by jeff brown
FLAT STANLEY
Stanley’s Christmas
Adventure
by Jeff Brown
Pictures by Macky Pamintuan
Contents
Prologue
1. Sarah
2. The Sleigh
3. Snow City
4. Sarah’s Father
5. The Letters
6. Going Home
7. Christmas
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Prologue
She was the sort of little girl who liked to be sure of things, so she went all over Snow City, checking up.
The elves had done their work.
At the Post Office, Mail Elves had read the letters, making lists of who wanted what.
In the great workshops—the Doll Room, the Toy Plant, the Game Mill—Gift Elves had filled the orders, taking care as to color and size and style.
In the Wrap Shed the gifts lay ready, wrapped now in gay paper with holly and pine cones, sorted by country, by city or village, by road or lane or street.
The Wrap Elves teased her. “Don’t trust us, eh? … Snooping, we call this, Miss!”
“Pooh!” said the little girl. “Well done, elves! Good work!”
But at home in Snow City Square, all was not well.
“Don’t slam the door, dear,” said her mother, weeping. “Your father’s having his nap.”
“Mother! What’s wrong?”
“He won’t go this year, he says!” The mother sobbed. “He’s been so cross lately, but I never—”
“Why? Why won’t he go?”
“They’ve lost faith, don’t care anymore, he says! Surely not everyone, I said. Think of your favorite letter, the one by your desk! He just growled at me!”
“Pooh!” said the girl. “It’s not fair! Really! I mean, everything’s ready! Why—”
“Not now, dear,” said the mother. “It’s been a dreadful day.”
In the little office at the back of the house, the girl studied the letter her mother had mentioned, framed with others on a wall:
I am a regular boy, except that I got flat, the letter said. From an accident. I was going to ask for new clothes, but my mother already bought them. She had to, because of the flatness. So I’m just writing to say don’t bother about me. Have a nice holiday. My father says be careful driving, there are lots of bad drivers this time of year.
The girl thought for a moment, and an idea came to her. “Hmmmm …
Well, why not?” she said.
She looked again at the letter.
The name LAMBCHOP was printed across the top, and an address. It was signed “Stanley, U.S.A.”
1
Sarah
It was two nights before Christmas, and all through the house not a Lambchop was stirring, but something was.
Stanley Lambchop sat up in his bed. “Listen! Someone said ‘Rat.’”
“It was more like ‘grat,’” said his younger brother, Arthur, from his bed. “In the living room, I think.”
The brothers tiptoed down the stairs.
For a moment all was silence in the darkened living room. Then came a thump. “Ouch!” said a small voice. “Drat again!”
“Are you a burglar?” Arthur called. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“I am not a burglar!” said the voice. “Where’s the—Ah!” The lights came on.
The brothers stared.
Before the fireplace, by the Christmas tree, stood a slender, dark-haired little girl wearing a red jacket and skirt, both trimmed with white fur.
“I banged it twice,” she said, rubbing her knee. “Coming down the chimney, and just now.”
“We do have a front door, you know,” said Stanley.
“Well, so does my house. But, you know, this time of year … ?” The girl sounded a bit nervous. “Actually, I’ve never done this before. Let’s see … Ha, ha, ha! Season’s Greetings! Ha, ha, ha!”
“‘Ha, ha!’ to you,” said Arthur. “What’s so funny?”
“Funny?” said the girl. “Oh! ‘Ho, ho, ho!’ I meant. I’m Sarah Christmas. Who are you?”
“Arthur Lambchop,” said Arthur. “That’s my brother, Stanley.”
“It is? But he’s not flat.”
“He was, but I blew him up,” Arthur explained. “With a bicycle pump.”
“Oh, no! I wish you hadn’t.” Sarah Christmas sank into a chair. “Drat! It’s all going wrong! Perhaps I shouldn’t have come. But that’s how I am. Headstrong, my mother says. She—”
“Excuse me,” Stanley said. “But where are you from?”
“And why did you come?” said Arthur.
Sarah told them.
Mr. and Mrs. Lambchop were reading in bed.
A tap came at the door, and then Stanley’s voice. “Hey! Can I come in?”
Mr. and Mrs. Lambchop cared greatly for proper speech. “Hay is for horses, Stanley,” she said. “And not ‘can,’ dear. You may come in.”
Stanley came in.
“What is the explanation, my boy, of this late call?” said Mr. Lambchop, remembering past surprises. “You have not, I see, become flat again. Has a genie come to visit? Or perhaps the President of the United States has called?”
Mrs. Lambchop smiled. “You are very amusing, George.”
“Arthur and I were in bed,” said Stanley. “But we heard a noise and went to see. It was a girl called Sarah Christmas, from Snow City. She talks a lot. She says her father says he won’t come this year, but Sarah thinks he might change his mind if I ask him to. Because I wrote him a letter once that he liked. She wants me to go with her to Snow City. In her father’s sleigh. It’s at the North Pole, I think.” Stanley caught his breath. “I said I’d have to ask you first.”
“Quite right,” said Mrs. Lambchop.
Mr. Lambchop went to the bathroom and drank a glass of water to calm himself.
“Now then, Stanley,” he said, returning. “You have greatly startled us. Surely—”
“Put on your robe, George,” said Mrs. Lambchop. “Let us hear for ourselves what this visitor has to say.”
“This is delicious!” Sarah Christmas sipped the hot chocolate Mrs. Lambchop had served them all. “My mother makes it too, with cinnamon in it. And little cookies with—” Her glance had fallen on the mantelpiece. “What’s that, pinned up there?”
“Christmas stockings,” Stanley said. “The blue one’s mine.”
“But the other, the great square thing?”
“It’s a pillowcase.” Arthur blushed.
“My stocking wouldn’t do. I have very small feet.”
“Pooh!” Sarah laughed. “You wanted extra gifts, so—”
“Sarah, dear,” Mrs. Lambchop said. “Your father? Has he truly made up his mind, you think?”
“Oh, yes!” Sarah sighed. “But I thought—Stanley being flat, that really interested him. I mean, I couldn’t be sure, but if nobody ever did anything without—”
“You seem a very nice girl, Sarah.” Mr. Lambchop gave a little laugh. “But you have been joking with us, surely? I—”
The phone rang, and he answered it.
“Hello, George,” the caller said. “This is your neighbor, Frank Smith. I know it’s late, but I must congratulate you on your Christmas lawn display! Best—”
“Lawn?” said Mr. Lambchop. “Display?”
“The sleigh! And those lifelike reindeer! What makes them move about like that? Batteries, I suppose?”
“Just a moment, Frank.” Mr. Lambchop went to the window
and looked out, Mrs. Lambchop beside him.
“My goodness!” she said. “One, two, three, four … Eight! And such a pretty sleigh!”
Mr. Lambchop returned to the phone. “They are lifelike, aren’t they? Goodbye. Thank you for calling, Frank.”
“See? I’m not a joking kind of person, actually,” said Sarah Christmas. “Now! My idea might work, even without the flatness. Do let Stanley go!”
“To the North Pole?” said Mrs. Lambchop. “At night? By himself? Good gracious, Sarah!”
“It’s not fair, asking Stanley, but not me,” said Arthur, feeling hurt. “It’s always like this! I never—”
“Oh, pooh!” Sarah Christmas smiled. “Actually … You could all go. It’s a very big sleigh.”
Mr. and Mrs. Lambchop looked at each other, then at Stanley and Arthur, then at each other again.
“Stanley just might make a difference, George,” Mrs. Lambchop said. “And if we can all go … ?”
“Quite right,” said Mr. Lambchop. “Sarah, we will accompany you to Snow City!”
“Hooray!” shouted Stanley and Arthur, and Sarah too.
Mrs. Lambchop thought they should wait until Frank Smith had gone to bed. “Imagine the gossip,” she said, “were he to see our reindeer fly away.”
Mr. Lambchop called his office to leave a message on the nighttime answering machine. He would not be in tomorrow, he said, as he had been called unexpectedly out of town.
“There!” cried Stanley, by the window. “The Smiths’ light is out.”
The Lambchops changed quickly from pajamas to warmer clothing, and followed Sarah to the sleigh.
2
The Sleigh
“Welcome aboard!” said Sarah, from the driver’s seat.
The Lambchops, sitting on little benches that made the big sleigh resemble a roofless bus, could scarcely contain their excitement.
The night sky shone bright with stars, and from the windows of nearby houses red and green Christmas lights twinkled over snowy lawns and streets. Before them, the eight reindeer, fur shiny in the moonlight, tossed their antlered heads.
“Ready when you are, Sarah,” Mr. Lambchop said.
“Good!” Sarah cleared her throat. “Fasten your seat belts, please! We are about to depart for Snow City. My name is Sarah—I guess you know that—and I’ll be glad to answer any questions you may have. Please do not move about without permission of the Sleigh Master—that’s me, at least right now—and obey whatever instructions may—”
“Pu-leeese!” said Arthur.
“Oh, all right!” The Lambchops fastened their seat belts, and Sarah took up the reins. “Ready, One? Ready, Two, Three—”
“Just numbers?” cried Mrs. Lambchop. “Why, we know such lovely reindeer names! Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen—”
“Comet, Cupid, Donder, Blitzen!” shouted Arthur. “They’re from a poem we know!”
“Those are good names!” said Sarah. “Ready, One through Eight?”
The reindeer pawed the ground, jingling their harness bells.
“Now!” said Sarah.
The jingling stopped suddenly, and a great silence fell.
Now a silver mist rose, swirling, about the sleigh. The startled Lambchops could see nothing beyond the mist, not their house nor the houses of their neighbors, not the twinkling Christmas lights, not the bright stars above. There was only the silver mist, everywhere, cool against their cheeks.
“What is this, Sarah?” Mrs. Lambchop called. “Are we not to proceed to Snow City?”
Sarah’s voice came cheerfully through the mist. “We have proceeded. We’re there!”
3
Snow City
Beyond the mist, excited voices rose. “Sarah’s back! … With strangers! Big ones! … Where’s she been?”
“Poppa’s elves,” said Sarah’s voice. As she spoke, the mist swirled, then vanished as suddenly as it had come. Above them, the stars shone bright again.
The sleigh rested now in a snow-covered square, in front of a pretty red-roofed house. All about the square were tiny cottages, their windows aglow with light.
Elves surrounded the sleigh. “Who are these people?” … “Is it true, what we’ve heard?” … “Ask Sarah! She’ll know!”
The Lambchops smiled and waved. The elves seemed much like ordinary men and women, except that they had pointy ears, very wrinkled faces, and were only about half as tall as Arthur. All wore leather breeches or skirts with wide pockets from which tools and needles stuck out.
“Miss Sarah!” came a voice. “Is it true? He won’t go this year?”
Sarah hesitated. “Well, sort of … But perhaps the Lambchops here … Be patient. Go home, please!”
The elves straggled off toward their cottages, grumbling. “Not going?” … “Hah! After all our work?” … “The Whochops?” … “I’d go work somewhere else, but where? ”
A plump lady in an apron bustled out of the red-roofed house. “Sarah! Are you all right? Going off like that! Though we did find your note.
Gracious! Are those all Lambchops, dear?”
“I’m fine, Momma!” said Sarah. “They wouldn’t let Stanley come by himself. That’s Stanley, there. The other one’s Arthur. Stanley was flat, but he got round again.”
“Clever!” said Mrs. Christmas. “Well! Do all come in! Are you fond of hot chocolate?”
“… an excellent plan, I do see that. But—Oh, he’s in such a state! And with Stanley no longer flat …” Mrs. Christmas sighed. “More chocolate, Lambchops? I add a dash of cinnamon. Tasty, yes?”
“Delicious,” said Mrs. Lambchop.
Everyone sat silent, sipping.
Mr. Lambchop felt the time had come. “May we see him now, Mrs. Christmas? We should be getting home. So much to do, this time of year.”
“You forget where you are, George,” said Mrs. Lambchop. “Mrs. Christmas, surely, is aware of the demands of the season.”
“I’m sorry about not being flat,” Stanley said. “I did get tired of it, though.”
“No need to apologize,” said Mrs. Christmas. “Flat, round, whatever, people must be what shape they wish.”
“So true,” said Mrs. Lambchop. “But will your husband agree?”
“We shall see. Come.” Mrs. Christmas rose, and the Lambchops followed her down the hall.
Mrs. Christmas knocked on a door. “Visitors, dear! From America.”
“Send ’em back!” said a deep voice.
“Sir?” Mr. Lambchop tried to sound cheerful. “A few minutes, perhaps? ‘’Tis the season to be jolly,’ eh? We—”
“Bah!” said the voice. “Go home!”
“What a terrible temper!” Stanley said. “He doesn’t want to meet us at all!”
“I already have met him once,” Arthur whispered. “In a department store.”
“That wasn’t the real one, dear,” Mrs. Lambchop said.
“Too bad,” said Arthur. “He was much nicer than this one.”
Sarah stepped forward. “Poppa? Can you hear me, Poppa?”
“I hear you, all right!” said the deep voice. “Took the Great Sleigh without permission, didn’t you? Rascal!”
“The letter on your wall, Poppa?” Sarah said. “The Lambchop letter? Well, they’re here, the whole family! It wasn’t easy, Poppa! I went down their chimney and scraped my knee, and then I banged it, the same knee, when I—”
“SARAH!” said the voice.
Sarah hushed, and so did everyone else.
“The flat boy, eh?” said the voice. “Hmmmm …”
Mrs. Lambchop took a comb from her bag and tidied Arthur’s hair. Mr. Lambchop straightened Stanley’s collar.
“Come in!” said the voice behind the door.
4
Sarah’s Father
The room was very dark, but it was possible to make out a desk at the far side, and someone seated behind it.
The Lambchops held their breaths. This was perhaps the most famous person in the world!
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“Guess what, Poppa?” said Sarah, sounding quite nervous. “The Lambchops know names for our reindeer!”
No answer came.
“Names, Poppa, not just numbers! There’s Dashes and Frances and—”
“Dasher,” said Stanley, “then Dancer, then—”
“Then Frances!” cried Sarah. “Or is it Prances? Then—”
“Waste of time, this!” said the figure behind the desk. But then a switch clicked, and lights came on.
The Lambchops stared.
Except for a large TV in one corner and a speaker-box on the desk, the room was much like Mr. Lambchop’s study at home. There were bookshelves and comfortable chairs. Framed letters, one of them Stanley’s, hung behind the desk, along with photographs of Mrs. Christmas, Sarah, and elves and reindeer, singly and in groups.
Sarah’s father was large and stout, but otherwise not what they had expected.
He wore a blue zip jacket with “N. Pole Athletic Club” lettered across it, and sat with his feet, in fuzzy brown slippers, up on the desk. His long white hair and beard were in need of trimming, and the beard had crumbs in it. On the desk, along with his feet, were a plate of cookies, a bowl of potato chips, and a bottle of strawberry soda with a straw in it.
“George Lambchop, sir,” said Mr. Lambchop. “Good evening. May I present my wife, Harriet, and our sons, Stanley and Arthur?”
“How do you do.” Sarah’s father sipped his soda. “Whichever is Stanley, step forward, please, and turn about.”
Stanley stepped forward and turned about.
“You’re round, boy!”
“I blew him up,” said Arthur. “With a bicycle pump.”
Sarah’s father raised his eyebrows. “Very funny. Very funny indeed.” He ate some potato chips. “Well? What brings you all here?”