by J L Gillham
Princess Claus and the Great Escape
Book 1 in The Winter Wonderland Chronicles
JL Gillham
Summary:
Her legacy is to take on the most well-known job in the world. But is she up to the challenge?
Noelle, nicknamed Princess Claus, is not only the next in line to become Santa, but also the first female to do so. If that isn’t enough pressure, she’s been trapped in Winter Wonderland her entire life thanks to an evil elf out to kidnap her in hopes of ruining Christmas. Her only option—run away.
When the burden of becoming the next Santa is more than Noelle can stand, will she embrace her destiny or find a way to escape Winter Wonderland once and for all?
Find out in this magical retelling of an old tale with a new character who might be headed for the naughty list!
How to experience this multimedia book:
Included in this story is a link to a music video for the original song Snow Globe Prison. There is also a link to the snowflake alphabet. You can click on each link when presented in the scene the book bonus relates to. Or, you can wait until you’ve finished reading. At the end of the book, the links will be listed again.
Table of Contents
Princess Claus and the Great Escape
How to experience this multimedia book:
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Links:
What’s next for Princess Claus?
Dedication:
INTRODUCTION
There was once a young woman who wanted to leave the only home she’d ever known.
And like so many young women before her, she dreamed of the great wide world. She dreamed of sunny beaches and swimming pools and a climate that wasn’t always cold. But most of all, she dreamed of having the freedom to choose her future. Because unlike most young women, she’d always known exactly what her future would hold.
CHAPTER ONE
Rain. Not a light drizzle where all you have to do is raise your hood up over your head. And not a downfall where all you have to do is pop open your umbrella. This is the kind of downpour that flips your umbrella inside out, and then blows it right out of your hands like a kite whose owner lost grip of the string and set the diamond-shaped tarp free to fly.
My hands move from one pocket to another on my utility belt. A grappling hook and doggy treats aren’t going to help with getting soaked. In all my life, I’ve never once imagined it raining while delivering gifts. Snow, of course. In fact, since I grew up in Winter Wonderland, imagining any terrain without snow is difficult.
Why hadn’t Dad mentioned rain before? Surely, he made his rounds in weather as bad as this. Hadn’t there been some hurricane or tornado on Christmas Eve? Come to think of it, Dad would’ve purposefully neglected to mention those details. Keeping from me anything but the joys of fulfilling the role of Santa is part of his training method.
Resigned, I pull my pink cap down as far as it’ll go. Though not the regulation-required red hat, it’s the only part of my uniform that feels like me. The rest of my outfit consists of black boots (anti-skid, of course), red leggings, and a red coat with white lining that doesn’t hinder my utility belt. Last is my backpack containing gifts.
I take a tortoise step away from the sleigh and inch across the roof. Forget about hurrying. All I’m worried about is not gliding and turning the side of the house into my own personal slip-n-slide.
Suddenly, there is a crack of lightning. In that brief illumination, I spy there is no chimney. Once attached securely to the sleigh, I use my grappling hook to lower myself. As I do, realize there are no lights on in the house, not a candle in the window nor a flash of a camera as a child stays up late hoping to get a glimpse or photograph proving Santa is real.
Then I see it. At the lowest level is a dimly lit window almost completely blocked by a bush.
I drop right into a puddle of water.
“Ugh.” I lift one boot up then another. “Mud!” Focus, I tell myself.
Then I realize I was wrong. It wasn’t one large window covered by a bush. The foliage is blocking two small windows. I’ll barely be able to squeeze myself through one.
I proceed forward and reach the window on the left. As I feel around to see if it’s unlocked, I shift my weight to my right. “Yow.” My shoulder starts burning. With a glance I see my uniform is no longer in top condition. Cuts from the bush have not only ruined my coat, but also scratched my skin.
I feel around the window, but I’m unable to lift it. Fiddle-d-fizz, it’s locked. I give the bush a wide berth as I head toward the window on the right. Locked as well. I decide to begin singing to calm my nerves.
Then I remember what’s called a Santa Secret. Disguised to look like any commonplace ornament, the circular object dangles from my belt. I yank on the black top, and the red ball comes loose. Although it’s shimmering, the touch is more like putty than metal or glass. I press it into the wall next to the window. The circle is barely large enough for me to fit through. As my new scratches burn, I regret not using the ball on the rooftop. But then I remember one of the tips I learned during training. Always head for the light. And to get to the light, I had to go through mud and scratches.
I climb through the magical opening. It closes behind me the moment I’m inside. The room is dimly lit by one light bulb hanging at the top of the stairs leading to the next floor up. It blinks in and out, sometimes enveloping the room in utter darkness.
Another tip I learned is to never leave tracks, or in this case, muddy prints. I slip off my boots and worry I’ll have to use my hat to wipe the floor underneath them before I leave. I wonder if the washing machine can get the mud off my knit cap without ruining the stitching.
Before me is a Christmas tree no taller than my 5 foot, 4 inches. It’s scattered with glass ornaments, all black. As I step closer to admire it, I hear the crunch before I feel it. “Oh, come on!” Embedded into my socks are shards of broken ornaments.
After removing my socks, I decide to spend an extra minute inspecting my surroundings. Flanking the tree is a washer and dryer. I wonder why anyone would put a tree in between them. For a moment I decide to find out, then I remember to stay focu
sed.
I slip off my backpack and pull out the gifts. Now, where to place them? Keeping in mind the nagging I recently got about safety from Jolly the elf, I doubt he’d approve of me leaving the boxes on top of broken ornaments, even if I wasn’t the one who caused the breaking.
To my surprise, there is a broom and dustpan leaning against the wall. In fifty-seven seconds, I sweep up the mess, place the gifts under the tree, and allow myself three seconds to congratulate myself.
Suddenly, the light above flickers in and out. After it returns to normal for four seconds, it goes out again. And in that darkness my biggest fear comes true. I realize I’m not alone in this basement. A hand touches my head.
CHAPTER TWO
“Ye-ahh!” I shout, hopping back and ramming into the washing machine. The light turns back on. Not one but two sprickets jump from the top of my head onto the floor. I gag as I take in the sight of the tiny monsters. Though they look like giant spiders, they hop like crickets.
Before I can spend any more time on the nasties, I hear a mechanical sound behind me. My bumping the washing machine must have started a cycle—that, or it’s on a delayed timer. It begins churning.
I look down to see a little hose running from behind the washing machine into the bucket. Inside the bucket is the base of the Christmas tree. So, that’s why the tree is in this awkward spot, a source of water so the tree doesn’t dry out.
I wonder how the homeowner knows when to stop the flow of water. I crane my neck but can’t get a good look into the bucket because of all the branches. Just to be safe, I move the two presents from the floor to the top of the dryer. When I see water start to flood the floor, I yank the tube from the container. Gratefully I also sweep up the glass shards of broken ornaments. And as water wets my already soaked clothes, I race to the back of the machine. In one swift move, the hose is reattached. No more leaks.
“Ha! Soggy gifts averted.” I pump my fist in the air. With a quick glance around the room, I spy a box labeled rags. It takes two of them to mop up the floor. After tossing the wet rags into the trash can, I move the gifts back to their rightful spot under the try. Then I decide to get out before I cause or discover another problem.
I walk toward my boots. As I stick my right foot into the first one, something smacks the base of my foot. I scurry back, dropping the boot in the process. A spricket hops out and heads toward me. I pull out my doggy treats and throw them to the side.
To my relief, all the sprickets head for them. I’m about to try my boot again when I turn it upside down and shake. Nothing. I sigh with relief. When I do the same to the other shoe, there are no critters hiding inside.
I wipe down the floor with my hat, then a moment later, grimace. With a glance at the box of unused and still dry rags, I realize I could’ve used one of those to clean my muddy boot prints. Too late now. I ball up my cap and shove it into the now empty pocket of my utility belt, hoping the hat doesn’t smell like doggy treats later. Then, I unhook another magic ball and make my getaway.
Before long, I’m climbing up the rope connected to my grappling hook. I tag the sleigh. With more relief than I’ve ever felt, I shout, “Done!” and blink rapidly as all the overhead lights above me turn on.
“Good job, Princess Claus!” comes Jolly’s voice over the loud speaker.
A quick glance at the clock on the wall reveals I’ve finished today’s Santa Simulation Training in record time.
CHAPTER THREE
“Thanks for adding the monsters. Nice touch!” I shout.
“They are technically called camel crickets,” Jolly says through the loud speaker. A moment later the rain stops pouring.
I cover my eyes with my hands, not prepared for the feeling like someone yanked open the curtains to reveal the noonday sun. As I walk across the bridge from the roof to the exit, I grip the handrail. Even though the overhead sprinklers are no longer on, that doesn’t mean I won’t slip. I pass through the doorway and head for dry clothes.
Once changed into fleece-lined black leggings and a silver top, I begin the real reason I get out of bed every morning. As I walk down the hallway, I formulate my newest plan. Then, I hear the unmistakable sound of clomping made by my least favorite person in Winter Wonderland, my brother.
"Princess Claus!" shouts Nicky. My pulse quickens. I crouch down near the opening between the corner of the wall and the table of white poinsettias with leaves covered in blue glitter.
Nicky continues yelling my nickname as he moves through the hallway. My competitiveness hasn’t diminished in my seventeen years; it’s grown and so has Nicky’s. It’s flourished through activities like keeping points for our Santa Simulation Training. Even Dad joins in the competition for that one. And that’s what I’m sure Nicky is tracking me down for, to brag about his score this morning.
There isn’t anyone I can stand less than my brother—that is, except the Evil Elf, Ebenezer. I’ve never met him. However, that doesn’t seem to matter in terms of his plan to ruin Christmas by kidnapping me, the future Santa. This annoying little detail has forced me to live my entire life without stepping one snow boot outside this prison. Like the pressure of eventually being the first female Santa isn’t enough, I’ve had to grow up knowing maybe right past the exterior of the magical wall is someone who wouldn’t hesitate to harm me.
“Princess Claus,” my brother says again as he tucks a strand of curly red hair behind his ear. I rarely hear my real name, Noelle. Before I was even born, the nickname my father came up with stuck, and I haven't been able to change it. Like a figurine in a snow globe stuck in the same place for all eternity, nothing in my life changes.
Though the rest of the world knows it as Winter Wonderland or Santa Claus's workshop, I like to call home my snow globe prison. Not that original considering the entire small town is covered by a magical glass dome that looks like the top half of a snow globe.
And, of course, my parents are none other than Santa and Mrs. Claus, and they hate that I add the word “prison” at the end. But what else do you call something you can't escape no matter how much you want? Or no matter how hard you try? And today is attempt #187.
Attempt #37 ended with me learning I have an allergy to the scariest thing on the planet: poinsettias. Attempt #104 ended with me being poked all over by pine needles and my hair requiring five washes to get out all the tree sap.
Thomas Edison, someone who always made the nice column of Santa’s list, wrote, “I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work,” about his attempts to create a light bulb.
I have found 186 ways not to get out of my prison. But maybe the next one will be my great escape.
CHAPTER FOUR
I inch into the shadows. Although my black leggings blend well, my silver top couldn’t be worse. I stare at my brother’s red hair as he walks by. It is a bit shaggy for my taste, and I make a mental note to remind Mom to give him a haircut soon. He rubs his nose as he shouts for me again. Although I have a light dusting of freckles, Nicky has so many it looks like he uses tanning lotion on just his face.
His hands are shoved into his shorts. Ever the hot one, in temperature and temperament, he only puts on pants when he goes outside. As he passes by without noticing my spot, I begin to get dizzy from holding my breath.
Nicky and I are both typical competitive siblings. I count to ten after I can't hear his footsteps anymore, then I grab onto the base of the table. As I suck in a deep breath, my face brushes against a few of the poinsettia leaves.
Turning left once I reach the hallway would be faster and yummier since it leads through the main kitchen. That's where countless sugar cookies are being decorated with drawings of Christmas trees or candy canes. My stomach rumbles as I remember I got so caught up in attempt #187 I forgot to eat breakfast. I lick my lips, then let my nose lead the way.
Once I get there, I debate about which door to use. Some entryways, like my bedroom door, were expanded. This way Tiny can amble through them. Tiny is
n’t your typical household pet. He’s a full-grown polar bear. Though only about a year-and-a-half older than me, Tiny is more than twice my size. His name doesn’t come from his stature, but his lack of bravery. He’s got the tiniest amount of courage, even less than a mouse.
When he’s feeling extra timid, he’ll sleep in the space between my bed and the closet. When I was six years old, there was a terrible snowstorm. Although the glass dome protects us from howling winds, it isn’t soundproof. At bedtime I had hidden under all my blankets, hoping the howl would downgrade to a whimper.
My heart quickened when my bed started shaking. For a moment I worried the dome cracked and the storm had torn through the roof. Then I realized it was Tiny trembling. I threw off my comforter and quilts, sat down next to the polar bear, and sang him his favorite songs. The next morning, I ¬was awakened by my face being slurped. When I opened my eyes, I realized I’d fallen asleep on the floor. A stiff neck was worth a comforted best friend.
In addition to extra-large doors for Tiny, there are the doors the elves use. These are about two feet shorter than regular-sized ones. The main kitchen is on the first floor. It’s used for all of Winter Wonderland’s daily meals, and it’s attached to the banquet hall where our food is eaten. The other kitchen is used for inventing new kinds of treats. Some of these turn out to be a huge success, like Brazilian peppermint eggnog. Some, like pickled strawberries, are taste-tested once and then only used as gag gifts.
Since Tiny isn’t allowed in any of the kitchens, they each have a human-sized door and an elf door. I decide since I’m trying to go incognito, I’ll use the elf door. I crack open the door just enough to crawl through the opening on hands and knees. Maybe dressing in black leggings to be stealthier wasn’t such a great idea, I think, as my leggings get lightly dusted with baking flour scattered all over the floor.
