I squeal as we pick up speed and the sled veers from left to right as Taavi shouts commands to the dogs, snow spraying up behind us as we come dangerously close to trees when we round corners of the snowy forest. We shave past a tree with such force that the branches shake and deposit snow from the boughs unceremoniously on my lap.
I screw my eyes closed. If certain death is coming my way, I don’t want to see it arriving. This is horrible. That plane felt safer than this.
I’d say I can feel the wind whooshing past my ears, but my ears are so cold that they’ve gone numb. I can hear the speed and the splatter of snow as we slosh through it. My entire face has started to tingle with the cold. I really hope Dad doesn’t travel like this – it’s no wonder he had a heart attack if he does.
I don’t know how much time passes before there’s a big hand on my shoulder. ‘Look up.’
I open my eyes at Taavi’s touch, and as soon as I do, a streak of green splashes across the sky above.
‘The Northern Lights!’ I squeak in surprise. The green ribbon dances across the inky darkness and disappears, only to be followed by a wave of yellowy-gold, which quickly disappears too.
I can’t believe I’m seeing the Northern Lights. I’ve always wanted to see them, but never enough to be worth travelling to somewhere they’d be visible, and they’re just … here. ‘This is incredible!’
Even with most of his face covered, his blueish eyes are visible behind the ski goggles and I can tell he’s smiling. ‘This is a polar region – they put on a show most nights here.’
Most nights? That’s insane. People have lifetime ambitions of seeing the Northern Lights, and my dad lives somewhere that they’re a regular occurrence.
The sky has taken on a green glow and streaks of pink hover above, and I lean my head back as the sled continues moving.
And I realise something. It’s not actually that bad.
There’s another blanket folded up beside me and I pull that one across my chest and up to my chin, and I watch the sky change colour through the snow-covered branches of trees as we pass underneath them.
The dogs know exactly where they’re going, following a well-worn path through the forest, and there’s something about Taavi on the back of the sled behind me that’s reassuring. He calls commands to the dogs constantly and uses his body weight to direct the sleigh, seeming well familiar with the route.
It’s so still out here. There isn’t a sound apart from the noise of the sled gliding through the snow and the excited noises from the dashing dogs. The lights in the sky skim a multitude of colours, and everything else feels distant and faraway. It’s just us out here in the trees. It’s like being inside a picture-perfect postcard. I’m living a dream that so many people would love to experience.
This is by far the scariest thing I’ve ever done, and it’s also kind of … exhilarating. And fun. And incredible. I don’t want to take my eyes off the sky because I don’t want to miss a moment of the aurora that’s come out to greet me, but I look down at the dogs and how much they’re enjoying it, nine wagging tails in front of me as they tear along, and I glance back at Taavi again, who commendably doesn’t take his eyes from the way ahead.
The lights above are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I have an overwhelming feeling of emotion. This is something I never, ever imagined I’d get to see in my lifetime, something I hadn’t even thought about when I was nervously waiting to get on my first plane this morning, and maybe … it was worth it. Netflix cannot compete with this.
And if it wasn’t for the underlying fear about my dad’s health and what exactly he’s doing out here in the Norwegian wilderness, then this could be the most perfect moment I’ve ever experienced.
The two-hour journey evaporates in a blur of snow and Northern Lights until we pass a road sign. It’s white with red lettering and a red border, and it looks like any average British street sign, but it says “North Pole”.
Crikey, I know we’re up north, but we’re not that far north, are we?
I think I must’ve imagined it until we pass another one. I look back at Taavi questioningly, but the dogs drag us into a particularly thick area of forest where the trees are closer together and the track is so narrow that there’s not a centimetre for error on either side, and he doesn’t look down.
When we emerge, there’s another “North Pole” road sign standing between two tree trunks, and the Northern Lights have dimmed to nothing but a vague golden glow in the sky.
After a little while longer, the trees start to thin out, and Taavi calls a command to slow the dogs. There’s a flash of different lights in the distance – twinkling Christmas lights. The trees disappear completely and we’re going uphill, towards an open area of the woods.
‘Welcome to the North Pole Forest,’ Taavi shouts as we approach what can only be described as Santa’s village. The clearing intersects with a tarmac road coming from the other direction, and there’s a low red-brick wall surrounding a tall gate with “North Pole Forest” etched in fancy metalwork through the arch above it. There’s another huge “North Pole” sign and an oversized red post box with “North Pole Mail” written on it, and a big metal stamp featuring a side profile of Santa, instead of the Queen’s head we’re used to seeing on British stamps. All along the wall and wrapped in a spiral around the gate arch are multicoloured Christmas lights, which are twinkling and flashing in patterns.
What the heck is this place? This can’t be the reindeer sanctuary, can it?
The arched double gate is open and the dogs pull us uphill through it. There are trees everywhere, row after row of thick evergreens that must be twenty to thirty feet tall, their boughs heavy with snow. The road edges are piled high with snowdrifts, so close that I could reach out and run my fingers through them if I wanted to.
Around a bend in the road, Taavi shouts something that halts the dogs and they stop alongside two steps leading up to wooden decking outside a mansion-like house. It’s painted white with red window frames and a red door, guarded on either side by two life-size red nutcrackers wearing Santa hats. There are lush green garlands wrapped around every wooden fencing post that surrounds the porch area, glimmering with warm white fairy lights, and a twinkling wreath on the door that looks nothing like the threadbare artificial ones you get at home. Icicles hang from the eaves, and above the door is a red and white sign that reads “Julenissen – Santa’s House”. Parked at the side of the house is a shiny red pick-up truck that I’m pretty sure you only see in Christmas movies. It’s also decked out with garlands and twinkling white lights and has a wreath on the front.
The upper floor of the white house has got a clock-tower at the front with a big red clock-face looking down on us and a balcony running from front to back. The wooden railings are wound with the same twinkling garlands, hung in perfectly even scallop shapes and finished off with red ribbon bows.
Taavi’s arm appears beside me, offering me a way to lever myself out of the sled. My legs are shaky, and as I step over the side, my feet plunge into calf-deep soft snow. I’d say it makes my feet go numb, but there’s not a part of me that isn’t numb already. Even my internal organs have frozen. My lungs are tingling with pins and needles, something I hadn’t thought it was possible to feel inside your body until now.
‘Where are we?’ I ask as Taavi carries my suitcase up the two steps and strides across the decking to put it outside the door.
‘North Pole Forest,’ he says again, his tone suggesting he’s already told me once.
‘Yeah, but … where’s my—’
At the thought of Dad, there’s a noise of clattering hooves and a yell of ‘Rudolph! Come back here!’
We both look up at the sound of jingling bells, and there’s a swoosh as a reindeer canters past, followed in close pursuit by my father.
‘Dad!’ I shout. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Oh, Sasha, you made it!’ Dad stumbles to a halt when he sees me and blows two air kisses. ‘Mwa
h, mwah. Can’t stop, Rudolph Number Three has escaped!’
‘Again?’ Taavi responds with a groan, making me look round at him. He pulls the ski goggles off and drops them on the doorstep too.
‘Dad! You can’t be chasing reindeer around …’ I trail off.
Dad’s taken off after the reindeer before I have a chance to ask what he’s playing at. Almost-eighty-year-old men who have just had heart attacks shouldn’t be chasing runaway reindeer in the snow. And then there’s his appearance, which is quite different from the last time I saw him. He had a hat on, but the rest of his hair was long, white, and curly, with a bushy white beard touching his chest. He looks like Father Christmas. When I last saw him, he was clean-shaven and had short cropped hair, dyed dark to hide the greys.
Taavi steps beside me and I look up at his imposing height. I’ve never realised I was particularly short before, but I come up to barely above his elbow. ‘The heart attack scared me more than it scared him. Since that first moment, I’ve been terrified for him, but he acts like nothing happened.’ He looks down at me, eyes that are somewhere between blue and brown meeting mine. ‘It’s good you’re here. I think.’
‘He sounded so frail on the phone. I didn’t think I was going to make it in time to say goodbye, and now he’s chasing reindeer around the woods?’
‘I’ll go after them.’ He gestures towards the line of trees and steps from the top step and across one of the huskies who are now having a sit-down and he runs after my dad yelling, ‘Percy! Rudolph Number Three!’
I stand there looking around and feeling utterly bewildered. Dog sleds, Northern Lights, Santa’s House, runaway reindeer apparently named Rudolph Number Three, and a man with quite possibly the most unusual eyes I’ve ever seen. What a night.
The dogs look at me in sympathy.
‘This is madness,’ I say to the nearest husky. ‘I feel like Alice after she drank the potion and followed the white rabbit.’
I look out at the treeline which they’ve all now disappeared through and then back at the house behind me. The lights are on inside, and there’s smoke pouring out of the chimney. It looks inviting, but not with my dad out in the cold.
I step gingerly over the reins lying on the snow and give the nearest dogs a quick head rub as I pass, and then I walk towards the trees too. ‘Dad!’ I yell. ‘You shouldn’t be out here!’
No response.
I wrap my gloved hand around a tree trunk, leaving a handprint in the frost that’s covered the bark. There are two trails of footprints and one of hoofprints and I follow them further into the wooded area.
This is quite possibly the most surreal night of my life, but with my dad, nothing surprises me anymore.
Chapter 3
Dear Santa,
I’ve included a photo of my dog. He’s a very friendly dog and he won’t bite you when you come down the chimney … Probably.
From,
Elijah
The forest is vast, and I can’t get a feel for quite how big this place is. The trees are close together, and I’m only following one set of footprints now; Taavi’s, judging by the enormous size of the boots that made them.
‘Dad!’ I yell again.
This is ridiculous. I’ve gone so far past the point of being cold that I’m numb all over and the silence out here is deafening. Everything is dulled by the snow, but it’s so different from being back at home. There’s no traffic, no noise from cars passing on a distant road, no neighbour’s kids screaming with delight as they build snowmen. This is real silence.
I come to a path between two trees, and the footprints I’m following go in one direction, and there’s a set of hoofprints that go in the opposite direction. I look up at the sky like it might provide some form of divine inspiration but even the flashes of light are a distant memory now.
I shake my head and follow the set of hoofprints. I trudge through the trees, sinking into the snow with every step, using the thin tree trunks to pull myself along.
It doesn’t take long to find the reindeer – he’s got himself trapped in a small clearing between the trees, and although he’s only got one antler, it’s so wide that he can’t fit through any gaps other than the one I’m standing in.
‘Hello.’ I’m ninety-nine per cent sure I’m about to be stampeded by a reindeer. He’s only about waist-height, but the single antler looms above him, and I kneel down so I don’t frighten him.
The reindeer looks edgy, like he’s well aware he’s trapped and I’m standing in his only exit route. He watches me with wide brown eyes.
‘Rudolph, is it?’ I ask. ‘Or would you prefer Mr Reindeer? Sir Reindeer? Do reindeer have titles? Am I offending you by not referring to you as Sir Rudolph? Shall we stick with just Rudolph? Why the heck am I rambling about reindeer names in the middle of a Norwegian forest?’
My nonsensical babbling seems to convince Rudolph that I’m not a threat and he looks away, gives himself a shake that makes all the bells on his harness jingle, and starts poking his nose through the snow and eating something he finds underneath it.
‘I’m Sasha. Percy’s daughter. You probably know him as the old man who looks like Father Christmas who was chasing you earlier.’
He ignores me.
He’s a beautiful animal. Thick fur in shades of grey and brown, a marble-like mix in some places, a patch of white below one ear, and a stump where one antler should be.
He’s got a halter around his neck and across the top of his nose, but the end of it is dangling loose on the snow, and if I can get hold of it, then I can start leading him back. He seems calm as I shuffle closer on my knees.
‘Why are you running away?’ I keep talking as I approach him slowly. Once he notices I’m not blocking his exit anymore, he might make a dash for it. ‘Or are you just trying to keep warm and everyone’s misinterpreted your reasons?’
Rudolph glances up at me but carries on munching whatever he’s extracted from under the snow and doesn’t look like he’s going to trample me or impale me with his antler.
‘I must say your nose is a lot less red than I expected. Is that why you’re running away – because people are disappointed by the lack of red nose?’ I inch a bit closer. ‘I guess any reindeer named Rudolph has a lot to live up to. But you have to be your own man … well, reindeer … And I know the feeling. People are usually disappointed when they meet me, and I spend a good chunk of my life wanting to run away too. I quite fancy a remote island somewhere, don’t you?’
He’s a reindeer, I say to myself. I doubt he’s given much thought to emigrating to a remote island.
‘But look, here’s the thing, the longer you’re out here, the longer my dad is chasing you, and it’s flipping freezing. You probably don’t notice it because you’re a reindeer, but this is making winter in Britain feel like a weekend on the beach in Maui. I assume so anyway. I’ve never been to a beach in Maui. This is the first time I’ve been anywhere, actually.’
Another shuffle closer, close enough that I can reach out for the end of his harness. I hear movement behind me and in my peripheral vision, I see Taavi sidle up beside a tree trunk.
I expect him to take over, but he doesn’t make any movement, and I don’t want to risk Rudolph running again, so I carry on.
‘I wouldn’t worry too much about the red nose. Visitors probably don’t even notice. My nose must be red enough to rival yours anyway now. I haven’t been able to feel my face for the past few hours. You know when you go to the dentist and they numb your mouth for a filling? My whole face feels like that. Oh wait, you’re a reindeer, you’ve probably never been to the dentist, have you?’
Behind me, Taavi lets out a laugh, and it makes Rudolph look up. While he’s distracted, my hand shoots out and closes around the dangling end of the halter. I go to do a victorious shout, but think better of making any sudden movements.
I back out from under the reach of Rudolph’s antler and stand up, wrapping the lead around my hand a few times.
&n
bsp; ‘Good job.’ Taavi steps out from behind the tree and enters the small clearing. ‘I’ve never seen a reindeer lose the will to live before, but you obviously have a talent for it.’
I should probably be insulted but it’s the nicest compliment I’ve received for a while.
He rustles a hand in the pocket of his coat, deliberately making noise to get the reindeer’s attention, and then holds out a handful of what looks like the same stuff Rudolph’s pulling up from under the snow.
‘I caught up with your dad and sent him back to the house to get warm,’ Taavi says as the reindeer snuffles the moss-like stuff from his hand.
There’s something about his accent. He’s got a reassuring voice that makes you think things will be okay. The kind of voice you’d want to hear on a pilot flying your plane or a doctor performing your life-saving surgery.
‘Thanks.’ I offer him Rudolph’s lead but he shakes his head. Instead, he pats the reindeer gently, says something to him in Norwegian, and starts walking away. The reindeer trots after him, and I have to rush to catch up with them as the lead I’m holding pulls taut.
‘Got to admit that’s not how I expected to spend my first five minutes here.’ I dodge around a tree.
‘You came to help; you helped.’
You could have a more rewarding conversation with a nutcracker.
My feet sink into the snow as we walk between the trunks, but everything from the knee down is deadened with cold. The only sound is the crunch of Taavi’s boots and the huffing of the reindeer. Even though we can’t be far from where we started, the woods feel like they could go on forever. ‘What kind of place is this?’
He screws one eye up and looks at me like he can’t work out if there’s something wrong with me or if I’m just a complete numpty. ‘Not obvious?’
‘Well, yeah, but … my dad said it was a reindeer sanctuary.’
‘It is.’ His eyes swivel towards Rudolph like I might not have realised that he is, in fact, a reindeer. ‘It’s also a North Pole themed Arctic resort. We have log cabins that guests rent out, glass igloos that people book overnight to view the Northern Lights, and Santa’s House is open to the public for tours from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. every day.’
The Post Box at the North Pole: The perfect cosy and uplifting Christmas romance to curl up with in 2021! Page 3