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3
Joy
I hum alongto “The Little Drummer Boy” as I pull a sheet of fresh sugar cookies from the oven. They’re golden brown on the edges, pale in the center, and they smell divine. I can’t wait until we frost them. I set the cookies on the stovetop and shut the oven, then pull off one of my oven mitts in order to grab a spatula and transfer these little suckers to the cooling racks.
I grin when a loud smack sounds at the door of the workshop kitchen.
Behind me, Dasher groans. Aww, he’s so excited that his friends are back! I hurry to the door and pull it open to reveal a freshly blow-dried Comet and Blitzen. Blizzard even put little bows in their neck hair. How cute.
“Come on in, guys! I was just taking out a batch! Won’t be long!”
Once they tromp inside, I shut the door and head back over to the stove.
BAAAM.
I duck behind the kitchen island as a huge sound rocks through the workshop, the percussive force causing a high-pitched ring to start up in my ears.
Oh no! Did the Christmas cracker machine explode again?We had that issue a few years back.
I stand and quickly check on my reindeer friends to see if they’re ok. Blitzen is on the floor, blinking in surprise, half of his gingerbread reindeer still stuck out of the corner of his mouth.
Yes, they like to eat Christmas reindeer. The idea of pretend cannibalism amuses them endlessly. And I indulge them, because they’re just silly animals and there’s no harm in it.
I look over at Cupid, who’s taken up a position in front of the rest of them. He’s got a bit of a protective streak. His eyes narrow when he looks at me, as if he can predict what I’m about to say.
“You boys stay here. I’m gonna go see if the cherubs need any help.”
Cupid very definitively shakes his head no. How adorable is that? He’s just the sweetest. As I move around the kitchen towards the green interior door that leads to the workshop, I pat his neck.
“Don’t worry, sweet boy, I’ll be right back.”
I pull open the door and go into the hallway. Cupid immediately follows, ducking his huge head so his antlers can fit through the door.
I turn around and stick my hands on my hips. “No, sir! You know reindeer aren’t allowed in the workshop! Not since Blitzen tried to lay down with the teddy bears and popped the stitches on about eighty of them.” I don’t even bring up the fact that several hundred others had to be remade because the cherubs feared that kids would have allergy issues. “Turn right back around!” I order. But that’s literally impossible because his horns are so wide that they barely fit through the doorway. There’s no way he’ll be able to turn around in this narrow hall.
I sigh. “Fine. You brat. Follow me. I’ll have to let you out through one of the rolling doors where they make the Christmas cars for the Richie Rich kids.”
Cupid trots behind me, getting so close that his head actually looms over mine and I can feel his hot breath on my neck.
His proximity should comfort me, but my instincts are screaming. My body is on high alert. For some reason, all the hairs on my arms stand up. Somehow, instinctively, I know something’s wrong. Very wrong. I get a feeling that I’ve never had before. It’s like an avalanche. Cold slides down my spine, and my stomach tumbles. I realize that I’m scared.
My hand flies to my heart as it starts beating more quickly in my chest, and I’m not quite sure what to do about it. I slide my feet forward despite my fear, because Dad always says, “A Kringle helps. That’s what we were made to do.”
I have to help the cherubs who were working in the workshop, the tiny little people who slave day in and day out to make the holiday memorable. Sometimes, they even don the silly elf outfits humans believe they wear, just for giggles.
I reach the end of the hall and find my palms are sweaty. There’s a green door in front of me, with a little panel window above the knob. The word “Workshop” is scrolled in gold paint across the top. I grab the knob, but before I can turn it, a laugh echoes through the workshop.
It’s not a happy laugh.
It’s the kind of laugh I hear in my horror movies.
I freeze.
Through the little window, I see Dad. He’s on the ground, his red suit wrinkled, his cane smashed against the ground, Christmas magic oozing across the floor like red and green blood.
NO!
I see Dad’s wings erupt from his back, shredding the top of his suit, and he lifts up off the floor, his beard bedraggled but his eyes blazing. A white light starts to gather in his palms.
