For the next few hours we tour the museum. A few young elves show up, one group looks like they’re on some sort of school tour and I watch as they stare around the museum in awe. He takes me through the museum and patiently tells me stories about each item.
I can tell he’s proud of his ancestors.
And especially his dad.
Who freaking wouldn’t be?
Seems like his dad really modernized the role of Santa, while keeping with the traditions that we’ve all loved our whole lives.
We stop in front of a sleigh that looks like it’s ancient. There are jewels embedded in the sleigh, green emeralds and rubies the size of apples.
“This is unbelievable,” I tell him as we walk around the delicate piece.
“The first sleigh… the first Claus,” Stetson says.
“And look at the effect…” I wink at him and lightly touch the sleigh, allowing Christmas magic to sweep over me in a way I’ve never experienced. The sound of bells fills the air lightly.
“Can I put a face to the name?” I give him a flirty smile. “I’m dying to see if he was as handsome as you.”
He smiles at me and rubs his beard.
“I’ll take you down into the Hall.” He says.
“The Hall,” I reply. “Sounds serious.”
“It is serious,” he returns. “The Hall holds The North Pole Archives and everything you’d ever want to know and see regarding my ancestors. It’s our entire life story.”
I walk over to him and grab ahold of his hand.
“How much time do we have?” I squeeze it in excitement.
“Long enough.” Then why does he sound sad?
We getin an elevator that’s glass and descend a long while. Because it’s glass, we move down through a rocky cavern into what seems like the abyss.
“How far down do we go?” I ask him.
“One hundred and eleven floors,” he says. “Don’t worry, it’s pretty fast.”
He didn’t lie.
We move down so quickly that I get lightheaded and lean into Stetson for support. He, of course, is not affected at all and seems happy enough to wrap his arms around me and hold me close while I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the sweet torture to end.
We can’t get there fast enough.
The doors slide open and instead of the warm atmosphere of the museum, we’ve moved into a much more sterile part of Santa’s Village.
It almost looks like a science lab or kind of like what you’d imagine the Vatican underground library to look like. It’s just a long hall with one round glass room after another—almost igloo like. Each room holds shelves of books—old looking ones from this point of view and all sorts of relics and a framed oil painting of each Santa Claus.
“We’ll make our way to the first,” Stetson looks over at me. “He’s at the end.”
We pass the first room that has some books and pictures I can’t see from outside and other things—but it’s not at all filled up like the rest of them.
“Aren’t we going to start here?” I ask him.
He shakes his head.
“That’s my dad’s library,” he says. “He’s still alive… no museum yet.”
