Arthur Christmas

by Justine Fontes

  Grandsanta scoffed, “Rubbish! How can you possibly be sure?!”

  “The GPS on my Hoho, sir!” Bryony explained. “It cross references seven satellites to pinpoint our location to within three feet …”

  Her voice trailed off as Grandsanta pushed Bryony in front of him and offered her to the nearest lion. “Take her! Take the elf!”

  “A GPS!” Arthur exclaimed. “Why didn’t you say?!”

  “I’m a wrapping elf. I don’t navigate. I wrap,” Bryony stated. She waved her Hoho. “I use it to store pictures of bows.”

  The lions slinked closer, opening their jaws to reveal deadly fangs.

  Grandsanta quivered. “Help! I’m too young to die! Arthur!”

  The young man was still processing their situation. “She’s right. This is Africa! I’ve seen it on a stamp. You brought us to AFRICA! And we’ll all be eaten, and we’ll never get to Gwen!”

  Arthur stared at Grandsanta, who suddenly looked like a scared, lost, little old man who begged pathetically, “Fight them! Save Santa! DO something! Arthur!!!!!”

  But Arthur had never been faced with a life-or-death responsibility before. What could he possibly do against a pride of lions?

  Meanwhile, at the North Pole, Steve was searching for a way to contact Arthur and Grandsanta. He called in Ernie, the head of Polar Communications. Ernie was the oldest elf ever. He wore pajamas adorned with medals, wheezing as he slowly set up a cobwebby contraption.

  “Can we hurry this?” Steve said. He was getting impatient.

  “Oh, you can’t rush the Signalator. Got to play ’er gentle.” Ernie continued to set up the dusty, old machine. The Signalator looked like an ancient typewriter. It was massive and had plenty of strange buttons and levers.

  Ernie shoved an old wire into a socket. A shock buzzed through his body, causing his hair to stand up. The Signalator hummed to life. Colorful signal flags popped up, and Ernie, very pleased with himself, looked to Steve.

  “So, what do you wish to say?”

  Back in Africa, Arthur didn’t know how to handle the pride of lions coming toward him. Suddenly, without any thought at all, Arthur turned on his musical, electronic reindeer slippers and started singing along. “Silent Night, Holy Night …”

  The sound surprised the lions. They had never heard a meal sing before. Neither had they ever seen reindeer slippers with flashing eyes.

  The slippers and their terrified owner continued, “All is calm … All is bright …”

  Arthur turned to Bryony and Grandsanta and shrugged. “I realize this is mental, but it’s all that I know …”

  Bryony and Grandsanta might have thought Arthur insane, but the lions were not attacking! Their round, yellow eyes seemed hypnotized by the blinking lights. And their large furry ears swiveled in response to the soothing song.

  Arthur cooed, “It’s Christmas, nice kitties. So please let us go …”

  One by one, the mesmerized lions lay down! Grandsanta and Bryony joined in the song. So the three sang with Arthur’s slippers, “Sleep in heavenly peace …”

  Soon the whole pride settled down quietly around them. A magical moment of Christmas peace prevailed on the African plain. Slowly, carefully, and still singing, Arthur, Bryony, and Grandsanta made their way back to the sleigh.

  “… Sleep in heavenly peace.”

  Then just when it seemed they would be safely on their way, a loud CLANG shattered the calm. Tiny flags popped up on Eve’s dashboard: a message on the old Signalator.

  The three travelers jumped into the sleigh just as the startled lions resumed their attack!

  “Dash! DASH!” Grandsanta commanded, as one lion swiped at the sleigh’s Signalator.

  Just as flags flapped and the claxon CLANGED on Eve, corresponding flags wiggled on Ernie’s device at the Pole.

  “Something’s coming through!” he reported to Steve and Peter excitedly.

  “What does it say?!” Steve demanded.

  Unfortunately, Grandsanta wasn’t working his Signalator. The lion’s paw pushed at it wildly. Ernie scratched his head, but recited dutifully, “Chimney full of cocoa. Send robins.”

  Grandsanta swung his cane at the lion batting at the flag-waving device. “No!” he screamed at the naughty cat. “That Signalator is Christmas history, you mangy moron!”

  Another lion snatched at Gwen’s gift. Arthur pulled it away just in time, but the beast’s claws tore at the pretty paper.

  Like a miniature ninja, Bryony sprang into action. “HIIYYAAA!” she screamed. “Only children get to tear the wrapping!”

  In a flash, she taped together the lion’s paws. He stumbled off, as the elf explained to Arthur, “XD3 Automatic Sticky Tape Dispensers!”

  Grandsanta shouted at another lion. “Get off! Get off it!”

  “Laser-guided scissors …,” Bryony announced as she aimed the light at another lion, temporarily blinding it. The beast quickly retreated.

  “Shoulder-mounted gift-wrap!” Bryony went on as she wrapped a third lion’s head.

  “There’s no time for a bow!” Arthur exclaimed.

  But Bryony could not abandon her training. “There’s always time for a bow.”

  The lions didn’t think so. They continued to attack, as Bryony frantically pushed buttons on Eve’s dashboard.

  One button caused an old-fashioned camera to pop up. Its flash momentarily startled a lion, but then the lion smashed the camera with a huge, powerful paw.

  “Not MY CAMERA!” Grandsanta moaned.

  Finally, the sleigh managed to get off the ground—only to crash into a grove of trees. Two more reindeer broke free of the harness, galloping across the plain to join a herd of antelope.

  Arthur rolled the drum of magic dust to the edge of the sleigh and tipped it out over the remaining reindeer.

  The sleigh flew safely away! But the wind caught the dust and carried the magic sparkles down to the lions, giraffes, zebras, and elephants, which soon floated above the savannah like huge, live balloons.

  AT THIS AMAZING display, Arthur and Bryony burst out laughing. But Grandsanta wailed in misery. His beloved sleigh and his ancient map had both been badly torn by tree branches and savage claws.

  “Look what they’ve done to my Evie!” the old man moaned. “And the map!”

  “It’s OK. We’ve got this,” Arthur assured him. Then he typed into Bryony’s Hoho, “Look … Mimosa Avenue … Trelew …”

  After a few seconds of satellite contact and some quick calculations, Steve’s recorded voice recited robotically over the Hoho, “Proceed to the highlighted route.”

  Grandsanta shook his head. “What’s the point? Look at us! And my camera, totally banjaxed. How do I get my picture now?”

  “What picture?” Arthur asked.

  “The sleigh on the roof, the eight beautiful reindeer, and Santa-me! Getting down the chimbley!” Grandsanta replied. “That’s what I wanted ’em to see! They missed the kid, but I got there! My way!”

  Arthur looked at his grandfather, deeply disillusioned. The horrible truth became clear. His heart sank faster than a sleigh without magic dust. “That’s why you came,” Arthur stated. “Not for Gwen.”

  Steve’s recorded voice on the Hoho interrupted, “1,368 miles … then slight left.”

  Arthur felt too disappointed to speak. What could he say anyway? The important thing was to get Gwen her gift. So the sleigh sped through the night, silent except for the jingling bells of the harness and the whistling wind.

  As they neared the coast, Steve’s recorded voice announced, “Descend 1,000 feet.”

  They approached a town with a sign that said, “TRELEW.”

  Steve’s recorded voice concluded, “You’re at your destination.”

  Arthur and Bryony cheered. “Yaaaay!! We did it!” Grandsanta sulked. “Whoop doo.”

  Steve’s electronic voice droned on Bryony’s Hoho. “In 100 yards, turn left … straight again … left again … turn right. You are at your client’s dwelling.�
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  Grandsanta struggled to steady the damaged sleigh. Eve bumped to a rough landing in an alley. A chunk of wood fell off.

  Arthur leaped out, hugging the ground in joyous relief. “We made it! I survived!” he gushed, before kissing the ground. “I’ll walk home! I’ll get a boat! But I am never getting back in that crazy flying deathtrap ever again!”

  BANG! The bike landed at his feet, kicked off the sleigh by Grandsanta. “Go on. Get it over. I want my bed,” the old man grumbled.

  Arthur did not understand. “You’re not coming? You have to deliver the present. You’ve got your special coat on.”

  “You’re our Santa,” Bryony added.

  But Grandsanta didn’t care. “I said me and Evie could get here and we did. The rest is just elf-work.”

  Arthur scratched his head. “It doesn’t matter how we got here. The sleigh on the roof, the jingle bells, the eight reindeer—Gwen would never have seen that.”

  He picked up the bike and stalked away. Bryony followed him, leaving Grandsanta alone in his battered sleigh.

  After a brief walk, they reached Number 23. Arthur’s heart fluttered with excitement. Inside a child waited for Santa. He whispered, “I wish dad could see this. It would take such a load off his mind.”

  Focused on the mission, Bryony asked, “So what are your orders?”

  Arthur looked blank.

  Bryony sighed. “You’re a Claus. You give the orders.”

  “Do I?” Arthur fumbled. “Oh … um … I’m just happy being an elf, really. You know, just … just part of it all!”

  Bryony rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Do you want to order me to go through the cat door?”

  That made sense to Arthur, so he agreed. “Oh. Um, yes! That’s a great idea!”

  The elf squeezed through the small opening, and then peeped out through the mail slot. “Do you want to tell me to let you in?”

  “Brilliant,” Arthur agreed gratefully. “Thank you, Bryony.”

  Locks rattled. Then the door opened and … an alarm began to BEEP BEEP BEEP!

  Bryony looked at Arthur, who nodded. The resourceful elf climbed up to the alarm box and with lightning speed wrapped it thickly with bright paper.

  Beep beep beep! The now-muffled alarm whispered.

  Arthur and Bryony crept farther into the house, toward the Christmas tree. Arthur’s eyes grew wide with awe at its twinkling beauty and the excitement of the moment.

  “Is this your first time?” Bryony wondered.

  Arthur nodded, and the elf gently took his hand and led him forward toward the pile of presents. In the center, both saw a small bicycle, neatly wrapped in North Pole paper, with a tag that read “De: Santa.”

  Arthur sank to his knees in horror. How could there already be a gift from Santa? And why did the tag read “De” instead of “From”?

  His wide eyes took in other clues to their location. This was not England any more than the Serengeti had been a zoo in France!

  Before Arthur could form a question, the wrapping paper muffling the alarm shook loose and the alarm resumed its full volume BEEP BEEP BEEP!

  WO-WO-WO-WOOF! The alarm woke a small dog that dashed into the room. The dog leaped on one of Arthur’s furry slippers, embracing it passionately.

  “He likes those slippers even more than you do,” Bryony observed.

  Arthur struggled out of a back window, and Bryony slammed it closed on their escape. The dog pressed against the glass, eyes wet.

  Arthur looked down at his slipper, then opened the window and gave it to the love-struck little pooch. “Happy Christmas,” he said. The dog’s tail wagged wildly as its tiny paws closed around its prize.

  As the travelers dashed down the street, Bryony looked around and asked, “When you put the address into the Hoho, what did you see?”

  “A list of Trelews,” Arthur recalled. “I just clicked on the first one …”

  At the same moment, both Bryony and Arthur read a billboard: Vota Alealde Domenguez, Para una mejor Trelew!

  Bryony exclaimed, “We’re in the wrong Trelew!”

  Sirens sounded from every direction at once, as police responded to the alarm at 23 Mimosa Avenue in Trelew, Mexico—7,425 miles from Trelew, England.

  When the two reached the sleigh in the alley, Grandsanta pointed up at helicopters. “They’ve been watching us! They’ve seen Evie!”

  Bryony grabbed the Hoho and tuned it to the latest news. A TV reporter announced, “Governments tonight are waking to news of a UFO traveling around the globe at incredible speed. Now suspected to be in Mexico, the clearest sighting of the UFO was at this tractor dealership in Idaho.”

  Bob recalled his “close encounter” with horror. “It had eyes on its feet and a little pointy head! It asked me for a sign!”

  The reporter went on. “And from the trail of destruction left in Toronto, these beings do NOT appear to be friendly.”

  At the North Pole’s Mission Control, Steve watched the same report on his Hoho while surrounded by sleepy support elves.

  As Peter searched the Internet, he, Steve, and the elves, realized that every nation on Earth was tracking the flying sleigh. There was even news footage of the floating African animals!

  A Tanzanian reporter concluded unhappily, “The herd is now in Mozambique’s airspace, threatening the fragile peace between the two nations.”

  Steve’s stomach churned. “Two billion items delivered, and we didn’t leave a footprint in the snow. And now …” However would he explain this mess to Santa?!

  All around Steve, elves reported additional disasters. An Internet technology elf named Doug moaned, “Sir, we have 80 percent data loss.”

  Another said, “Sir, there’s a polar bear on level six.”

  A third wondered, “Why is Arthur out there?”

  Ernie, the old elf still trying to raise the sleigh on his Signalator, blurted out, “Santa missed a nipper, number 47785BXK.”

  Word began to spread through the North Pole’s massive elf population that “a nipper” had been missed, and Arthur had gone to make the delivery.

  Just then, Doug exclaimed, “Sir, we’ve got something! Bryony Shelfley’s Hoho!”

  At that moment, Bryony stared at Arthur, who sat aboard the battered sleigh. He grabbed her tape guns and taped himself firmly to Eve’s seat, stating boldly, “We can still get there! We just have to go faster … higher!”

  Bryony admired his determination. “Ooh, you’ve changed your tune.”

  Suddenly another siren shrieked, sending Grandsanta clambering over the back seat. The frightened reindeer trotted out of the alley.

  “I’m not going anywhere!” Grandsanta cried hysterically. He pulled the heavy blanket over his head to hide. “I’m not here!”

  “Grandsanta come out!” Arthur called. But the old man was busy reliving his worst trauma.

  “Leave me alone!” his muffled voice begged from beneath the blanket. “It’s 1962 all over again! I took Evie out for a spin. It was the Cuban Missile Crisis. I nearly started World War III!”

  Arthur regretted taping himself to the seat. “Aaaah! Help! I’m stuck, my hands!” he screamed in frustration.

  “Hold still,” Bryony said as she whipped out her laser-guided scissors to cut him free, as the driverless sleigh careened down the road, reins flailing, jolting Bryony’s scissors so the beam came within an inch of Arthur’s eye! Another reindeer shook free and galloped away!

  “Oh no!” Arthur exclaimed. “Fencer! Mincer! Come back!”

  But there was no time to pursue the runaway deer. Police cars were converging on the sleigh, which was right out on the street in plain sight! Bryony pumped magic dust to help the sleigh lift off!

  Still without a driver, Eve wove wildly through the sky. “Aaaaaah! Grandsanta get up here!” Arthur yelled.

  Finally free of the tape, Arthur yanked the old man to the front of the sleigh.

  “My new hip!” Grandsanta complained, though certainly seemed spry enou
gh as he jumped down into the foot well.

  “Please, listen, I’ll read you Gwen’s letter,” Arthur pleaded.

  Grandsanta shook his head. “Stone deaf. I’m 136.”

  But even the old “deaf” man heard something ringing. “What’s that?”

  Bryony stared at her flashing Hoho. “It’s Steve!”

  “Steve!” Arthur exclaimed, hoping his big brother could help them get out of this mess!

  “Tell him I’m not here!” Grandsanta cried.

  Bryony pressed the “answer” button on her Hoho and dutifully reported, “Grandsanta says he’s not here.”

  Steve replied, “Hi! I’m looking for a missing relic.”

  DESPITE GRANDSANTA’S ATTEMPT at denial, Steve could clearly see the old man through Bryony’s Hoho screen. Realizing this, Grandsanta changed his approach, trying instead to blame Arthur. “It was him! Frosty the Madman, he forced me to come!” He turned to Bryony and added, “Elf, back me up, if you want a career.”

  Arthur couldn’t believe his big ears. “I forced you?”

  “You see? Look!” Grandsanta said, pointing to the reins in Arthur’s hand.

  Steve knew better than to believe the wily old man. “What did you want, Grandsanta? Let me guess, hmm … a picture of you in the sleigh delivering the gift, to show me how it’s really done?”

  Grandsanta stuffed away the camera guiltily and lied, “No!”

  Steve went on, “You know the picture they’ll have tomorrow? You led away in handcuffs! The Santa who was seen by everybody on Earth, the Santa who ruined Christmas!”

  “Ruined it!” Peter echoed.

  Grandsanta grabbed the reins away from Arthur. “We’ll fix this, Steve! We’ll be back home in a wobble of a reindeer’s buttocks, and Eve can go back in mothballs, you can forget she ever existed.”

  Arthur took back the reins. “You can’t just go home! What about Gwen?”

  “Gwen!” Steve exclaimed. “For that you’d threaten my whole operation?”

  “Our glorious future of absolute perfection!” Peter added.

  Realizing his ambitious assistant wasn’t helping his cause, Steve said, “Get me an espresso, Peter.”