The Christmas Spirit

Christmas Eve, 1956

Eleven-year-old Davey was not a bad child, but he was not a particularly good one either. Though he enjoyed reading, he shirked most of his studies. Even the books he liked to read rarely had anything to do with what he learned in school. He preferred to learn of things like knights and dragons, but schools only taught lessons about things that were real. Davey often skipped school to read tales of fantasy, a behavior that got him into trouble many times.

It was Christmas Eve and Davey was walking home from school. He knew that he was on Santa’s naughty list. He had been last year, as well—in fact, he had looked in his stocking Christmas morning only to find a lump of coal. But Davey did not think that the whole system was fair. He found it odd that there was only “good” and “bad”—Santa Claus didn’t account for middling children who had good intentions but could never seem to do everything right. After all, Davey knew there were children who were far, far worse than him. Was it right that all of them were stuck with lumps of coal? Davey didn’t think so. He believed that he, a middling child, should receive shabbier versions of the presents he wanted rather than silly old coal. The really bad kids should be the ones who got coal, he thought.

As he walked home from school, he reviewed the plan he had concocted to confront Santa Claus and tell him how flawed his system was. He had read in a folklore book that Santa Claus always came to one’s house at exactly midnight, no matter where they lived or how many houses Santa had already been to or had left to visit. Davey was going to set his alarm for 11:50, slip downstairs, and meet Santa as he came down the chimney.

“Hey, Lancelot!”

Davey set his jaw and turned. Reading the books he liked was only half the reason he skipped school sometimes. Less than half, really. When he had fully turned around, he was face-to-face with three boys, all with their arms crossed.

“Still reading fairy tales?” said the boy in the middle, forming his right hand into a fist and punching his left palm. “Still believe in Santa Claus?”

“Leave me alone,” Davey said.

The boy pulled a mock frown.

“Get him.”

The two others ran at Davey, who wasn’t fast enough. One hit him on the mouth, the other on the back of the head, sending him sprawling forward. The leader boy grabbed his school bag, rifling through it. He pulled out a book of fairy tales and looked at it while the two others pinned Davey down.

“Why don’t you grow up already?” he said.

“Be careful,” said Davey. “I got it from the library. It’s not mine.”

The boy laughed. Then he threw it down into the sewer.

“No!” said Davey. “It’s not mine!”

The three boys went away laughing. Davey laid on his stomach and reached as far as he could into the sewer, but he was nowhere close to being able to reach the book. After several minutes of trying, he got up and went home, not without a few tears along the way.

That night, Davey went to bed earlier than usual. He went to bed early every night by choice, a habit his parents rejoiced at given his other less than ideal behavior. However, what they didn’t know was that he only went to bed early so he could burrow under the covers and read by the light of his flashlight. Tonight, though, he went straight to sleep in order to be well-rested when he met Santa.

Davey was startled by the alarm. He did not know what day it was or what he was supposed to be doing, but after a moment, he was awake enough to remember his mission. He donned a robe and slippers, then crept out of his room and down the stairs armed with his flashlight. As soon as he was downstairs, he turned the flashlight off, hid behind the sofa, and waited.

THUMP.

Even though he was expecting it, Davey gave a small gasp. The sound had come from the fireplace in the corner of the room.

After a moment of quiet, there came the sound of a very heavy person walking very, very slowly across the room. Then there was the sound of a weighty object hitting the ground.

In a flash, Davey jumped up and turned on his flashlight, shining it on the figure that stood by the Christmas tree.

“Freeze, Santa,” he said.

The figure, clad in a red velvet suit, turned around very slowly.

It certainly was Santa Claus. His thick beard was as white as the snow that was gently falling outside. His cheeks were rosy, flushed from either the cold or perhaps from some eternal inner warmth. His eyes sparkled with something more than the reflection of Davey’s flashlight.

“Santa,” Davey whispered.

Santa laughed a jolly laugh. As he did, something flashed—or maybe flickered—over his face. Davey was reminded of cards he had seen with shifting images on them. But it passed too quickly for him to see what exactly it was.

“Merry Christmas, Davey,” Santa said. “Tell me, what is a little boy like you doing out of bed on Christmas Eve?”

“As a matter of fact,” said Davey, “I’ve got something I need to discuss with you.”

Santa chuckled heartily.

“Let me finish here, little Davey,” he said. “Then you can come up to my sleigh and we can talk about it.”

Santa laid presents under the tree, then turned to the stockings hanging above the fireplace. Davey watched him take out a lump of coal out of his bag and place it into his stocking.

“Are you ready, then?” Santa said, turning to him.

Davey nodded. Santa picked him up and pushed him through the chimney, then followed. On the roof was Santa’s sleigh and eight reindeer with shimmering fur and glittering antlers.

“It’s just like I imagined,” said Davey, momentarily forgetting the urgent matter on his mind as well as his general annoyance with Santa Claus on a whole.

“Would you like to ride in it?” asked Santa. “I’m just going back to the North Pole.”

Davey looked up at him.

“Really?”

Santa looked back down at Davey. His eyes twinkled and his face shifted momentarily again, though Davey still couldn’t tell exactly what it shifted to.

“Really,” Santa said.

He helped Davey into the sleigh. With a crack of the reins, the reindeer were off. They galloped across what little roof there was and shot into the sky. The December air whipped Davey’s hair and face, but the higher they rose, the warmer he felt. Soon, they were high above the ground, so high that his hometown was lost among webs of sparkling golden light. Then the reindeer started heading north.

“So, Davey,” Santa said, “what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Oh…” Davey said, “yeah….”

Still in awe, he tried to gather his thoughts. As he remembered what it actually was that he wanted to discuss with Santa, he realized that there were a hundred other things he would also like to ask him. He was sitting right beside an actual folkloric figure, a folkloric figure the boys at school had gone to great lengths to convince him wasn’t even real.

“You’re Santa Claus,” he said, instantly cursing himself for not saying something more intelligent.

Santa roared with laughter.

“I’m not Santa Claus, my dear boy.”

“What? Who are you then?”

“Guess.”

Davey looked up at him, and his face shifted once again.

“Are you Saint Nicholas?”

“No,” he chuckled. “Nicholas, contrary to what some may think, was a mere man. I am far, far older than he.”

Davey sat and thought.

“You’re Odin!” he cried after a moment. “You must be. He’s very, very old, and he brings presents to good people. You’re him.”

“Some think I am Odin, yes,” said the man. “But wrong again.”

The sleigh, going at rocket speed, was now very near the North Pole. Davey saw a light in the distance, that as they drew closer, became hundreds of lights of a city at the very northernmost part of the planet. Davey looked up at his companion again and was surprised to see that there was something decidedly different about his face now. He seemed older, more haggard. His rosy cheeks appeared more sunken, and there was less brightness in his eye.

The man, for Davey was still unsure what to call him, landed the sleigh on a platform in the center of the North Pole city. Hundreds of fat little elves with big black eyes like mice’s swarmed around the sleigh, squeaking with delight. The man helped Davey down from the sleigh, then the elves detached the reindeer and led them away.

“Come to my house,” said the man. “There I will tell you who I am.”

Davey was still warm, but he shivered a little. The man led him through the streets, then stopped at a grand house covered with branches of holly and sprigs of mistletoe. Warm light flooded out of each window. The man led Davey up the steps and opened the door for him.

“Welcome, Davey,” he said.

He closed the door, the sound of it echoing through the house. Then he led him to a living room where there was a roaring fire in the hearth and thick holly branches adorning the walls.

“Sit,” he said. “Please.”

Davey frowned. The man’s voice was deeper now, almost a growl. Still, he moved toward the sofa and sat down. The man shut the door to the living room, and Davey now noticed that it was the only door.

The man turned around to face Davey. There really was something different about him now.

His skin bore deep, deep lines, and all the color was gone from his cheeks. He carried himself differently, hunching over instead of pushing his thick belly out. He reached up to scratch his chin, and as he did so, a handful of beard hair fell out.

“Got any other guesses?” he said, chuckling.

He began to laugh harder. The more he laughed, the more he changed. The rest of his beard fell out, and his skin shrunk even closer to the bones. His red suit ripped at the seams and fell away as his body grew, revealing a black robe underneath. Finally, two curled horns slowly unfurled from his head.

“You…” Davey said, “you’re…you’re Krampus.”

“Wrong again!” the Creature roared, more amused than ever. “You see, I am a little of everything. The Germans have guessed the closest to the truth. But they still haven’t got it completely right. They think old Santa Claus and I are partners. He gives the good children nice toys and treats, and I terrorize the bad ones. But the truth of it is that Santa Claus is just a little…game, if you will. A character I play to have some fun. I have to make fun for myself, Davey, for I’m only allowed out of my prison for one night out of the year. No, my dear boy, the truth is that there is no Santa Claus. There is only me.”

“But you do give good children good things for Christmas?”

“If I feel like it.”

“I always get a lump of coal.”

“To be frank, on the one night I have to enjoy myself, I do what I want when I want. You would too if you were imprisoned for eternity.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair, Davey. I have no morals. You think a just being would punish a child for doing nothing more than avoiding the cruelty of other children?”

Davey’s eyes widened.

“Yes, boy, I know all about it. Each Christmas, I do whatever I think is most fun, and seeing the look on your face when you get a lump of coal in your stocking is fun for me.”

He slunk toward the fire. Davey cast a glance at the door. He felt tears welling up in his eyes, but he remained calm.

“So,” said Davey, “what should I call you?”

“What should you call me?”

The Creature stroked his chin with one clawed hand. He looked up, apparently thinking hard. Davey seized his chance.

He bolted for the door, throwing it open and running out. He ran through the entryway and out the front door, jumping down the steps in one leap. He slipped on a patch of ice, falling hard, but collected himself and started to run through the city streets.

There was no one in sight—at first. Then, the elves began to appear. But they looked different now too. They were thin, emaciated. Their hands had turned into gnarled claws. Their eyes were slanted and red, glowing like fire.

They moved slowly, more and more of them coming out of houses and alleyways. Soon, they were so close-knit that Davey knew there was no way to push through them. When the foremost row of elves were within yards of Davey, both parties came to a standstill. There was a brief moment when no one moved. Then the elves bore their teeth—rows of small, pointed, razor-sharp teeth—and sprang at Davey.

He whipped around and ran as fast as he could the other way, but the elves came at him from all directions. Searching desperately for some way of escape, he darted into the first house he could get to. He managed to slam the door just as countless elves leapt at him, claws and teeth out.

Locking the door, he stopped to take a breath and survey his surroundings. He was in a tiny room lit by an oil lamp that rested on a wooden table. There was a door in the corner of the room. Davey sank to the ground and panted hard. He knew he had to run, but after he ran, where would he go?

“I’m in the North Pole,” he said through gritted teeth. “Think, Davey.”

He did not have time to think. At that moment, the window shattered and elves came flooding into the room. Davey scrambled to his feet and rushed to the door, barely making it through as the elves clawed at his clothes. He closed it and locked it, then kept going. This room was completely dark. He tripped immediately, then realized that he was on a staircase. He crawled up on his hands and knees until he reached the top, where he found another door by feeling his way in the dark.

“Please be unlocked, please be unlocked.”

He ran his hands over the door, then felt cool brass at his fingertips. Sweat running down his forehead, he clutched the doorknob and turned it. The door opened and he let out the biggest breath that he had ever breathed before. Light flowed through the crack. He opened the door wide.

“Strange,” he said.

The room he was in now was elegantly decorated, sharply contrasting with the room downstairs. Not only that, but despite the fact that he had just ascended a staircase, the windows showed that this room was level with the ground. Davey slowly made his way across the room, looking all around as he did so. He opened a door at the other side of the room, poking his head through and looking around.

There was something familiar about the next room. In fact, it looked remarkably similar to the entryway at the Creature’s house. Davey took one last look at his surroundings, then skittered across the polished floor to yet another door. Just as he reached the door, he heard the sound of many claws scratching the door behind him. He looked back and saw the handle turning, and he remembered that he forgot to lock it.

With a cry, he bounded through the door. He locked it, then leaned his forehead against the wood. By now, tears were spilling down his cheeks.

“If I make it out,” he whispered. “I’ll be good. I’ll be so good.”

“Back so soon?”

He turned around so fast he felt his neck pop.

It was now that he realized he was back in the Creature’s living room. The Creature sat on the sofa, arms spread wide, one leg crossed over the other.

Davey unlocked the door and threw it wide open.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said the Creature.

Davey turned and saw that the room he had just come from was gone. It was replaced with a starry void. He closed the door and opened it again, then again, then again. Nothing changed.

He turned to face the Creature again.

“Surprised?” said the Creature. “You see, Davey, all of this is a fantasy. I’m the only thing here that’s real. And like I said before, I do what I want when I want.”

“What do you want with me?” Davey said.

“Well, as much as I enjoy putting coal in your stocking, it gets a bit boring after a while. Especially now that the secret’s out. Perhaps I shall draw inspiration from your best guess and act like Krampus. Do you know what Krampus does to children?”

Davey clenched his jaw.

“Well?” said the Creature. “Do you?”

“He…eats them”

The Creature laughed, a loud laugh that started out jovial and gradually became maniacal.

“It’s not fair!” Davey screamed.

“I told you before, child,” said the Creature, “life isn’t fair.”

“But,” Davey stammered, “but—this isn’t what Christmas is supposed to be!”

“And what is it ‘supposed’ to be?”

“It’s supposed to be peace on Earth and goodwill toward men! I mean, what are you trying to tell me, that Christmas isn’t even real? Well, it is real. Because even though you don’t care, and you just give kids whatever you think will be funny, the idea that kids need to be good during this season really affects us, and it’s affected us for hundreds and hundreds of years. And not just kids. Almost everybody is a little kinder around Christmas because we all believe it means something. We call that Christmas spirit. And I think you’d be a lot better off if you had a little Christmas spirit instead of taking every chance you get to make everybody miserable.”

The Creature sat and contemplated.

“No,” he said, “I think I’d rather eat you.”

He rose and tramped toward Davey. Davey darted aside, looking all around to find a way out. It was then that he remembered something he had read in one of his favorite folklore books.

The Creature made a swipe at him, and he rolled out of the way. In one deft motion, Davey plucked a sturdy holly branch off of the wall and swung it into the fire. Instantly, it was aflame. As the Creature lunged at him again, he drove the fiery branch directly into his heart.

The Creature’s eyes and mouth widened, then his jaw went slack. His body slid forward on the branch, black blood spurting from the wound. Davey dropped the branch and crawled backward. The Creature twitched once or twice, then went limp. Finally, it burst into flames.

Then everything went black.

Christmas Day, 1956

“Davey, wake up.”

“Huh?”

Davey opened his eyes. He saw his mother and his father both crouching over him.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” his mother said.

Davey sat up and looked around. He was lying behind the sofa in his own living room.

“I saw Santa,” he said. “And he took me to the North Pole. Except he wasn’t—”

“Oh, sweetheart,” his mother said. “You dreamt all that. You must have been sleepwalking again.”

Davey rubbed his eyes.

“Come on, son, let’s get you up,” said his father, offering his hand.

“Would you like to open your presents?” his mother said.

Davey glanced at the tree. The boxes he had seen the Creature put there the night before were gone. Then he went to his stocking and pulled out the first item. It was a bag of caramels. The second was a pack of baseball cards. He reached in again, his fingertips brushing against something very hard.

He pulled it out.

It was a lump of coal.

“Tom,” said his mother, glaring at her husband, “that isn’t funny.”

“I didn’t put it there,” he said, aghast.

His mother tutted loudly.

“Give it to me, Davey,” she said. “I’ll just put it on the fire.”

She took a pair of tongs and let the piece of coal rest in the center of the fire, nestled among the logs. Davey stood and watched it smolder.

January 1st, 1957

11:41 p.m.

THUMP.

“Wha…who’s there….”

Davey sat up in bed. He groped for his flashlight in the dark. When he found it, he switched it on and swept it across the room.

There was nothing there.

He ran the flashlight across the room once more until he had turned to look directly beside his bed.

Then he gasped.

A cold, reptilian hand covered his mouth. Davey writhed and let out muffled screams into the clammy palm.

“Would you be still, child,” the Creature hissed. “Just…be…still.”

Davey stopped moving. The Creature lowered his hand.

“I’ve got something to tell you,” he said.

“I…” Davey said, “I…killed you.”

“Silly boy, you didn’t kill me. I can’t be killed. I let you go.”

“Why did you let me go?”

“I admired your spunk, Davey. And I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Davey looked around, but there was nothing nearby that could be used as a weapon.

“What’s the surprise?”

“You’ll see.”

The Creature grinned, baring long fangs.

Then he was gone.

January 2nd, 1957

Davey walked home from school, barely looking where he was going. He had been sent to the principal for being distracted in class, but he couldn’t help it. All he could think of was the previous night.

“Hey, Lancelot!”

Davey turned around.

The three boys stood yards from him, all of them with arms crossed.

“Have a good Christmas?” said the leader boy.

Davey did nothing but stand and scowl.

“Last time we saw you,” the boy said, “you were still reading those stupid fairy tales. I think we ought to check to see if you’ve learned your lesson. Does that sound fair?”

Davey turned to run. The two other boys followed. In three seconds, Davey was flat on the ground with a mouthful of snow. He rolled over only to see the first boy holding his bag and digging through it.

“Stop it!” Davey said. “Just stop it!”

The boy laughed as he retrieved another book of fairy tales.

“Give it back!” said Davey. “That was my Christmas present!”

“Not anymore,” said the boy.

The two others pinned Davey to the ground as he watched the boy walk over to the sewer.

“Stop it! Give it back!”

THUMP.

All four boys looked around.

Towering over them was the Creature, casting a shadow large enough to cover Davey and the two boys. But the two boys did not stay in the shadow for long. They let go of him and ran over to the leader boy. The leader boy dropped the book from his trembling hands as the three of them gaped up at the Creature.

Then came a sound like thunder as the Creature reared his head and roared. Ropes of saliva flew from his fangs. He pushed Davey aside and started toward the three boys, roaring and raging.

The boys ran away, screaming and crying. The Creature picked Davey up and brushed the snow from his back, then grabbed his book off the ground and breathed on it. It dried instantly.

“I believe this is yours,” he said, holding it out to Davey. “And—”

He crouched by the sewer and reached into it, pulling out the other fairy tale book. He breathed on this one, too, making the water and filth disappear.

“Here you are,” he said, pressing it into Davey’s hand. “Merry Christmas.”

“I don’t understand,” Davey said.

“You rarely do,” said the Creature. “I’ll explain. I thought about what you told me on Christmas. About peace on Earth and goodwill and all that. I spoke with the man upstairs, and he said that I can come down more often than just Christmas Eve if I promise—promise—to be… ‘good.’”

“The man upstairs?” Davey said. “You mean God?”

The Creature smirked.

“I see you when you’re sleeping,” he said, “and I know when you’re awake. I will be here whenever you need me.”

The Creature turned and began to tramp away. Then he turned around again.

“I almost forgot,” he said.

“What?” said Davey.

“You may call me…the Christmas Spirit.”