Catching Santa

by Marc Franco

  Logan looked around, not sure of herself.

  “I—I don’t know. I can’t remember.” She made a weird face as she was thinking.

  “Describe Benji,” I said.

  “Okay, he’s tall with curly red hair, a reddish tan face, and a Scottish-English-type accent,” she said slowly.

  Shig and I gasped. “A Scottish-type accent and doesn’t say Santa? Holy smoke, Benji’s S.R. Your dad has S.R. working for him at The Teashroom!” I said disgusted.

  Logan’s eyebrows knitted together. “You can’t say that. I can’t remember if he said Santa or not,” she said defensively.

  Then Tiff hit me with a painful reminder.“Jakob,” she said, sounding more like a mom than a teenager, “you also thought Rick was S.R., remember?”

  Ouch. I stewed for a minute then finally gave in. “Fine. When are we supposed to meet Benji?” I asked, defeated.

  “Tomorrow,” Logan answered.

  Now, I know what you’re thinking. Why in the world would I agree to meet a perfect stranger and take his advice on how to catch Santa? Well, I think Tiff pretty much answered that question when she kindly reminded me of how wrong I’d been assuming Rick was S.R. She was right; look how that turned out. So I decided I’d forget my suspicions for the time being. If Benji was S.R., we’d know soon enough.

  Tiff glanced at her watch then stood suddenly. “It’s seven o’clock. I better get back to Fleep’s house. Mr. Sanchez will want to know why Rick hasn’t checked in,” Tiff said, walking to the door. She gave us a flip-of-the-wrist wave and left. I motioned to the gang to wait as I listened for the front door to shut behind her then spoke.

  “It’s four days before Christmas, we don’t have a plan and she takes off in a hurry.”

  “She just said she has to talk to my dad,” Fleep said softly.

  “Yeah, and don’t worry about the plan. Benji’s going to tell us what to do,” Logan said reassuringly.

  I nodded. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “I usually am,” Logan forced a smile.

  Shig brushed past me on his way out the door. “She sure is. I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” he said.

  “Me, too,” Fleep seconded, walking a foot behind Shig.

  “See, everything is going to be fine. So just chill. I’ve got to go, too,” Logan said, standing.

  Great. So much for a plan; everyone seemed content to wait for Benji to help. I stood just as Logan popped her head back in the red room and whispered, “Oh, Tiff still hasn’t shown me the changes at her house. We should go check it out ourselves and see the book.”

  “Let’s go now,” I said eagerly.

  I swear Logan’s tan face turned five shades lighter.

  “In the dark? No way. Tomorrow, before we meet Benji. Call me as soon as you get up.”

  That’s right. I’d forgotten how skittish Logan was at night despite her toughness. “Hey,” I said. She turned around at the doorway.

  “I’ll walk you home.”

  I’m pretty sure I saw a hint of a smile on her face.

  Minutes later, just as I followed Logan up her driveway, I asked a question that had been bothering me since we’d left my house.

  “Logan,” I touched her shoulder. She stopped and turned around. “Why didn’t this Benji person just give you the special tea?”

  “Because, he said he knows you’re a Pole, and he has to meet you.” Before I could respond, Logan grabbed me by shoulder and said, “Get down.”

  We hid behind the front of her parents’ SUV. “I don’t think she saw us, but let’s wait a few seconds just to be sure.”

  Who saw us, I wondered. Did she mean Tiff? I couldn’t wait to see. Slowly I stood and peeked over the SUV hood.

  “Whoa, what in the world?”

  Tiff was across the street on Fleep’s driveway, wearing a pair of sunglasses. I turned to Logan and made an odd face. The way Tiff was holding the glasses was strange. It was like she was using them, not just wearing them … if that makes any sense. “Wait a minute, is she looking at the roofs?” I asked.

  “Yeah, maybe, now that you mention it. I thought she was looking up at the sky or over the houses, but yeah, you might be right … weird.”

  “She did the exact same thing Friday with binoculars.”

  Logan shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  Tiff stared at her house for a few more minutes then ran around back.

  “Come on,” I said as I motioned for Logan. “Let’s see what she’s up to.”

  We followed Tiff behind her house and caught up to her just as she entered her parents’ poolside bedroom door. Quietly, we slipped in behind her. As we cut through her parents’ room, Tiff took off hurriedly to the front of the house, muttering strangely to herself there were only twenty-five minutes left. It felt creepy, passing through the quiet rooms. I didn’t like being in the house at all. I never thought I’d say this, but it needed parents. To make matters worse, we were following Tiff toward the kitchen—the same place where Rick had been attacked by the smoke and sucked through the phone. Logan and I stopped in the nearby family room and hid behind a sofa. All I could think about was the possibility that S.R. was on the phone waiting to attack Tiff. He’d already taken her entire family. What kept him from taking her?

  The sound of Tiff grunting interrupted my thoughts. It sounded like she was trying to lift something but wasn’t having much luck. I wanted to get a better look inside the kitchen, but it was impossible to do without being seen. Tiff struggled for a few more minutes—doing whatever it was she was doing—then suddenly gave up with a sigh. There was a moment of silence, then the weeping began.

  Logan gave me a look that said we had to go to Tiff. I shook my head and mouthed, “No.” Then, from the kitchen, we heard a terrible screech mixed with a girl’s scream. Tiff! We charged into the kitchen just in time to see the backside of Tiff as she raced out through the other side yelling “Blood-sucking Strix! Blood-sucking Strix!” Logan called to Tiff but another shriek drowned out her voice. Tiff still hadn’t realized we were in the house.

  As Logan ran after Tiff, I turned to the source of the shriek—the island counter in the center of the kitchen. It had transformed to crystal, and on it was a giant open book. The book was the size of a kid’s mattress. The hardcover and binding also looked like glass or crystal, definitely a clear solid, and supported a three-foot-high heap of gilded pages. The two crimson ribbon markers were partially burned and lay across the pages. What I saw next blew me away. There was an opening inside the giant book—hardwood steps on the lower half of the right page that led down into the book. Talk about 3-D; this was crazy.

  Just then I heard the shriek again and four beautiful, powder-white owls flew out of the book. Snow owls! I’d only seen them in pictures. They were even more majestic-looking in person. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. But something was off. I realized that they didn’t have beaks; instead they had fangs, like vampires, and razor-sharp talons. Whoa! I wanted to run, but I couldn’t. I tried to look away but couldn’t take my eyes off of the owls. I was under some kind of trance and about to be clawed to death. That’s when I heard Logan’s voice.

  “Close your eyes and run toward my voice.” I closed my eyes and was suddenly able to move. It worked. I blindly sprinted from the kitchen, collided into Logan’s arms and opened my eyes. We quickly shook out of the hug like we’d just given each other a year’s supply of cooties.

  The vampire owls shrieked again. The four owls were circling the kitchen, taking turns diving. One of them stopped in midflight, shrieked, then bared its white fangs at us.

  “The front door!” I barked then sprinted with Logan on my heels.

  Seconds later we were at the front door. Logan quickly grabbed the handle and shook it violently, but it was no use. It was locked from the inside; we needed the key. Another screech from the kitchen sent Logan into a panic attack. I grabbed her by the shoulders and told her to chill, but she was too hysterical. I slowly turne
d around, expecting to be face-to-face with the owls but, oddly enough, they hadn’t left the kitchen. I turned around so I was nose to nose with Logan.

  “Logan, think. You’ve been in this house a million times. Where is the key to unlock the door?”

  Sobbing, Logan thought then finally said, “Inside the big vase, the brown one by the dining room.” I pivoted on my heel, spotted the vase and ran over to it. But when I reached inside, my arm was too short. I couldn’t reach the key, and the vase was too heavy to pick up.

  Another terrible screech came from the kitchen. I looked up and counted only three owls circling above. The fourth owl was diving on a course for me—just about to fly out of the kitchen. But before I could even think about being scared, the owl exploded into a cloud of flour-like dust as soon as it crossed the threshold. My first thought was that I’d been hit with a pound of flour. I was instantly covered in the stuff and even had some feathers on my head. It seemed the creatures couldn’t leave the kitchen. With a relieved sigh, I began to wipe the powder from my eyes.

  Boy was I wrong. Charging out from the cloud of powdery smoke came the skeleton of the owl. Just the bones … and just as furious. I guess it lost some of its being when it flew too far away from the book, but it still clearly had one thing on its mind—me. Logan shouted a warning and I, still not seeing well, backed away just as its sharp, bony claw shattered through the vase.

  “The key!” Logan yelled. I quickly spotted it in the shattered debris, snatched it up and sprinted to Logan. Thankfully, the owl’s claw was stuck in the vase, which gave me just enough time to insert the key into the lock before the creature broke free. I don’t think I’ve ever moved so fast in my life. We opened the door then slammed it right on that vicious thing as we ran out. I heard terrible clawing on the door as we ran away.

  After dropping Logan off at her house, I beelined it home. What was happening to my quiet neighborhood? Even walking a friend home had become dangerous. Sheesh!

  By the time I got to my bedroom, I was exhausted and mad—mad at myself for not trying to close the book. Who knew what evil was still lurking deep inside it, waiting to come out.

  I got up early the next morning, around seven. It was three days before Christmas. Tiff’s once mysterious and now scary giant book popped into my head just as I hopped out of bed. I got dressed, charged downstairs to the kitchen, and called Logan. I had an idea but would need Logan’s help.

  “Hello,” Logan answered. She sounded froggy, like she just woke up.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “I’ve been thinking about the book! We need to close it.”

  “No way.”

  “But we—”

  “Hold on.” I heard what sounded like the bedcovers being thrown off and Logan getting out of bed. Then a door shut. Logan whispered. “Jakob, I’m not going near Tiff’s house. Not with those freaky, white Dracula owls flying around.”

  “My gut tells me that they’re gone. Owls are nocturnal creatures, right?” I asked.

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to chance it.”

  I sighed. Getting Logan to come with me wasn’t going to be as easy as I’d hoped. But I couldn’t blame her for not being her usual gung-ho self … the owls were scary. But, oddly enough, the thought of going back to Tiff’s excited me. The thought of closing the book had me all jacked up; something told me I could do it. But I wanted Logan’s help. I remembered something from last night.

  “Logan, just before the owls attacked, I read some of the book.” There was a long pause. She was thinking.

  “Impossible, I saw the pages. They were blank.”

  “Nope.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep.”

  She sighed. “Okay, let me get something to eat then I’ll meet you out front. My house—five minutes.”

  “Okay, later.” I hung up feeling satisfied. I knew Logan couldn’t pass up the chance to read the book, or at least having me read it to her.

  I quickly made myself a bowl of cereal and devoured it in record time, then got the okay from my mom to go over Logan’s. When I sprinted out the front door, the temperature outside stopped me in my tracks. It had seriously dropped. It was, like, New Jersey-cold. I looked at my T-shirt, thinking a sweatshirt would have been better. I contemplated going back inside for heavier clothes, but figured sprinting down to Logan’s would warm me up. I ran quickly and within seconds met up with her.

  “Follow me,” I said over my shoulder, not stopping. We jogged up to Tiff’s house and stopped at the front door. I spun around, face to face with Logan.

  “I’ll peek inside and make sure there are no flying bird bones. Okay?”

  Logan nodded.

  I reached up, grabbed the handle, and opened the door slowly. I looked around. The coast was clear, but that didn’t mean the vampire owls weren’t still in the kitchen, or even in the book. Hopefully they followed vampire tradition and slept during the day like all good vampires should. I walked toward the kitchen, careful to stay in the sunlight shining through the dining room windows. The kitchen was clear.

  Logan was peeking in through the cracked open door. I motioned her in with one hand while pressing my index finger up to my lips with her other. We still needed to be quiet until we knew for sure the house was clear of creatures. Logan entered without giving it a second thought. That was a good sign; fearless Logan was coming back.

  Suddenly there was a muffled roar, not a shriek, from Tiff’s parents’ master bedroom. I brushed past Logan and motioned for her to follow. Before I knew it, we were tiptoeing lightly through their master bedroom. The roaring sound led us into the master bedroom closet. From what I could tell, it looked like your average parents’ closet, really huge with clothes, shoes, and stuff. Then I noticed a large heavy-duty flashlight strangely propped up on a shoebox. Here we go again. Tiff’s house was full of weird surprises. The flashlight was on and must have been for some time because its light was dim. But it was still strong enough to light a section of exposed closet wall. I followed the beam of light—then saw something moving on the wall! At first I thought they were bugs until I got closer and saw they were actually thumbprint-sized individual pictures. They were everywhere, hundreds of them. As I stared at the pictures, I realized that they weren’t pictures at all, but prison cells with people inside, and the people were moving—they were alive. I got closer, but the images were still too small to tell who they were.

  “It’s hard to see—” I whispered.

  Logan tapped my shoulder with an object. It was a magnifying glass.

  “It was beside the flashlight,” Logan said. I took it, ran it across some of the thumbprints, and for the first time truly realized what I was looking at: kids, in each and every cell. I felt like I was in a video monitoring room, watching them.

  I got even closer to the wall, adjusting the magnifying glass to get a better look and scrutinize the faces. Who were they? Where were they? These and many more questions popped into my head, and then I saw something that made my heart skip a beat. One of the thumbnails had Rick in it! What were the chances that, of all the hundreds of images on the wall, I would find Rick? He was dirty and looked exhausted. I couldn’t chance losing sight of him in the sea of kids. Then I heard a faint scream come from further down the wall. It came from the area to my far left … too far for me to go and still keep an eye on Rick.

  “Logan,” I forced a whisper. “I found Rick … here—my right hand.”

  “No way!” she whispered then followed my hand to Rick.

  “Remember this spot. I heard a scream,” I said, moving to my left.

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  Then it happened again, and by the look on Logan’s face, she’d heard it, too. Only this time, it was louder and like a yelp, almost like a creature’s cry. I scanned the area to my left, row by row, cell by cell. Then I heard it again, and zeroed in on the right square. What I saw stopped the world for me. At first
I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. Then I caught glimpses of a human-looking face. It was a boy. He was transforming into something. I couldn’t stand the continued yelping and covered my ears as the transformation continued. When it was over, the boy’s clothes lay torn atop a muscular wooden body … the only remnants of his humanity. His skin was ridged and the color of chocolate. The creature panted and seemed exhausted from the ordeal. I was horrified and frustrated that I couldn’t help. Just as I leaned in closer to get a better look at him, Logan accidentally moved the flashlight.

  “Hey!” I complained, forgetting to keep quiet.

  A chorus of shouting began at the sound of my voice.

  “Hey!”

  “Help us!”

  “In here!”

  It came from all directions. Hundreds, maybe thousands of voices cried out for help. Even the wooden creature gave a nasty roar. I covered my ears and backed up in a hurry, falling over the boxes. Logan bumped past me, turned off the flashlight, and quickly turned on the closet light. I got back up and charged for the wall. Nothing—it was now blank. The pictures, or whatever they were, had disappeared. I grabbed for the flashlight, but Logan was too quick.

  “Hey, come on, they heard me—bring them back!”

  Logan shook her head. “No, I wanna go!”

  I regarded her. “Logan, they need help. We should talk to them, figure out where they are,” I insisted.

  “No way. I knew something bad would happen if we came back here.”

  I sighed. Brave Logan was gone again.

  “That roar was a boy. He transformed into some weird wooden creature. We need to find out who he is. What he is.”

  “Then let’s go ask Tiff.”

  “No, I want to know now,” I said stubbornly. “Give me the flashlight.”

  “No, I don’t like it here. We need to go.”

  “But I found Rick.”

  “Then let’s get outta of here and tell Tiff.”

  Before I could tell Logan how heartless she was sounding, another loud roar echoed. But this one came from somewhere else in the house, like the kitchen.