Page 20 of Run, Run Rudolph
I inhaled the sharp, bitterly cold air, and tilted my head back, peering up at the dark sky and ignoring the shouting elf. Snowflakes landed and melted on my cheeks as I let the magic of the night sink in.
Elves were real.
Flying reindeer were real.
Santa was real.
I loved the holiday season, and the traditions I had with my family, and in particular, my grandma, who I called Oma. She’d saved Christmas for me when I was thirteen and my parents had separated for a few weeks. We started a lot of traditions that year, Oma and I. In the end, I think some of them, along with the spirit of the season, were what brought my parents back together on Christmas Day.
That, for me, was what Christmas was about. Love. Hope. A second chance to get things right. Caring about each other. Time with family. There were so many things about the season I adored and held dear.
One of the traditions my Oma and I started that year was for us both to wear the same ugly Christmas sweater. We used to rotate years, so she’d pick out something one year, and then I’d do it the next. But after a particularly raunchy sweater the year I turned eighteen, I took over the task of finding us our seasonal sweaters. I’d revealed them tonight at supper, and was still wearing mine. I’d gone horse-themed with “Oh, what fun it is to ride” across the front with a horse and rider jumping a fence below it. Oma wasn’t as into horses as I was, but she’d dutifully put on the sweater with a chuckle, like always.
That was my favourite tradition, beating out helping Oma bake for her cookie exchange, and maybe even her special, rich and creamy, Christmas rice dessert that she made just for me. However, tonight, meeting the reindeer had made the season feel even more magical. The myths and stories were all real.
I patted the trunk’s lid and said to the elf, “I’ll be back out in a bit. Don’t go anywhere.”
A string of flavourful, Christmas themed insults rose from the car.
“Yeah, well, I hope you burn your Christmas baking, too,” I muttered, returning to the semi-warmth of the barn. I pushed Cupid away from Dolly as I passed him. “Leave her be.”
I aimed a finger at Dolly. “You’re old enough to know better.” She tossed her head back with a mighty snort of displeasure.
Standing in the middle of the barn, I commanded to the reindeer, “Gather around.”
The reindeer obediently shuffled closer, Blitzen giggling. That guy seriously couldn’t hold his liquor. Although, I had poured a couple of twenty-sixers in the cooler, and he’d drunk every last bit of those large bottles of liquor. Plus, there was still whatever else in his system that he’d enjoyed during the stag party.
Maybe Comet’s little bag was full of booze. I’d have to find a way to ask about it later and make sure they weren’t taking nips here and there and making this boozy problem even worse.
“Why is the elf with you?” I gestured in the direction of the closed barn doors where my car was parked on the other side.
“He’s a narc,” Donner complained.
“Total buzzkill,” Blitzen added.
“Yeah, you mentioned that earlier.”
“He’s a spy,” Dancer added in his Swedish accent.
“Okay, but why is he here?” I asked.
They all repeated themselves, talking over each other.
“He’s spying on you guys? But why? So he can tattle to Santa?”
Their heads moved back and forth. No.
I felt that stirring of uncertainty and its trusty companion—fear. There was too much I didn’t know or understand about tonight or their world. I turned to the tawny reindeer to my right. “Prancer?”
“The elf chose his side,” Donner said gravely, not allowing Prancer to answer.
“Which side?”
“Not ours,” Comet said. “Wrong team.”
“Okay. So, there’s some sort of fight going on?” Nobody said anything, but I could tell my guess was correct.
“Mrs. Claus is mad at Santa,” someone toward the back said.
