Santa Claws: Chapter 2, Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.  That would be demoralizing and unforgivable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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