Gift-Wrapped & Toe-Tagged: A Melee of Misc. Holiday Anthology

by Dr. Freud Funkenstein, ed.

  "Thank you, Santa," replied all the elves in unison, without looking up from their work.

  "The last gift package is a little more tricky than we're used to dealing with, but under the circumstances, we hope you'll agree with our decision. It relates to your suggestion about family-friendly gifting." She led me to the fourth and final workbench in use, and I tried not to look up into the vast, unused emptiness of the remainder of the workshop. I tried not to think about all the toys we wouldn't be making this year. "Technically, this gift package is supposed to be for Stacy McPhee, age 10. As you know, the lion's share of what she most desires this holiday season is actually for her older brother, Roy McPhee, age 13."

  "Almost 14. Roy's birthday is two days after Christmas."

  "Yes, but as you know, Roy himself is naughty."

  "Quite naughty." I knew immediately that Roy didn't deserve anything but a lump of coal after all the bad things he'd done this year. When I thought about the depth of evil that must live in Roy to have driven his hand to commit the sort of crimes that had put him on the naughty list, I’d felt hot cocoa and cookies trying to rise up my throat. When I began to put Roy's naughtiness into context with what was being assembled by the elves, it took all my effort not to lose my lunch right there. With one hand over my mouth, I couldn't respond as the head elf explained.

  "Stacy's greatest wish is to not lose her brother, and her next greatest wish is to not have to become like him. By considering what was further down her list, and by cross-referencing with Roy's naughty behavior, we determined that both their parents are deceased and that Roy is the only one left to take care of Stacy. So while we are including Roy's lump of coal," I saw a small lump of black on the edge of the workbench, beside the unwrapped gifts, "most of this gift package is based on Roy's wish list. Many of these items are things Stacy was aware her brother wanted, but under the circumstances we've decided to defer to his wish list directly for gifts that will most accurately satisfy both Roy and Stacy's deeper intentions in desiring these things. We've organized it into basic groups here, for your approval.

  "The most objectionable are first. Weapons. Rifles, ammunition, a small pistol, a machete and assorted smaller knives, plus we're working on building a flame thrower for a boy Roy's size. Then there are the middlingly objectionable items, like this set of professional-grade lock picks and instructions for their use, or some of the heavier-duty tools we thought might be intended as weapons, such as a crow bar, pipe wrench, and framing hammer. Next are the things we figured you'd approve, despite their unconventional nature, mostly survival gear. Stuff for water purification, solar power generation, night vision, and assorted camping equipment. Finally we have the comfort items; warm clothes in sizes to fit them now and as both children continue to grow throughout the year, some blankets, and a doll for Stacy. We'll also be putting together a care package of fresh baked good on Christmas Eve, since fresh food seems to be fairly prominent on both Roy and Stacy's lists. I have a feeling we'll probably bake enough to give care packages to each of the other good little boys and girls, too. Of course, if you want to veto any of the items we've assembled, for any of the children, that's your call, Santa."

  "You're asking me whether I want to further arm and reinforce the wishes of a thirteen-year-old multiple murderer. To give lock-picking tools to a burglar. To reward an extremely naughty child for having a nice sister?"

  "What else do you suggest, Santa?" For the first time, the head elf seemed to lose an ounce of her overflowing Christmas cheer, replacing it with just a pinch of vexation. "I know we've been avoiding the subject around here, but something pretty bad must be going on down South, and we all know it. Normally you're all over the world, gathering information from children just lined up to tell you all about it, but this year you haven't been invited to a single shopping mall or Christmas party, so all we can do is guess. If you can guess what would make the Christmas season bright for a nice young girl like Stacy that doesn't involve enabling her brother to keep her alive, please tell us."

  I didn't have an answer. I knew Roy was one of the naughtiest little boys I've ever had on my list, naughtier by far than any of the others I'd be delivering coal to in his home town of New York City, which has always been one of the naughtier cities. I also knew that Stacy was the only nice little girl on my list, besides little Evie, in the entire world. I picked up the doll the elves had made for her, knowing they were right. This ghastly outlay was a very close realization of Stacy's Christmas wish list, and despite my protestations and Roy's undeniable naughtiness, this was the only way to give Stacy a safe and happy New Year. I lay the rag doll back down on the workbench, my head hanging low and nodding at the same time, and hoped it was enough. I turned and walked out of the workshop, saying softly, "Keep up the good work, elves." Almost muttering, "Thank you, and Merry Christmas," as the door closed behind me.

  The next couple of weeks were torture. I'm not sure how we all made it through the silence and the doubt, but then finally it was Christmas Eve and I was loading up the sleigh and prepping the reindeer. We were all relieved the wait was over, and excited and nervous as we hadn't been since the earliest Christmases we'd flown together. My big, red sack hadn't been as light in as long, either. It was going to be one very strange night.

  I've become so used to delivering toys and gifts to hundreds of thousands of square miles' worth of homes every hour that at first the reindeer and I had a hard time pacing ourselves. After the first few time zones we didn't even bother being in more than a few places at once. The number of children I had to deliver coal to in the Eastern Hemisphere was fewer than two hundred, without a single nice child left among them. I had their deliveries done before the sun began to set on the British Isles without much effort at all. Most of the addresses I visited were more hovel than home, though I spent little more than seconds on each coal delivery, trying to avoid seeing what was really going on for fear I wouldn't want to finish my rounds. I returned to the North Pole briefly on my way to Montana, to follow the directions the elves had come up with for Evie's delivery. Daylight deliveries were rare, but not unheard-of, and I was just glad for a change from half a night of only coal.

  "You're right on time, Santa," said the elf that greeted me with Evie's special package, "we just got confirmation from our sources that Evelyn's father is on his way out."

  "Sounds good, I'll be there in a few seconds." I took off and headed South. Soon enough I was approaching Montana at mid-afternoon, seeing what was left of the world in the light of day for the first time. It was grim.

  I flew low over small towns that appeared abandoned and war-torn by equal measure, taking in the wreckage, desolation, and remnants of a carnage long picked-over by both elements and animals. I wasn't entirely sure it was safe to fly so low and so visibly in broad daylight, but only as much as I had any hope left that there might be any survivors. It might just have been due to the light of day, but I thought I saw Rudolph's nose lose most of its lustre as we all saw for ourselves what was left in the wake of whatever devastation had come to pass this year.

  I set the sleigh down briefly in the unplowed road near my planned drop-off location, stepped down with Evie's package, and let the team of reindeer retreat to the relative safety of a nearby rooftop. The stillness of the place was eerie. The crunch of my black, fur-lined boots on the snow was the only sound as I approached the site where I was to leave the package.

  As promised by the elves, there was a body, lightly powdered with the morning's snow, collapsed against a building in the alleyway. I could see that the soles of his shoes had been worn through in several places. I wondered how far this man had walked to end up right here on the day before Christmas. I wondered where he'd thought he'd been headed. He didn't look injured, only hungry and worn out, his bluish skin clinging loosely to his emaciated form, his eyes still standing open in a stare of disbelief. I realized that if he'd been alive to see me approach him there, he might have had the same awe-struck expression
frozen on his face. I tried not to ponder how the elves had known he would be here, die here, today of all days, and right along Mr. Chartrand's regular patrol route around town. I tried not to imagine they'd used their magic to create a wonderful Christmas for one nice little girl at the expense of a grown man's life.

  Luckily, I didn't have long to ponder, as Evie's father was already on his way. I knelt down in the snow and positioned the oversize pack loaded with necessities beside the body, as though it had been his all along. A little Christmas magic helped me reposition his stiffening arm and fingers onto one of the pack's straps, and then to dust both pack and arm with snowfall to match the rest of the scene. I stepped back to be sure everything was perfect, just as I'd done with Christmas trees surrounded by gifts billions of times before, and saw that one little detail was missing; a reminder of Christmas in this bleak scene. I took my red hat from my own head and placed it on the lifeless head before me. Another magical dusting of snow, and everything was in place.

  I could hear Mr. Chartrand slowly approaching up Main Street, and I rapidly made my exit. My boot prints filled with snow and vanished almost as soon as I stepped out of them, leaving no trail to follow, and my sleigh set down in the road at the other end of the alleyway just as I reached it. My head was magically covered by a new hat as I climbed aboard, and we flew off into the sky, turning and waving to Mr. Chartrand below once we'd reached a safe distance. I could see he'd already broken into the pack by the time we reached the clouds and were blocked from sight, and I knew little Evie would be having a very Merry Christmas. I flew North again, to cross over the pole and finish my deliveries to Europe and Africa.

  Not far from the North Pole I noticed a lone figure wandering vaguely Northward across the frozen landscape. The figure appeared to be near enough to my workshop that the elves would probably be out to get them turned away before the night was out; we got the occasional arctic explorer happening nearby once in a while, and it didn't take much magic to keep them from stumbling upon us. Somehow my mind didn't notice the oddity of someone continuing in their arctic adventure amidst whatever global catastrophe had decimated the world's population, and I didn't slow down to investigate the figure myself. I flew on, made my African and European deliveries, and finally came to land on the roof of the Page estate, in Wales.

  I could see there was a fire in the fireplace, so before descending their chimney I used a little of my magic to temporarily extinguish its flames below. When the tail end of the column of smoke rose up out of the chimney, I knew it was safe to head down, sack in hand. Landing safely on the hearth after my drop, I allowed the fire to roar back to life as I stepped down into the room. In the sudden burst of yellow-orange light, I realized I'd made a miscalculation. Both Mr. and Mrs. Page were awake and in the room with me. Each had a rifle pointed right at my head. I began to laugh, and before I let out a third, hearty "Ho" they both fired. I raised a single finger to my lips and said, "Shhh... You'll wake Max and Will with those noisemakers!"

  Their faces went slack with surprise; I had the feeling it wasn't just seeing Santa that had caught them off guard. I had the distinct impression they knew they were too careful with their aim and too near to their target to have missed, though I doubted explaining "it's magic" would satisfy their desire to understand my survival.

  Mrs. Page lowered her rifle, though I could see from the tension in her muscles that she could bring it back up in an instant if she felt the need. Mr. Page was trying to keep one eye on me and to search the walls behind me for holes with the other. I took a slow look around the room as I stood under their scrutiny, then I smiled.

  "That's the first Christmas tree I've seen tonight, outside my workshop! I'm sure it'll look even more beautiful once we put these presents under it," and I swung my big, red sack down off my shoulder. The sack fell open as it was set down, revealing dozens of brightly-wrapped presents clearly labeled for their two young boys. Mrs. Page finally began to relax a little.

  "Put down the gun, Bill. It's Santa Claus!" Mrs. Page placed a hand on her husband's shoulder and urged his arms to lower. "I told you the tree was worth the trouble."

  "It's a beautiful tree, Jenny. I'm sure your family appreciates it." Mr. Page had lowered his rifle somewhat, as his wife had done at first, still at attention, untrusting. Mrs. Page was fully at ease, my magical presence already working its charms on her. I knew it would only be a matter of time before her husband was equally filled with holiday cheer and helping me place presents under his tree.

  "I'm sorry we don't have any cookies to offer you, Santa, though I could go get you a warm glass of milk, if you like?"

  "Ho ho ho, no need for such formalities, Jenny." Watching Mr. Page closely out of the corner of my eye, I leaned over and reached into my sack. "My elves anticipated a certain paucity of sweets around here, based on your boys' lists, and put together this care package full of fresh-baked delights for you." I handed over the carefully wrapped package, clearly labeled "TO: Jennifer, FROM: Santa" and still radiating warmth as though the elves had baked everything mere minutes earlier. From the look on her face as she accepted it, I had the feeling that this one gift would be enough to make Mrs. Page's Christmas far brighter than she'd dreamed it would be.

  "Thank you, Santa," was all she could manage to say, and I could see a look of childlike anticipation on her face as she contemplated having to wait until morning to open her gift.

  I relieved her tension by producing a second, identical package from the big, red sack and saying, "Go ahead and open it, Jenny, there's another one here for Will and Max in the morning." Her eyes went almost unbelievably wider and her grin grew grander, and she tore into the trapped treats with abandon. Mr. Page was still eyeing me as though I were some common intruder who had broken into their family estate to cart of their heirlooms. I pulled another gift from my sack and offered it out to him. "Your son, Max, wanted you to have this. He only wished he could have somehow gotten it for you himself. It's Cubans, William."

  Mr. Page's rifle finally lowered, and a tear fell from his eye, though he took quite a long moment to reach out for the box I offered. "I was saving my last one for a special occasion, or some good news..." When he saw that the tag said the gift was "TO: Daddy, FROM: Max" in his son's handwriting, he reverently walked it over and placed it gingerly under the tree.

  "I think this Christmas is going to be a pretty special one, Bill," said Mrs. Page between bites of Christmas cookie. "I told you, we just had to have faith, and things would work out."

  "Yeah, but after zombies took over ... there's only so long one can hold on to hope in such trying times, my love." I tried not to overreact to what I'd just heard, and to the nonchalance of Mr. Page's demeanor, saying it. He began ferrying gifts from my sack to rest under the tree without need for encouragement or direction as I stood half-dumbfounded. I'd known that something had gone horribly awry, but I'd never dreamt it could be zombies. I wondered how much the elves had figured out.

  Mrs. Page seemed to realize something had struck me flabbergasted and frozen, saying, "I don't think Santa knows what's been going on in the world all year, Bill."

  I shook my head. "We knew something was wrong when we saw the length of the list, but we don't exactly get regular news up at the North Pole."

  "The length of the list?"

  "There are only a few hundred children alive in the world right now, Jenny. Your boys are two of only a handful of good little boys and girls left among them."

  Mr. Page had stopped. "A few... hundred? That's all that's left?"

  "That's all the children that are left, William. I don't get any grown-ups on my list, so I've no way to account for their numbers. I suppose there may be millions. Wouldn't adults have a better chance of surviving a zombie outbreak than children? That's not exactly my area of expertise."

  "I guess... I'm sure there must be more." Mr. Page sounded as though he were trying to convince himself, rather than to explain things to me. "We know of at least two or
three survivors in the Cardiff area, not counting the help who stayed on here, and we've heard rumor that people in rural areas like this have had a better time of it, but... You say hundreds?" I nodded. "That's not a lot of hope for the next generation, is it?"

  "Oh, Bill, stop worrying Santa. I'm sure he has plenty of other gifts to deliver, don't you, Santa?" She was rapidly carrying armloads of presents over to their tree, to stop her husband and I from getting bogged down in the dismal details of an apocalypse already come to pass. "We don't want to put you behind schedule. Keep spreading Christmas cheer. The world could use it, right now."

  I gathered up my emptied sack and backed toward the fireplace, its flames temporarily ceasing behind me as I approached. "That's right, Jenny. We've each got to do our part to make this a Merry Christmas to all. Now you two have a good night," I said as I disappeared up their chimney. In moments I was climbing aboard my sleigh, my big, red sack re-filled with the next batch of gifts, and the Page's memories already fading in the house below. As always, anyone who happened to see me as I made Christmas wishes come true remembered nothing more than a warm, familiar feeling and a rush of Christmas cheer that stuck with them into the New Year. Any anxiety accompanying my accidental admittance of the scale of the global devastation would be wiped out and replaced by faith and hope and love.

  At least, for them it would. I would continue to know that the real reason things were so different this Christmas was because zombies had risen up from the dead and wiped out civilization in less than the sweep of a year. I guided the reindeer straight across the Atlantic to New York City, wanting to deliver Stacy's presents before facing more coal deliveries. Making her Christmas bright suddenly had a new sense of priority, for me. The tragedy a wonderful Christmas morning would be saving her from, at least temporarily, had gone from an abstract concept to a terrible, definitive reality in my mind. The relevance of the gifts that had been prepared for her brother came quickly into focus as I crossed above the cold dark water churning below.