Do you still believe in Santa?

While it might be the night before Christmas, do not confuse our forthcoming seasonal tale to be similar in tone to Clement Clarke Moore’s iconic 1823 bedtime poem. In fact, those who are under the still innocent and impressionable age of thirteen should tune out right about now. Quite a lot has changed since 280 A.D., and our jolly ol’ Saint Nick has gone to enormous lengths to see to it that he has more than kept current with these modern times. So, wrap yourself up in your coziest of Desmond & Dempsey PJ set, flop down on the overstuffed sectional and flip the switch for the Napoleon Alluravision, (who needs the extra cleanup of real logs and ashes), and relax. Don’t forget to fix yourself a very stiff Cran-Spiced Martini, being generous with the splashes of Reyka Vodka. Christmas Eve should never be predictable but instead always magical. In other words, ditch the sugar cookies with sprinkles and don’t even think about sipping on hot cocoa. If you’re brave enough to continue, here is a sneak peek of what has really been going on after all of the stockings were hung and toddlers were told to close their tiny eyes and dream about sugar plumbs dancing. I can assure you, the mouse was getting ready to do a whole lot more than “stirring” and Kris Kringle hasn’t gone down a chimney in decades. Where were we then? It is now dusk on December 24th……

It has been a holiday tradition for years that Little Timmy and his family, along with many boxes, bows, bags, and suitcases, packed up the SUV to every inch of it’s available space and rode over the river and through the woods, or in this case I10, to Grandma’s house. Despite the road trip seemingly lasting forever, the boy only asked, “Are we there, yet,” four times. The anticipation of all of the sweet treats, great company and family time kept Timmy going. (Seriously, who are we kidding? This novella is supposed to blow back the reality curtain on all things Yuletide. Presents! Timmy, like every other kid his age could barely contain himself and was counting down the minutes before his first gift was lying in his lap.) “I do hope Santa and Grandma received my list. I tried categorizing everything this year to make it more streamlined and efficient.”

Finally, the outline of lights defining a two-story Tudor begins to illuminate above the tops of the Evergreens, and as the vehicle winds its way down the long driveway, more shiny objects are soon seen twinkling behind oversized windows. Grandma always feeds her holiday gatherings plenty of steroids and everything is Supersized. Just the way Little Timmy likes it. Go big or go home! Almost like clock work, the purring noises of an engine being shut off are replaced by an excited woman’s voice exclaiming, “You’re here!” Luckily, this is not Christmas Vacation and the greetings and kisses are not going to segue into a backlog of health issues, or personal discussions about needing some facial waxing. No. There are many more important topics at hand, such as eating, policing a couple of older brothers as they attempt to sneak a shot or two of Eggnog (only containing the whiskey), and scoping out the tree.

Okay. I know what you’re thinking, especially if you’re on the lower end of the PG-13 age demographic. Let’s get on with it and go straight to the twisted, creepy, possibly inappropriate scenarios; simply stated, move along to the “good stuff.” Alright then, fast forwarding a few hours, it is now 11 P.M.

Unlike years past, Timmy didn’t want to be led upstairs, tucked in tightly and receive a kiss on his freshly scrubbed forehead. So, no sooner had he buttoned the final button on his Big Feet pj’s, that he then asked if he could buck tradition and curl up on the slip covered sofa conveniently nestled in front of the glowing tree. Of course, this overnight vantage point is also ideal for seeing which types of cookies the rotund, cheerful man who seemingly refuses to shave, actually prefers. Somehow, it always seems that shortbread falls under the same neglected category as fruitcake. Timmy begins diligently arranging the assorted carbs on a large, pewter platter, and Grandma begins to create layers and layers of soft surroundings and the sofa which recently served seven well-fed rear ends was now morphed into a billowy cloud. As she bends down to finally give her youngest grandson a kiss on the forehead, the older lady winks at him while whispering, “Just like magic.” Timmy begins motioning for his always loyal sidekick to join him underneath the piles and piles of bedding only to feel disappointed when the normally loving, furry family member did not want to step even a single paw inside the room. After a few whimpers and 360’s, the nervous canine made himself a makeshift bed inches away from the entrance to the room. “Strange,” the youngster thought.

Now that the entire household was officially down for the count, the only sounds resonating inside Timmy’s ears were those coming from the pendulum of a clock which was hanging on the kitchen wall. After a few minutes had passed, Timmy’s frustrations grew greater and greater. He tried squeezing his eyes tightly, tossing every which way, and even sticking his fingers inside his ears. Tick...tick...tick...TICK...TICKTICK… Why did it feel as if the perfectly in-sync instrument’s sounds were actually getting louder and louder? “It’s nothing. Go to sleep. Everything is quite normal, in fact,” Timmy said to himself. Then again, maybe not.

Tiny Timmy does his very best as he tries to calm his increasing fears which are now building up inside of him. He decides to focus on the numerous crystal snowflake ornaments, scattered all throughout this year’s 8-foot tall tree. It almost seemed as if each of the individual hooks was participating in a silent tug-of-war between the branches and the vintage glass. Despite the room being pitch black, all of the objects were clearly visible thanks to the backlight coming from rows and rows of red lights which were circling the tree. Normally, Timmy would find the mood of the room exciting, but there was just something that seemed a bit “off.” As the youngster kept gazing at the spectacle in front of him, he noticed a slightly disturbing little creature shoved deep inside the boughs almost as if the odd artifact was a bad afterthought.

Standing roughly eight inches high and constructed of rather cheap looking felt, it resembled a Dollar Store Santa knockoff. Timmy felt that the “little guy” might be a better choice for his dog’s new Christmas toy rather than being added to the elegant holiday traditions. What was most ominous; however, were its eyes. The eyes. They were like solid black pits sewn on with a cheap machine and finished off with thin black lines in lieu of eyebrows. Then, something quite extraordinary occurred. The stuffed toy in question stretched his puffy arms straight out in front of him, gave himself a quick heave ho and jumped down to the wooden floor beneath him. I suppose one can do those kinds of things if there is no hook involved.

Timmy began frantically rubbing his eyes with the excess of red, flannel which had been drooping over his tiny wrists all evening long. It can’t be! As the young lad began to question if Grandma may have inadvertently spiked the wrong beverage, he started burrowing himself deep underneath all of the blankets that had just moments before made him feel so secure. The most unsettling aspect for Timmy was how deathly quiet this usually raucous room had now become. Even the annoying kitchen timepiece seemed to have stopped functioning. The boy remained paralyzed with fear. His current state of mind began to become overshadowed by rhythmic beats pounding from deep inside of his chest. Timmy began wondering if the potential intruder could sense his uneasiness. Maybe, it really was all inside his head!

Too afraid to even sneak a peek, Timmy had resolved himself to hold his breath for as long as he possibly could without actually passing out. After about ten seconds, he felt his cheeks slowly grow rounder and tighter. If he was a birthday balloon, he would have begged to be popped! He finally couldn’t take it anymore and released a huge, gaping breath. Nothing. It must be all in his mind!

Timmy smiled, “for what had I to fear?” Timmy’s heart was not telling him a tale! Then again, maybe it was. The blankets were finally pushed down just enough to unveil the top of the boy’s head. Inch by inch, Timmy pushed the covers down and away from his face and used his hands brush back the floppy bangs, which were in dire need of a trim, from off of his forehead. The only problem seemed to be that the hands didn’t belong to Timmy.

“Listen, we don’t have all night. In fact, I’m really on the clock, if you get my drift.” The gruff, Mafioso voice didn’t quite fit the body it originated from. There, sitting a mere few inches away was a mini member of the Corleone family puffing away on a Cuban. “Don’t worry. It’s not lit. I just like the taste.” A few blinks later, our modern era Tiny Tim was formally introduced to a presence much more formidable than any Past, Present, or Future spirits. Meet Louis.

There really was no time to ponder the How’s or Why’s because within seconds the softly lit parlor area was quickly overtaken by gusty winds and flurries of snow. Even the most seasoned Radio City Hall Rockette would have been impressed by the precision and timing of the windows blowing open, the tree lights streaming , and the holiday adorned décor all coming to life without ever missing a single high-kick. The finale of it all was the emergence of a sleigh which waited for Louis and his newfound friend. Timmy was now sitting smack dab in the middle of Grandma’s front yard. with not a reindeer in sight.

The oddly jolly micro- sized St. Nick put two fingers to his cross stitched lips and proceeded to blow the loudest whistle Timmy had ever heard. Just like that, the two were soon joined by two additional passengers of the ornament variety, albeit broken ones from an attic box; Nutcracker; Frosty sans top hat. As the extra cargo began to get settled in, a pair of giant furry, burly arms reached around the only real human in this outing, and wrapped him up tightly with the softest blanket Timmy had ever felt. “This is the latest ride available for the type of work I do. Look. Even has Bluetooth.” The boy began mustering up a slight smile despite any misgivings he may have had. Even if all of this is a twisted dream, it’s worth taking the ride.

After a quick seatbelt check and heaters turned off, (Frosty can’t really risk losing a limb) the hairy creature emerged in front of the vehicle. It was quickly explained to Timmy in elementary school terms just how expensive full-time employment can become, especially when benefits are thrown into the package. Besides all that, once the red-nosed reindeer debuted in his acting side gig, the fairy dust really started to go to his head. Burl Ives did him no favors, though. His latest demands became so exorbitant that he’s forced to sit this year out and be a tour guide at one of those Christmas wonderland parks. In the meantime, Mr. Claus has settled on one of Rudolph’s arch nemesis, the Abominable Snowman. “Don’t make the mistake of confusing him with the Yeti. Evidently, they are only distant cousins. You know the ones you only see on Thanksgiving. Yep, he got so mad at me once for making that mistake, he refused to use his GPS. We were really cutting it close that year!”

The elf began perusing through a very SHORT list with barely legible names, and Frosty began complaining to Stuffed Santa about a hat, or lack thereof. “It’s times like now that I could really benefit from my hat. He’s so stubborn. I told him I’d give him my pipe as a souvenir, but he gives me the runaround sayin’ he’s on the patch nowadays.” Of course, our fluffy ball of snow was referring to his lingering feud with Professor Hinkle. Timmy didn’t want to miss out on a single word that was being spoken, nor miss a single fleeing moment, deciding instead to continue looking straight ahead. He had a great view of the backside of the white Bigfoot. And…..off they went.

It did take a few attempts to get airborne, but the little sleigh that could, DID, finally reach 10,000 feet. Miraculously, it appeared to Timmy that he could still see the many white, silver, red, and green lights from their new vantage point and the sheer image of the season did cause him to take a pause. Timmy was finally back in the present when he realized his name was being said repeatedly, growing louder and louder each time. “TIMMY! I really need your undivided attention, here, if we are gonna do this thing right.” Mini Mafia Santa gave Timmy one of those looks that implied an answer was going to be expected, but instead, the boy quickly nodded his head.

The elf from the shelf began putting his feet up on the cupholders conveniently located in front of his pointy toed shoes. As he did so, he gave his left foot a shake just for good measure, displaying the little, working silver bell sewn onto the tips. Maybe, it was the cold air from the high altitude and having no cabin pressure, but Timmy mustered up the courage to ask a very important question. “Where are we going? Mr. Claus or Kringle?” The guy in red smiled and dropped his unlit nicotine into the other cup holder before addressing the seriousness of the question itself. He reached inside his drawn on pockets and pulled out a letter which strangely looked quite familiar to the boy.

Do you still believe in Santa?: Text

“Did you write this,” Louis asked? Timmy nodded, yes. The letter was one of the Letters to Santa which Timmy’s mother still insists he do every year, hoping to keep the spirit in her youngest son alive, if even for just one more season. When Timmy took pencil to paper this latest round, the usual item wish list like footballs, art supplies, and Madden, was erased and replaced by shadows of doubt and cynicism. Worst of all, he signed it, “thanks Mom.” At the conclusion of Timmy reading his own handwritten Christmas list, he looked up and met those same black, beady, button eyes, eye to eye. “By the way, I gave up the Kris Kringle moniker a decade, or so, ago. Those Kardashians kind of took over my shtick with my logo. I was bitter there for a while, being that I had cornered the market with it for over a century. It is what it is. I talked it over with my agent and we both feel it is best to re-brand, anyways. Call me Louis.”

After some muddled confusion over which route to take to Lincoln, Nebraska, the streamlined sleigh began making its decent. Unlike the initial take-off, the Great Ape needs to work on his landings. Louis released a few expletives, most assuredly not fitting for one in his position, and mentioned how grateful he was that there was no overhead luggage, to speak of. The three decorations and the boy begin to stand up as a silver slide appeared out of nowhere and led them directly toward a conveniently left open window. As they begin to partake in the playground fan favorite, Louis turns to Timmy and says, “We gave up chimneys a long time ago. If you really want to know the truth, the Nutcracker lawyered up after joining us one year. It was the soot. He said he had a lingering cough. Anyways, we ended up settling out of court.” The next thing Little Timmy knew he was inside some stranger’s bedroom on the night before Christmas.

While Timmy was still trying to make sense of his current surroundings, the others were being a bit nosey and looking at the actual inhabitant’s pictures and awards, before growing a bit envious over the young man’s Nintendo Switch Console. “Snap out of it!” Louis reminded everyone that they are on an actual assignment. The stuffed toy begins to close his eyes, and flops facedown on the ground. It’s a good thing he’s not breakable but something tells Timmy the lead in this production believes in method acting. A few seconds pass and Louis stands back up to his original eight inches, snaps his fingers and dusts off his faux-gloved hands. Unlike the seasoned elf and snowman, Timmy has a look of total confusion written all over his freckled face.

“Look around you, T. What do you see?” Before the boy could answer him, the jolly. ol’ man continued, “A high school superstar. Just signed to play at legendary Nebraska. Let me tell you what, after winning five championships, nothing, notta. It’s been 1997 since they took it all. Well, it’s kinda gone to his head.” As Louis continues explaining, all of them begin making their way back to the frigid outdoor temperatures and the icy, steel seats. Louis pushes a seat warmer in Timmy’s direction while reminding him to keep it away from Frosty. “Listen, there’s nothing wrong with being proud of one’s accomplishments, but it’s not cool to begin to treat people as if they’re beneath you.”

Finally, the other two Hobby Lobby craft projects begin to chime wanting to know what Louis had done to the future recruit to affect a difference. “He’s about to find out that a Five- Star switched his commitment. Listen, if someone wants something badly enough, they’ll appreciate it that much more. Besides all of that, this kid can make a greater impact on people’s lives if he has a true heart and a solid head on his shoulders.”

Not much for words, it appeared that their driver had found time to make a quick stop to a Valero while the group was inside and proceeded to hand each passenger a steaming cup of hot cocoa. Once again, the bearded fellow reached into his pockets, this time finding another shiny, silver object, albeit a flask. “I’m not driving.” As the engines start up again, the playlist is soon interrupted by the ringing of a cell phone and a name appearing on the digital screen says, “Jessica”. This is the first time Tiny Timmy has seen his host react a bit hesitant and somewhat nervous. After Jessica’s third attempt at reaching him, the incoming calls finally stop and the only thing audible is the constant slurping sound coming from the Elf’s Styrofoam cup. “Listen, it’s complicated. I encouraged her to find a project she was passionate about after hearing her constantly complain about needing her own identity. I didn’t anticipate her newfound hobby would be her weekly tennis pro. We are in counseling. Enough about that.”

Once again, the short list reappears. Why are there not many more names? In fact, if the math is done correctly, there should be MILLIONS of names on the list. It can’t possibly be said that hardly anyone deserves a visit from St. Nick. Just as they had done previously, the eco-friendly vehicle crash lands in a total stranger’s yard and a pre-arranged window is ajar. Louis seemed determined to expand on his teachings and begins this particular visit with a parent. The four were standing inside a Dallas sized living room and the only occupant was someone’s mother. She seemed to be enjoying a seasonal cocktail, or two, or three, maybe seven. It did appear that the cumulative number would be difficult to decipher, at this point.

Father Christmas goes into great detail as to the back story of his newly condensed job description. Evidently, too many insomnia stricken children were busting parents as they were assembling Barbie Dreamboats and Dora Kitchens during the wee hours of the night. Besides all of that, the costs of all of the batteries for every single remote controlled car was just no longer cost efficient, and the family members were doing a heck of a job. It was a bit tough on the elves, at first, but they’ve been re-assigned to hiding eggs and even received a raise. It’s been a win-win for everyone.

Louis motions for Timmy to come closer. “Don’t worry. She can’t hear us. Dickens kind of stole my secret and it went viral with that book of his.” The patron saint of children went on to explain that the woman in question slipped through the cracks, but his goal is to prevent her pre-teen daughter from going down the same path. After all, Regina George didn’t just pop out of nowhere. The day after Christmas, the Diva in training will be receiving a Snapchat message from her BF explaining that it’s “not her, but him”, yada, yada, yada. He will then swiftly rebound with the girl down the way who has endured the wrath of our current Sleeping Beauty on the Gram. On their way out, Louis points again to the Reality Housewife wannabe as she continues to drunkenly post Facebook pics and place orders online. “She’ll sober up when the credit cards are maxed out. Besides all of that, it’s a crazy world right now. Not the time to be tone deaf and flashy. That look went out in the 80’s.”

With just one more house to go before calling it a night, Timmy faces Louis and simply asks, “Why me?” Louis gives him no reply and mumbles something underneath his breath. The last abode entered could have been ripped straight out of Parenting 101. The needlepoint stockings were hung with care, the tree was adorned with homemade ornaments and the family pics were all those showing happy, loving faces. “Are you sure we are in the right place,” Timmy asks?

Louis can’t respond right away because he’s currently stuffing his face with the various types of cookies conveniently left for him by the hearth. After inhaling the final calorie laden morsel, he lifts the plate up next to his face. “Look, it’s me.” There was the Spode version and the “real” version, both looking quite content. Seeing that the clock was ticking, and time was getting short, Louis began alerting his cohorts in crime to pick up the pace. Then, CRASH. He purposely dropped the expensive china onto the ground, and, once again, they were all back inside the sleigh and heading home. “Listen. This was just a minor offense. Great family, but they need to really dial it back on the Christmas sweaters.”

Timmy was beginning to feel a bit sad as he knew the night was about to come to a close. Maybe there is some truth, after all, when the green guy said that, “it came without ribbons, it came without tags, it came without packages, boxes, or bags.” How was it, though, that he was singled out for this ride of a lifetime? The boy’s thoughts kept racing only to be interrupted by Louis handing him the letter.

“Dear Santa (Mom, Dad, Grandma & Pa) I no longer believe in Santa because I saw with my own eyes all of you place presents underneath the tree. I really want you all to know that I love you very much, but I’m growing up. It’s probably time to end this charade.

P.S. I can email you my wish list, if you’d like.”

With that, the final stop of the night came to another crashing halt. “We just have to get him additional aviation training. By the way, this is how I met your Grandmother. She almost DID get run over, but not by a reindeer, by him. He still had his permit, at the time. I still don’t know how he passed his test.” Louis points to the evening’s chauffeur. It became eerily quiet, until the ringing bells were heard in the sky. “That’s not for you. Clarence sometimes gets a bit overzealous when he hands out those wings.” Soon, the same hurricane type winds that Timmy had experienced earlier blew open the same kitchen window the foursome had used hours before. Timmy found himself curled up on a cozy sofa, with his dog sleeping soundly by his feet. It wasn’t long before Timmy drifted off, as well.

The first hint of Christmas morning was when Timmy awoke smelling cinnamon and bacon and the slightest hint of chocolate. He reached down and felt the top of his pet’s head, and tried to recall the events of last night. Try as hard as he may, it all seemed a bit fuzzy. Did it happen? Was it just a Pixar level dream? By midday, Timmy had forgotten about most of his magical experience, but what did remain was the true importance of the season itself.

As Grandma reached over to turn off the tree lights, she and her Secret Santa made eye contact and gave each other a quick wink. All is good until Halloween. Hopefully, Timmy is prepared for the Great Pumpkin.