Santa Claus The Movie

by Joan D. Vinge

  Claus and Anya traveled on through the stormy night without speaking. Claus would not have thought the snow could fall any more heavily, but soon he could scarcely see the backs of the reindeer ahead of him. The blizzard enfolded them in an eerie, smothering whiteness, silent and without boundaries.

  Claus could no longer see even the faintest trace of a road. Anya sat mutely beside him, glancing at him from time to time with unspoken concern. The small seed of doubt that had sprouted inside him when they were leaving their friends began to grow, although he tried very hard to ignore it. They had been traveling for a time that was beginning to seem endless. He wiped the snow from his eyes once again. Surely by now he should have seen some familiar landmark, something he could recognize . . . at least the fork where the East Road joined this track. Surely they had been traveling for much too long . . .

  He peered ahead, unable to ignore the feelings of confusion and alarm that filled him now. “Where’s the East Road?” The words burst out with far too much force. “It should be here, somewhere around here!”

  Anya stirred, looking at him with frightened eyes. “Are we lost?” she asked, giving voice to the fears that had been silently growing in her mind as well.

  “No, no,” Claus said hastily and unconvincingly. “We just have to follow the road and turn before—” He broke off, peering ahead again, squinting as more wind-blown snow stung his eyes. “I can’t find it, Anya! I can’t see the road!” His own fears took on the terrifying reality of words, as he suddenly realized that the sleigh had stopped moving. “Hey! Come on!” he shouted, snapping the reins, and getting no response from the deer. “Must be stuck in a drift,” he muttered, as much to calm himself as Anya. “Yo! Yo! Hi-up!” he shouted again, his voice rising. The sleigh still did not move. The reindeer, barely visible up ahead, did not even seem to be trying to pull the sleigh free.

  “Blast!” Claus climbed down, sinking knee-deep into the snow. Furious with the reindeer, their predicament, and most of all himself for getting them into it, he waded through the snow to his animals.

  As he reached the pair of familiar, velvet-antlered heads, he stopped short, feeling a chill far sharper than the freezing air. The team of reindeer stood motionless, their dark eyes glazed with a strange torpor. As he watched, Blitzen suddenly slumped in his traces and fell to his knees.

  Claus caught hold of Blitzen’s harness, trying with all his might to drag the reindeer to his feet again. “Blitzen! Get up!” But even the strength of his sudden panic was not enough to force the heavy animal to stir.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Anya’s frightened voice reached him from the sleigh.

  “Nothing, nothing—” he called distractedly. He could not even see her from where he stood. “Look,” he blustered, trying now to bully the motionless animals into action. “You want to stay here and freeze to death? Or do you want a nice warm barn and food, eh? Eh?”

  Suddenly Donner slumped to his knees beside Blitzen.

  Claus backed away, his concern deepening into real fear. He looked around him again, willing himself to see something—the outline of a building, a familiar landmark, anything that would guide them to safety. But all was as before: the same dark, half-seen forms of trees, shrouded in the suffocating whiteness of the blizzard. The wind howled ominously through the brooding pines, and he felt the icy chill creeping into his bones. They were lost in a winter storm, far from shelter, and now they had lost their reindeer, too. He had lived all his life in the northlands and knew all too well what terrible peril they were in now.

  “Claus!” Anya’s voice cried, rising with her own fear. “Come back, I can’t see you!”

  “Anya, wait—” he called tensely, rubbing Donner’s head and neck briskly, trying to rouse him. “Come on, boy,” he cajoled. “Try to get up. Come on, my good boys . . .” But Donner’s head only fell forward into the snow. Blitzen sagged farther into the drifts beside him, and lay motionless.

  “Claus!” Anya cried.

  Claus ran back to the sleigh, struggling against the wind, frightened by something he heard in her voice. He climbed up into the seat beside her. He put his arms around her, pulling her close to warm and reassure her. But even as she lifted her head to meet his gaze, a great drowsiness seemed to overwhelm her. Her eyes dimmed and flickered shut, and she sagged against him, unconscious.

  “Oh my God! Anya—” Claus gasped and hugged her tightly, rubbing her arms, trying frantically to warm her. He wondered how a strong woman and two hardy reindeer could have succumbed so quickly to the cold.

  But even while he wondered it, the same creeping lethargy began to lay its icy fingers on him, stealing up through his limbs, stealing away his strength. He shook his head, struggling to keep his eyes open, telling himself that this couldn’t be happening to him, not on Christmas, when he had not yet delivered his last toy . . .

  Claus slumped over in his seat, his eyes closing, his arms still holding his beloved wife against his heart. The relentless wind and snow closed in about them, covering them with a blanket of white, until they were utterly lost in the greater whiteness of the storm.

  Two

  Donner woke with a snort and raised his head, shaking off the clinging blanket of snow that covered him. He opened his eyes cautiously, one at a time, and blinked. He was not certain why he had been asleep, when the last thing he remembered was drawing the sleigh; nor was he certain of why he had awoke, except that there was suddenly an absence of the howling wind and snow. He looked around him, pricking up his ears, startled into alertness. The storm, the wind, and the snow had disappeared—and with them, the forest. The air was perfectly still and clear now, and amazingly cold. Donner struggled to his feet. He stood on a frozen plain that was completely devoid of trees and beneath a sky glittering with stars of incredible brightness.

  Donner lowered his head and nudged his still-silent companion with his nose. Blitzen opened his heavy-lidded eyes slowly, shaking off the effects of the mysterious sleep which had so suddenly overtaken him. As his eyes registered the strangeness of their surroundings, he scrambled to his feet, abruptly alert.

  Reassured of the reality of things, Donner looked back over his shoulder at his master and mistress. They sat slumped together in their sleigh, asleep just as he had been. He snorted loudly, trying to get their attention.

  Claus started awake at the sound, blinking with astonishment, just as his animals had done. As his eyes focused, something more incredible than the open plain and the stars filled his vision, and he stared at it in wonder. Gently he shook Anya, and she awoke, too, shaking her head drowsily.

  “Anya!” Claus whispered. Anya raised her eyes, and they widened as his own had.

  The North Star hung directly overhead, and far brighter than it had ever looked before, twinkling like a beacon. The finger of its light seemed to point downward toward the snow-covered plain ahead of them . . . where now a glorious array of twinkling lights filled the space between heaven and earth. It had something of the magical aurora borealis about it, and the fluid, shifting form of a great forest tree decorated with Christmas candles. It was neither of those things, and yet it was both of them, and more. And below the unearthly glowing display were more lights, hundreds of flickering flames moving slowly over the snow toward their sleigh.

  Claus and Anya sat where they were, clinging to one another, paralyzed with terror and awe. “What . . . ?” Anya whispered tremulously.

  As the streaming lights came closer, they began to see that each light was a separate candle, set into a candlestick that resembled a snow-clad fir tree. And each candle was held aloft by a small being that looked very much like a miniature human . . . and even more like the wooden elf that Claus had carved for Else. Each and every one of the small men coming toward them wore just what the tales said that elves wore—a pointed hat, a woolen tunic, leather belt and felt jerkin, boots with turned up toes—all in a riotous rainbow of brilliant colors.

  A strange, melodic chanting drifted
ahead of them over the snow. Neither Claus nor Anya could make out any words until the elves had almost reached them; then they realized that they were hearing the sound of hundreds of voices murmuring together, “Welcome. Welcome.”

  Claus and Anya still sat without moving, completely mesmerized. Donner and Blitzen exchanged curious glances, wondering what in the world was happening as the tiny people began to gather about their sleigh.

  One of the elves stepped forward. He was an elderly man with sparse white hair and a ruddy wrinkled face framed by long mutton-chop whiskers. He had a look of bespectacled efficiency and the manner of a spokesman about him. The other elves stood behind him, seeming almost breathless with anticipation. Their expressions mirrored curiosity, a hesitant shyness, but also an undeniable warmth and friendliness as they gazed at the frightened couple in the sleigh.

  “Welcome!” the white-haired elf cried.

  Anya gave a small, muffled shriek, as one of these strange creatures out of myth and fairy tale actually addressed them.

  “The . . . the . . . vendequm?” Claus gasped, barely able to speak. He was sure now that he must be dreaming. The vendequm did not exist—they were fancies out of a children’s story.

  “The little people?” Anya echoed, glancing at him wide-eyed.

  “We prefer to be called elves, if you don’t mind,” the small white-haired man said pleasantly.

  “You . . . you . . . you . . .” Claus began, but couldn’t finish it. He blinked again and again, still unable to believe his eyes.

  “I’m the one called Dooley,” the spokesman continued, smiling. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  “Expecting us?” Claus echoed.

  “For a long, long time.” Dooley nodded, his eyes shining. “We almost gave up hope.”

  Claus shook his head. “Where are we?” he whispered.

  “Home,” Dooley said, smiling, and gestured toward the lights.

  “No, no, no,” Anya protested, lifting her hand to point. “Our home is far from—”

  “Not anymore,” Dooley interrupted gently. “This is your home now.”

  “What?” Anya turned to Claus, more frightened and more befuddled than before. “What does he mean?”

  “You don’t understand,” Claus insisted, looking back at the small man. “We live in a village a long way from this place.” He waved his hand, as his wife had done.

  “You’ll see, you’ll see . . .” the elf murmured good-humoredly, shaking his head, still smiling but explaining no further.

  Behind them, as they spoke, four elves slipped away from the larger gathering and moved quietly around behind the sleigh. The leader of the foray was an impulsive young elf called Patch—because, as the bright green patch on the knee of his pants suggested, he had more important things to think about than the state of his clothes. His quick, creative mind was as bright as a star, but as undisciplined as it was unique. Because he was not like the other elves, it was sometimes hard for the others to understand him. As a result, he was frequently in trouble . . . and always the last to admit he might have been wrong.

  Following him as he circled the sleigh—at his side as always—were the elves Boog, Honka, and Vout, Patch’s self-proclaimed personal entourage. The three of them didn’t really understand him any better than any of the other elves did, but they sensed that he was something special. Their admiration for him was real, if vaguely uncomprehending. And, as far as Patch was concerned, he welcomed all the attention he could get.

  Patch’s right-arm man was the elf Boog, who had mechanical skills almost as impressive as Patch’s own, and a ready supply of tools at his belt; he was always willing to work out a method for producing Patch’s latest creative design or brainstorm. Patch’s second inseparable companion was Honka, whose overwhelming enthusiasm for Patch’s every inspiration (however impractical) or joke (however feeble) was second only to Patch’s. Rounding out the trio was Vout, who trailed behind the others now, a bit slower on the move both physically and mentally. He was often left in a fog by jokes or ideas that filled the others with sudden laughter or excitement; but Patch liked him for his unshakable good humor, and Vout liked being a part of Patch’s constant boil of activity.

  Patch bent down as he reached the rear of the sleigh, and then slid deftly beneath it to inspect its underside more closely. The others gathered around his protruding feet, patient and expectant.

  “Bits of old rope?!” Patch’s muffled voice muttered in dismay. “Single-hinge runner connectors?! Unbelievable!” The elf began to wriggle out from under the sleigh again. “I can see I’m going to have a lot to teach him—” The words caught in his throat as two extremely long legs suddenly appeared on either side of his head. “Whoops,” he murmured, his dismay suddenly genuine, as he suddenly found himself staring up into a large, completely alien-looking face; it stared back at him with equal incredulity, its hair standing on end, its wide blue eyes where its mouth should have been.

  Patch blinked and shook his head as he realized that he was only seeing their guest upside down. Caught in an awkwardly compromising position, he grinned hastily, trying hard for congeniality since dignity was clearly beyond reach. “Hi, there!” He scrambled to his feet, his tongue already running. “Welcome aboard, sir. Speaking for the boys and myself—” He looked up, away toward his friends, then back, all the time waving his hands like an amateur magician trying to cover an awkward move. “You must be the missus!” he almost shouted as Anya stepped down to stand beside her husband.

  “Me?” Anya said dazedly, still at least as flustered as the small figure before her.

  “Well!” Patch smiled his most disarming smile and nodded his approval as he saw her face for the first time, for once utterly sincere beneath his flattery. “We knew you’d be nice, but we didn’t expect someone so young and pretty, pretty and young, did we, boys?” He glanced again at his companions with a quick nod. Honka and Boog nodded eagerly and sincerely, and so did Vout, once he had seen what they were nodding about.

  “Oh my . . .” Anya said, blushing becomingly. She had not heard such a compliment in some time, and she had never expected to receive one from the vendequm . . . elves! she corrected herself hastily.

  Patch touched her arm. “Now, now,” he said, grinning, “you mustn’t be elf-conscious.” Honka, Boog, and Vout nodded on cue, witnessing his wit. Anya smiled at last, still uncertain, but utterly charmed.

  Dooley pushed forward, deciding that it was time to reclaim his position as spokeself. He separated Patch from their dumbstruck guests with a deft nudge. “My friends, let us show you to your new home,” he said to Claus and Anya, turning them to face the distant lights. He glanced over his shoulder with a nod of dismissal. “Patch, take charge of the reindeer.”

  Patch turned to Boog in almost the same motion. “You heard him, Boog. Take care of the reindeer.” He waved blithely, including himself out.

  Obediently Boog began to unhitch the reindeer as Dooley guided Claus and Anya back into their sleigh.

  “I don’t understand,” Claus murmured as he climbed back into his seat. “You said our new home? But there’s nothing here.” He waved a hand at the shining plain.

  “Look again,” Dooley said, smiling.

  Claus and Anya dutifully looked out again at the empty wastes of snow. And as they watched, an amazing transformation began to occur before their wondering eyes. Where moments before there had only been the light of countless flickering torches below the magical pyramid of stars, there was now a vast snow-covered mountain. And below it, truly as if by magic, an entire village suddenly shimmered into existence.

  Claus caught Anya’s hand in his and held it tightly, and then felt her squeeze his own in return. They gazed, speechless, at this miracle, heaped upon far more wonder than they could even begin to comprehend.

  A broad pathway marked by fir trees and warmly glowing lanterns led across the snow to the distant village. The village itself was not made up of separate houses, but seemed to be on
e enormous structure, like the barn-home where they had so recently shared a perfectly normal Christmas celebration. But this structure was something far more remarkable and sophisticated, built on a far larger scale—for far smaller people. They could see countless tiny separate eaves and turrets and chimneys protruding everywhere, all thickly frosted with snow like an enchanted gingerbread house. Something about the brightly painted village, so cheerful and perfect and beautiful, made Claus think of the toys he made. It was as if he were seeing a toy town brought to life. Donner and Blitzen, being led aside from their traces, gazed at the vision with equal wonder, glancing at each other for reassurance that they actually saw the same thing.

  “Where . . . where did it come from?” Anya asked in a voice so small it was barely audible.

  “It was always here,” Dooley said reassuringly. “But it can’t be seen by just anyone, y’know.” He turned away and called out to the gathered elves, “Come, fellow elves! Take them to their home! Lead and follow, follow and lead!” The waiting elves gathered around eagerly and took up the empty traces of the sleigh. Claus and Anya, perched high on its seat, clung to the sleigh and each other, wide-eyed, as the elves began to draw them toward their village. As they marched along, their faces shining with excitement, the elves looked up constantly at their guests.

  Patch walked next to the sleigh, as if its occupants were under his personal protection; Honka and Vout followed him as usual. Vout looked up at Claus, and back at his friends. “He’s nice, isn’t he, Patch?” he murmured.

  Patch beamed as if all this had been his idea. “I tell you, boys, the man gives me a real feeling of elf-confidence.” Honka and Vout chuckled obediently.

  Anya glanced down at the sound of good-natured laughter, then looked out again at the sea of elves and the approaching village. “Isn’t it funny,” she murmured, “I’m not afraid?” She looked back at Claus again. “What’s it all about?” she asked, not really expecting an answer that made any sense.