An Invitation? [FICTION]

“Ugh.” Dazed and confused, I try to push myself up from the soft surface under me.

My body refuses to cooperate and I sink back down, finding a soft pillow positioned under my head. My extremities tingle as if waking up from long disuse. I rub my hands together, surprised to find indentations in my wrists as if I have been tied up for a long time. A soft blanket slides from me as I struggle to sit up. 

Success doesn’t bring comfort as darkness keeps me from ascertaining my surroundings. With a bracing breath, I stand up. It feels like a million fire ants bite my bare feet. As I tumble to onto another plush surface, I close my eyes.

A scuffing sound from somewhere in front of me, accompanies almost rhythmic jingling. Smells of pine and peppermint wash over me. Underneath that I detect hints of fresh hay.

The tingling subsides enough for me to gain my feet at least. I extend my arms and take tentative steps forward. My fingers connect with a surface after what seems an eternity of shuffling forward. I run my fingertips along a solid wooden surface until I have outlined a door. Finding the knob, I turn it, but it doesn’t budge. As I rattle the door, the shuffling and jingling outside the door increases. 

After a few tries, I give up on the door and begin exploring the wall around it. Soon my groping fingers find a switch. I flip it and throw my hands over my eyes to block out the brilliant beams of an overhead light.

When my eyes finally adjust to the light, I examine my surroundings. I have been transported to any retail store on the day after Halloween. The soft surface on which I awakened proves to be a futon covered in thick quilts, patched from red and green and white triangles to evoke memories of hard, holiday candies. Heavy wooden frames accentuate oil paintings of reindeer. Under each one, a plaque identifies the subject: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen. And, of course, Rudolph with his brilliant red nose. 

In another corner, a Christmas tree towers to the ceiling. An angel perches among some branches nearest the top since no room exists for her where tradition dictates she she survey Christmas festivities. Plastic icicles cascade over the branches, gleaming as brightly as the delicate glass ornaments interpreted about them. As I step forward to get a closer look, the sounds on the other side of the door change, growing to a crescendo as the door slowly opens.

I turn to face my kidnapper, struggling to believe what my eyes reveal. “It’s you.”

“Ho ho ho. Yes, my dear girl. Though I had thought you stopped believing in me.” Santa smiles as he wraps his hands around his black suspenders and surveys me with twinkling eyes.

Behind him, nine faces stare back at me from their stalls. The furthest one blinks his red nose on and off as if in greeting.

“I guess my choices are to believe you are real, assume I am dreaming, or find myself a good therapist.”

“Ho ho ho. I have missed your witty letters.”

“Is that why you kidnapped me?”

“I didn’t kidnap you. My elves are expert toy makers but sometimes they don’t understand diplomacy. I asked them to invite you here so we could talk.” He snaps his fingers and the futon I awakened upon folds into a couch with soft quilts hanging neatly over the back.

“So why did you invite me here?”

“Even after you stopped writing to me, you always left out milk and cookies. I share all the Santa cookies with my elves and yours are their favorite. So last year, one of them copied the recipe from the book you left open. The result was delicious cookies, but they just aren’t the same.” He sighs and adjusts his glasses as he assesses my response to this confession.

“So you brought me here to ask for the recipe?”

“Not exactly. We learned that your husband lost his contracting business and my wife can’t keep up with the cookie needs of so many elves. We were hoping you would consider relocating to the North Pole. Your husbands skills would come in handy and you could ease some of Mrs. Claus’s stress.”

I gasp. “You want us to work at the North Pole?”

“Only if you want to.”

“I will have to discuss it with my husband.”

“Of course. I look forward to hearing your answer. For old time’s sake, write it on a piece of paper with a crayon and send it up the chimney.”

I look around the room in confusion, “Can I return home a different way than I got here?”

“Of course. Dasher, Dancer, and I will take you in the express sleigh.”

The two closest reindeer snort appreciatively and stomp their hooves excitedly. 

“Express sleigh?”

“It’s smaller. Lighter. You’re going to love it.” He offers me his elbow and leads me out into the stable.

I reach out to brush my hands against each reindeer’s square nose. They sniff me interestedly, snorting their assessments to each other as Santa continues to lead me down the aisle. As we reach the heavy door, Santa dons a heavy, fur-lined cloak in his traditional red. Another hangs next to it in woodland green. He holds this out to me. I snuggle into its warm folds, surrounded by the aroma of pine and peppermint. 

“This is my wife’s spare cloak. She wanted to make sure you were warm.”

“I will have to thank her.”

“You will get the chance. She is waiting to see us off.”

Somehow despite how calm I have been since Santa walked into the room, my stomach suddenly feels full of flapping wings at the thought of meeting Mrs. Claus. As we cross the snowy yard between the stable and the house, I breath deeply of the cold air in an effort to calm my nerves. Finally, the snowflakes floating gently around us bring me a sense of peace. I follow Santa around the back of the house where a small silver sleigh awaits. Mrs. Claus stands beside it, dressed in the same red as her husband. She smiles and extends her hands to clasp mine. 

“Dear girl, it is a pleasure to meet you,” she says. “Thank you for being so understanding. I explained to our little elf friends that they are never to take anyone anywhere without their permission.”

She keeps a hold of my hands, pulling up the sleeves on the cloak to examine my wrists. “I really am sorry. They are like children in that way. They get so excited to make their parents happy sometimes that they don’t think before they leap.”

I nod as if I understand, mesmerized by the pale blue eyes behind her tiny spectacles.

“I don’t know, dear. If she doesn’t talk, I don’t think we’ll be able to bake up wonderful things to keep those elves working.” She smiles at her husband and then grins at me. “You do sing Christmas carols, at least?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then it might just be okay then. We better get you home, darling. You aren’t used to the cold.” She pats my cheek one last time before clasping my hands again.

As if summoned by her words, jingling approaches from the stables. A tiny elf leads Dasher and Dancer toward us. His eyes widen as he looks up at me before he turns and runs away.

“I assume that was one of my abductors,” I comment as the reindeer come toward me, nuzzling me gently before stepping in front of the sleigh.

“Ready to go, kids,” Santa begins hooking the reindeer to the harnesses.

Mrs. Claus releases my hands. “You have a good trip, dear.”

“I am sure I will.” I look at Dasher and Dancer, who stomp their feet impatiently.

Santa lifts me into the sleigh and then turns to look at his wife. “A kiss for luck?”

As she finishes planting a chaste kiss on his cheek, he hoists her into the seat beside me. “There we go. You will be safe in Mrs. Claus’s capable hands.”

“Ho ho ho!” She laughs at her own soft imitation of his famous phrase and grabs the reins.

At a flick of her wrist, the reindeer begin running. Moments later, we soar into the sky. I look down to see Santa surrounded by dozens of tiny elves. They wave and cheer. Mrs. Claus starts singing Christmas carols and I absentmindedly sing along though my mind is hundreds of miles away with my husband. I wonder how he will respond to our job offer.

~~Some people might think this is autobiographical. Other people might not think my cookies are good enough to bribe elves into laboring diligently 364 days a year to make toys for little children.~~