Candy Canes and Buckets of Blood

by Heide Goody

  It wasn’t a song Dave normally enjoyed, but at that moment it was perfect. Esther was able to bellow it at the top of her lungs, drowning out the elf. Dave had to admit it was rousing in the way only a protest song could be.

  The elf peeled itself off the wall and feinted at them, but mainly for show. It was clearly reluctant to go anywhere near the elf crosses.

  They were making a lot of noise. How was it possible nobody had woken up and come to see what was the matter? He wasn’t sure whether he’d caught the faint strains of a saxophone coming from somewhere. Presumably Mrs Scruples was still playing her music. He remembered she said she played her gramophone loudly to “Mask the noises”. A chilling thought struck him.

  “Evil cow,” he whispered to himself.

  “What?” said Guin.

  The Woollby-Roberts (or possibly Roberts-Woollby) steered towards the top of the stairs. Dave had the unenviable task of going down backwards, last of the group. He was grateful Esther altered her singing to indicate the change in terrain.

  “We shall overcome! Step down. We shall overcome! Step down.”

  Dave glanced down to see where he needed to tread. He made the first step, and the second, without incident. The elf on the landing lounged against a wall, watching them with a disconcerting half smile.

  “Where are the others?” Dave asked.

  “You’re meant to be lookout,” said Newton.

  Now the whole family were on the stairs, and nobody had tripped or knocked them down like bandage-wrapped dominoes. The appalling stuffed cats were right above them; compelling, in that car crash way bad art always was. Dave dared to hope they all might make it to the ground floor unscathed. As he twisted round to look at Esther and give her an encouraging smile he caught sight of movement above.

  “Oh no—!” The rest of the sentence was lost in a screeching of gleeful hatred. The stuffed monstrosities toppled forward into the shield.

  Dave tried to understand how a stuffed cat had come to land on the step directly behind him, then its head peeled open. Tufts of long-dead fur were cast aside. The cat’s ears slid down and an elf face popped out and leered at him. Another two stuffed cats messily exploded into elves. The family’s protective shield suddenly felt like a very confined space. They tried to move back from the elves, but the sheets held them in place. There was a ripping sound. Guin shrieked and stumbled backwards, falling down the stairs inside a length of bed sheet.

  “Guin!”

  Esther was already running downstairs after Guin.

  An elf dropped onto Dave’s shoulder. He ducked and yelled, trying to dislodge it.

  “Elf-crusher!” yelled Newton and swung his toilet brush.

  It wasn’t the invincible weapon Esther had originally planned. Perhaps, she’d pictured it working like Thor’s hammer, frying elves with its super powers. Even though it clearly had the power to repel them, it didn’t actually damage the elves in any significant way. To make matters worse, it was clearly a very cheap toilet brush. The end broke clean off when it clipped Dave’s shoulder. Something wet sprayed Dave’s face, and it wasn’t elf blood.

  “Come on!” Esther shouted to Guin. There was a definite, if woozy, response from Guin further down the stairs.

  “Esther!” Dave called as he ripped the elf from his shoulder, tearing its sharp nails from the fabric of his T-shirt.

  “We’re fine!” she shouted back. “Help Newton!”

  The only advantage Dave had was elevation: he was further up the stairs. He kicked out at the elf and sent it flying – immediately horrified he’d made things worse for Guin and Esther.

  “Newton! Grab my hand!”

  He pulled Newton up onto the landing, so there was less chance of him falling down the stairs. Dave knew the drill. The first thing you did in an emergency was remove whatever danger you could from yourself and the victim; and a fall from height was a classic risk. He grabbed hold of an elf clinging to Newton and pulled it off. His initial plan was to use the momentum to get in a really good swing: bash the little bastard’s brains out on the wall opposite. But Dave had forgotten the beardy boss elf who’d been leaning against the wall outside the bedroom. He was reminded when a voice rasped behind him.

  “ONE two three four!”

  It grabbed Dave’s arm on the count of four,. Dave was like a hammer-thrower who’d been interrupted mid-spin by someone hanging a bag of groceries off his arm. He tottered about the landing, clumsily holding two elves.

  Newton came at them, holding up a torn section of sheeting. Dave hurled the pair of elves into the sheet.

  “Tie it up!” yelled Newton.

  They tied it, corner to corner, the elves wriggling inside. Newton found another piece of sheet and they double-bagged the elves. “It’s not gonna hold, is it?” he said.

  At that moment another stuffed cat burst off the shelf. Dave watched in horror as the elf discarded its disguise mid-air, with moves resembling martial arts kicks and twists. It landed on Newton’s head, digging its tiny hands into his face and bracing its legs on the back of his neck. Newton reached up. He was unable to dislodge the elf. Instead he twisted long strands of his own hair into a makeshift noose.

  Dave wanted to help, but was all too aware the elves in the improvised sack would not improve the situation if they got free. Newton tugged tighter and tighter. The elf made choking noises and went slack, sliding down Newton’s shoulders.

  “Is it dead?”

  Dave half-nodded, half-shrugged. Paramedic training didn’t cover the vital signs of mythical creatures.

  “Incoming!” called Newton, pointing at another pair of elves climbing the stairs.

  Dave hurled the bagged elves downwards, intending to bowl over the climbing ones. One of them reached out a hand and clawed the bag open, mid-flight. The bagged elves tumbled out, righting themselves. Now there were four elves advancing up the stairs.

  “Back to the bedroom!” said Newton.

  Dave hesitated. His daughter and his girlfriend were out of sight, downstairs somewhere. The beardy boss elf spat something in a scratchy language. Knives appeared in hands.

  “Right. Back to the bedroom,” agreed Dave.

  ***

  33

  On the ground floor, Esther had her own problems. She had an elf by its ears and was swinging it around at arms’ length.

  “I’ve banged my head,” muttered Guin.

  “You said that already,” said Esther. She flung the into the guest lounge and slammed the door.

  “Maybe I’ve got amnesia,” said Guin.

  “One problem at a time. Behind you!”

  An elf was dangling from the bannister by its spindly arms and preparing to jump onto Guin.

  Esther wouldn’t say she consciously decided to hit it with the gong. It was heavy and unwieldy and really not the ideal shape for an offensive weapon. But it was a gong.

  Without a thought (because that thought would have been “Use something else”), Esther yanked it from its stand and slammed it against the dangling elf, pinning it to the staircase. The elf made an understandably surprised “Urk!” sound and its limbs went limp.

  “This way,” said Guin, pushing open the door to the kitchen.

  Esther dashed after her, gong still in hand, although it was really, really heavy and she might have to put it down soon.

  Guin closed the kitchen door and slowly dragged a steel table across to block it. The table legs screeched hideously.

  “You injured?” said Esther.

  Guin shrugged and worried she hadn’t absorbed enough of her dad’s first aid knowledge. “I’m fine. Did I mention I bumped my head. Where’s dad?”

  “They’re still upstairs. I think.” Esther breathed out heavily. “We need to figure out how to get back to them. We all need to work together.”

  “Well, they’re probably trying to get to us,” said Guin. “We shouldn’t go back.”

  “No?”

  “Never run back into a burning building. That
’s what dad says. Let the dog drown.”

  “Pardon?”

  “It’s our family motto.”

  Esther’s arms and brain, coming off an adrenaline high, finally decided to put the gong down. As it touched the table top, something peeled off and flopped onto the surface.

  “You brought the elf with you?” said Guin.

  “I didn’t mean to!”

  “Quick! Put it in here.” She pointed at the orange juicer a contraption with metal arms and paddles for juicing whole oranges. More importantly, it had a large transparent reservoir on top where the elf could be dumped and kept under observation.

  Esther scooped the elf up – entirely weightless – and dropped it inside. She closed the lid and locked the catch. The elf woke almost immediately.

  With the elf safely under glass, the woman and girl studied it closely. It had a floppy felt hat and a green tunic in the traditional Robin Hood style, but this one didn’t have striped trousers. Instead they were an earthy brown colour. Its face was bordered by two huge pointy ears. It blinked. small and beady eyes, like raisins in uncooked dough. It wore a grin that made Esther very uncomfortable. She tried not to let it show.

  “It looks like Dobby the house elf’s stunt double,” she said.

  Unnerved, Esther put a large cast iron saucepan on top on the machine to weigh it down further. The elf angrily considered the confines of its tiny prison.

  “Now what?” said Esther.

  Guin drew a chair up, facing the machine. “Now, I think we should talk.”

  ***

  34

  The bedroom door rattled and banged as it was barged and kicked from outside.

  “Are they allowed to do that?” asked Newton. “Don’t they know there’s an elf cross on the other side?”

  Dave shrugged. Then he leaned forward and whispered to Newton. “I have an idea.”

  He gestured up at the ceiling on the far side of the room. Newton saw there was a white loft hatch in the centre of the ceiling. Dave performed a complicated mime which Newton understood to mean they should both climb into the loft space, move to somewhere else in the house and then sneak down, avoiding the elves.

  Newton gave him a hearty thumbs up. He knew how important it was to keep everyone’s spirits up, and he didn’t want to point out how difficult and risky this was likely to be.

  “So,” said Dave loudly. “We’ll wait for a few minutes, then we’ll try to battle our way out of the door. They’re only small, we can crush them if we try.”

  As an accompaniment to this monologue, Dave laid out his plan in the form of large gestures. He pointed at the dressing table and indicated they would move it underneath the loft hatch. They would need to put a chair on top of it in order to climb up. Dave went on to mime they would need to be very careful. He seemed obligated to stress this point by ostentatiously mouthing most accidents that occurred in the home were due to falls.

  Newton didn’t point out they could avoid the risk of falling altogether by not doing it, mainly because he didn’t have a better plan. The two of them crept across the room to move the dressing table. It took them several minutes to clear all of the ornaments, mirrors and trinket trays off the top first.

  “Can you tell what they’re saying?” asked Dave. “Sometimes it almost seems as though they might be speaking English, but it’s not quite right.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Newton. “Like it’s Chaucer or something.”

  “Is Chaucer that YouTuber that Guin likes?”

  “Possibly,” said Newton, unwilling to pursue the conversation.

  They lifted the dressing table, and one of the legs on Dave’s end toppled away. He nodded frantically that they should put the dressing table back down. They lowered it to the floor and Dave picked up the stray leg, putting it on top. They shuffled underneath the loft hatch, giving Dave a chance to re-insert the leg into its correct position. He leaned carefully on the top to test how secure it was.

  “Should be all right as long as we’re careful,” he mouthed.

  Dave fetched a chair and placed it on the top. He used the dressing table’s stool as a step up. It looked as badly-made as the dressing table. Dave turned it over. The legs were screwed into the base, so he attempted to tighten them. The legs turned round and round, with no sign of tightening. Dave sighed and placed it back down, bedding it into the carpet to give it the best chance of remaining intact. Newton gave him another thumbs-up to show he was sure they could do this.

  They both stood and surveyed the rickety tower for a moment. Newton pointed to himself, indicating he should go first, as he was smaller and lighter. Dave nodded, and grabbed hold of the chair to stabilise it as much as he could. Newton pictured himself climbing easily up the stack, treading lightly and precisely. What he actually found was the whole thing wobbled in a terrifying threat of imminent collapse. Once he’d shoved the loft hatch aside, he hauled himself up at lightning speed just to feel something firm beneath his feet.

  Dave followed seconds later. It seemed to Newton that he made a lot more noise, as he heard the chair scrape loudly across the dressing table. Newton helped pull Dave into the loft, just as the whole stack collapsed with an unholy racket. He peered through the hatch: the leg had come off again, and the dressing table lay on its side, broken. He couldn’t see the chair.

  “Job done,” said Dave quietly, dusting off his hands.

  ***

  35

  Esther watched Guin scribbling in the back of the folklore book she had found. There was no doubt the girl had real patience and dedication. Esther glanced at the captive elf and felt a twinge of guilt. It looked like a malevolent little gremlin, but she knew better than to judge someone by their appearance. She knew some sort of unconscious bias was making her feel that way, so she tried to set it aside and think about what had made the elves so angry. Was it a territorial issue? If Guin succeeded in understanding them, perhaps she could make sense of this situation and end it amicably.

  “Einn, tveir, þrir,” said Guin to the elf, holding up fingers to indicate one, two and three. “Hey, Esther, I can count up to three in their language!”

  “Great job, Guin,” said Esther. “Can you get it to explain what they want?”

  “I’ll keep going.”

  “I’m sure it’s just some horrible misunderstanding…”

  Horrible misunderstanding. Esther found herself unhelpfully wondering what elves would want. Picturing Christmas elves, beavering away in Father Christmas’s proto-capitalist workshop, was one thing. Imagining small fey creatures creeping into one’s room at night was something else entirely. Nothing good ever came of fairy creatures sneaking into your home.

  “Maybe it just wants to mend some shoes,” she said.

  “What?” said Guin.

  “Nothing. Carry on.”

  While Guin expanded her elf vocabulary, Esther explored the kitchen. She wasn’t doing it just to distract her from the simmering fear of what had happened to the two most important men in her life. No, sirree.

  The kitchen was a single-storey extension on the original building, running its entire length. The ceiling was a large skylight with several open vents. As a consequence, it was quite a chilly place to be in the middle of the night. There was a sizeable industrial range and a pair of microwaves. Steel preparation surfaces between the sinks made Esther think about autopsies on the TV. She shuddered and gave herself a stern talking-to. If Guin could buckle down and try to solve this then so could she.

  “Esther, come here.”

  Esther hurried over. They both watched the captive elf as it beckoned and smiled – as far as it was able, with its face smooshed against the plastic sides.

  “Við numpa dreþ einog svín!”

  Guin looked puzzled. “I might have misunderstood, but I think it just said it would slay us like swine—”

  The elves that dropped from the ceiling vents did so with a gleeful screeching sound. There were three of them; they moved in on
Esther and Guin in a loose semi-circle. Their knives were small and sharp, but Esther reckoned their grubby fingernails and tiny teeth could be equally harmful.

  “Swedish people are terrified of badgers,” said Guin.

  “What?” said Esther, wishing she had made another elf-fighting toilet brush for herself.

  “I read it in a book,” said Guin. “Just saying. It’s a matter of perspective.”

  There was a hammering from inside the juicer, as the elf demanded to be released.

  Guin produced a meat tenderiser from behind her back. She swung at the nearest elf – a wallop to the cheek with the flat side of the meat hammer – and then backswung at a second –spikey side to its chest. Esther felt blindly around. Her hand closed around a chopping board, not her first weapon of choice.

  Guin used the meat tenderiser without mercy: flat side, spikey side, flat, spikey, flat, spikey. Esther’s weapon was less deadly, but she swung it, edge-first towards the nearest elf. She heard a satisfying “Oof!” and smacked it over the head.

  The elf inside the machine danced with rage as he watched his colleagues collapse unconscious, or the least constricted parts of him jigged and twitched.

  “On the griddle!” said Esther.

  “The what?” said Guin.

  “Put them on the hob thing!” Esther picked up the weighty gong. Guin caught on.

  There was a large griddle of a similar size to the gong. Guin scooped one of the elves off the floor. It groaned and she recoiled in horror, quickly dropping it onto the griddle. She swiftly laid the other ones next to it and ducked out of the way as Esther placed the gong on top to weight them down.

  Esther and Guin stood side by side and looked at the tiny limp boots and hats hanging out from underneath the gong. Guin voiced the thought that was in Esther’s mind. “Elves crushed by a giant chocolate coin.”

  “Christmas destroyed by rampant greed and consumerism,” nodded Esther sagely. “A fitting metaphor.”

  “Whatever,” said Guin. “I’d eat a chocolate coin that big.”