Page 2 of Scary & Bright
“You called?” the Spirit asked.
“You bet I did!” Santa exclaimed with a cough. “I am sorry to disturb the Christmas Spirit during what I know for a fact is your busiest time of year as well, but alas, the time has come for us to, uh… you know… handle the beast below.”
“Sheesh,” the Spirit said, rubbing his mittened hands together. “Well, nothing to be done but to get it done, I suppose.” His voice sounded like an echo through a vacant house. “Did you have anyone in particular in mind this year you think would be worthy of the cause?”
Santa lugged the heavy tome off his lap and dropped it onto the desk with a heavy thud. “You know what? I actually don’t. Haven’t given it much thought at all.”
“Helpful…” the Spirit groaned, resting his ghostly body on the desk beside the book.
“Come now, Spirit, don’t be such a stick in the mud!” Santa chortled. “Eventually, I’d like to promote you to handling this particular task on your own. I’m afraid one day it might just slip the ol’ noggin.”
Just then, Santa’s eyes shot open with a jolt of forgetful surprise as he frantically shoved up his sleeve to check the time. The little cartoon Santa Claus on his watch pointed to almost half-past six o’clock.
“Aw, cripes on cranberries.” Santa sighed, realizing that his short trip to the Workshop had already taken a smidge longer than he would have liked. “I’m afraid I might be missing dinner with the Mrs.”
“Would you like to make a plan to get this taken care of another time?” the Christmas Spirit inquired, his transparent boot-clad heels bumping silently against the wood of the desk. “Maybe tomorrow, or the day after, or you know… I’m always, uh, just a call away.”
“No, no.” Santa sighed again with a hint of anxiety, ignoring the complete disinterest of the Spirit when it came to enduring this particular task. “The sooner, the better. You know this by now.” The plump man pulled open the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a handful of delicately wrapped toffee candies, unwrapped one as carefully as his great hands would allow, and popped it into his mouth.
“Besides,” he continued, his mouth full of sticky candy, “there is no time like the present. Ha! The present. No pun intended. Do you get it? The present?” Santa unwrapped and ate another toffee, still happily giggling like a schoolgirl at his own unintentional joke. “Anyway, you and I both know this task isn’t exactly the jolliest, but it’s got to be done. The balance must be kept, and the beast must be satiated, lest we lose… all of this.” The large man gestured to everything around him.
The Christmas Spirit wanted to shrink into the woodgrain of the great desk. There were a million things he would rather do this month. This year. Ever, in fact, for the rest of the eternity he would inevitably spend at the mercy of goodwill toward men and loving thy neighbor. Unfortunately, this task was a necessary one—a necessary evil. Still, even thinking about the goings-on down in the South Pole set his phantom teeth on edge.
“But sir,” Spirit said, rubbing his mittened hands together once more, “you said you hadn’t selected anyone. Wouldn’t you like to take the time to really get it right?”
A little jingle erupted from the whimsical watch on Santa’s wrist to the tune of the first five notes of Frosty the Snowman, and the bearded man shoved himself up and out of his seat, abandoning the rest of his wrapped toffees on top of his desk.
“That’ll be Carol looking for me… Look, you’ve watched me select a name countless times, Spirit,” Santa said as he wiped the corners of his mouth on his sleeve. “Let’s see you give it a shot this year. I have all the faith in the world.” He knocked on the cover of his List. “Just remember the number one rule…”
“Check it twice,” both Santa and the Spirit said in unison.
“Precisely, my old friend.” Santa laughed heartily. “See, you’re ready. You’re ready!”
“Heh, I, uh, I s’pose?” The Christmas Spirit began to flicker with nerves, the weight of his task becoming more and more obvious as it became clear that Santa Claus did not intend to hold his hand through this process. “Though I can’t guarantee the, um, absolute quality of work.”
“With an attitude like that, Spirit, you’re bound to fail,” Santa groaned as he stretched his arms out, cracking both his shoulders and his knuckles, trying to vacate the area slowly before the Christmas Spirit suckered him into sticking around any longer. He was in no position to turn down one of Carol Claus’s pot pies, nor was he in any position to explain that he got caught up shooting the breeze with the Christmas Spirit. “Pick a name. Check it twice—make absolutely sure it’s from the Naughty list. Find them. Send them to the South Pole. It’s that simple, Spirit.”
The Spirit widened his eyes and turned his pupils to the floor. “Simple. Right.”
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my very merry way.” Santa patted his stomach as he stepped off the platform that housed his desk. “You don’t get to looking like me by missing meals, and I don’t intend to start now.” He gave a friendly finger-gun gesture back at the Christmas Spirit, who still sat frozen on the side of Santa’s desk.
The jolly man then lumbered his way back toward the elevator, offering friendly “goodbyes” and “goodnights” to the elves on his way out. He entered the elevator, hit the delicately painted peppermint button in the interior of the glorious glass elevator, and descended out of sight, trusting the Spirit to tackle this immense task on his own.
* * *
If the Christmas Spirit had a physical heart, it would have likely been thumping like a bass drum or like the frantic hoofbeats of eight grand reindeer pawing their way through the sky. None of the elves paid him any mind, each of them absorbed into their own world—their own tiny, spinning gear that kept the Christmas machine running on a perfect schedule as he hovered behind Santa’s desk, trying to give himself the confidence to begin his task. The Spirit wished desperately that his own piece of the Christmas puzzle included something simple and joyful, like testing electronic motherboards, double-checking the integrity of stocking stitching, or counting various colored blocks in a set.
But no.
His job was greater and darker. It was a job that benefited from his incorporeal state, but the fact that he had an edge only made him feel worse. Sure, he was trustworthy, punctual, and a charismatic character when given the chance. He was the Christmas Spirit, after all. At the end of the day, though, he knew there was one particular reason he was chosen for this task. He could be anywhere, be anyone, at any time. Truly a blessing and a curse.
He knew he could sit there all night and through the rest of the month if he wanted to, but it wouldn’t change the fact that the fate of all the magic in the North Pole relied on the success of his actions. So, he pulled himself the rest of the way onto the desk and sat cross-legged, facing the List. The book felt like it was staring at him like a bully in school, challenging him. It was like the book had gained consciousness in the last thirty seconds since Santa left the Penthouse and was now squaring up to him, knowing that there was a deep intimidation set within its own bindings.
Taking a deep breath without actual breath, the Spirit waved his mitten over the book, forcing it open. The ink inside was penned with such calligraphic grace that it was like every name was on the front of a twirled, romantic Hallmark card flanked with glitter and ribbon. He waved his hand, again and again, getting to the back half of the tome and the names that resided there.
The Naughty List.
“Now, how do I even go about choosing?” the Spirit mused to himself, feeling that well of anxiety bubble up inside him. There were quite literally thousands of names. Perhaps hundreds of thousands listed in columns down the aged pages. “I know he always said not to think about it too hard, but how do you not think about it too hard!?” His hushed voice began to grow in irritation as he spoke to himself through ghostly, gritted teeth. The winter hat on his head sank over his brow as he scrunched his forehead when he was struck with a sudden idea.