“Hurry up!” hissed Fabrisius. The metal wire cutters looked huge in Axel’s small, sinewy hands, but finally, the thick chain fell and they were able to push the metal gates open.
“Are you sure he came this way?” asked Axel. They crept forward, their deer-skin boots silent on the concrete.
“Of course I’m sure!” scolded Fabrisius. “Anyway, look!” He pointed to the ground. There, illuminated by the perigee moon, was a fresh pile of reindeer droppings.
“We know he stopped here. We must have just missed him,” he continued.
Nicholas, they knew, had a mini-storage in every town on earth. It was a complete myth that he could fit all of those toys in his sleigh on a single night, and although he did have his own magic, it was near impossible for him to make that many trips back and forth to the North Pole on Christmas Eve and still manage to visit all of the children who observed Christmas by the time the sun rose on Christmas Day. Fabrisius and Axel had been tracking him all evening. One thing Nicholas couldn’t do anything about was the reindeer droppings. The reindeer could fly, it was true, but they were still living creatures that ate and pooped whenever they needed to. The fact that no one had put this together with the once a year journey attributed to the man everyone called Santa Claus did not change the fact that it happened, and it was good fortune for the two dark elves. The contract they had on St. Nick expired at three am. They were running out of time.
“You know when this happens that people will blame us. They always blame us,” whined Fabrisius.
“We’re the ones doing it anyway, so what does it matter?” grumbled Axel. He was examining the pile of magical turds. They steamed in the cold air, so he knew that they were catching up to Nicholas.
The truth was that Fabrisius and Axel both had a serious alcohol addiction. Last winter, overcome by the holidays blues, and by the fact that their North Pole counterparts were having all the fun, yucking it up in the big house while they froze their asses off in a pile of rocks outside Reykjavik, they had decided to go on a drunken spree. When dressed properly and with hats on to hide their crude, pointed ears, they could pass for dwarfs, or as the humans referred to them…little people...and they had hit up every bar in the Laugavegur, gotten close with a Nordic beauty named Giselle, then stolen a car and taken her for a joy ride around town. Unfortunately, they had ignored Giselle’s pleas that they take her back to town, and they finally crashed the vehicle into a cannery down by the wharf. By this time Giselle was so disgusted with their lewd comments and insensitive behavior that she unfolded her six-foot frame from the convertible and punched in a number to her cell. If Axel and Fabrisius had been sober, they might have paid attention and known that it was probably a good idea to take their skinny elf asses back to the rest of the Huldufolk, but they were drunk, and they laughed at Giselle’s irritation until a white limousine pulled up the wharf. A man in a white suit with gleaming white hair emerged from the car, and two trolls...or were they men?...emerged as well.
“Oh, no!” whispered Axel. “Do you know who that is?”
“No!” giggled Fabrisius. “Who is it?”
“That’s Jack Frost!”
“No way, man!” laughed Fabrisius, and continued to laugh while the trolls grabbed them by the back of the neck and shoved them into the limo, much to the disgust of Giselle, and the amusement of her father, who studied them in silence the whole way back to his ice palace. No, seriously. Where else would Jack Frost live?
The long and short of it was, Jack Frost promised to forgive them for harassing his daughter, if they would kill Nicholas Claus. If they couldn’t fulfill the contract by three am, then Jackson P. Frost, origins unknown but most recently of Reykjavik, Iceland, would have them skinned alive and boiled until their carcasses fell from the bone like tender meat in a stew.
So, here they were, in a lonely little town in Texas called Marystown, tracking Nicholas Claus by following piles of reindeer crap, ruminating on their miserable lives and wishing to Odin that they had never laid eyes on Giselle in the first place.
The mini-storage was empty. Nick had cleaned out and moved on. They needed to hurry.
They held a whispered consultation and decided that he must be headed to the east; the piles of droppings indicated that that was the correct direction.
They turned to go, and stopped, gasping at the figure that loomed over them. He must have moved so quietly; quieter than snowflakes falling on the rooftops of Iceland, more silent than the wishes of hopeful, dreaming children, waiting for Saint Nicholas to visit them that night.
His feet were bare, and ugly. HIs yellow horns were magnificent and horrible at the same time, they curled around his head and around his ears, and his long, pointed tongue snaked out of his mouth and licked his black lips. He wore an ugly Christmas sweater and held a sack full of writhing lumps.
“Just some last minute housekeeping,” he said, gesturing to the heavy, burlap sack. Axel shivered and Fabrisius felt a thin stream of piss running down his spindly leg.
“Blood,” said the nightmarish vision in front of them, “Is thicker than water, the humans say. My brother,” he gestured to the sky, “My younger brother, is a pain the ass. But he’s still-MY-BROTHER!!!!!” he roared, and the elves jumped together, arms entwined, trembling.
“Wh-wh-” stuttered Axel.
“Spit it out, little man,” growled Krampus.
“Wh-what about Jack? We’re here, on a job for him. He’s not going to be too happy if you get in the way!” he finished defiantly.
Fabrisius, for once, kept his mouth shut, willing Axel to do the same. Clearly, they were no match for Krampus. No one was.
Krampus laughed. “I am the stuff of legends, and he is the stuff of fairytales.” His laughter boomed, echoing off the metal storage units. “Jack is a wise man. He knows better than to anger me.”
With that, he produced a long hook. Deftly he hooked each elf around the neck and pulled them closer.
“I know just where to take you,” he hissed.
Far above, full-throated laughter echoed among the stars. “Ho ho ho!!!” A large brown glob fell onto Axel’s head, running down his face and into his eyes. “HO ho ho!!! Merry Christmas!”
Krampus waved, and was just about to stuff the elves in his bag when Fabrisius said, “Wait, wait!”
“What is it?” growled Krampus.
“If we promise to kill Jack Frost, and bring you his head, then will you let us live?”
Krampus paused. He really hated Jack. Jack, with his fancy suits and big limousine, his fairytale life and gorgeous daughter.
“I’ll consider it. If.”
“If what?” squeaked Axel.
“If you bring me Giselle, alive.”
“Done!” said Fabrisius.
“But I must warn you, little man. If you do not deliver, I will find you next Christmas, and there won’t be any second chances.”
“Agreed!” they squealed in unison. Krampus watched in amusement as the two dark little pissants ran away down the street.
“I’ll be seeing those two again on Christmas Eve,” he muttered. He took out his cell phone and fastened the bluetooth into his ear. It had been challenging, finding one that was the exact right fit, but he’d done it. “Yeah, I just saved your ass,” he said. He listened and started walking, slinging the bag of unfortunates over his shoulder, ignoring their whimpers and pleas. “I’ve got a heavy bag here. Can I bum a ride?” The dial tone sounded extra loud in his pointed ear. “Jerk,” he muttered. “Maybe if I get a red suit and eat a bunch of gingerbread, people will like me.”
Up above, a fat man in a shiny sleigh rode the wind, laughing with delight, scattering joy throughout Marystown as the perigee moon shone on the silent rooftops.. “Ho, ho, ho!! Merry Christmas!” he called, and a dark elf flipped him the bird before vanishing into the night.
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