken.  “How could I have fallen so far?”

  She gave him a kiss and stared into his eyes.  “It is not too late to repair these evils, or to turn away from them forever.  And I will be by your side to help you, every step of the way.”

As they continued to talk, Jonathan smiled and dismounted Rudolph.  He petted the animal’s head, and the reindeer whinnied heartily.  The boy felt a deep sense of accomplishment, perhaps more than that which he had felt on Halloween and Christmas.  Instead of destroying, he had saved.  Instead of fighting to punish, he had fought to help.  Something within him was changing.  He had first sensed it when he had made it his personal responsibility to take care of Awana and bring her home safely from Armenor.  He had sensed it again after losing Ms. Unicorn.  Although Jonathan was not yet sure of what this change was, it was something that he would spend considerable time pondering in the months following Christmas.

“I’m sorry I was so intent on killing Santa Claus,” he said to his furry ally.  “I know that’s why you were trying to get us out of the compound.  You were trying to save the man you had served for hundreds of years, and you wanted to spare me from giving in to violence.  If Dale hadn’t heard you yelling and let you out of the snowmobile, I don’t know where we’d be right now.” Tears came to his eyes.  “You’re a good friend, Rudy.”

Rudolph nodded in agreement.  “Oh, I know. I’m the best. That’s why all the reindeer love me and can’t help but shout, ‘Yippee!’ when they see me.  I mean, they used to.  Really hoping that starts up again.  I’m just glad I talked you out of doing what you planned to do!”

Jonathan was preparing to respond to that when a massive form rammed in to him, knocking the long dagger from his hand and causing him to plummet to the ground.  His knees smashed against the tile, and he only barely avoided getting knocked out by turning his head to the side at the last moment.  He’s back! he thought mournfully.  Knocking over the cauldron didn’t work! It’s all over, now! He anticipated the feeling of claws cutting across his back, but nothing happened.  Confused, he flipped over and sat on his bottom.  Awana was kneeling before him, her arms open wide.

“Johnny boy!” she cried exultantly.  “You’re OK! You made it!”

“Hey, babe,” he replied dizzily.

Awana looked back at Witch.  “Did you hear that? He called me ‘babe!’”

The hag shook her head.

Jonathan snapped out of his daze, and his heart leapt within him.  All I want for Christmas is you, he remembered, and he threw his arms around the girl.  “Awana! We’re both alive! We made it! We saved the world!”

“Gooooo us!” cheered the girl.  “I just love Easter!”

He released her and gave her a concerned expression.  “What?”

“April Fool’s!” she laughed.  “I know it’s Christmas.  Now get back here.”

Rudolph went around the room, making introductions to everyone.  Witch asked him if he was indeed aware of the alchemical properties of the fur that collected around his hiney.  Rudolph refused to answer.  He made some comment about not trusting cauldrons, witches, flying brooms, or potions.  Frankenstein’s monster informed him that they may have met at some point in his ‘days of solitude,’ during which he had planned to incinerate himself somewhere in the arctic.  Rudolph did not think this was possible, and also suggested that the monster invest in therapy.  Bat asked the reindeer if he had ever won any horse-racing competitions, and if it would be worthwhile to bet on him.  Rudolph did not understand either question, but told him to discuss all horse-related business with Prancer.  Cat asked Rudolph if he was edible, so he did not speak to her again.

“I see you made a new friend here,” Awana told Jonathan, her voice tinged with jealousy.  They both rose to their feet. “Were you planning on telling me about him? Was he the one who gave you the cool panda beanie?”

“Um....” Jonathan scratched his head.  “Um...Awana, this is—”

“Rudolph the Red-Nosed friggin Reindeer!” she shouted, sprinting over to the astonished animal.  “You are such a hero, you have no idea! I am so starstruck right now.” She put one hand in the air, the other on her diaphragm, and wiggled her hips as she proceeded to sing the famous song about him.

“Legcheese, I think I’m in love with your girlfriend,” said the reindeer.

“She’s not my girlf--” the boy replied, but stopped himself.

St. Nick went to the center of the room, holding Annie’s hand.  He looked at all those around him and let out a great laugh.  “Ho ho ho! The joy in this room is palpable.  A childlike joy it is, and one that I desire all to feel on this holy day.  I will not command a pause to the jubilation, but it is time that I get right to business.  First and foremost, I must thank each and every one of you for going to these lengths to save me from the effects of such an evil tonic, and for securing generous gift-giving for generations to come.  Not an iota of your efforts will be overlooked, I assure you.

“Secondly, while I would like nothing more than to sit down at a joyous supper with you good folks, such an occasion must wait.  For alas! I have committed many atrocities this eve, and that is something I must attempt to make amends for.  I am thankful to God that I did not kill, but many children have been injured in the wake of my corruption.  Now I must provide gifts that will hasten their healing, physically and emotionally! I am in need of haste, the likes of which has never been seen, nor may ever be seen again.  Pray do not perceive such haste as poor hospitality.  Before dawn, I must cover the world in gifts.

“Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer, and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donder and Blitzen! We must dash away, my friends!”

There was the roaring sound of hooves on the roof, and they stopped almost directly above the group.  St. Nick took a remote control from his pocket and toggled a switch labeled “homing missiles” to the “off” position.  He also pushed a large button in the center.  A circle opened up in the ceiling overhead, and everyone inside the room saw the eight reindeer in front of Santa’s sleigh.

“Who in the world comes up with this crazy technology?” Awana asked no one in particular.

The plump, jolly man laughed, the sight of his reindeer filling him with joy.  He then turned to the group again, and all could see the eagerness in his eyes.  “Rudolph, with your nose so bright! Won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?”

Rudolph leapt in place, something he referred to as dancing.  “Absolutely, Santa! Nothing would make me happier!”

“Then let us away!”

The reindeer looked at Jonathan and Awana.  “Legcheese.  Humphfree.  Getting to know you has been the most exciting thing in my life, but duty calls.  Somehow, though, I have the strangest feeling that this isn’t the last we’ll be seeing of each other.”

Jonathan nodded at him.  “Only time will tell, but until then, I’ll miss you.  I’ll think about you every day, especially when I rub it in Pumpkin’s unchanging face that you and Santa are real.  Now get out of here, Rudy! Show those boring louts what haste really looks like.”

The reindeer revealed his teeth in a thankful smile, then crouched down where he was standing.  Santa took hold of his bag, made an annoyed comment about all the guns and swords, and hopped onto Rudolph’s back.  The next moment, the red-nosed reindeer was at the head of his eight companions.  Santa was seated in his sleigh.  He belted out a mighty “Ho ho ho!” and the group disappeared in a flash.

“Wow,” muttered Annie, “he could have at least given all of you a ride back home.” She scoffed.  “Anyway, do you guys want some stew? It’s been cooking for thirty days, so it should be ready by now.”

“I think we need to get back home, actually, Mrs. Claus,” Jonathan responded with a frown.  “My parents must be worried about me.”

“Understood,” said the woman.  “But how do you intend on getting home? We don’t even have an airport!”

Witch glanced into one of her satchels, and then peered into the cauldron lying on its side.  “Do you happen to have any spare brooms, my sweet?”