by Marc Franco
I don’t know why, but I couldn’t fall asleep. I mean, just seconds before, I’d felt like passing out at the computer, but now I was wide awake again. I let my mind drift and found myself thinking about the next day, Christmas Eve. Then Fleep popped into my head. Would he come to his senses? Maybe he’d already talked to his dad. I wondered. I hoped. I couldn’t stop worrying about him. Was he the friend Tiff said would be on the Wayward List? I finally fell asleep after about an hour of tossing and turning.
I dreamed.
I stood at the edge of a cliff staring down into a valley and across a lake. I looked up. The sky had an ominous, navy-blue hue. The moon was full, a luminescent medallion in the sky, illuminating the silhouette of a gigantic palace perched on a mountain across the valley. The palace was surrounded by thick, white banks of snow. The wind blew, and the air smelled of burning wood. The palace was beautiful, powerful, but scary. Suddenly I heard a voice.
“You should have told me.” It was Fleep’s voice. Stunned, I looked around but there was no Fleep.
“Where are you?” I asked nervously.
“You know where I am. It’s your fault I’m here, Jakob.”
“I—I have no idea where you are. I don’t even know where I am.”
“I’m under the palace, in the dungeon. My side lost, Jakob. You knew your side would win. You knew all along that you would win. Why didn’t you tell me all this was real? I said no to the greatest present, and it’s your fault.” His voice fell silent.
I focused on the palace. There was a red glow coming from the windows, and then black smoke billowed out.
“I’m wayward forever!” Fleep’s voice shouted. “But you already know that.” Then, as it often happens in dreams, the scene shifted. I was now looking into a dark prison cell. Something moved in the shadows. “You should have helped me … but you didn’t,” Fleep’s voice said, as the blurred image of a wooden creature charged the cell bars, reaching out at me with wooden hands.
I sat bolt upright in bed, my heart slamming against my ribs.
“Fleep!” I said, clawing at my blanket. I reached around and turned on my reading lamp then grabbed my journal and pen. Frantically, I flipped the pages until I found a blank one and then began writing all that I could remember from the terrible dream.
After re-reading what I wrote, I closed the journal. My clock read two-thirty a.m. It was the morning of Christmas Eve. I turned off the light and fell back on my pillow.
“Fleep …” was the last thing I said before dozing off to sleep.
I woke up at the crack of dawn Christmas Eve, but not because I was an early riser. Fleep and the stupid dreams had me restless. I thought about calling Logan, but she was probably still asleep. So I sent an e-mail telling her what Fleep had said about his parents and Santa. Logan always started her day by reading the Yahoo.com news headlines and her e-mails.
An hour later we were on a video call on our computers.
“Read what I wrote about Fleep?” I asked.
“Yeah. He really said that about his parents?”
“Yeah! And he really doesn’t believe in Santa. And then last night I had this strange dream with him in it.” I told her about the dream and then Logan really freaked me out.
“Oh my gosh, Tiff was right. Fleep’s wayward and I’ll bet your dream is a vision or something, like of Fleep’s future.”
“Don’t talk like that, Logan. You’re freaking me out. We just need to get Fleep to believe again. And him seeing Santa is the only way. So, are you going to ask your mom to take us to The Kringle Shop in Christmas, or do I ask mine?”
“My mom will drive us,” Logan said.
“Did you ask? You know it’s the annual brunch today.”
“Don’t worry, I have a plan. She’ll do it.”
I heaved a doubtful sigh. “Just make sure. And what about Shig?”
“I already talked to him. He can’t come. His mom is making him go to the brunch.”
I sighed again. Nothing was going as planned.
“Chill. I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Bye.”
I ended the video call. Logan’s plan had better be good. Her mom never missed a brunch. I walked downstairs in search of my own mom. It was going to be a tough sell, asking to skip out on the Christmas Eve brunch, but I had to ask, regardless. You see, the Clark Cove moms had their traditions, and the Christmas Eve brunch was the one gathering you did not miss. This year the Sanchez’s were hosting it, and there would be the signature items like Mrs. Sugihara’s chocolate-covered sushi (although odd, it was always a hit), Mr. Raffo’s assortment of teas, Mr. Sanchez’s tortilla de papas (potato omelet), and, of course, my mom’s apple cake.
Thirty minutes later and much to my surprise, I found myself sitting beside Logan in her mom’s Armada SUV on our way to the little town of Christmas, Florida. She was peeling her way out of the parka her mom had made her wear. Moms—they know how to overdo it. Speaking of moms, I’d told mine it would only take us an hour to make the trip to Christmas, so she’d said, “Sure, go ahead, whatever.” Now that I think of it, I probably could have asked her for twenty dollars, and she would have said yes; anything to get me out of the kitchen and out of her hair. I shifted in my seat, then looked at Logan and wondered how in the world she had gotten her mom to skip out on the brunch and drive us all the way out to Christmas.
“How did you do this?” I asked.
“I called some of the neighborhood moms and asked if they had any last-minute holiday cards to mail, because my mom and I were going to Christmas. As I expected, almost everyone had at least one thing they’d forgotten to mail. I reminded them that postmarking the cards from Christmas, Florida would make them special, even if they were late. They were all very grateful and gave me their mail. Then I just told my mom and she felt obligated. And here we are, on our way,” Logan said with a cutesy smile and shrug.
“That’s incredible,” I said, and Logan smiled again. Man, she was good.
Forty minutes later I was in the town of Christmas, listening to Mrs. Raffo complain about the freezing cold and how far away we had parked. We walked for another minute or so until we arrived at a split in the sidewalk. To the right was The Kringle Shop, a shoebox-shaped, weathered, red, single-story building with a metal roof and large wraparound porch. It cried out for a new paint job, but was probably left that way on purpose for added character. To the left was the post office—with a long line of people trailing out the door. Most of the people were holding packages or envelopes, and everyone was dressed for the cold. It was unusual seeing people in Florida wearing thick jackets and even hats and gloves. I just couldn’t believe how cold it was.
Mrs. Raffo spotted the line of people.
“Ah, will you look at that line,” Mrs. Raffo complained. It’s funny how adults can loudly hate waiting in lines, yet tell us kids to be patient the moment we complain.
Logan and I veered right on the sidewalk.
“Just where do you two think you’re going?” Mrs. Raffo said.
We stopped.
“I told you, I want to get a book or something from the shop,” Logan said, pointing to the red building.
Mrs. Raffo sighed then made a beeline for the shop. “Follow me,” she yelled over her shoulder.
“As long as there’s someone here to keep an eye on you two,” Mrs. Raffo said, then trotted up the steps, opened the door, and disappeared into the shop. Logan and I followed. The hardwood floors creaked as I walked inside. There was a red brick fireplace to my left as I walked in. The smell and heat of the burning wood made me smile and brought warmth to my cold hands and face. I took off my jacket and tied it around my waist then looked around, taking it all in. The first thing I noticed was how big and spacious the place was on the inside. The ceiling was so high that I went back outside to take another look at the roof. It didn’t add up; the roof was just a single story on the outside … but the inside ceiling soar
ed. It had to be at least double the height of the outside roof. Strange, and not physically possible. I glanced over at Logan. She didn’t seem to be aware of the contradiction.
“Jingle Bells” was playing from the speakers overhead, and a giant LCD TV was showing my favorite Christmas movie about an Elf who travels to New York in search of his father. Cool, I loved that movie. I continued looking around.
The theme of the shop, aside from being Christmas, was also rustic and country-like, similar to the shop area of a Cracker Barrel-like country store. Knickknacks and down-home Christmas stuff cluttered the shelves, and tightly placed clothing racks with Christmassy-themed items were everywhere. Mrs. Raffo grabbed one of the workers. Logan’s eyes bulged. It was a little person. My eyes searched his shirt and found his nametag. It read BAUM. He was the one we were here to meet. Wow, was he interesting looking. His face was youthful, I guess, despite the nasty scars running across his forehead. His hair was pulled back in a black ponytail and he had a handlebar moustache and tattoos that added an element of fierceness. Despite his size, Baum wasn’t someone to mess with. He was dressed in red and black camouflage combat pants, black boots, and wore a tactical belt that looked like something from the Special Forces. His tight red t-shirt hugged his muscular frame, and the logo over the left side of his chest read DT-6.
“Sir,” Mrs. Raffo began then paused, giving Baum the once-over, “well, aren’t you cute in that outfit.”
Baum crossed his arms then tapped his bicep. He looked at her like he’d heard that line a million times. Cute, not a word I’d have used to describe him. Tough sounded better. I could tell Mrs. Raffo was bugging him. I noticed an interesting-looking tattoo on his arm. It was two crisscrossed candy canes—forming a kind of X—with a military dog tag hanging down the middle. I squinted but couldn’t make out the name written on the dog tag.
“These two are with me,” Mrs. Raffo said, pointing to Logan and me. “I have to get into that awful line at the post office, and they want to buy something from your charming shop, so please keep an eye on them.” Baum gave her one of those “Are you kidding me?” looks.
“I mean,” she lowered her voice and leaned down, “the freaks. It’s Christmas, and all of the freaks are out. Just make sure they don’t leave with anyone or—you know—get stolen.”
Baum sighed, resigned. “Don’t worry, lady. I get it. They’ll be safe in here. Just go mail your stuff. When they’re done shopping, if you’re not back, they’ll be sitting on that bench over there.”
Baum turned, flipping his long ponytail as he pointed to a black bench beside the checkout counter. Mrs. Raffo turned to Logan.
“Give me the cards.” Mrs. Raffo looked at Logan’s empty hands. “Oh my blah!” Mrs. Raffo said, frustrated.
That was a new one, I thought. I’d never heard anyone say “oh my blah” before, but it was a good substitute.
Logan frowned. “I thought you had them. Sorry. I guess they’re in the front seat,” Logan said as her mom stormed away in a huff. We traded shrugs and turned around quickly, expecting Baum, but he was gone. So much for keeping an eye on us. A second later, I saw him clear across the other side of the shop helping a lady, but how did he get so far so quickly? By the dumbfounded look on Logan’s face, I could tell she was thinking the same thing. We sprinted over and quietly snuck up behind him while he finished up with the lady.
“Yeeessss?” he said drawn-out-like as he turned around, as if he knew we were there all along. I stared at him for a moment, thinking what to say.
“Benji sent us,” I whispered.
Baum regarded me. “I don’t know anyone named Benji.”
“He said you’d probably say that.” I smirked, reached over to Logan and snapped my fingers. “Logan, the glasses.” I turned back to Baum. “You see, he gave us a special pair of glasses.”
“Oh goody,” Baum said sarcastically while clasping his hands. My smile faded.
I snapped my fingers again. “Come on. Give me the glasses.”
“Uh, Jakob, I kind of … forgot them,” Logan said sheepishly.
“You what?”
“She forgot them,” Baum said walking away.
I trotted up beside him and whispered, “Look, they are special Santa glasses.”
Baum stopped and rolled his eyes.. “Santa … nice, and I guess I’m some sort of an elf.”
“Well, actually Benji called you a dwarf!”
Baum stared up at me curiously then said, “You think that up all by your lonesome or did your girlfriend help?”
I glanced over at Logan. She smirked.
“She’s not my … hey!” Baum had walked away—again, faster than humanly possible—and was already helping another customer when Logan brushed up beside me.
“Hey, boyfriend,” she mocked as she punched me in the arm.
“Cut it out. We’re failing miserably here. And now I can’t remember the phrase Benji told us to say.”
Logan shot me a cutesy smile. “What would you do without me?”
She remembered!
“Awesome, let’s tell him.”
As we approached Baum, Logan pointed to the back of his shirt. It was the image of an enormous polar bear, dressed in clothes similar to Baum’s but holding a green and white striped device of some type. I’d never seen anything like it. It looked like a cross between a giant candy cane and a power tool. What intrigued me most was the polar bear. It looked so real. I had to touch it. Slowly, I reached out. Instantly my hand felt a cold, windy breeze then the polar bear’s white, furry coat. I jerked my hand back. I couldn’t believe it, but Logan was my witness. I’d just stuck my hand into the image on Baum’s shirt and petted a polar bear. Suddenly Baum turned around, startling us both.
“What do you two want now?”
Logan and I were astonished.
“How did I do that?”
He looked away, glancing around the store, then looked back at me. “Do what, kid?”
“You know, reach into your shirt.” He chuckled dismissively, but his anxious glances around the store told me something was up.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said.
“Okay, enough with the games. Logan, tell him.”
She moved in close to his ear and whispered, “Baum is no bum.”
He slowly straightened his back. Then leisurely and deliberately stroked his handlebar moustache. Baum was quiet for another minute as he studied us, then he finally spoke, but not before giving the shop another once-over.
“Took you long enough. And for the record, I’m a Special Forces commando dwarf. Customer service isn’t my thing.” He looked us over again. “Aren’t there supposed to be three of you?”
“Actually four, but Shig and Fleep couldn’t come.” Briefly, I wondered if his miscount meant Fleep was already on the Wayward List, but then forced myself to concentrate on our mission.
Baum grunted then said, “Well, I’m only cleared to equip three. Follow me.”
He led us behind the counter and through a series of green doors, each leading to new rooms that became increasingly smaller. We first entered a small inventory room, then another cluttered storage room, and finally a bare room the size of a closet. The instant he closed the last door, a dim green light shone from above. Baum smiled then rubbed his hand over the far right wall. Upon his touch, a panel of lighted buttons appeared. We were in some kind of an elevator. I looked at the panel again, but it made no sense. The buttons were for floors one to forty-four.
“Do you see the buttons?” Logan asked, tapping me repeatedly on the shoulder like it was a drum.
“Yeah, stop hitting me.”
“How is it possible? I mean, forty-four floors?” Logan asked, panicky, as she gestured to the buttons. “It’s a one-floor building!” Logan carried on, but her voice was suddenly muffled by a loud swooping sound as the walls around us disappeared and we ascended slowly past the first floor. “What’s happening to us?” Logan yelled and smacked me
on the back. Enough already with the hitting, I thought. I turned, ready to smack her back, but immediately stopped, startled. She was changing. I pointed at her, and that’s when I noticed my arm and hand had also changed. Logan let out a bloodcurdling scream.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Logan was barely visible, just an icy-clear silhouette. My eyes shot over to Baum. He looked like he was completely made of crystal. My hands were too. I’d given up on wondering how any of this was possible. It just was. Even the elevator looked like a box made of ice. Baum reached for the now invisible controls and pressed one, obviously having memorized the buttons. The elevator stopped abruptly, causing me to lose my balance. I grabbed for something to steady myself, then felt the cold wall of the icy elevator. Logan was rocking herself and wouldn’t meet my eyes. She was terrified.
“Logan, it’s okay. You look really cool,” I said, trying to make a bad joke.
“Don’t worry. It’s not permanent, just necessary,” Baum said.
She was still hysterical, repeating, “Not possible,” over and over again. I examined my legs, then my arms, and then the rest of what I could see. I lifted my right foot and looked under my shoe. All of me looked like ice. I wondered if, since I had suddenly transformed into ice, I’d be leaking water. No water and I wasn’t frozen. Okay, maybe it was a dumb thought, but my self-inspection wasn’t over. I made a fist and knocked on my chest. It made a clinking sound. Solid.
“Logan, can we continue?” Baum asked.
“It’s one floor … one floor!” Logan repeated. Baum must have taken that as a yes, because he set the elevator in motion and we continued our ascent.
Logan kept mumbling, her lips quivering. I reached over and placed my hand on her glassy shoulder, hoping to calm her. She didn’t respond to my touch. The elevator continued upward, past the roof of the shop. As we ascended higher and higher, I looked beyond the see-through walls and down at the shrinking road, the parking lot, and the treetops. Amazing.
