Page 20 of Scary & Bright
The Spirit reappeared in a tangle of evergreen branches surrounded by the familiar warm twinkle of holiday lights. He poked his ghostly head out to inspect his surroundings, half-expecting that he had miscalculated the jump and accidentally ended up back in the North Pole. But no, despite the holiday decor, it was too dusty, too gloomy. Even in the dark half of the year, Santa’s Workshop remained a cheerful, engaging place to be, and this castle was nothing of the sort.
Hearing the sound of the trio’s voices, the Spirit disguised himself inside one of the glass globe ornaments to observe for another few minutes. This was a dire situation, and if Krampus didn’t get his act together and kill the girl, the Spirit would have no choice but to report the odd behavior to Santa. Not that Santa Claus wouldn’t put the pieces together relatively soon as it was. The jolly old guy had a sixth sense for this particular task. He would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it wasn’t getting done in a timely manner.
Of course, there was the rare occasion that Krampus took his time, but everyone had always just assumed he was doing something particularly monstrous. Nobody wanted to talk about it, so nobody pressed for details. Krampus was supposedly evil, after all. He was the antithesis of Christmas; at the end of the day, the sacrifices provided had always been taken care of in the way they needed to be taken care of.
But there was no denying what the Christmas Spirit was seeing with his own two eyes. This girl was being treated differently. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. She was being treated like some sort of South Pole royalty. Who else would be given free rein of the castle to pick her own bedroom!?
Insane. Truly.
Santa had to know about this right away.
With one hard blink of his eyes, the Spirit disappeared from his ornament hiding place in another puff of glitter and snow. His mind raced with possibilities about how Santa Claus might react to this unusual news. Not to mention it was the Spirit’s first solo venture when it came to taking care of this particular task, and he worried that he might be demoted or worse. If there was one thing in the entire world that could make Santa’s less-than-jolly side take center stage, it was the possibility of anything disrupting the magic of Christmas.
So, the Spirit raced home to the North Pole with a lump in his throat, knowing he had nothing to offer the man in red except bad news.
He had failed.
* * *
The Workshop Penthouse was nearly vacant when the Christmas Spirit arrived to confess that his mission had been less than successful and to clue Santa Claus in on Krampus’s unusual activity. The massive clock on the wall with the candy-cane hands read that it was the middle of the night, and the Spirit argued with himself whether he should disrupt Santa’s sleep or wait until the big man returned to the Penthouse to announce his news.
Ultimately, he decided the information simply could not wait. Whatever punishment Santa Claus had in mind for him would surely be worse if he didn’t practice haste when delivering the message. The Spirit’s anxiety rose as he lifted the handle of the corded phone sitting squat beside the List and dialed the code to speak to the Claus’s cottage.
“Santa, here, and this better be important,” the man himself grumbled into the phone after several rings.
“Hello! Um, yes. It’s me! Spirit, of course,” the Spirit answered, trying his best to disguise the nervous squeak in his voice. “Just wanted to, erm, check in post, uh, delivery.”
“Now?” Santa Claus responded with a tone that did little to hide his half-asleep annoyance. “Can’t it wait until morning? As long as you left your selection in the usual spot, that’s all you need to worry about.”
“Um,” the Spirit responded, trying to decide the best way to break the news. “There is something quite a bit unusual about this time around, actually. Perhaps it would be better to discuss in person?”
“Spirit, I’ve gotta say, I don’t like the sound of that,” Santa said, his voice descending from groggy annoyance to genuine frustration. “Is it actually an emergency that justifies me getting out of bed?”
“Well, ‘emergency’ is sort of relative, isn’t it?” the Spirit asked, trying to lessen the blow. “Would I say things went off perfectly? Not exactly, no. But is there time for things to get back on track? I would think so. Hope so, in any case.”
“Just stop talking,” Santa insisted. “I’ll be in the Penthouse shortly.”
Then, Santa hung up. It wasn’t common for Santa to hang up without saying goodbye. The Christmas Spirit swallowed down the lump in his throat, growing ever more anxious at the thought of explaining the current situation.
In record time, the elevator was announcing Santa’s arrival. The Spirit began to twiddle his ghostly fingers as he floated back and forth in front of the massive wooden desk.
“This news had better be worth me leaving the Mrs. in the middle of the night,” Santa groaned, his heavy boots landing with an echoing thud as he approached. The fact that he had kept his outdoor shoes on rather than changing into something more comfortable told the Spirit that Santa was in a rush to get things over with. “You know I don’t do well if I don’t get my beauty rest.”
“I did consider leaving the news until the next time you were in the Workshop,” the Spirit admitted, settling himself down enough to stop pacing. He had already messed up enough, though he wasn’t entirely sure how this could have been prevented, but he certainly didn’t want to look overly nervous or incapable in the face of Santa Claus. “But I thought the sooner you knew, the sooner something could be done about it.”
“Done about what, Spirit?” Santa groaned as he lowered himself into the high-backed seat behind his desk. “Honestly, you’ve come along with me while I’ve taken care of this task so many times. I truly cannot fathom how things could have gone poorly.”
“Well,” the Spirit started, turning his eyes toward the ceiling. It was easier to discuss the happenings at the South Pole if he didn’t have to look his boss directly in the eye. “I’m not entirely sure if I did something wrong or if Krampus is…”
Santa leaned forward in his seat, resting his balled fists on the desk.
“If Krampus is what, Spirit?” he asked, his blushing face even redder than usual.
The Spirit tapped his fingers together and took a deep breath. Even though he didn’t breathe actual air, pantomiming the act gave him a similar calming effect.
“If Krampus is perhaps less interested in fulfilling his obligations this year,” the Spirit said, his voice cracking with worry.
“Spirit.” Santa sighed, his eyes softly shut. “If you don’t mind, please illustrate for me what makes you think this is the case. Spare no detail.”