by Matt Haig
‘So you have to stop him.’
‘How?’
‘By doing something good. By . . . doing something good and showing elves that you are here to help us, not to hurt us.’ He took off his hat to scratch his head. ‘If you scratch the right part of your head, the ideas jump out, you know. But it has to be the right part. It can’t be just any part.’ He tried different parts of his head – top, back, behind each pointed ear – and I scratched my head too, to see if it worked for humans as well.
‘A-ha!’ he said, leaping into the air. ‘I’ve got it! You pay back the sleigh!’
I sighed a cloud of cold air. ‘I’ve already thought of that. But how? I’m no good at elf jobs.’
‘Well, what are you good at?’ asked Pippin.
‘Writing, I love it,’ I said.
‘You should work for the Daily Snow! You should write the most amazing story that will make people want to read the Daily Snow again.’
‘I’ve thought of that too. I even talked to Noosh about it. But truth can never beat lies. It’s impossible.’
Pippin pressed his finger to his lips. ‘Sssh! Don’t say that word. Truth can be more magical than any lie in the world. If Father Vodol takes over again, if he gets into the hearts and minds of all the elves again, all hope will be lost. And no hope means no Christmas. Ever again. There would be a hole inside me I wouldn’t be able to fill.’
I stared out – not at Finland’s forests this time, but in the other direction. At Elfhelm. In the moonlight and soft faded glow of the Northern Lights I could see it all. The village. The Toy Workshop. Reindeer Field. And there, to the west, the Wooded Hills where the pixies lived and where I had crashed the Blizzard 360. Somewhere, amid all of Elfhelm and those hills, there would be a story. An amazing story that Noosh and elf readers would love. One that would give them hope again. But what?
And then I realised what Pippin had been saying. ‘Say that again,’ I told him.
‘Okay,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Truth can be more magical than any lie in the—’
‘No, not all of it. The last bit, the last thing you said.’
‘There would be a hole inside me I wouldn’t be able to fill.’
A hole.
I stood up from the rock. On top of the mountain. There, at the exact point between the world of humans and the world of magic. ‘That’s it,’ I said.
‘What’s it?’
‘The hole. When I crashed the sleigh I saw a hole in the ground. The hole obviously led somewhere. It was there for a reason. There was a Flying Story Pixie and he spoke of paper birds flying out of it. Paper birds. They won’t really have been birds. They’ll have been newspapers. I’ve seen them fly. Father Vodol makes it happen. With his dark drimwickery. I’m going to explore it. I’m going to go into the hole and find out why it’s there. I’ll find out what Father Vodol is up to . . . That could be my story.’
‘Sounds a bit dangerous,’ said Pippin, looking worried.
But just then he pointed to something I couldn’t quite see – on the human side of the mountain. ‘Look!’
And then I could see it. An envelope floating and twisting through the night air. And, unlike the two envelopes I’d just seen, this one kept going, up and up and up, right to the top of the mountain, and even higher – so high that Pippin had to jump as high as he could. He caught it. He smiled as he showed it to me. ‘Look! Queensland, Australia! That’s the other side of the world! Hope is back in the air! And look! Look at the sky!’
I stared up at the night sky. It was bursting with the most luminous green.
‘You must be on to something!’ Pippin shouted.
And I felt excited and terrified all at once.
I took a deep breath and looked towards Elfhelm, with Captain Soot snug in my coat, I stared towards the darkness of the Wooded Hills and wondered what awaited me there. I had only taken a few steps down the mountain when eight reindeer and a large sleigh appeared, galloping on the air towards me.
‘It’s Father Christmas!’ squealed Pippin excitedly.
And it was.
The sleigh skidded to a halt in the air, inches above the snow, right in front of me.
‘Amelia! Where have you been?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I thought I didn’t belong. I thought I was making everything worse. I thought you and Mary were better off without me. I was trying to go home.’
‘But, Amelia, we are your home. Me, Mary, Reindeer Road. That’s where you belong.’
And it felt so nice to hear him say that, I just climbed into the sleigh and put my head on his warm shoulder, saying goodbye to Pippin, but not mentioning a single word about Father Vodol or my plan.
A Deal with the Truth Pixie
ather Christmas took me home. I went to sleep. I woke up. I had breakfast. I acted totally sorry for sneaking away, and then – when Father Christmas and Mary left for the workshop – I sneaked away again. But this time, I knew exactly what I was doing. And my first stop was the Truth Pixie.
‘So, as it’s Christmas Eve, we need to be clear. I get half the money but you do all the work?’
The Truth Pixie – arms crossed, mouse in pocket, leaning against her door – drove a hard bargain, but I needed her.
There was no point in simply finding an amazing story. Whatever story I found, Father Vodol would simply say it was a lie. And Noosh had been very clear – I had to prove everything. And there was no better way to prove something was true than to have a Truth Pixie confirm it was so.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘that’s right.’
‘And will you write about me too?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘And Father Christmas will read it?’
‘He will indeed. It will be a Christmas present to him.’
‘And you’ll go first? Into the hole?’
‘If you really want.’
The Truth Pixie nodded and held out her hand. ‘It’s a deal, Round Ears.’
Into the Tunnel
n hour later we were at the hole. It was dark but it was shallow. I stood with my feet at the bottom of it and with my head sticking out above ground level.
Hmmm, I thought to myself. Maybe there isn’t much of a story, actually.
But when I crouched down inside the hole I realised that it wasn’t just one hole. It was a hole that led to other holes.
‘There are seven other holes – tunnels – all around the side of this one,’ I told the Truth Pixie. ‘Smaller ones.’
I looked into each of the seven tunnels. They were all as dark and mysterious as each other. There was no way of knowing which one would lead to something interesting. Maybe they all would. Maybe none would.
The Truth Pixie peered over the edge. ‘Ah yes, well, they all look too small for you to fit inside, so I guess that’s your story: “Holes discovered in forest. Realising they were too small to fit inside, I went home.”’
‘I can fit inside them. And if I can, so can you.’
‘No way! They’re far too small for a giant freak like you. And for me too. Maybe a mouse could fit inside, but I left Maarta at home, so . . .’
‘Well, I used to sweep chimneys, and some chimneys were a lot smaller than this. Come on, let’s try this one – the one heading east towards Elfhelm.’
‘I don’t know . . .’ the Truth Pixie said nervously.
I looked her in the eye. ‘When Father Christmas finds out you helped me, he will be so impressed.’
‘Will he?’
‘Yes, he will.’
And so she followed me into the tunnel. We crawled on our hands and knees in the dark for ages, until the light behind us disappeared altogether and the darkness became total. It was very tight in the tunnel, especially for me, but once I got into a rhythm I could crawl along on my elbows quite quickly.
Pretty soon, the tunnel gave us a choice. We could go left, or we could go right. The tunnel to the left felt slightly larger than the one to our right, so we went left.
�
�Our chances of not being crushed to death are slightly better this way,’ advised the Truth Pixie helpfully.
But then there was another choice. And we chose right. And then left. And then, at a kind of tunnel crossroads, we went straight on. And then left. And then right.
The Truth Pixie sighed. ‘I believe we are now lost. Which means our chances of dying underground have greatly increased.’
‘Please, do you have to say that?’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘But you could also be silent, couldn’t you? If you’re silent, you aren’t lying. You’re just being silent.’
‘I always talk when I’m nervous. It reminds me I’m alive.’
I had never known dark like the dark of those tunnels. People think chimneys are dark but chimneys aren’t totally dark. There is always some light from below and above, and when you have spent a lot of time in chimneys you can see things. You can put your hands in front of your eyes and see your fingers. But in the tunnels I couldn’t see my fingers. I couldn’t see anything at all.
‘What is it like?’ came the Truth Pixie’s voice, from behind. ‘Living with Father Christmas?’
‘Well, I’m struggling to fit in, you know, in Elfhelm and—’
‘I don’t care about Elfhelm. What is he like? What does he do? You know, in the house?’
‘Erm, well, he eats a lot. And cooks.’
‘Does he sing?’
‘Sometimes. Sometimes he sings.’
‘What does he sing?’
‘Christmas songs.’
‘So predictable – and yet adorable . . . Has he ever mentioned me?’
I couldn’t really remember but I wasn’t a Truth Pixie so I could be diplomatic. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe. Yes, I’m sure he thinks of you a lot.’
‘What does he say?’
‘Oh, probably things like “I really like the Truth Pixie. The Truth Pixie is great. Ho ho ho.”’
‘Ho ho ho? Why does he say that?’
‘He always says that. It’s how he laughs. Most people go “ha ha ha” or “hee hee hee”. But Father Christmas goes “ho ho ho”. It’s a rounder way of laughing.’
‘So he laughs at me.’
‘No. He laughs when he’s happy, which is most of the time.’
‘He’s such a weirdo,’ said the Truth Pixie dreamily. ‘A big, round, laughing, utterly adorable, gingerbread-scented weirdo.’
We kept crawling and crawling and crawling. After a long time (maybe an hour, but it was hard to tell) the tunnel led into another one. A larger one. A lighter one. Little worms glowed. Magic worms. Multi-coloured worms. Yellow. Green. Indigo.
‘Colour Worms,’ the Truth Pixie said, ‘which is strange.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Colour Worms aren’t earth worms. They’re tree worms. You find them in trees, and in books. But books and trees are the same thing. My aunt used to tell me that books are just trees that are having a dream. She was a Dream Pixie, not a Truth Pixie, and while Dream Pixies tell a bit more truth than Lie Pixies they go for the most beautiful explanation of things rather than the real one. So my aunt used to say that the moon was always on its own in the sky because it had fallen out with the sun, and that the moon often felt sad, and when it got sad it became smaller and smaller, so when you saw a crescent moon it was the moon being quite sad indeed, and when you saw no moon at all it was impossibly sad. And she also said that was where snow came from. From the moon, flaking away. But, anyway, my point is that Colour Worms never live below ground. Not naturally.’
‘So how did they get here?’ But even as I asked the question I guessed the answer, the one the Truth Pixie was already whispering urgently.
‘Someone put them here. So they could light the tunnels.’
‘But who?’
‘The same people who built the tunnels in the first place.’
We came to another turning, where we had to choose between two directions.
‘Let’s go the lighter way,’ I suggested. ‘And look, this tunnel’s a bit wider.’
‘No. No way,’ said the Truth Pixie. ‘That’s where the tunnel builders will be.’
‘Exactly. And that’s why we should go there. We should go and see who they are. This is our story – this way. Come on. Let’s go.’
She reluctantly followed me as we kept crawling, mindful not to accidentally squash any of the Colour Worms that lit our way.
And then I noticed something. A footprint. No. A paw print. I stared down at it. A round circle with four smaller ones – toe prints – just above it. There was another one right beside it.
The Truth Pixie squeezed in beside me and looked at it too. And she quickly pointed out other footprints in front of us.
‘Uh-oh,’ she said. ‘It’s rabbits.’
‘Rabbits? From the Land of Hills and Holes?’
‘Yes. But it’s two hundred miles away. So these tunnels must be two hundred miles long.’
‘Or maybe,’ I said, thinking aloud, ‘the rabbits travelled over ground all the way to the Wooded Hills, then dug that hole.’
‘Maybe. Or maybe there are other holes. Maybe these aren’t ordinary holes. Maybe they are to release something. Or maybe they are traps. Maybe we are going to be bunny breakfast.’
‘Could you try and be a bit more positive?’
‘I am a Truth Pixie. I have to be truthful about every possibility. I can’t just bury my head in the ground. Not until a rabbit stamps on it. Not until . . .’ And then she stopped. I could see her face, illuminated in a whole rainbow of colours from the bright worms sliming around us. She frowned, trying to concentrate. The pointed tips of her ears twitched.
‘Uh-oh.’
‘What is it?’
‘Can’t you hear it?’
‘Hear it? Hear what?’
But then I heard it too.
Something up ahead. Something very faint, but growing.
Not voices. But a kind of whooshing. A kind of flapping.
‘We need to run,’ said the Truth Pixie. ‘We need to run VERY FAST and VERY QUICKLY and VERY NOW.’
But we couldn’t run. This tunnel was made for crawling, not running. And even if it had been it would have been too late.
Because they were coming towards us.
‘Birds!’ I shouted. ‘Get down!’
But the Truth Pixie not only had sharper ears she also had sharper eyes. ‘They’re not birds.’
And the Truth Pixie – being the Truth Pixie – was right. We lay as low as we could on the tunnel floor as a thousand flying things flapped over us.
Paper. They were made of paper.
I remembered the flying newspapers landing into the elves’ hands. I also remembered what the Flying Story Pixie had said, with his silk-smooth voice, that day I discovered the hole. Once upon a time, there was a paper bird . . . Flying out of a hole and into the light.
I grabbed one of them and saw my own face on the cover. There it was, beneath the words ‘THE DAILY TRUTH’. But it wasn’t just my face. There was a picture of Father Christmas and Mary too. The headline was ‘HUMANS MUST GO!’
The Truth Pixie saw it and scowled. She read some of the words in the article. ‘This is full of lies! Father Christmas doesn’t hate elves! Father Christmas does not secretly want humans to take over Elfhelm! Father Christmas does not have millions of chocolate coins stored in his house!’
‘He certainly does not,’ I said.
The paper was now pulling away, out of my hands, and I let it go. It joined the others, flying through the tunnel and probably heading out into Elfhelm.
We carried on. The tunnel was getting brighter and more colourful because of ever increasing amounts of Colour Worms crawling in and out of the soil all around us, and it was getting wider and wider all the time, so now we could crawl side by side.
‘This must be where Father Vodol is printing the newspaper,’ I said. ‘Father Christmas was wondering how he was making newspapers, now he doesn’t have the Da
ily Snow building. This must be how.’
‘But Father Vodol is not a rabbit,’ observed the Truth Pixie. ‘And we saw rabbit paw prints and not elf paw prints. Because elves don’t have paws.’
‘That is indeed the truth.’
‘It certainly is. But these rabbit tunnels aren’t big enough to hold a printing press or a newsroom. Unless . . .’
‘Unless?’
We waited a moment in silence. The Truth Pixie’s ears twitched again.
‘What now?’ I asked.
‘Voices. Listen . . .’
And I listened. But I couldn’t hear anything at all. Although I could smell something.
Something rather nice too.
Chocolate!
‘The voices are coming from that way.’ She pointed to the path glowing to our right. That was where the smell of chocolate was coming from too.
‘What kind of voices?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. And, to be honest, I don’t want to find out. I want to go back.’
‘We need to stick together,’ I told her. ‘Listen, something is going on here. Something major. Rabbits, flying papers, underground tunnels. A scent of chocolate. This is weird. Father Christmas could be in danger. Do you want to run away from helping him? Or do you want a chance to be his hero?’
The Truth Pixie, still on her hands and knees, looked at me with a pained expression. ‘I want to help him. I want to be his hero. I want him to dream of me the way I dream of him. I want him to say “Truth Pixie, I don’t know what I would have done without you.”’ She looked cross after she had said all this. ‘Now, please, no more questions. If you ask me a question, I have to answer it. I physically can’t leave a question hanging in the air. I have to tell the truth. I have to say it out loud. It’s terrible.’
‘The truth can never be terrible.’
‘It can always be terrible,’ said the Truth Pixie. ‘And I should know.’
I headed towards the smell of chocolate and reluctantly she followed. Soon enough I was hearing the voices too. It was probably another five minutes after that when we reached the opening. It wasn’t an opening up though. It was an opening down. We could see a glowing, in the distance, rising from below. The path stopped – or rather sloped suddenly downwards, steeply – and we could see a vast underground room or hall or burrow.