Johnny's eyelids fluttered sleepily open and his brain came online with a metaphorical click, like an ancient CPU. He smacked his lips together and shifted, his lower back giving an audible crackle. He winced, wiggled himself into a more comfortable position, and glanced at the clock on the nightstand between his and Lincoln's beds. 6:58.
Ugh. Why was he even awake? It was waaaay too early to be up.
He closed his eyes again and cuddled a wad of blanket. He'd go back to sleep and -
Revelation detonated in the center of his brain and he sat bolt upright.
IT WAS CHRISTMAS!
It was Christmas morning and Santa had come. Oh, after so many years of waiting and agonizing, decades of longing and wishing and hoping, Christmas Day was finally here. Throwing the covers off, he swung his legs over the side and scrambled to his feet. He fell on Lincoln and shook him violently awake, cutting him off in mid-snore. "Dude, wake up!"
"Lemme lone," Lincoln muttered.
Johnny shook harder. "Come on, wake up!"
Lincoln's arm shot out and hit him in the chest. "Go away, I'm sleeping."
"It's Christmas."
Lincoln started. "It's Christmas?"
"It's Christmas!"
Like a shot, Lincoln was out of bed and stumbling around the room like a zombie, his eyes barely open and his face puffy with sleep. He bounced off the nightstand, knocking the lamp over, and then collided with Johnny. They pushed and shoved one another out of the way to get into the hall first. Lincoln pulled Johnny's hair, Johnny pinched Lincoln's cheek, and both of them slapped at the other. Johnny took the lead, hit the top of the stairs, and slid down the bannister on his butt. At the bottom, he jumped off and ran into the living room. The tree, decked with garland, tinsel, lights, and ornaments, stood before the front window like a gaudy pop singer, all bright and sparkly.
Johnny's smile fell.
Something wasn't right.
Lincoln staggered into the room and shouldered him out of the way. He came to a halt, panting for air, and he, too, noticed it.
"Where are the presents?"
Aside from the few neatly wrapped boxes Mom had set out days ago, there was nothing. No air rifle for Johnny, no train set for Lincoln, nothing in the stockings, nothing anywhere. The milk and cookies Johnny and Lincoln had left on the coffee table the night before were still there. Lincoln checked the fireplace, but the soot and ash were undisturbed, indicating that if Santa came, he didn't use the chimney. Johnny checked the porch. There were no tracks in the freshly fallen snow, no hoof prints, no sign that anyone had come in the night.
Panic gripped Johnny. "They gotta be here," he said, "they just gotta."
Lincoln, looking like he was going to be sick, nodded. "Yeah. You check the upstairs, I'll check the basement."
They went through the house methodically from the attic to the basement. Sergio sat in an old rocking chair in the former and nodded his head to an NWA record, a jaunty little Santa hat perched on his head. "Squawk, I haven't seen him," he replied when Johnny asked if he knew anything about Santa.
That was alarming. Every year, Sergio claimed to see Santa. Last year, the story went, he was roosting on the back of the couch when Santa dropped down the chimney. "He was black this year," Sergio said the next day.
Johnny raised his eyebrow. "What do you mean this year?"
"He was white last year," Sergio said. "And he was Asian four years ago."
That told Johnny Sergio was lying, but a small part of him believed. Wouldn't it be cool if Santa was, like, a racial transformer who could be any color or ethnicity? Santa was the ultimate good, the most kind and caring person on the face of the earth. He was of and for everyone, not just white people, not just black people.
Warm and fuzzy feelings of racial harmony aside, there was a tree downstairs with nothing under it and Johnny wanted to know why.
Being quiet, he checked his parents' room just in case. He peeked under the bed, poked his head into the closet, and rifled through their dresser drawers. All the while, Dad snored like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Mom remained dead silent. At one point, Johnny stood over her to make sure she was actually sleeping and not just playing possum. As if on cue, she issued a dainty fart that hit somehow hit harder than Dad's ginormous rippers. Mom never pooted, and if anyone even thought that she did ever (even in the bathroom), she would die of embarrassment.
She was sleeping.
Definitely.
Back in the living room, Johnny and Lincoln met up. "Did you find anything?"
"No," Lincoln said, a hint of desperation in his voice. "I even checked the garage and the shed out back. They're nowhere, John...nowhere." Lincoln's voice broke and tears flooded his eyes.
Johnny slapped him. "Don't go breaking up on me. I need you." He started to pace back and forth, his mind working. "What do we do?"
"Maybe something happened and he got delayed," Lincoln offered. "O-Or he had to cancel Christmas."
Hmmm. That would have to be it. As Lincoln pointed out, they couldn't be on the naughty list because while Santa didn't leave them any presents, he didn't leave them any coal either. If they were on the Big Guy's bad side, he would have left them lumps of coal in their stocking and maybe a strongly worded message on official Santa letterhead. He did none of those things. He also left the milk and cookies behind. Santa would never do that. He was a feen for milk and cookies, and being magic, he had to have known they were legit and not poisoned or anything.
This didn't make any sense.
Lincoln suggested they go around and check with their friends to see if Santa missed them too. They put on their boots, coats, hats, scarves, and mittens, and went out into the bitter cold. The morning sun sat just above the rooftops lining the opposite side of the street and its light glared off the snow, stinging Johnny's eyes. They couldn't see the walkway so they were forced to trudge through a foot and a half of heavy snow.
At the Loud house, they knocked and waited. Lori answered. "Hey," Johnny said, "uh...did Santa come?"
"Yeah," Lori said, "he came. Why?"
"Oh. Well, he didn't come to our house and -"
Lori cut him off. "You're probably on the naughty list."
Before Johnny could reply, she shut the door in his face.
Next, they walked all the way out to Liam's farm. Liam answered the door in a thermal one piece with a little flap on the butt for when the wearer really had to poop. "Why, sure, Santa came," Liam said and causally crossed his arms over his chest. "He done left me a mess of stuff. Why? Didn't he come an' see y'all?"
"No," Lincoln said, "he -"
"Why, y'all must be on the naughty list."
They went to Stella's, Sid's, and even Ronnie Anne's.
Santa had been to all of their houses.
"I just don't know," Johnny said. He and Lincoln were sitting on a bench in town square, the county courthouse rising behind them. A cold wind washed over them but they were so hot and tired from fighting their way through the snow that neither one cared. Johnny drew a melancholy sigh and blinked away a crop of tears.
Lincoln opened his mouth, then furrowed his brow. "Dude, check it out." He nodded toward a bush where a deer grazed on what was left of the vegetation. Johnny rolled his eyes. Who cared about a stupid deer? They lived in rural Michigan, for pete's sake, wildlife found its way into town all the time. He started to say so, but stopped.
Wait a minute.
That was no normal deer. It was too big, its antlers too thick. Johnny and Lincoln looked at each other, then got up and approached it. Sensing them, it whipped around and regarded them with fear. When it spoke in a nasally, high pitched voice, Lincoln and Johnny's jaws dropped. "I was just nibbling, I swear. Don't shoot me."
For a full ten seconds, Lincoln and Johnny simply gaped at the creature, then Johnny recovered enough to say, "You can talk."
The deer darted its eyes between Lincoln and Johnny. "No I can't." Realizing it had spoken again, the deer hung its head. "I'm not cut out for this line of work."
"Who are you?" Lincoln asked.
"I'm Roscoe," he said nervously, "Roscoe the Reindeer."
Johnny couldn't say he had ever been gobsmacked before, but he was now. "Do you work for Santa?" he asked.
From the way Roscoe lowered his head, Johnny inferred the answer. "Yes," the reindeer mumbled.
This was insane! There was a freaking real life talking reindeer who knew the actual Santa Claus and Johnny was talking to him!
Remembering their dilemma, Johnny said, "Santa didn't come to our house last night. Do you know why?"
Roscoe shook his head. "There was a snowstorm last night and I got separated from the others. I was just getting ready to go back. If you want, you can come with me and talk to him yourself."
Him...meet...the real Santa? That was a dream come true. No, not even that, because Johnny had never imagined he would meet the actual St. Nick, not even in his wildest dreams. He desperately needed to sit down and process all of this, but there was nowhere to cop a squat. "Y-Yeah," Lincoln said, obviously just as affected. "T-That would be great."
Roscoe spun around and knelt, presenting his back for them to climb on. "Let's go. It's a loooong trip."
He was right. Holding tight to the reigns and ducking his head against the airflow, Johnny watched the world below change. The cities and spreading bedroom communities of Michigan and Ontario gave way to the dense pine forests and steep, rocky terrain of northern Quebec. Rugged mountaintops, secret valleys, and a million lakes dotted the land, and Johnny only saw sporadic villages, each one isolated from the outside world by both the weather and the they were over an ocean and following a jagged coastline. After what seemed like hours, Johnny spotted a complex of buildings surrounding a cleared runway. An air traffic control tower painted red and green stood against the white world and a number of ground vehicles sat in a line, waiting to be used. "What is this place?" Lincoln shouted.
"Santa's Village," Roscoe said.
Johnny squinted his eyes. A few corrugated metal hangers clustered along one side of the runway and a couple drab concrete buildings hunkered in the distance.
It looked nothing like he expected.
"I thought it'd be a little more…magical," he said, making a circular motion with his hand.
Roscoe began to descend toward the runway. "Most of it's underground," he replied. "That's where the real magic happens."
Oh.
They sat down on the runway, and a team of little men in goggles and orange vests came rushing over. Johnny would have thought the children if he didn't spot their pointed ears and hooked noses.
Elves.
Omg.
Johnny and Lincoln dismounted and the elves surrounded them, all talking at once. One stepped forward and called for the others to be quiet. Clad in a green tunic boasting pins and medals, tan slacks, and a peaked cap, he reminded Johnny of the guy from The General Insurance commercials (for a great low rate you can get online, go to The General and save some time).
"What happened out there?" he demanded of Roscoe. "Did the Chief get out too?"
"I don't know, General Glittertoes," Roscoe said. "We got separated in the snow. Santa didn't come back?"
The elves exchanged a knowing look.
"What happened to Santa?" Lincoln asked worriedly.
Instead of replying, the elves led him, Johnny, and Roscoe into one of the hangers. Inside, they crammed into an elevator. At the bottom, the doors slid open, and Johnny sucked a shocked intake of breath. A vast workshop filled with toys and elves spread into forever, happy music filtering through overhead speakers. Everything was red, white, and green, and the smell of fresh baked cookies tantalized Johnny's senses. The elves took Lincoln, Johnny, and Roscoe down a hall lined with rooms. At the very end was a door marked S. CLAUS.
This is where Santa lived.
OMG, THIS IS WHERE SANTA LIVED.
One of the elves went ahead of the group and opened the door, standing aside as everyone else entered like a secret service agent keeping the gate to the president. Beyond was an opulent suite of rooms with intricately carved baseboards, shiny oak paneling, gold leaf trim, and Louis XVI furniture. The suite buzzed with activity. Elves in black sunglasses manned computer stations and radio equipment hastily set up in the sitting room, elves with sleepless eyes and automatic rifles slung across their chests drank coffee from styrofoam cups, and a battery of machines beeped, booped, hummed, and spat out paper.
Cold dread filled the pit of Johnny's stomach. Something was very wrong here. He could feel it as a dark tension in the air.
The elves brought Johnny, Lincoln, and Roscoe into a room where a plump woman with white hair tucked under a bonnet sat on a sofa looking distraught. She wore a plain red dress and glasses.
Johnny swallowed.
Was that…?
"Mrs. Claus?" General Glittertoes asked. "You have a visitor."
Mrs. Claus looked up and dabbed her eyes with a tissue. The grief Johnny saw in them twisted his stomach, and he looked away. She turned her attention to Roscoe, and a hopeful expression crept into her face. "Is he back?" she asked
Roscoe told her how he became separated from Santa in last night's snowstorm. "I went to the rendezvous point but he never showed up."
The old woman looked expectantly at Lincoln and Johnny. "Uh...we were looking for, uh…" Johnny rubbed the back of his neck. Knowing something awful had happened, whining about not getting his presents felt kind of wrong.
He explained to her how he and Lincoln woke to nothing under the tree, and she nodded her understanding. "My husband was kidnapped," she said.
Johnny missed a beat. "Kidnapped?"
Mrs. Claus's face hardened. "By Lord Tetherby."
"Yo, I know him," Johnny said.
That was pushing it. Johnny knew of him. He was a rich guy who lived in a giant mansion on the edge of Royal Woods. If you looked up snob in the dictionary, you'd see a picture of him. He owned half the town and hated poor people. He rode around in his limo shouting things at people ("You haven't got a limo, ha!") and being a huge jerk. Everyone fell on their knees in worship when he walked past and he always had a team of black clad bodyguards wherever he went.
Lord Tetherby once hired Johnny to do some work around his house. It was disgustingly fancy. It had pools, hot tubs, a drawing room, a ballroom, and a security room with a bank of cameras manned by two security guards named Dave and Andy who were just as mean as their boss.
This was terrible. Johnny had no clue what Lord Tetherby could want with Santa Claus, but without Santa, Christmas would be ruined...forever.
They had to do something.
"How are we going to get him back?" Johnny asked.
An elf brought Mrs. Claus a cup of hot chocolate and she took it with a nod of thanks. "The Barbegazi."
Johnny furrowed his brow. "The what?"
Named after a mythical little person who supposedly lived in the Swiss Alps, the Barbegazi was a special operations division of the North Pole Defense Force (NPDF), much like the Navy SEALS in America. They were brave, highly trained, and cunning, and had carried out operations in China, Iran, the former Soviet Union, and the Congo. On Christmas Eve 1944, Santa was shot down over the English Channel by the Royal Air Force, who mistook him for a German. The Barbegazi rescued him from a sand bar and escorted him the rest of the way, fending off attacks from both Nazi and Soviet anti-aircraft divisions. In 1977, Santa was downed by a sandstorm over the Middle East and in 1998, he crashed in the mountains of Nepal. Each time, the Barbegazi saved the day and kept Christmas from being cancelled. Mrs. Claus's faith in them was unshakable.
"We can help," Johnny offered. "I've been inside Tetherby's mansion. There's a camera room. If we can get in there, we can find Santa easy."
General Glittertoes considered Johnny's proposal. "It's the best chance we've got."
Mrs. Claus hesitated, then let out a deep breath. "Alright."
Ten minutes later, Lincoln, Johnny, and Roscoe stood in the hanger along with a dozen Barbegazis. Each one was dressed in white camouflage and wore a rifle slung along their back. The unit commander. Lt. Mittens, pointed to a map of Royal Woods. "We go in from all sides. Use deadly force if necessary but avoid casualties."
"I don't like this," Roscoe whined.
"Neither do I," Lincoln said.
"Violence scares me," the reindeer admitted.
Johnny raised his hand. Lt. Mitten pointed at him. "If we can get to the security room and neutralize the guards, we can probably find Santa."
"Where is this security room?"
"First floor. Uh...west."
"When we get there, show me."
They gathered a fleet of reindeer and left fifteen minutes later, Lincoln and Johnny riding on Roscoe. "I knew something bad was going to happen," Roscoe confided. "It was my first run last night and I dreaded I knew. I'm not cut out to be on Santa's sleigh team."
"Dude, it wasn't your fault," Johnny assured him. "It could have happened to anyone."
"Yeah," Lincoln agreed, "don't beat yourself up about it. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't be here right now.'
"You helped Santa out big time," Johnny pointed out. "I know Tetherby's house. Without us, the Barbegazi would go in there and do a bloodbath."
Lincoln nodded. "And probably lose a few guys to Tetherby's guards."
Roscoe sighed. "I guess."
Before long, they entered the airspace over Royal Woods, and the tight formation scattered in every direction. Roscoe followed Lt. Mittens to Tetherby's and sat down in the side yard. The others landed in the front and back. "Stay low," Lt. Mittens ordered. He radioed the others, then they closed in at a crouch. Johnny took the lead and guided them to the side door. There, three elves from other units joined them. Johnny tried to knob but it wouldn't turn. "Locked," he said.
"Got it," one of the elves replied. He picked the lock and they all went in.
The security room was down a long hallway. Lt. Mittens kicked open the door and they rushed in. Dave and Andy were at their posts eating lunch and were taken completely by surprise. Lt. Mittens forced them up at gunpoint, then made them kneel while another elf tied their hands behind their backs. Johnny searched the bank of cameras and spotted Santa. "He's close."
Lt. Mittens radioed the others Santa's location and they swooped into the house.
Santa was being held in a storeroom off the basement . A guard in a black three piece suit stood at the door. He was unarmed and very surprised when elves toting guns swarmed from every direction and tied him up.
Johnny threw open the door and Lt. Mittens went in first. Santa was tied to a chair, Lord Tetherby standing over him. The old billionaire turned around and started. The elves all pointed their guns at him, some dropping to their knees and others pressing themselves to the wall. "Step away from the Claus," Lt. Mittens ordered.
Lord Tetherby looked from one elf to another, and finally to Johnny. "Now see here, you cannot simply came into a man's abode."
"We did," Lt. Mittens said. "Now step away."
The old man fell back and got behind Santa. "Never. I will not be denied my revenge. When I was a boy, I wanted something so badly that I yearned for it. I wanted it so much that I dreamed of it." Lord Tetherby looked around the room. "An official Red Ryder carbine action, 200-shot, range model air rifle with a compass in the stock and this thing that tells time."
Hey, just like me, Johnny thought.
"I wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything...and he didn't bring it to me. I came downstairs on Christmas morning very much excited, and it wasn't there. It wasn't there. I have waited six decades to exact my revenge, and I won't be foiled now."
Lord Tetherby reached into his coat, and all at once, all heck broke loose. Lt. Mittens fired, and the others followed suit, raining heck fire down on the madman. Lt. Mittens' first round struck Tetherby in the chest, splattering him with red. For an awful second, Johnny thought it was blood, then the other rounds began to find their mark, painting him red, green, silver, and white. He spun around and crashed to the floor in a heap. Lt. Mittens and another elf ran over, untied Santa, and sprinted him away. Outside in the snow, Santa laid his hand on Lincoln and Johnny's shoulders. "Ho, ho, ho, you boys did good today."
"We just did what anyone would," Johnny said. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Is there, uh, any particular reason you didn't...you know…?"
Santa laughed. "You were last on my list. Tetherby got me before I could deliver your presents."
A couple elves brought Lord Tetherby to Santa, his hands behind his back. Santa sighed deeply. "I didn't bring you that air rifle because your family was so rich. You could afford it yourself. A lot of little girls and boys can't. They need me more. Didn't you father buy you one the very next day?"
Lord Tetherby, head hung, nodded. "Yes."
"A lot of parents couldn't do that. It doesn't mean you weren't a good boy and it doesn't mean I care about you any less. Even I have limits."
The old man sighed. "I suppose that's reasonable.
Santa clapped him on the shoulder.
The elves brought Santa his sleigh and he climbed in. "Ho, ho, ho," he cried, "Merry Christmas!" He took off, reindeer kicking their legs, and disappeared into the sky.
"I guess this is goodbye," Johnny said to Roscoe. "Better luck on your next flight."
"My flying days are over," Roscoe said, "I'm transferring to a different division."
They all said their goodbyes and went in different directions. When Lincoln and Johnny got home, Mom and Dad were still passed out in bed even though it was going on six in the evening. There was still nothing under the tree, and Johnny's heart sank. In their room, however, they found all of their presents, heaps and heaps.
And on top was Johnny's air rifle.
Lincoln fell into his presents with gusto but Johnny favored his pile with a thoughtful expression. He picked up the air rifle and turned it over in his hands. Just a few short hours ago, he wanted this just as bad as Lord Tetherby had, but now he knew the true meaning of Christmas, and he didn't.
Later on, Johnny rang a bell and Lord Tetherby came to the door in a velvet smoking jacket. "What do you want?" the old man asked suspiciously.
Johnny held out the rifle. "I wanted you to have this."
Lord Tetherby's eyes got all wide and shimmery and his mouth opened in an O of adoration. "For me?" he asked.
"I know how much you wanted it." He handed the rifle over and Lord Tetherby hugged and kissed it. "Merry Christmas."
That day, Johnny learned something.
It really was better to give than to receive.
