by Tom Fletcher
He could imagine what it would be like to have a dinosaur friend.
On the night before the night before Christmas, it was A.S.H. (all systems ho) at the North Pole. The chocolates inside Advent calendars had almost disappeared, and all the elves were making final festive preparations. Everyone was incredibly excited about Christmas—everyone except for the Christmasaurus.
Not only was the Christmasaurus not excited about Christmas, but he was actually wishing it wouldn’t come at all. He knew that on Christmas Eve, Santa would be taking something very special away from him and giving it to some spoiled little boy called William (as the Christmasaurus thought of him).
Since the night he’d first laid eyes on Santa’s wonderful stuffed dinosaur toy, the Christmasaurus had taken it with him wherever he went. He’d even given the cuddly dinosaur a name—Stuffy!
He’d taken Stuffy to the ice-skating rink and held its hand as they glided around on the ice together.
He’d spent hours and hours showing Stuffy his favorite Christmas movies in the North Pole theater.
He’d taken Stuffy to meet the fairies and the snowmen.
He’d shown Stuffy how to roar under the Northern Lights.
And, best of all, they’d sat together watching the reindeer fly.
In the Christmasaurus’s mind, he had finally found a new dinosaur friend. For the first time, he wasn’t the only one! They were completely inseparable.
But that was about to change.
That night, the elves were manically wrapping presents, frantically loading them into sacks, and panically piling them onto Santa’s unbelievably enormous sleigh. The sound of frantic elf song echoed constantly around the North Pole as they continually sang the same song over and over and over again, which they did on this night every year. Santa had grown so sick of hearing it that he’d gone to the trouble of making himself some special earplugs that were specifically designed to block out the sound of this particular elf song! Santa privately thought these were the best things he’d ever made, as they meant that he no longer had to listen to this:
It’s the night before the night before Christmas,
The worst night of the year.
There’s far too much to do
And it fills us up with fear.
It doesn’t look like we’ll make it
But we’ve brought this on ourselves,
So if Christmas doesn’t come,
You can blame the North Pole elves.
It’s the night before the night before Christmas
And we’re busier than ever before.
There are toys up to our eyeballs,
And our hands and feet are sore.
But you don’t hear us complaining—
We sing our troubles away—
While harnessing up the reindeer
To the still-not-ready sleigh!
It’s the night before the night before Christmas,
No time for toilet breaks.
We’ve got microscopic fingers
So we might make some mistakes.
But as long as the job gets finished,
And Santa gets on his way,
We’ll be happier than the kiddies
Getting toys on Christmas Day!
Those are just three of the thirty-eight verses of that song, which the elves wailed out at the top of their voices. It was quite unpleasant to have to sit through the entire thing once, let alone repeatedly until the job was finished!
This year, the worst thing about the song was that it meant the time had finally come for the Christmasaurus to say goodbye to Stuffy. Sprout and Snozzletrump came to collect it, but they couldn’t seem to find Stuffy or the Christmasaurus anywhere. They searched high and low, low and high, until eventually they found the Christmasaurus hiding with Stuffy behind a stack of hay in the flying-reindeer stables.
The Christmasaurus let out a soft, sad roar, and a large, dino-sized teardrop formed and froze on his scaly cheek as the elves slid his stuffed friend out from its hay hiding place.
Snozzletrump felt so sorry for the Christmasaurus. The elf could see just how much this toy meant to him. Even though the Christmasaurus had so many wonderful friends in the North Pole, none of them were dinosaurs, and Snozzletrump knew that was tough.
“I’m sorry, Christmasaurus,
It’s time to say goodbye.
It’s going somewhere special,
So there’s no need for you to cry.
It’ll be loved and cherished
Just the way it was by you,
But a little boy called William
Needs a friend more than you do!”
whispered Snozzletrump as he patted and stroked the Christmasaurus.
The elves gave the Christmasaurus a hug and took him back to his favorite spot by the fireside in Santa’s dreaming den, where he curled up into a sad ball. They softly sang him a lullaby until he stopped crying and fell asleep; then they quietly took Stuffy away. It was swiftly wrapped in polka-dotted paper with a red ribbon, and a tag was tied to it that said:
It was then put into a sack and heaved into the sleigh by four singing elves, along with thousands and thousands of other sacks.
As the night before the night before Christmas went on, the sleigh was piled with more and more sacks, until they were stacked as high as a house—maybe even higher! If you saw it, you would say to yourself, That sleigh will never fly! However, the elves had a clever way of fixing that problem. Once the last sack had been heaved onto the sleigh, fifty fat farmer elves climbed up the mountain of toy sacks until they were on top of it, and started jumping up and down. It looked as though the elves were having some sort of silly sack-summit party high above the sleigh, but under their feet something magical was happening.
The sacks were squishing and shrinking down into the back of the sleigh. With each fat-elf jump, the sacks squished more and more, until after an hour of jumping, the sleigh looked as if it only had one large, bulging sack in the back, which fitted nicely and neatly into the cargo area behind where Santa would soon sit.
The elves cheered and whooped and gave each other high-threes when all their preparations were finished. The night before the night before Christmas was nearly over, and all that was left to do now was to get some rest. The elves blew out all the lanterns and candles so the Magnificently Magical Flying Reindeer could get some final shut-eye while they were harnessed to the sleigh. Everyone lay down on the floor all around the giant sleigh, and in no more than two seconds, they fell fast asleep.
It was still the night before the night before Christmas, and all through the North Pole not a creature was stirring…except a dinosaur!
The Christmasaurus woke up suddenly next to the fire, which had now died down to its last glowing embers. Feeling cold and lonely, he looked around the room and could just make out the enormous belly of Santa as he lay asleep on his super-duper double-fatty king-size bed.
Oh, how he wished that his stuffed dinosaur friend were still with him.
He knew that out there, somewhere, was someone who needed it more than he did, but that didn’t make saying goodbye any easier.
Suddenly, an idea popped into the Christmasaurus’s brain. It was a cheeky, naughty little idea, but once one of those ideas pops inside your head, it is almost impossible to pop it out again.
What if, he thought to himself, what if he were just to take one last peek at Stuffy, just to say one last, little goodbye? He knew that the toy was in the back of the sleigh somewhere. Surely it couldn’t be hard to find? And if he didn’t do it now, then he’d never get to see his stuffed friend again!
The Christmasaurus couldn’t bear the thought of not having one last look. Quickly and quietly, he hopped up onto his feet and crept out of Santa’s room. He didn’t stop creeping until he wa
s standing in the enormous barn they called the Sleigh Room, at the foot of the enormous sleigh, surrounded by dozens of piles of exhausted sleeping elves (who were snoring in harmony).
Before he could think twice—he barely even thought once!—he was climbing up the side of Santa’s mighty sleigh. He’d never touched the sleigh before. It was so preciously shiny and special that to look at it was satisfying enough. But now he only had one thing on his mind—finding Stuffy!
He dived nose-first into the sea of sacks that filled the back of the sleigh. He swam deeper into the prickly fabric. He sniffed around the sacks of soldiers, cars and trucks, dollies and ponies…but that stuffed dinosaur was packed deep! So, deeper the Christmasaurus went, until suddenly his little dinosaur claws felt something.
Yes, that was it! He recognized the cuddly squish of his stuffed friend.
The Christmasaurus clawed his way inside the sack and poked his nose through a tiny gap in the wrapping paper, until his wonderful icy eyes were staring into the golden buttons of Stuffy.
The Christmasaurus gave Stuffy one last hug goodbye.
It was a long hug.
A very long hug.
So long, in fact, that before the Christmasaurus knew what was happening, he was drifting happily off to sleep….
The Christmasaurus woke with a start. The Sleigh Room no longer sounded snoozy and quiet. It was now full of the busy sounds of elf feet scurrying in every direction. The elves were polishing the brass skis on the sleigh, jangling every sleigh bell on the reindeers’ reins, and replacing any that had lost their jingle.
The Christmasaurus had slept in the back of the sleigh all night….It was now Christmas Eve!
“Good morning, my teensy, busy little elves!” boomed Santa’s voice. By the sound of Santa’s heavy boot steps, the Christmasaurus knew Santa was already dressed in his Christmas Eve suit: a gloriously long, quilted red flying jacket with extra pockets for cookies and fudge brownies; his fireproof black boots; and a red hat with a fluffy white bobble. The Christmasaurus peered through a gap in the sacks of presents. Santa looked outstandingly large and jolly.
“Good morning, Santa, the sleigh is set!
You’re ready to fly, but don’t forget
That under your seat is a spare red hat,
And if you feel tired then take a nap!”
the elves sang in unison as Santa climbed up into the front of the sleigh.
The Christmasaurus was trapped!
If he climbed out now, then he would surely be seen, and Santa would know that he’d snuck a sneaky peek in the sleigh and crumpled a perfectly elf-wrapped present! That was extremely naughty indeed!
But if he stayed where he was, then he’d be stuck flying around the world with the reindeer in Santa’s sleigh.
Flying around the world with the reindeer in Santa’s sleigh?
Flying…
Reindeer…
Sleigh…
That had been the Christmasaurus’s dream since the day he’d laid eyes on those flying deer! Was this his chance to experience what flying like a reindeer was really like? Or should he climb out of the sleigh and come clean?
Before he could decide what to do, there was a sudden jolt that rattled the sleigh. The great barn doors had just been opened, and the Magnificently Magical Flying Reindeer were tugging at the reins, ready to rocket into the sky.
“My elves!” Santa called from the front seat of his sleigh.
“My tiny elves, my little friends,
Your work is almost done.
Now I must do my duty
To deliver every one
Of all these gifts and goodies
To every girl and boy,
Fill each and every stocking
With each and every toy.
So I’ll fly into the sky
Behind this herd of magic deer
To house and home and rooftop,
Just as I do each year.
And when all the sacks are empty,
Not one left to deliver,
We’ll head back through the sky
For we’ll have no more need to shiver.
We’ll celebrate tomorrow
With mince pies and candy canes
And start dreaming about next year
When it’s Christmastime again!”
Santa lifted his arms in the air, and there was a sudden hush. An intensely magical silence flooded the great barn. The cold, crisp air that was blowing through the open barn doors suddenly stopped too, and the snowflakes that had found their way inside hung suspended in the air as if time itself had slowed down.
Santa was smiling to himself, and somewhere in the pile of toys behind him, the Christmasaurus was secretly wagging his tail. Was he actually about to experience flying?
Each of the reindeer that was strapped up to the sleigh now had its eyes fixed on Santa, waiting for him to give the sign. Then, just before time seemed to stop completely, Santa reached inside his enormous coat and pulled something quite bizarre out of the inside pocket. It was a full-sized, old-fashioned gramophone—a record player with an enormously curly brass horn. Quite how it fitted inside his coat pocket I’ll never know! Santa placed it softly on the seat next to him in the sleigh. Then he took off his red hat, reached inside it, and pulled out a vinyl record! He carefully placed it on the turntable, lowered the needle into the first fine groove, and flicked a little brass switch on the side of the gramophone. Music exploded out of the enormous brassy horn and filled the room with song.
Music is a magic like no other; it can do incredible, unexplainable things. Suddenly, the heavy skis of Santa’s sleigh lifted up an inch or two off the barn floor, as though they were floating on the music itself.
Then Santa gave the sign, and he started singing!
“I heard a noise on the rooftop!
It made my heart go jump!
The stomp of boots and the clop of hooves
Went clippedy, clippedy, clump!
Oh, I heard a noise on the rooftop!
I wonder what it was….
I really ho, ho, hope it’s Santa Claus!”
The reindeer launched into a gallop and whooshed through the giant barn doors!
“I heard a noise on the rooftop!
It sounded like a sleigh….”
Santa continued, singing his favorite Christmas song, accompanied by the magic orchestra blasting from the gramophone:
“I went to bed on Christmas Eve,
and soon it’s Christmas Day!”
The Christmasaurus rattled and bounced and rolled around in the back of the sleigh with the biggest grin on his scaly face, still clinging to the arms of William’s stuffed dinosaur.
“Oh, I heard a noise on the rooftop!
Now I can’t sleep because…”
Then the thud of glowing golden galloping deer hooves on the snow stopped….They weren’t thudding on snow anymore. They were galloping on the air itself.
They were flying.
The sleigh was flying.
Santa was flying.
The Christmasaurus was flying!
“I really ho, ho, hope it’s Santa Claus!” warbled Santa with a jolly smile as the sleigh and its secret passenger disappeared into the Northern Lights, toward the waiting world.
It was Christmas Eve, and William was getting ready for bed unusually early (as all children should on Christmas Eve!), but not before placing a mince pie for the reindeer and a carrot for Santa on the wonky little wooden table by the chimney. I bet you thought Santa eats the mince pies and the reindeer eat the carrots, but that’s “the most common Christmas Eve mistake!” as Mr. Trundle would knowingly say each year.
Mr. Trundle tucked William into bed, and although he desperately wanted to stay
awake for as long as possible, he was so worn out with Christmas excitement that he fell fast asleep within 0.8 seconds of his head touching his pillow. William managed to stay awake a little longer, but eventually they were both fast asleep.
As William lay snoozing, dreaming Christmassy dreams in his head, he was completely unaware that those tiny little hairs on his arms and his neck were all standing on end again.
They were standing on end again because William was still being watched.
* * *
—
Outside, it had been snowing heavily all day. The rooftops on William’s street were thickly coated in white freezing fluff that was as smooth as the icing on a Christmas cake—all except one rooftop, whose perfectly fallen snow had been disturbed by something. Two sets of footprints were scattered around the roof, making large circles in the snow. Someone was there, and judging by the hundreds of steps, they must have been pacing back and forth for quite some time.
The owners of these footprints were a man and his dog, but they weren’t pacing anymore. They were as still as statues, hiding behind the chimney!
But what were a man and a dog doing on the rooftop opposite William’s house on Christmas Eve? Why had they been spying on William for the past few weeks? And why were they now sitting out of sight in the freezing snow? Who were they?
Well, I will tell you.
This man was evil.
This man was the Hunter.
The Hunter was an old man with creased, leathery skin on his face and a large, lumpy white scar that ran from his eye down to his chin. He wore a very odd-looking hunting hat with a long peacock feather sticking proudly out of it (the poor peacock’s head was now the handle of an umbrella!), and he was always smoking a crooked pipe made of ivory, even in his sleep. Its sickly, bitter smoke hung in the air for hours, and if you were standing next to him, the smoke would sting your nostrils most unpleasantly.