A friend of mine likes to say every Christmas she’ll be high on Santa’s naughty list…but there is one problem with that. She would never get on the bad people list cause she is a great person. For her to be on the list, that list must be not quite what we think. Or here is more about Santa than we are told.
So I wrote a little story where both of this is true. Just don’t say, I did not warn you, dear reader…to steal a quote from one of my favorite TV series ever:
The Santa, is not what he seems…
It was the night before the night before Christmas. And all the elves on the North Pole were running around, wrapping last gifts, making delivery schedules…the same mad rush as every year, but everybody was smiling, because they knew they had the most important job in the world. They were organising Christmas!
Santa loved these days, and was walking around the workshops to tell all what a fine job they did. Gave some extra treats to the reindeer. Made sure the sled was washed and polished, so it would shine like a star when he was flying it through the night skies.
And…it was time for the last check on the naughty list. Of course, the elves had kept the list updated all year, but Santa never wanted to know before this day.
He went to his study, threw extra logs on the fire, and prepared for this Christmas moment. The moments he would be thinking about when he was racing through the night, and showering the world with gifts, and he was getting cold in the high cold air. When he was wondering, when a Santa Claus could actually retire. Not that he wanted to, because he loved his job, of course!
He took a key from a chain around his neck, opend the little cabinet that no elve was allowed to touch…and took out his box of Cuban cigars, and the Cognac that was left under the tree by a somebody who had been very woried about her place on the naughty list. Not that Santa could be bribed of course…but he also made sure to never tell it’s not such a bad thing to be on the naughty list.
He sometimes wondered, why people did not notice that he left all the pumishing and other tasks that were bad for his Christmas mood to Krampus. But after all these years, he still did not understand people completely.
Santa always looked forward to this moment, because it was a naughty list. Very naughty. Since the real bad people were handled by the Krampus, it was really a very, very naughty list. And since the head-elve had started his career as a house-spirit for the Playboy mansion, before accepting a post at Santa HQ, he understood exactly what Santa expected from him.
Like every year, Santa made sure his cigar was properly burning, and poured himself a big glas of cognac before opening the book. And made a litle wager with himself. At what place would Moonbeam be? What would she have done this year to deserve her place on the list? Would there be skinny dipping in the White House pool maybe this year? Did she steal any policemen’s hats?
Santa smiled, remembering how she visited London, and managed to surf nude on the Round Pond before Kensington Palace. The palace guards had not been able to catch her, but she was recorded on the surveilance camera’s, and Santa had been delivering presents to the palace when certain royals were caught by their wifes looking at the footage. The words they used…he never knew princesses knew such words before. He told Krampus about it at the Summer Solstice drinks, and even HE was shocked.
Santa started the list, and soon he was happily reading the stories of parties and flirtations, vacations and indiscretions. Now and then he waved his cigar around an extra juicy story, so the scenes were projected in mid air between the clouds of cigar smoke…
Halfway the list, and still no Moonbeam. Santa poured another drink, and tried to imagine what she did this year to get so high on the list. The White House fountain would not be enough. He never forgot the year she went all the way to the top of the list…that year in college when she and …uh….Santa forgot with who she had been on those trampolines, but he was sure that Halloween was no proper excuse for the costumes they were not wearing at that moment. Or the amount of whip cream that had been used as replacement for their dresses when they lost them in a bet. Even though a lot of it was eaten at a certain point of course.
But she was also not the number one.
Santa took his cigar, but it had gone out in the ashtray. The room seemed cold, although the fire was burning brigthly. The last sip of cognac tasted bitter. Somehow, it had not been the same this year. He looked at the weather forecast. Very cold.