Catching Santa

by Marc Franco

  “Leave him alone!” I cried, diving into the smoke and tackling Shig. There was an immediate and terrible shriek like before, then the smoke cleared. I quickly stood, helped Shig to his feet, and looked at what was left of his arms—very little.

  “Close your eyes!” I barked. Shig didn’t listen. He was terrified and probably in shock. We stared at what used to be his hands, but were now two strands of smoke leading into the phone. “Don’t worry, buddy, I’ll get you back together,” I said, hoping my words would come true. I instinctively grabbed the left strand of gray smoke then the right one. Another loud shriek echoed from the phone as soon as I touched the strands. I don’t why, but I felt like I knew what I was supposed to do, even though I’d never had to rescue a disintegrating friend before. This is going to sound weird, but the smoke actually felt like tire rubber, which allowed me to get a pretty good hold of it and even pull some of Shig out of the phone.

  “Pull back with your arms. Like tug-o-war,” I ordered Shig.

  “It’s working,” he said excitedly. “They’re changing back.” It took a few seconds of tugging on the smoke before the rest of Shig’s arms and hands returned to flesh. I spotted Logan over by the screened door, hopelessly spraying more smoke with a garden hose. Fleep cowered several paces behind her. I grabbed Shig by his restored hands and gave them a firm squeeze.

  “Get over there! Stay together” I shouted, shoving Shig toward Logan and Fleep. That’s when I caught a glimpse of Tiff. Tiff! She really needed help, but so did my friends. And S.R. had made it very clear—he was going to take my friends, not Tiff.

  When I looked back at the gang, I saw that strands of wiry black and gray smoke had encircled my friends and wrapped them up like mummies. My eyes followed the smoky trail to an area by the outdoor fireplace. A pair of branch-like hands was holding what looked like a hose made of smoke. The arms were attached to a five-foot-tall, evil-looking, three-legged, log-like monster. It stared at me with fierce, glowing eyes. Its cavernous mouth, rimmed with teeth like daggers, was open wide and also spewing clouds of gray and black smoke. The creature reminded me of a fireman by the way it held the smoke as if it was a powerful hose. Where had the thing come from? I glanced over at the outdoor fireplace. The log was gone. Could it be the log? How? How was any of this possible?

  The thing stared at me, as if daring me to come closer. I was scared but also smart. All I had to do was touch the smoke, right? I grabbed the strands in one swooping move like I was putting them in a headlock and immediately let go, screaming in agony as the burning pain traveled over my hands and underarm. Unlike the gray smoke, the black smoke hurt me. But I’d still made the lasso disappear, and that’s what I wanted. The weird log creature was still there, staring at me with arms out as if to say, “You want some of this?” I shot it a fierce look then inspected my hands. The skin was singed and my shirtsleeves were burnt and smoking. Suddenly I was hit with a sharp stream of water. It was Logan, spraying me with the hose.

  “Okay, Logan, stop!” I yelled.

  “Ah, now it hurts you to touch the smoke. How wonderful,” the delighted voice said from the phone, sounding as loud as the school intercom system. I ignored the voice and ran over to my friends.

  “You need to get outside!” I said.

  “No, you need to help Tiff,” Logan countered.

  I could barely see Tiff through the black smoke. My hands were pounding like a heartbeat, reminding me of what waited for me if I charged into the black cloud—the same smoke that had just burned me. I knew I should dive into the tunnel and tackle Tiff, but I couldn’t get past the thought of burning pain all over my body.

  “Jakob, hurry!” Logan screamed.

  With that plea, my body thought for me. I sprinted and jumped through the tunnel, tackling Tiff. We instantly fell to the pavers, and the smoke was gone … but there was a terrible burnt smell—my clothes, my hair? I didn’t know, but there was no time to look. Just know that I took what felt like a zap of electricity for that girl, Tiff. Unless you’ve been shocked before, you have no idea what it feels like, and I’m not talking about the shock you get from sticking your tongue on a nine-volt battery.

  My friends were yelling as I stood. The log monster was holding smoky whips and advancing on them again, taking advantage of my distraction. They needed help yet again. I quickly reached down for Tiff. She was semiconscious, frazzled, and moaning.

  “Here, grab my hands,” I said as I pulled her up.

  She saw the log creature and yelled, “Logart! Evil wood spirit!” How she knew the name of this freaky creature was beyond me, but I didn’t have time to think about it.

  “Guys, get outside the screen!” I shouted.

  Logan ran just as the log monster came within striking distance. Wide-eyed, she jostled back and forth to avoid the smoke trails and reached for the screen door with Fleep and Shig on her heels. But they weren’t quick enough. One of the smoky whips found its mark and wound around my friends, jerking them together and pulling them back toward the log monster.

  Without a second to lose, and unprepared for the pain that awaited me, I rushed toward my friends. Then, just as I was within inches of them, the black smoke disappeared. I heard a poof and looked over at the Logart. I caught a glimpse of a mini-mushroom cloud as a pile of logs fell, lifeless, to the pavers.

  “I think that’s enough. No sense in hurting the Pole,” the devious voice echoed from the phone. “However delightful it may be to see you in pain, I still need you, Jakob!” The voice suddenly turned jubilant. “Although I can’t believe it’s true. Finally after all these years of searching.”

  As the voice spoke, silvery smoke slowly slithered out of the phone and began to transform into the silhouette of a huge, hairless face. With no eyebrows, lashes, or hair, it looked like a giant mannequin head.

  “Well, well—what have we here?” the face said excitedly in its Scottish voice. “You know most children would have run off by now. Oh, but not you, Jakob. Not a Pole. I still can’t believe it,” he was smiling.

  “Let Rick go!” I demanded.

  “Ha!” The face snickered then stared at me for an uncomfortable minute or so, smiling.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” I asked, breaking the silence.

  “I am the esteemed S.R. The better question is: do you know what you are?”

  “He doesn’t know,” Tiff said flatly.

  “Hey … yes I do,” I said, frustrated that Tiff was speaking for me. “I’m a person, a—a boy—”

  “Ha!” S.R cut me off and turned to Tiff elatedly. “Dedicated yet untrained? Faith strong enough to defeat smoke? Finally!” He studied me with his devilish eyes and said, “You’re not just a boy,” then turned back to Tiff and eyed her suspiciously. “Did your brother choose him?”

  “Yes,” Tiff said nervously.

  “Are you sure? Maybe someone else chose him, hmm?” S.R. asked slyly.

  “No!” Tiff said.

  S.R. looked up and let out an evil hollow laugh, then poked his head at Tiff like he was going to headbutt her, but he didn’t. “Liar!” he said. “The tongue deviseth mischiefs; like a sharp razor, working deceitfully.” He let his words soak in then continued, “Isn’t that right, Tiff?”

  Tiff motioned me away.

  “What is he talking about, Tiff!” I said, walking backwards into Logan. Just then S.R. opened his mouth and stuck his snake-like black tongue out at Tiff.

  “No, I’m telling the truth,” Tiff said, her voice quivering. I sensed something bad was about to happen and it did.

  A puff of black smoke filled S.R.’s mouth. Then there was a clanking sound—like metal against metal—and the smoke quickly faded. The tongue was gone and in its place were two razor-sharp, shiny black spears. I don’t know how, but S.R. managed to speak with the spears coming out of his mouth.

  “Come now, Tiff. You’re a terrible liar,” S.R. said, turning his nose up at her. The spears moved off of Tiff for a second.

  Tiff
didn’t say anything.

  “Your breath … it wreaks when you tell a lie.” Tiff cupped her hands and breathed into them and smelled. I couldn’t tell the verdict, if her breath stunk or not, but that was the least of her worries. The spears were now inches from her face.

  “We have to do something,” I said to Logan under my breath.

  “Are you crazy?” Logan said.

  “Yes, are you crazy—Jakob?” Ugh, S.R. had heard us. “Touch the spear and die. Don’t believe me? Try.” He looked pleased with himself. “Hmm … I made a rhyme.” Accidentally touching smoke and learning that you can fight it is one thing, but being warned of imminent death is entirely different. I heeded S.R.’s warning and watched Tiff helplessly.

  “I’m going to ask you one more time—who chose the Pole?”

  “The fire test confirmed him a Pole three times,” Tiff said crying. S.R. sniffed the air, sounding like a dog. He seemed satisfied and the spears retracted instantly, like a switchblade, into his mouth and disappeared. I guess Tiff wasn’t lying, but what was she talking about?

  “Hmm, maybe I acted a little premature in dealing with your parents,” S.R. said, thinking out loud. “No, they left me no choice.”

  “My parents? You took my parents?” Tiff asked, horrified.

  Annoyed, S.R.’s eyes cut to Tiff.

  “Oh come now, girl; don’t act so surprised. You and your family should have found one of his kind hundreds of years ago,” he said, facing the rest of us.

  I looked at Tiff, dumbfounded by the prospect that I was staring at a girl who was hundreds of years old? It couldn’t be. She was thirteen—looked thirteen. My mind raced with questions, but S.R. interrupted before I could ask the first one.

  “Listen to me, you lazy brats!” S.R. said, speaking to my friends. “You three are cursed. And in three days, a blood-red X will appear on each of your roofs confirming the curse. When that repulsive, overweight, lard of a man sees the X on your roof, he will know to pass over your house, and guess what that means?” he asked mockingly.

  My friends looked confused and terrified.

  “No presents! Not a stinking one!”

  I shot Tiff a puzzled look. I remembered spotting her looking at our roofs a couple of days ago through the binoculars. Looking for Xs? I wondered.

  Tiff remained stone-faced.

  “We don’t care about the presents. We want her family back!” Logan said, pointing to Tiff.

  S.R.’s face tensed for a moment then relaxed.

  “Jakob,” S.R. startled me by saying my name. “You have to make things right. You have to catch the fat man—”

  “What—why me?” I asked.

  “Because, you stupid pig-eared monkey,” S.R. was enraged. “You are a Pole. Haven’t you been listening?” Evidently when he got angry, his language deteriorated from the level of an aristocrat to an 11-year-old kid.

  Oh, this freak was making me mad. I had just about enough of the name calling.

  “I’m not catching anyone! And you can’t make me!” I said.

  “I’ll take your friends,” S.R. said matter-of-factly.

  “What? Wait a minute. You just said—”

  “I’ll take your friends. That is what I just said! Don’t think I can’t.”

  I stared at the face then cracked a smile. Why? Because, I’d been right all along in saying there was no curse to lift, and S.R. just proved it by threatening to take my friends. It also proved something else I’d been saying since Friday—Santa doesn’t curse people.

  “What about the curse and Christmas Rule Eleven—The Lost Rule?” Logan asked, sounding devastated.

  I rolled my eyes at Logan. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s just like I told you guys. It’s all made up, the curse, the eleventh rule. Lies!” I said coldly.

  “So what. So you figured it out. Big whoop!” S.R. said mockingly.

  “Once you realized I wouldn’t help my friends because I didn’t believe in the curse, you came up with another plan … to take them. You just want Santa. That’s all you want. And you want me to catch him!”

  “Argh!” the face shouted. “Do not say that despicable name in my presence.” S.R. shook his head so violently that the smoky face blurred then disappeared.

  Five seconds passed before I finally said, “Hello?” The face reappeared, inhaling deeply.

  “How in the world am I supposed to catch—”

  “Use your Pole brain, punk and figure it out,” S.R. broke in. “I can’t help you directly. There are rules!” It was hard to believe this person, this thing, followed rules. “But I can point you in the right direction. First, agree to catch the blubbery ape. Do it and I’ll leave your pathetic friends alone. Don’t do it … and your three bratty friends will be coal by tomorrow.”

  Coal! A wave of fear washed over me as I remembered my nightmares of a cloaked figure who turned people into coal. Was this thing before me the cloaked man from my dreams? Had I dreamt of my friends’ demise? I glanced over at Shig. He was sweating bullets. Logan was fidgeting with her nails, and Fleep, well, he was crying.

  “I don’t have all day!” S.R. barked.

  “I guess I have no choice,” I said, defeated.

  He smiled smugly. “No, you don’t.”

  “Fine, I’ll do it,” I said, still looking at my friends.

  “Splendid. Very well then. Catch me the fat man and bring him to the vacant house across the street—the one that is for sale. We’ll do the exchange there—Rick and family for the blob,” S.R. said, then quickly turned to Tiff. “Don’t worry, naturally I left the book—otherwise how would I return? And, as for that point in the right direction, Jakob,” S.R. continued, “go to thekringlechronicles.com. It’s the slob’s Web site.”

  “How do I know it’s not your Web site?” I asked.

  “You don’t,” S.R. said matter-of-factly, “but it isn’t. I wouldn’t have all of the stupid faith and heartsy-fartsy trash if it were my web site. Listen to me: thekringlechronicles.com is just a cover. The real information is on his secret Web site.”

  “How do I get—?”

  “Backdoor hack. Once on the Web site, find and solve this riddle:

  ‘Stories of man, hang from the vine. Picked by the woman, forbidden by the divine.’ Solve it and you’ll access the secret section. I’d love to tell you more, but I’m not allowed. Rules.”

  The riddle made absolutely no sense. Logan and Shig were reciting it quietly, no doubt memorizing it. “And, if any of you amoebas tell your parents, I’ll take them—all of them. It isn’t hard to do, you know. They’re all just a phone call away.” And with that warning, the face disappeared.

  Uncertain and cautious, I approached the phone. It was still on. As I was contemplating picking it up, S.R.’s face suddenly reappeared again, almost giving me a heart attack.

  “I’ll be in touch, Jakob Jablonski.”

  My friends screamed. I yelled and without thinking, kicked the phone into the pool. We ran to the poolside and watched as it sunk to the bottom.

  Positive the phone was no longer a threat, we avoided the pile of logs and walked past the empty fireplace and flopped down on chairs. Tiff joined me on the smaller sofa.

  “Jakob, that was amazing—fighting the smoke and—” Logan voiced quivered then cutoff. Her eyes were glossy. She was doing her best to hold back the tears.

  “Incredible,” Fleep said with a sigh.

  “Yeah, thanks Jakob, seriously … thanks for saving me,” Shig said somberly. “I wish I had a smoke-fighting super power.”

  “Oh come on, it’s not a super power,” I said. I was a bit worried, sure, but surprisingly not as somber as my friends. I guess there was a part of me that felt that we could handle this.

  I sat there motionless, staring into the fireplace, my mind trying to absorb and make sense of all that had just happened. Tiff had to have the answers. I sat up. Logan’s eyes were open and tearing. Shig’s and Fleep’s eyes were now closed. My heart went out to my friends. T
hey were trying their best to be brave and not cry.

  Tiff looked to be taking it the hardest and rightly so. She had watched her brother transform into smoke and get sucked into a phone. And who knows how S.R. took her parents. Probably by phone as well. I sighed and said, “Unbelievable,” under my breath.

  It was a story that only thirty minutes ago was unimaginable. But now it was real … and I was bursting with questions. Like who is this powerful, evil S.R. guy? What about Tiff? What was she? Surely people can’t live hundreds of years. And was she working for S.R.? How was I able to do things that no one else could?

  Yep. It was time for some answers.

  Tiff was wiping her tears when our eyes met.

  I cleared my throat, thinking it would make me sound firm. “I have so many questions and my mind feels like it’s in its own tornado. First of all, what was S.R. talking about when he mentioned you and your family? Do you work for him?”

  Tiff sniffled. “Oh, not now, Jakob.” She ran her hands through her hair. “I’ll tell you later.”

  “I don’t think so!” Logan demanded, using her right shoulder to dry her cheek.

  “It’s complicated,” Tiff said.

  “Complicated or not, you owe us answers. It’s a simple question. Do you work for S.R., yes or no?” Logan pressed. The tension was growing.

  “Kind of” Tiff said tensely. “We’re spies working for S.R. We have one job … find a Pole.”

  “Okay, wait,” I said. “What’s a Pole?”

  Tiff shot me a blank stare.

  “They’re special people. I’ve heard them called the chosen ones. They’re the only ones who can see Santa. And if you can see him, you can catch him.”

  I stared cockeyed at Tiff.

  “It’s true and that’s all I know. S.R.’s not the kind of person you ask questions. So, we just did our job and searched many years for a Pole. But last Christmas, after we still hadn’t found one, S.R. really freaked out and threatened us, saying this would be our last free Christmas if we failed again. Well, we were pretty sure we’d fail again this year, so my parents contacted Santa’s elf spies and secretly made a deal. Basically, my family and I are now double agents—S.R. thinks we work for him, but we are really helping Santa’s forces instead.”