Catching Santa

by Marc Franco

  “I’m trying but nothing is happening! How does it work? Am I supposed to feel different, because I don’t feel any different. Should I think what I want it to do?”

  Baum shook his head at Benji. He disapproved of me wearing the belt. Don’t get me wrong. It was creepy wearing Santa’s belt, but it’s not like I planned on keeping it. I’d return it once the second dragon was dealt with. I just needed to figure out how to turn it on, but it was fast becoming too late.

  The dragon crouched down to attack. Then, just as it sprang, it was hit by a huge blue light that sent it sliding on its side down the icy, crater-ridden street. That’s when I saw him, Santa, in his red and black camouflage armor suit. He was huge in stature—as big as the dragon he was battling and carried a luminous crystal sword. The dragon rose quickly, spun toward Santa, then roared and charged. Santa quickly sprinted toward the beast as it spat three fireballs at him. Just as Santa and the dragon were about to collide, Santa’s sword grew to a blinding, brilliant, white light—so bright that I was forced to look away for a moment. But I quickly managed to focus back on the battle and found Santa in the air above the dragon, coming out of a somersault. He landed to the right of its back end, then jerked back on his white crystal blade, severing its spiky tail. The dragon spewed a painful roar of fire high into the air. Santa quickly stepped toward the dragon’s head, preparing to strike it at the neck, when he was struck in the back by a newly-grown spiked tail. Evidently, the dragon was able to regenerate its tail—like a chameleon, but in only a split second. Thankfully the spikes didn’t penetrate Santa’s armor, but the force of the blow sent him flying.

  As he landed, Santa transformed into an armored ball, just like the commandos had done before, to protect himself from further blows. The dragon lunged forward and clawed at the ball, but then stopped and looked at it cock-eyed. You could almost see the beast thinking … where was the crystal sword? Surely, it wasn’t with Santa inside the armored ball.

  Eager to destroy its enemy’s weapon, the dragon took its eyes off Santa and greedily looked around for the sword. In that split second, Santa emerged from the ball, holding the giant, glowing sword. As the dragon jerked back and spewed a deluge of flames, Santa was ready and stood his ground. He held up the sword and repelled the flames back into the dragon’s face. Thankfully, that was the last sensation the dragon would ever experience, as his head was consumed by his own flames and turned to ash. The massive lifeless body crashed to the ground.

  We erupted in cheers and sprinted to Santa. When I got there, I heard him mutter instructions as he held the sword handle inches from his mouth. The white light from the sword grew brighter, so bright that it forced me for the second time to look away. But I willed myself to look back; I did not want to miss this. Through the light, I could see Santa’s twenty-foot silhouette shrink back to size. Within a few seconds, the light faded to reveal Santa just how I’d seen him in my house. His armor disappeared, and he turned to Baum and smiled.

  “How is Dasher?”

  “Dancer reports he’ll be fine,” Baum said. That was good news.

  “Baum, I’ve made a terrible mess.” Santa pointed to the dragon several feet from me. “Will you coordinate the clean-up please?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He was so nice and gentle. Baum smiled, nodded, and began barking orders.

  That left the rest of us—Shig, Logan, Benji and me—alone with Santa. I was really nervous. For all I knew, I was in big trouble, like criminal trouble … jail trouble … Santa jail. In addition to my own worries, the traffic of voices inside my helmet speakers was almost deafening as the Special Forces team jumped into action. I guess Santa knew this because he reached out and fiddled with my head armor then removed it. He did the same for Logan and Shig, then turned to Benji.

  “Benji, I was not supposed to drink so much elvish tea, nor was Servant Rupert supposed to get his belt back,” Santa’s voice was not angry, just stating a fact.

  “We had an unexpected turn of events,” Benji said softly.

  “Yes, we did. In the future, let’s be sure to communicate more clearly to our young friends. You’re lucky the effects of the tea wore off as quickly as they did.”

  “Aye, sir. But if I may point out, sir, that even though Servant Rupert may have his belt of power, we have his book. And with his book, we know the way to his fortress,” Benji said confidently.

  “I’m not convinced that that was a fair trade, the book for the belt,” Santa said lightheartedly.

  Santa leaned into me. “And as for you … I believe you have something that belongs to me.” I quickly unclasped the belt buckle and handed it to Santa.

  I leaned in and whispered to him. “But why do you wear it? You defeated the dragon without the belt.”

  Santa gestured for me to come closer. “This belt is nothing more than fancy metal and high-tech gadgetry. But sometimes even magical folks need something to believe in.”

  “But how did you defeat the dragon?”

  “Jakob, you will learn that our magic, the most powerful of all magic, is in here.” He tapped on his chest.

  “And S.R.’s belt uses a different kind of magic?”

  Santa nodded. “Yes, made by the elements. It is not as strong as what is within you, but it still grants great power to the one who wears it. We must get it back and will,” he said optimistically. “Then we shall liberate the captured souls the Servant holds.”

  Captured souls. My thoughts went to Fleep. I should have done more. I didn’t even need some dumb belt to beat S.R.; the power had been in me all along. I could have saved Fleep.

  Logan stepped in front of me, full of determination. “Let’s go then.”

  “Logan, it is not that simple. I need the help of the five great ones, the ones who forged the belt. But unfortunately four are nothing more than statues without their faces.”

  “Oh my gosh, faceless statues? Wait … are they the statues hanging in The Teashroom?” Logan asked, dumbfounded.

  “Sadly, yes. Servant Rupert stole their faces and kidnapped their brother during our last battle. Preparation and—”

  Suddenly distracted, Santa stopped speaking. Great, he was looking at me. I hid behind Logan. I didn’t want him to see me crying.

  “Jakob,” Santa said, stepping toward Logan and me. Logan moved out of his way. I couldn’t blame her. He was so gentle, but also so commanding. “You’ve been so brave. Why such sadness?”

  I sniffled. “It’s Fleep. He said you weren’t real. He didn’t believe. He—”

  “He chose not to believe. Jakob, Fleep’s lack of belief is not your burden to carry.” He shook his head. “Belief is born with the soul and shielded by innocence, until it is finally challenged by maturity and you are left with a simple choice: belief or disbelief. Believing in me was Fleep’s choice to make.”

  He squinted his eyes, as if he were reading my mind. “Now dry those tears,” he said, wiping my cheek. “Is there anything else you want to know?”

  I hesitated at first. I had a million questions, but one had perplexed me since the moment I laid eyes on Santa. Carefully, I chose my words and said, “If you and I are Poles, then we’re related, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “But how’s that possible. Your face, I mean your skin is—”

  “A different color than yours?” Santa said with raised eyebrows.

  I nodded as Santa knelt before me.

  “Come now, Jakob. You are thinking like a Flicker. You are part of an ancient race and, in time, you will learn to think like a Pole and realize the difference between appearance and truth—between what seems to be true and what really is true. Soon you will see eternal reality and truth for what it is, a magnificent color beyond belief that is deep inside here,” Santa said knocking on his chest. “That is the color, our color, a Pole’s color.” Santa regarded me. “Understand?”

  “I think so,” I said a little unsure.

  “Right then, well I better be off. Your training begin
s when I return,” Santa announced.

  I looked at Santa, surprised. “What am I training for?”

  “To be my replacement, of course!”

  “But I can’t go anywhere. My parents—”

  “Will never know you left. One of the few times being out of time actually works to your benefit. Besides, it’s my turn to grow up with my parents.” Perplexed, I shook my head. Was Santa still a boy like me? “It’s your turn, Jakob. I’ll explain more soon, but first I must deliver the presents. Merry Christmas!”

  As I watched him leave, I had a feeling Christmas would never be the same again. Boy was I right, but that’s another story.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  David M. F. Powers, aka Marc Franco, is the author of A Butterfly Without Wings and Catching Santa. He lives in Central Florida with his wife and three children. Having grown up in Rota and Madrid, Spain, Powers is deeply rooted in the traditions of Andalusian culture since his mother is from Jerez de la Frontera. Homemade Churros are his specialty. Powers speaks fluent Castilian and always looks forward to his next visit to his second homeland, Spain.

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  Visit www.MarcFranco.com

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