When Santa Fell to Earth

by Cornelia Funke

  “Not deep enough!” Ben called. “Must be ice underneath.”

  “We’re standing on the Great Christmas Lake, Niklas!” shrieked Matilda. “I knew it!”

  “Bad luck and more bad luck!” Niklas moaned. He sneezed into the cold air.

  “Call the children back inside!” Matilda shouted urgently. “Who knows how far we are from the shore!”

  Niklas peered into the darkness with narrowed eyes. “She’s right,” he said. “Come back inside. It’s too dangerous.”

  “No!” Ben took the hose and went on farther. Charlotte ran after him.

  “Be careful!” Niklas shouted after them.

  The children dragged the hose across the Great Christmas Lake, foot by foot. Charlotte tried to walk in Ben’s boot prints as much as she could, staying close behind his back. She constantly had to wipe snowflakes from her eyes. The cold air chapped her face, but she still felt warm. Without these elf coats we’d be icicles by now, she thought, looking back over her shoulder. The hose of Niklas’s snow machine snaked behind them and grew longer with every step — another elf miracle.

  “It’s so quiet!” Charlotte whispered. “Do you think it’s always this still?”

  Ben shrugged. “There.” He pointed left. “There are reeds poking out of the snow. See?”

  Charlotte nodded. “Yes, that’s got to be the shore, and there are some really big snowdrifts behind it.”

  Ben trudged on. His legs were trembling with the exertion, but there was no time for a rest. Charlotte turned around again. Niklas’s caravan was far away. There was a light above the door. Matilda had lit a lantern. As soon as they reached the reeds, their progress became even harder.

  The hose got caught in the undergrowth, and Ben kept stumbling over stones and branches hidden beneath the snow. Then the snow gradually got deeper. When it had reached their knees, Ben stopped.

  “Let’s try again here,” he said.

  Charlotte looked around uneasily. Nothing disturbed the icy silence. Only her own heart was beating loudly in her ears.

  “Those mountains there,” she muttered, “they look strange somehow. Don’t you think?”

  Ben didn’t answer. He was too busy trying to shove the hose deeper into the snow. Charlotte helped him, but kept looking around.

  “It’s deep enough here,” Ben said.

  “Quick!” Charlotte whispered. “I feel funny. As if someone is watching us.”

  “Nearly there!” Ben grunted. It was only a few more inches to the golden ring.

  “Ben, there’s something there!” Charlotte hissed. “Let’s go back.”

  “Nonsense! There’s nothing!” Ben pushed once more, and the golden ring disappeared beneath the top of the snow. “Done!” he said.

  Suddenly, in the distance, Mutt barked and then howled like a wolf. It sounded eerie in the silence.

  “I’m scared,” Charlotte whispered.

  Then, too late, they heard a creaking and cracking behind them.

  Charlotte spun around and screamed.

  Ben dropped the hose.

  The pointy mountains were moving. The snow avalanched from them, and huge Nutcracker heads appeared from underneath. Their red mouths opened and closed. Their teeth crunched together and their wooden arms shook off the snow. Long legs in shiny boots rose into the air. Fixed eyes stared at the children.

  “Run!” Charlotte screamed, pushing Ben forward. And he ran. He ran for his life. He heard Charlotte panting behind him as his own steps crunched loudly through the snow. The lantern on Niklas Goodfellow’s caravan bobbed up and down in front of him.

  “Run!” They heard Niklas shout, too. “Come on, run!” Charlotte stumbled and fell into the snow. Ben pulled her up again, and they both jumped through the reeds. Gasping for breath, Ben leaped out onto the huge lake. He was a good runner, but Charlotte was falling farther and farther behind. The Nutcrackers stalked toward her on their stiff legs, the ice reverberating under their huge boots. Ben ran back to Charlotte and dragged her along with him.

  “We won’t make it!” she panted. “Let me go!”

  Ben, wordlessly, just pulled her on.

  The big steps came closer and closer.

  But then there was another sound.

  “Yahooo!” Niklas shouted. “Hoooh!”

  His coat flying, a burning torch in his hands, Niklas galloped toward them over the ice. Here, in Yule Land, Twinklestar was far from invisible. Like white lightning he shot across the ice toward the two children. Niklas caught hold of first Ben and then Charlotte, and hauled them up onto Twinklestar’s back.

  The smell of a real Santa tickled the Nutcrackers’ noses, and they began to sneeze terribly. But they didn’t falter. They marched on, not missing a step, while their huge jaws made terrible snapping sounds.

  “Away with you!” shouted Niklas, hurling his torch toward them. With a loud hiss, the flaming staff landed at the Nutcrackers’ feet. But, incredibly, the fire, instead of going out, grew larger.

  “The Christmas elves send their regards!” Niklas called. “This is a special present for you, shingle-heads!”

  The Nutcrackers stopped dead.

  Twinklestar, though, now spun around and flew back to the caravan. With a huge leap he jumped through the White Door, where ten elves were already waiting for them. With desperate haste they grabbed the hose and pulled it, bit by bit, back into the caravan.

  “Was it outside for long enough? Was it seven minutes?” Ben asked breathlessly.

  “Yes, the snow machine is running,” cried Emmanuel. “Purring like a kitten.”

  “Oh, do hurry, for heaven’s sake,” Matilda called. “They’re coming again.”

  The Nutcrackers had marched in a huge circle around Niklas Goodfellow’s burning torch and now began approaching the caravan from two sides. One of them put his foot on the hose, but the elves yanked at it so strongly that the wooden giant lost his balance and fell headlong into the snow.

  “Got him!” they shouted as one.

  Immediately Emmanuel kicked the door shut with all his strength, and Matilda pushed the bolts across with trembling fingers and turned the key twice.

  “The elf boot!” Niklas jumped from Twinklestar’s back. “Quick, put it in the keyhole.”

  No sooner had Emmanuel stuck in the little boot than the Nutcrackers started hammering on the caravan.

  “Goodfellow!” a voice boomed. “Niklas Goodfellow, come out of there!”

  Nobody in the caravan even dared to breathe. They all stared, horror-struck, at the White Door.

  “Goodfellow, we will get you!” a voice threatened. “You have contravened an edict from the Great Christmas Council. You are a Santa no longer.”

  That was the last straw for Niklas. “I am the last Santa!” he bellowed at the door. “The very last one, and I will remain just that. Did you hear me, you wooden numbskull?”

  “Niklas!” Matilda squeaked. “Now you’re starting to swear as well!”

  But there was no stopping Niklas now. “Tell Goblynch that he will never catch me, even if he sends all his numbskulls after me. He’ll explode first, the disgraceful Christmas robber, corrupter of children’s dreams, exploiter of angels, murderer of elves and reindeers!”

  Exhausted, Niklas dropped into his chair.

  “Oh, Niklas!” Matilda sighed. The elves and the children, however, were grinning broadly, and even Emmanuel smiled a little.

  On the other side of the door everything went quiet. Terribly quiet.

  “They’re not leaving!” Charlotte quaked.

  The four corners of the caravan started creaking ominously. Then the whole thing started swaying dangerously from one side to the other. Children and elves fell all over one another. Twinklestar shied wildly, and the angels fluttered against the walls while Niklas held on to his snow machine.

  “They’re trying to knock us over!” Ben shouted.

  “They won’t manage it,” Niklas called back. “We’re firmly rooted in your world. The
y’re just trying to scare us.”

  “Well, they’re managing that quite well.” Charlotte banged her head against a table leg and caught two cups that fell from the shelf. The old caravan creaked and cracked, but it held fast.

  Finally the Nutcrackers had had enough. With a bang they set the caravan back on its wheels and stalked off. Everyone listened anxiously to their heavy steps getting farther and farther away. Only when there was nothing more to be heard, no creaking, no wooden cackling laughs, did they get up and look around.

  Niklas sighed and picked up a broken wood carving. “A lot of work setting all this straight, friends. I don’t even dare to look into the workshop.”

  “You lot wouldn’t listen!” Matilda picked up the shards of her favorite bowl with a grim face. “You knew better!”

  “Sorry!” mumbled Ben. Everything that had survived Niklas Goodfellow’s crash landing was now broken as well: Niklas’s coffeepot, most of the candlesticks, the tiny elf cups, and Matilda’s angel china.

  “We’re terribly sorry,” Charlotte said quietly. She was still sprawled on the floor. Snow was dripping from her elf coat.

  “Nonsense, it’s all my fault,” answered Niklas. “I should have known better.” He picked up a broken flowerpot. “But you know what? It was fun taunting those creatures, wasn’t it?”

  “Fun! You call that fun?” Matilda angrily held the remains of her teapot under his nose.

  “But, Matilda!” Niklas stroked her hair with his fingertip. “This is angel china, it will grow together again. No, just remember those stupid faces when they stood in front of the elf torch.” He chuckled. “That really was fun!”

  “And the snow?” Charlotte asked. She pointed at the snow machine that was still humming quietly on the table. “We weren’t outside long enough, were we?”

  “Oh!” Niklas put an ear to the machine. “I think it might just be enough. We won’t get ten feet of snow, but it will snow. Oh yes, it will snow tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Ben asked incredulously. After all the excitement he could hardly believe his luck.

  Niklas nodded.

  “Whoopeee!” Charlotte cried. She jumped up and danced around Twinkles tar.

  Ben, though, turned very silent. Yes, there would be snow, but he would soon have to fly with his parents to the sun.

  Snow

  Niklas was right. The next morning, at four o’clock, it began to snow. First there were only a few flakes, twirling to the ground. Then there were more and more, until they fell so densely that the air seemed to be made of snow. The roofs turned white, as well as the black branches, and even the gray pavement. The snow fell, and the world grew silent. When Ben got up at seven in the morning, the drifts were already nearly two feet thick. Sledding, thought Ben. Snowball fights. Skating. Snowman building! He skipped down the stairs, whistling to himself. It was impossible not to be happy surrounded by snow. Even though those wretched plane tickets were still lying on the dresser.

  His parents, however, were definitely not in a good mood. “Blasted nuisance!” his father muttered, putting on his boots.

  “Ben, come out with me. You’ve got to scrape the ice off the car while I shovel the driveway. Come on, I’m in a hurry.”

  “Yes … yes, all right!” With a frown Ben put on his clothes and stumbled outside. It was still snowing. Ben stopped in delight and let the soft flakes fall on his face.

  “What are you doing?” shouted his father, clearing the snow from the driveway. “Have you frozen solid already? Sheesh, am I going to be happy to get away from here!”

  Ben’s good mood vanished as swiftly as the street under the snow. His face set into an angry grimace, he started scraping the windshield.

  “Now will you look at that?” His father stood at the gate, the shovel like a weapon in his hands, and stared down the street. “They haven’t even managed to clear the roads. Great! Next thing they’re going to declare a state of emergency. How am I going to get to work?”

  Ben giggled.

  “Very funny!” His father threw the shovel to the ground. “And where did that tacky glittery stuff in the branches come from? Your mother really has the strangest ideas.” He trudged over to the tree where Niklas had sprinkled the glowworms.

  “Leave them alone!” Ben dropped the scraper, but his father was already reaching for the lowest branch. He shook it, and Niklas’s glowworms flew off.

  “No!” Ben held his father by the sleeve. “Stop it, they’re mine!”

  “Oh? Great! Then you can help me get them off. Even you should know that they could damage the tree. Do you want to buy a new one?” Ben’s father pulled himself free of his son’s grip. “What is this stuff, anyway?” Reaching up to the higher branches, he leaned forward, then suddenly lost his grip and slipped.

  “Oouuuch!” he screamed. “My foot, darn it, my foot!”

  Ben, frightened, kneeled next to his father as his mother came running out of the house.

  “What happened?”

  Ben’s father ground his teeth. “I slipped.”

  “What? While you were shoveling the snow?”

  “Of course not! Ask our wonderful son. Are you two going to help me up or do I have to freeze to death down here?”

  Leaning on both of them, he hobbled back into the house and dropped onto the sofa, his face twisted in pain.

  “Come on, Ben,” said his mother, “make yourself a sandwich. You’ve got to get to school. I’d better find a way to get your father to the hospital.”

  “Is his leg broken?” Ben asked.

  His mother shrugged. “Could just be a sprain. Anyway, they will probably have to put a cast on it or strap it up.

  Which means” — she sighed — “good-bye, vacation. And Christmas in the cold.”

  Ben couldn’t believe his ears.

  “Oh, darn it!” he heard his father shout. “Darn it, darn it, darn it!”

  But inside Ben a wave of happiness surged up. He could have sung, danced, exploded with joy. Although he did feel a touch ashamed of it.

  His mother looked at him. “Well, you certainly don’t look too disappointed,” she said.

  “Nope,” muttered Ben and vanished into the kitchen.

  The Wrong Santa

  Niklas started from his sleep. Something had banged against his caravan. Yawning, he crawled out of bed and looked outside. A snowball hit the window, right in front of his nose.

  Niklas smiled. Children were running across the snowy street, stretching their arms up to the falling flakes. Some were throwing snowballs at one another. Cars stood like frozen bugs in the driveways while their owners made their way to the bus stop. There probably won’t be any buses, Niklas thought. A few adults were brushing the snow from their cars, but the flakes fell faster than they could clear them. Children snatched the scrapers from their parents’ hands and ran off with them. Brilliant! Niklas thought.

  He put the kettle on the stove, hummed a little tune, and climbed into his trousers. The snow machine was still purring quietly on the table, and from the workshop he could hear hammering … and swearing. Snow made the elves lively.

  “Matilda, Emmanuel, get up!” Niklas called. He took a tin of gingerbread from the shelf, together with the only mug that had survived the crash and the attack of the Nutcrackers. The shards of the angel china had grown together again overnight. Matilda’s mug, however, now had two handles, while Emmanuel’s had none. Niklas put them next to each other on the table. Then he wound up the music box. Maybe we will have a proper Christmas after all, he thought. One should never give up hope.

  Two sleepy angels came fluttering to the table.

  “Oh, is it still snowing?” Emmanuel put his nose to the window.

  Niklas nodded. “Soon the whole world will be blanketed with snow. Listen! It’s already much quieter.”

  “Oh wonderful!” Matilda sighed, fetching a jug from the shelf. “Then it was worth all the excitement. I nearly died of fear, I really did.”

  “
But Matilda, angels can’t die.” Niklas poured water on the coffee.

  “I said ‘nearly’! Do leave some hot water for us, please?”

  “Three more days,” Niklas muttered. “Three days until Christmas Eve. The wheels are fixed, and the reindeer’s back. Although, I admit, I would love to stay!”

  Matilda was just about to answer when there was a fierce knocking on the door. All three jumped, but it was only Ben, who rushed in, breathless and shaking. “Niklas!” he panted. “Niklas, there’s another Santa!”

  Matilda dropped the jug in shock. It burst into a thousand pieces.

  “Where?” Niklas asked.

  “At the end of the street!” Ben gasped for air, and for words. “Charlotte is shadowing him.” He dropped into a chair. “There are no other cars with all this snow. There’s no school today, either. But, but … the snow doesn’t seem to make any difference to this car. It’s got such a funny thing on the front.”

  “Oh, oh, oh, oh! They’ve found us!” Matilda wrung her hands. “Now they’re definitely going to take your boots, Niklas, and turn you into stale chocolate. And we will be turned into Christmas tree decorations. Oh dear, oh dearie me!”

  “Matilda, stop it.” Niklas walked over to the window and looked outside. There was no trace of the other Santa himself yet. However, his large silver-gray limousine was parked only a few yards away on the side of the street. Not a single snowflake stuck to it. They simply vanished as soon as they touched the metal.

  “Here, my friend.” Niklas put some freshly baked biscuits in front of Ben. “Do you want a hot chocolate with that?”

  “You can’t be thinking of making drinks at a time like this!” Matilda almost shouted. “Have you taken leave of all your Santa senses? We’ve got to leave, Niklas! Hitch up Twinklestar now, while we still have time!”

  “No!” Niklas thumped his fist on the table. “Not this time! I will not sit in the woods on Christmas Eve, staring at a sackful of presents. No!”

  “But what are you going to do?” Emmanuel asked quietly.