Catching Santa

by Marc Franco

  Forces? Elf spies? I mulled that over in my head … definitely not the Santa I’d imagined all these years.

  “What was the deal?” Logan asked, moving to the edge of her seat.

  “We’d help them catch S.R.”

  “Holy smoke! Santa wants S.R.?” Shig asked.

  “Yeah, he’s been trying to catch S.R. for centuries, but S.R. stays well hidden. He fears Santa’s power. The elf spies told us that the only way they could ferret out S.R. was if we actually caught Santa. That required finding a real-life Pole, which Santa’s spies did. They directed us to you almost immediately. It was incredible, really, considering we’d been looking for someone like you for centuries. They obviously keep track of you Poles. So anyway, they told my parents exactly what to do. We moved to this neighborhood, got to know everyone, and targeted you specifically. Then, a couple of days ago, we tried to trick you into thinking your friends were cursed and the only way to save them was to catch Santa. And, well, you know how that turned out.”

  I shuffled around in my seat, feeling uncomfortable with what I was hearing. I’d been selected by Santa’s spies. I still wasn’t clear on the whole Pole thing. Were Poles people of the North Pole? How could I have special powers? So many questions and no answers.

  Tiff thought for a second then continued.

  “My parents freaked because they had to tell S.R. that you didn’t believe in the curse and refused to catch Santa. But then they wondered if maybe Santa’s spies were wrong about you. Maybe you weren’t a Pole. We still had time to check. There’s this test that we do to see if someone is a Pole. It’s usually done as a last resort, because it alerts Santa’s forces to our location, but that didn’t matter since this time we were secretly working for them anyways.” Tiff studied us for a second and keyed in on our inquisitive stares. “Ugh,” she said. “You want to know about the test?”

  “Yeah,” Fleep said eagerly.

  “Fine. We have portrait-sized pictures of all of the kids in this neighborhood. My mom has this pale green crystal with a burning flame inside it, called a Lahavyor, that she holds up to each picture. If the kid is a Pole, a flame shoots out like a flamethrower and torches the picture. We torched three of your pictures. It was true, Santa’s spies had found us a Pole. My parents were ecstatic but still worried. You were the right person, but refused to believe in the curse and help your friends catch Santa. They didn’t know what to do.

  I did, well kind of. I had an idea to shake you up and make you believe: magical snowmen delivering curse letters. But that didn’t work either. Then I remembered that, when I was hiding in your bathroom, I overhead you talking about your loyalty to your friends. And, well … that was good news, because it meant that you would probably do anything to protect them. I went home and told my parents. That evening they told S.R.; I wasn’t privy to their conversation, but they seemed upbeat after telling him and said he’d come up with his own plan.”

  “Yeah … to kidnap my friends. But I stopped him.”

  “Don’t get so cocky. He could have taken them if he wanted to,” Tiff said.

  “Well what about the red Xs he said would appear on our roofs? Are they real?” Shig asked.

  “Yeah, they’re real, but S.R. is a major liar. You actually want a red X on your roof. If you don’t have one, that means you’re on the Wayward List, you know, the Naughty List,” Tiff said.

  Fleep gulped. “Are any of us on the Wayward List?”

  I was about to say of course not, you dummy, when Tiff shook her head and said, “Not yet.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked, surprised.

  Tiff hesitated. “I shouldn’t have said that. Just forget about it.”

  “Tiff,” Shig said somberly, “just tell us. We can take it.” I could sense that she was about to say something I wouldn’t like. She kept looking sideways and biting her bottom lip.

  “One of them,” Tiff finally said, pointing to my friends, “will be wayward by Christmas Eve at sundown,” she said regretfully.

  “How do you know this?” I snapped.

  “I dreamt it.”

  “Impossible. Dreams don’t come true.” I briefly thought of my own scary dreams I’d had lately and sure hoped I was right.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “Guys, not helping!” Shig interrupted. “Her dream scares me, but the idea of that S.R. thing taking my parents scares me even more. We need help and we need it now, or bad things are going to happen to our families. We need to help Jakob catch Santa. That means we need to be ready by Christmas Eve,” Shig said, getting right to it.

  Fleep was counting on his fingers. “That’s in four days,” he added.

  “Yeah, so we need to hurry up and learn what we can about Santa,” Shig said. Secretly, I was glad that my friends were shrugging off the dream talk. Maybe they didn’t believe it would happen. Personally, I was scared. And after all we’d been through in the past hours, it wasn’t farfetched that Tiff could foretell the future.

  “I think we should try to solve the riddle on the Web site,” Logan said, interrupting my thoughts. “So let’s break up into two groups and whoever solves it first calls the others.”

  “Good idea. Shig’s with me,” I announced, walking over to Shig. I needed a dose of his cool-minded objectivity right now.

  “Okay, Fleep’s with me. And Tiff can research her dad’s Christmas book,” Logan said.

  Tiff was already shaking her head. “I’m not stepping anywhere near my house!” She said, crossing her arms.

  “I’m sure it’s safe,” I said. “Think about it. He would have taken—”

  “Don’t you get it? This was all about catching S.R., remember? But now that S.R. has my parents, and my brother, I don’t know what to do. And the stuff you guys want to do isn’t going to help me get them back. You don’t even know how to catch Santa. We need the elf spies. Our only hope is that they make contact with us, but I don’t think they will. Too many things have gone wrong. They’ll probably just abort the mission.” Tiff looked miserable, and I could tell she’d given up all hope.

  I countered back with strength and determination I didn’t know I had. “No way! I don’t care what the elves do. We are doing this and we’ll figure it out. Santa’s the only one who can fix all of this. We have to catch him … with or without the elves help,” I said.

  “Fine,” Tiff said without enthusiasm. “I’ll research my dad’s book.” She still looked sad, but at least was agreeing to help. Fleep jumped up and put an arm around Tiff to console her. He may be a worrier, but he was also the most sensitive of us all, and I was glad to see him try to snap Tiff out of her funk.

  Logan jumped up. “Alright then. We’ll be over at Fleep’s.”

  Just before she headed out, I pulled Logan aside and spoke softly so that only she could hear. “Hey, I know it will be hard, but try and convince Tiff to grab her dad’s book.”

  Logan glanced over her shoulder at Tiff, who was still being consoled by Fleep.

  Logan nodded. “Yeah … we need to see that book now more than ever. I just hope she cheers up.” She exited out the sliding glass door. Fleep and Tiff got up to follow, with Tiff slightly hunched like the weight of the world was on her shoulders.

  After they left, Shig and I jumped into gear. First priority: straighten the pool area so my mom wouldn’t suspect anything unusual … not that she’d ever in a million years guess what really caused this mess. I reached over and picked up a pillow and threw it on the sofa, while Shig arranged the chaise, then walked over to the pool’s edge and looked down into the water.

  “The phone,” he said with a grimace.

  “Leave it.” Mom’s fury or not … I wasn’t going to risk picking up that thing again.

  He shrugged and finished picking up around the pool as I waited by the sliding glass door.

  “You know,” he said, walking toward me, “she didn’t tell us everything.”

  “Who?”

&nb
sp; “Tiff. She didn’t tell us everything.”

  I opened the sliding glass door and walked inside. Shig followed.

  “Continue,” I said slowly.

  “She knows why S.R. wants to catch Santa, she’s just not telling us.”

  Shig and I went straight to my room and got on my computer. Figuring that Shig needed to use his newly-reclaimed hands as much as possible, I asked him to drive (use the mouse and type on the keyboard). He’d been staring at and wiggling his fingers the whole way up to my room. I couldn’t blame him after what he’d been through, but it was driving me crazy and he needed to put them to work.

  We got on thekringlechronicles.com Web site, the one S.R. said was Santa’s. We browsed around, clicking on some of the links and searching for the hidden riddle. Before I knew it, an hour went by. We had browsed every page, read every word, and scrutinized every picture on the site … and still we had nothing.

  I sighed in frustration. “We’re not doing something right. Maybe we’re being too literal.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve been looking for the riddle, but I don’t think it’s written anywhere.”

  “Yeah, but we’ve looked at all of the pictures too,” Shig said.

  That’s when I noticed my Bible and suddenly it hit me. I slowly recited the riddle, “Stories of man, hang from the vine. Picked by the woman, forbidden by the divine.” I smiled. The riddle was so obvious to me now. “A woman, not allowed by the divine, by God, to pick—” I waited for Shig to catch on.

  “Forbidden fruit … the apple,” Shig blurted out. “But apples don’t grow on vines.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said. “Remember the painting of the woman standing behind the plant?”

  “Yeah, I remember,” Shig said, clicking the mouse to find it again.

  A minute later we found the painting of Eve. She was standing in a vibrant garden, beside a tree whose trunk was wrapped in vines, and she was reaching for a dangling silver book. Shig clicked on Eve, but nothing happened. He clicked on the tree, still nothing. Then he clicked on the book. A password prompt popped up. Bingo! For thirty minutes, we guessed various passwords with no success. We tried the obvious like Adam, Eve, Eden, Bible … all with no luck.

  “We’re never going to figure it out,” Shig said, crushed.

  “Don’t give up. We need to think,” I said. “Have we really solved the riddle?”

  We both thought for another five minutes or so, until Shig asked, “What was the name of the tree Eve couldn’t eat the fruit from?”

  “The Tree of Life,” I exclaimed.

  Shig tried again. “Nope. Didn’t work. Wait, not life … knowledge.” He faced the computer. “Tree … of … knowledge,” Shig said as he typed.

  “Man!” I said. “That’s not it.”

  “No—tree of knowledge has to be it. Maybe it’s a language thing.”

  “The entire Web site is in English,” I said frustrated. “We’re over thinking this.” That’s when it hit me. We hadn’t tried the most obvious—the fruit. “I think I’ve got. Apple.” Shig looked over his shoulder and gave me an embarrassed nod then quickly typed apple in the password window and hit the enter key. Voila, the dangling silver book opened. We high-fived each other. We did it, we were on Santa’s private Web site!

  We found ourselves overwhelmed by the information on the site. Most of it seemed pretty outlandish at first, until I reminded myself about S.R. and the attacking smoke. Nothing was too bizarre in that world. The site was filled with a bunch of strange-but-cool (and not-entirely-believable) things—like Santa having Special Forces units and regional command centers throughout the world, and also a long list of his powers. I won’t bore you by listing each and every power here. Now that you know the password, you can go out to his Web site at thekringlechronicles.com, access the private section, and read them yourself. That is unless Santa’s webmaster elf changes the password.

  As we read through his powers, my computer rang. It was Logan video-calling me on Skype. Shig clicked on the Answer button and Logan appeared on my screen sitting at her desk.

  “What’s up, Logan?” Shig asked.

  “Where’s Jakob?”

  “I’m right here,” I said, crouching beside Shig until I could see both of us in the little window on my screen. “Logan, you’re not going to believe it. We solved the riddle. We’re on Santa’s secret Web site.”

  “Awesome. How?” Logan asked. After I told her how to get to the site, she started telling me about Tiff.

  “Tiff was just at her house reading her book. She said that things had changed. I don’t know what she meant by that. And, yes, I asked her. She said she couldn’t just tell me—that she had to show me.”

  “Well, at least you’re finally going to see the book,” I said excitedly.

  “Yeah. Tiff also said that her book mentions something about Santa and caffeine and that he’s aller—”

  “That doesn’t make sense. We want to slow Santa down, not jack him up,” I interrupted.

  “Right, it doesn’t make sense unless you’re seriously allergic to caffeine,” Logan said.

  “For real?” I asked.

  “Yeah, caffeine is supposed to really freak you out if you’re allergic to it.”

  “I assume that, by freak out, you mean Santa will slow down in some way?”

  “That’s what Tiff said. And that we’ll need to create a special drink; because of his allergy, he won’t touch coffee or sodas. Hey, I have to go. I’ll see you guys later,” Logan said hurriedly.

  “Bye,” Shig said.

  “Later,” I said, but her video had already disappeared.

  “Interesting,” Shig said. “So, where do we buy the world’s strongest caffeine drink?”

  “Mr. Raffo’s place, The Teashroom. That’s why Logan dropped off the call so fast. She’s probably already on her way there.”

  “Or she’s going to see Tiff,” Shig suggested. I shrugged. It was certainly possible.

  We went back to reading The Kringle Chronicles Web site for another ten minutes, then Shig was called home for lunch.

  After he left, I finished reading about reindeer landing tactics and the fact that, contrary to popular belief, most of the landings did not occur on the roofs but actually happened on the lawns between the houses. This was done for tactical and defensive reasons. There was even a picture of the reindeer and sleigh parked between two houses. I studied the picture. I had a feeling I was missing something. Then I noticed it and couldn’t believe my eyes. Both houses had a red X on their roof. Thinking that I’d be able to confirm what Tiff said the red X meant, I clicked on them, and what I read blew me away.

  First off, I learned that S.R. was indeed a major liar. S.R. had said that the red X was a sign telling Santa to pass over a home—because someone living there was cursed. Not true. Not a word of it. In fact, it was just like Tiff had said—the red X was actually meant for the servant, instructing him to pass over the house, that the child inside belonged to Santa. Secondly, I learned that the initials S.R. stood for Servant Rupert. So I knew his name … but not his story. I mean, why did he hate Santa so much? I poked around some more, hoping to find the answer to my question, but didn’t find anything else.

  Shifting gears, I decided to research the authenticity of the Kringle Chronicles Web site. I turned to Google. It wasn’t easy to find information, but I kept at it and, after about thirty-six mouse clicks, I learned that it was owned by The Kringle Corporation. And would you believe the address was listed as North Polanshalem, Earth? Yeah, it actually said Earth, the planet. What happened to the North Pole? More weirdness. Thankfully, almost all of the Google searches led me to U.S. and foreign military Web sites, so that put to rest any doubt I had that The Kringle Chronicles site was concocted by S.R. It really was Santa’s Web site.

  After dinner I called the gang over to my house. We met in the Red Room, appropriately named because of its red walls and red sofa. It was the coolest ro
om in my house, and the perfect location to plan a mission. It had the latest techno gadgets, video game system, and even a high-definition projector that displayed onto a nine-foot screen. Everyone got comfortable and we ended up lounging in the middle of the room. I went first and told the gang what I’d learned on The Kringle Chronicles website—the meaning of red Xs, how Tiff had been right and even S.R.’s real name. Tiff reacted with a repulsive look and loud gag when I mentioned Servant Rupert. I was about to remind the gang that there were only four days before Christmas and that we needed a plan, when Logan interrupted me.

  “I have good news.” She paused for a moment. “Benji is going to tell us how to catch Santa,” Logan started. I didn’t like what I was hearing.

  “Who in the world is—?”

  “He’s my dad’s new assistant. I was at The Teashroom this afternoon and, well, while my dad was in that secret room of his doing spy stuff, I searched for the energy drink with the most caffeine. That’s when Benji came over and said real mysterious-like that I wouldn’t find what I needed to catch Santa.”

  “Did you freak out?” Shig asked.

  “Yeah! But I played it cool. I wanted to know who Benji really was, but he never said—just that he was here to help us.”

  “I’ll bet Benji’s an elf spy,” Tiff said excitedly. “Probably the one my parents were working with.”

  “Or, Benji might be a spy for S.R.,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s too weird.”

  “A little late to be thinking things are weird, don’t ya think?” Fleep said.

  “Benji said you’ll need his special tea mix to catch Santa,” Logan said, looking at me.

  “Me?” I asked, totally creeped out that I was again singled out by someone I didn’t even know. Logan nodded.

  Shig leaned in and asked, “Did he actually say Santa? Remember, S.R. doesn’t say Santa.”

  “Good thinking,” I said, patting Shig on the back.