Christmas Carol & the Shimmering Elf

by Robert L. Fouch

  “The better question is what will we do with her now. Since we have you, she’s no longer of any use to us.”

  “Don’t you touch her!” Ray screamed.

  Uncle Christopher waved his hand to silence him. “This is what happens when you don’t cooperate. Your parents and Santa would waste your gift. We’re meant for bigger things than delivering silly toys.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Christopher,” Santa said. “It’s not toys we deliver. It’s joy. For all your power, that’s what you lack.”

  “I lack nothing!” Uncle Christopher shouted. “And I’ve had enough of this conversation.” He waved his staff and directed his hand toward us. The straps that held us snapped. He lifted us in the air. Sebwe and his mother watched in silence, their mouths hanging open. The shimmering elf smiled sadistically. Uncle Christopher spun us around and upright. I struggled against him, but my arms were pinned to my sides. He took his staff and closed his eyes, drawing power from the threads of time and space. He let go of his staff and it floated in front of him, turning slowly. What the shimmering elf had done with his machine, my uncle was doing with his staff, using it to amplify his own powers. The staff spun faster and faster. Beads of sweat popped out on Uncle Christopher’s forehead. His body trembled. He circled his hand again and again. A portal opened, normal looking at first. But it slowly turned into a spinning vortex, as if we were looking down into a tornado. Uncle Christopher drilled deeper, further into time. He breathed hard. Sweat soaked his shirt. His eyes popped open and he smiled. “I found them.”

  The shimmering elf leaped forward, tripping over his own feet and nearly stumbling into the vortex. “Fool!” my uncle snapped.

  “Please get them,” the elf said. “I’m begging you.”

  Uncle Christopher sneered but refocused on the vortex, which spun and spun. He held out his hand and closed his eyes. He maneuvered his hand from side to side, forward and back, as if he were a magician performing a trick for a rapt audience. The elf leaned toward the vortex. Uncle Christopher’s shirt was drenched. He grimaced and grunted and gave a huge yank. Out of the vortex came two elves, a beautiful woman and a young boy. I recognized them from the ice sculpture in the future elf’s mansion.

  The elf shrieked with joy and pulled his wife and child into a ferocious embrace. I couldn’t help it, I felt happy for him, despite everything he’d done. I wondered how far I would go to save the ones I loved. And the two elves who had been lost were not to blame. I was glad they’d been rescued.

  They looked dazed, as if they’d been awakened from a deep sleep, like a couple of Rip Van Winkles, only ones who had not aged. It took them a minute to orient themselves, and when they did, they hugged the shimmering elf as fiercely as he did them. He shifted to a young elf, almost as young as his son, and his wife stepped back in alarm. “What happened to you?”

  He hung his head. “I’ve been searching for you for hundreds of years.”

  His wife gasped. “What time is this?”

  “It’s 1851,” the elf said. “But my future self, the one who initiated the search, lives in 2019. He will want to see you.”

  “He will, you fool,” Uncle Christopher interrupted. “She exists in this time now, which means she’ll exist in the future.”

  My head spun, trying to grasp that. So if she existed now, she would be 168 years older in the future? But what if she and the child traveled to the future with my uncle? Would she cease to exist from 1851 to 2019? That would mean the past versions of the elf would once again lose her. It was all so confusing.

  The shimmering elf also looked perplexed, but he seemed to figure it out. His expression turned to relief. “Then they will remain with me,” he pronounced. “I’m not losing them again.”

  “Yes, yes, do what you wish,” Uncle Christopher said. “I have more pressing matters.” His face was alive with something now. I can’t even describe it. Evil, joy, satisfaction, everything mixed into one horrible expression.

  I felt fear like I’d never known. And helplessness. “What are you going to do?”

  “I told you, Carol dear. I’m going to reunite you with your father.” He glanced toward the spinning vortex. “Maybe someday, if I’m feeling nostalgic, I’ll take you both out and we can have a family picnic. Hot dogs, corn on the cob, macaroni, wouldn’t that be delightful?”

  “Wait, what are you doing?” the shimmering elf’s wife asked.

  “None of your concern,” Uncle Christopher snapped.

  “Shhh,” the shimmering elf hissed, looking terrified.

  “He’s sending us to where you just came from,” Noelle said to the wife. “What’s in there?”

  “Quiet!” Uncle Christopher yelled.

  “Confusion,” the beautiful elf said. She seemed not to fear my uncle. Perhaps after what she’d been through, there was nothing left to fear. “Madness. And there are others in there.”

  “Dad!” I said. He had to be one of them. I wondered who else had been banished to the vortex. Mr. Winters? Ivan-I-Am-Not?

  “Enough!” Uncle Christopher shouted. He waved his hand and everyone froze in place. Terror sparked in the elves’ eyes, but none of them could move. “Time to go, Carol dear,” Uncle Christopher said. His tone was almost tender. He leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “I would have given you everything. You could have ruled the world after me. Such a terrible waste.” He pulled away and gave me a final look, one filled with disdain. He waved his hand and Ray, Noelle, and I were flung into the vortex. I grabbed for them at the last moment, taking each by a hand, holding on as if my life depended on it. And we fell and fell.

  Into confusion.

  Into madness.

  CHAPTER 11

  Lost in Time

  I watched a thousand years go by. Or a thousand seconds, or minutes, or days. It was impossible to tell.

  “Daddy!” I screamed. His face flashed before me, an older version, bitter and defeated by what his brother had done. He saw me, too. Though there was no sign in his eyes that he recognized his own daughter. His mouth moved, but I heard nothing. Then he was gone, swirling in the vortex. “Grandmother!” I shouted. “Ray!” But my mouth made no sound and no answer came. I couldn’t see them, even though I felt them, holding tightly to their hands. Grandmother, I repeated telepathically. Noelle, are you there? No answer. I was screaming into a void.

  History flashed before me. The future, too. Histories and futures of those I knew or had seen.

  Sebwe and Uncle Christopher destroying the elf kingdom. The ice structures crumbling. The great tree splintered by North Pulse after North Pulse. Santa collapsing in grief. Sebwe transforming, power and anger consuming his soul. Taking revenge on the world that had abused him. I saw his history, too. I watched his escape, when the power within him broke loose and he and Ruth fled, the two of them getting separated in the chaos. I saw the terrible guilt that weighed on him, the agony of wondering what was happening to the mother he so loved, and I understood him.

  I watched Sebwe’s mother, too. She wept as her son came under my uncle’s sway, doing his evil bidding and getting rewarded for it. The son she knew, that sweet boy, vanished. She withdrew into herself, even though Sebwe became powerful and wealthy beyond imagining after my uncle returned to his time. Sebwe tried to coax her into his world, but she refused to speak to him. The life seemed to leave her and her remaining days were filled with sadness and disappointment. I mourned with her for the life she might have led. If Sebwe had become the first Defender like he was supposed to, surely Santa would have made their existences happy and fulfilling. I understood her pain.

  Uncle Christopher bounced through time. Alliances were made. Armies marched. Battles were waged and won. No one was able to defeat him and his power. He built his empire through fear. He found others like him. They either bowed to him or they were destroyed or banished to the void. People who would have been Defenders, who would have spent their lives helping Santa Claus, instead became monsters like the man who l
ed them. The White Stripes ruled. Humanity bent its knee. All thought that didn’t conform to my uncle’s view of the world was eliminated. In their depressing gray uniforms and terrifying lives, people became cogs in a giant machine controlled by Uncle Christopher. His philosophy had triumphed. The strongest came out on top. But I would never understand him. EVER.

  Santa retreated, a broken man. My uncle kept him alive. Sadistic and cruel, he was like a cat toying with its prey. Santa tried sneaking away the year after the elf kingdom was destroyed, tried to visit homes on Christmas Eve and deliver a few toys to kids who really needed them. But my uncle was watching and waiting. He put a stop to that. Forever. No more visits from Santa. No more toys under the tree unless they came from one of Uncle Christopher’s factories. Christmas lost all of its magic with no Santa, existing merely to enrich my evil uncle. Santa Claus, the one who would have delivered so much joy to the world, lived out his years in a home that became a prison. All alone. Nobody home.

  The elves vanished, scattered to the winds, remnants of their kingdom disintegrating with time. They went into exile. Some fled to the ancient elven forest Grandmother had once explored. Others blended into the human population, trying to hide in plain sight. Uncle Christopher’s minions tracked them down, one by one, until only a few remained.

  Mr. Winters appeared, versions of him. Fighting, always fighting. Living on the run, trying to recruit others. Fleeing underground. Captured and tortured. My uncle always victorious. I even saw my mother and father at one point, revisiting her brief existence. That, at least, was a gift, a small moment of joy and comfort. But she vanished just as quickly.

  And I saw Grandmother. For just a moment. The Ancient One, the elderly version who had been the biggest part of my life. What I saw of Grandmother confused me. She leaped into a portal, leaving the shimmering elf alone. When she reappeared, the elf was no longer alone, his wife at his side. His child had grown up, the wife now older. Then Grandmother vanished into another portal, a swirling vortex like the one Uncle Christopher had sent us into. Where had she gone? Was she running from my uncle? Maybe, like Mr. Winters, she would spend her life fighting, resisting until the bitter end. Watching her vanish hurt my heart. I didn’t know how much more I could endure, seeing my life and the lives of those I loved pass again and again before my eyes. Madness indeed. I squeezed Noelle’s hand. I squeezed Ray’s. Maybe I imagined it. But for a second, it felt like they squeezed back.

  Then I felt a tug.

  A hard yank.

  I held on tight to Ray and Noelle. I was being pulled. Slowly. Did they feel it, too? Or was I imagining it all? Maybe, like the elf kingdom, my mind was disintegrating.

  Time whirled around us. My uncle reappeared. Once again, I saw the wars, the destruction, Santa cowering, the elven kingdom falling, Mr. Winters fighting, Sebwe angry, his mother weeping. It went forward. In reverse. I saw every thread of time I’d ever come in contact with. My brain felt as if it might explode.

  I felt another pull. Harder this time. I heard a voice. Faint. Swim, Carol. Like in a portal. It was the Ancient One.

  I tried to latch on to the voice. I kicked. Swim, Noelle, I said to Grandmother’s younger self. I had to trust she could hear me. I squeezed her hand again. I squeezed Ray’s. I felt hope. Fear. Strength. Resolve. I kicked and kicked. Noelle kicked, too. I could feel it now. Or sense it. And Ray felt it, too. He joined in, kicking and struggling. We began to see flashes of each other, through our visions of history. I caught a glimpse of Ray’s face. “Fight,” I mouthed to him, and his eyebrows scrunched in determination.

  We pushed harder, like runners digging deep in the final stretch of a marathon.

  We kicked and writhed.

  Someone pulled.

  It felt like we might never reach wherever we were going, our destination always just beyond reach. It felt as if it took forever. In a sense, it did.

  But at last the whirling slowed. The flashes of history vanished. I saw a gray light in the distance. Or maybe it was right in front of me. I gave one mighty kick. Noelle and Ray did, too. I stretched. I strained. Almost.

  And we tumbled out of the vortex.

  Back into that hospital room.

  Back into 1851.

  Grandmother, her elderly self feeble and weak, stood waiting. The Ancient One screamed. Noelle screamed. The two versions merged into one. They writhed and moaned in unison. And Grandmother collapsed, shimmering from old to young, just like the time-traveling elf. She twisted in agony and I gripped her as hard as I could. The Ancient One had rescued us. But at what cost?

  Ray lay beside me, his eyes open but dazed. Sebwe’s mother, alone in the room, ran to the sink again, picking up the same rag with which she had dabbed our heads earlier. She dipped it into the water and knelt next to us. She held the rag to Grandmother’s head. Her writhing slowly subsided.

  He said it would take a few minutes for our two selves to fully merge, Grandmother said. It was one voice, weak and exhausted, but it echoed in my skull like it was two. Her hands shook. The color had drained from her face.

  “Who?” I said aloud.

  “The elf, dear,” Grandmother responded. “He helped send me back.”

  “I don’t understand. What happened?”

  Grandmother took a deep breath. She shifted to her younger self and I shuddered. Was she damaged forever, just like the shimmering elf? “I jumped into a portal while you went back to change things. When I emerged, the elf was standing there with his wife, who was 168 years older.”

  I tried hard to process that. From the void, I had watched what was happening. But I hadn’t fully understood it, or trusted that what I was witnessing was the true version of events. The elf and his family lived their lives from 1851 until they eventually reached 2019 where my grandmother awaited them when she came out of the portal, unaffected by my uncle’s new changes. “And then you came back?” I asked.

  “I made the elf help me.”

  “How?” I could hardly imagine that nasty elf being helpful to anyone. “He’s so mean.”

  Grandmother smiled. “His wife knocked some sense into him. She’d had enough of your uncle’s terrible world and felt guilty you were trapped where she and her son had been. But she didn’t know how to get to you.”

  “So you came back.”

  “I came back.”

  “And how did you find us?”

  “Carol, sweetie. I would go to the end of time to find you. Our connection is deep and strong. That’s what love does for you. Your uncle doesn’t understand that.”

  “Uncle Christopher!” I shouted. I scanned the room, as if he might be lurking in the shadows.

  “He’s not here. You know where he is.”

  “He left a few minutes ago,” Sebwe’s mother said. She dabbed Grandmother’s forehead. “And he took my boy.”

  Grandmother shifted to her older self, the self that was weak and exhausted by the weight of life. She almost seemed defeated. Except for something in her eyes, a spark. She furrowed her ancient wrinkled brow. “Let’s go get him, Carol.”

  “But he’s too powerful,” I said. “I don’t think I can beat him now.”

  “You must. And this time, you can’t let him get away.”

  “But I can’t do it!” It wasn’t that I was unwilling. I just felt certain that I couldn’t win. Something had changed. He had altered history itself and put the world under his evil thumb. He had unlocked more power than anyone in history. He was like a god. Who was I to save humanity from a god?

  Ray leaped to his feet. His legs wobbled, but he no longer seemed dazed. He looked angry. “Stop being a baby, Carol. YOU don’t have to do it. We’ll ALL do it.”

  “But he’s so powerful, Ray.”

  “I don’t care,” he snapped. “I want my mother and father back. I want the world you told me about, a world with Santa Claus and goodness and joy. I’ll die to get that.”

  I felt embarrassed. Of course I wanted that, too. “OK,” I said. “But we h
ave to get someone else. Another Defender.” I looked at Grandmother longingly.

  She knew exactly who I meant. “We’ll try,” she said and shifted to the young version of herself. She hopped up off the floor, full of life and energy. “I need you to use your cane to drill the hole through time. I don’t think I can do it again.”

  “I don’t have the cane,” I said. “My uncle must have taken it.” Grandmother’s face fell.

  Sebwe’s mother cleared her throat. She grinned and nodded toward the bed. The subtle outline of a cane appeared under the sheet. “I grabbed it when your uncle wasn’t looking,” she said. “I don’t like that awful man. I thought my Sebwe might be able to use it to get away from him.”

  I laughed and gave her a hug. I pulled the cane from under the sheet, cradling it in my arms. Having it in my possession again made me feel better about myself. Grandmother stepped next to me. I took a deep breath. “You’ve seen it done twice now, Carol,” Grandmother said. “You think you can do it?”

  “I don’t know.” She raised an eyebrow. “I mean, yes,” I said, trying to put some steel in my voice. “I can do it!”

  “Good girl.” I closed my eyes and pictured how the shimmering elf did it first. Then my uncle. I tried to recall every detail, how they made their tools—the machine in the elf’s case, the staff in my uncle’s—spin faster and faster, in smaller and smaller circles. I slowly moved my cane before me, circling, circling, using its elven magic to amplify my power. I created a portal. The cane circled faster. The portal didn’t change. Faster. Still nothing. I let out a long breath of frustration and dropped my cane. The portal collapsed.

  “It’s hard,” I said.

  “I know, dear,” Grandmother responded. “I nearly killed myself finding you.” She shimmered to her older self and put her wrinkled hand on mine. “You have to dig deep.”

  “You can do it,” Ray said softly. Sebwe’s mother squeezed my shoulder.

  “Focus on the love you have for your father,” Grandmother said. “Think of the love Ray has for his parents and the love Sebwe’s mother has for her son. That’s where the power will come from. Let love be your fuel.”