Page 1 of Naughty Elf: Alfie
Chapter 1
Alfie
The scratchof my gold fountain pen scrapes along the glittering green paper. Only one more letter to finish, then it’ll be time to help load the sleigh. I wipe at my brow. Just a little longer and it’ll be Christmas. The best time of the year!
I’ve been better this year compared to other years. I’m determined to be the one to ride with Santa #22 this year as his sleigh helper. I’m a twenty-eight year old alpha and still haven’t had the honor. Granted, I don’t exactly make it easy.
“Alfie!” Glenda, my supervisor, yells my name. I hold back a smile before turning to face her. Her rumpled blonde hair is wrapped in a messy bun on the top of her head.
“Yes?”
“Did you do this?” She waves frantically at the refrigerator beside her. I can’t see the front, but I know exactly what she’s talking about.
“Maybe?” I bite my bottom lip and cast my eyes down. “The letters were already there. I just gave them a little help.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose. “We can not have monster... fudging is fun on the fridge.”
“But it is. I’m just stating facts.” At least facts according to the books I read. Having no monster fudging experience, I don’t know for sure if monster fudging is fun or not.
A few of my fellow elves snicker around me. They know the alphabet fridge magnets are my weakness. I can’t resist.
“You can’t keep doing this, Alfie. It’s inappropriate. And disrespectful of your fellow elves. Not everyone... fudges monsters.”
My face heats. Of course, I didn’t think how the words were disrespectful. I just thought they were funny.
A few elves nod around me with their heads down as they continue to work on letters. We’re in the mailroom and our only purpose is to respond to letters to Santa all year long, no matter the day. Most in this room are wholesome “good” elves. Not trouble makers like me.
“I’ll behave.” At least as long as I remember. “Please don’t write me up again,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry Alfie, you still haven’t learned.” Glenda walks over to me with an orange slip of paper stating my offense. There goes my chance of riding with Santa yet again. I nod and stuff the paper in my pocket. I only have myself to blame for the reprimand.
I just want people to like me, and usually that means making them laugh. But apparently my version of funny doesn’t mesh with others around me.
Christmas music sounds out. It’s time to load the sleigh!
Loading the sleigh is one of my favorite parts of Christmas. There’s not much room for error and it’s the one time I’m laser focused.
It’s a mass migration of elves as we make our way to the loading bays. I always get anxious in the crowd and my heart pounds. Sweat beads at my temple until we make it to the loading bays.
I always work with the gifts for the Illinois, Indiana, and Kentucky tri-state area in the US. Our bay is highlighted in bright yellow. The cheery color always warms my heart and lifts whatever dreary mood I might be in. I grab a safety vest and shrug it on.
There’s someone in Southern Indiana thatalwaysgets crystals. I don’t know who they are. I know exactly which bag contains the crystal and luckily it’s front and center of our pile of gifts to load into the sleigh. There’s something about the person I’m drawn to every year and I can’t ever resist looking.
I grab the hot pink velvet bag. Before peeking inside, I make sure I don’t have an audience. No one is watching me, so I untie the drawstrings and look inside. I suck in a breath. This year’s gift is an aura quartz heart the size of my palm. No doubt they’ll love the beautiful piece. I pull the drawstrings closed again and softly place the bag back in the pile labeled S. IN before turning to the conveyer belt for the final inspection.
Each gift comes out perfectly, as far as I can tell. With my attention to details in my calligraphy, I’m always a good bet for final inspections.
It takes us hours before all the sacks are filled, then shrunk to the size of a fist. Once they’re all tiny, we pack the sleigh itself, making sure the backseat is organized by Santa #22’s flight plan.
Jingle bells ring out and we all clap. Another year to celebrate.
Confetti rains from the ceiling and I throw my arms out to spin in the glitter.
Maybe I got an orange write up, but it’s fine. I always have next year to earn my spot beside Santa.
Speaking of Santa. #22 walks through the door, all smiles. His thumbs loop around his bright yellow suspenders, keeping his red pants up. He’s one of the younger Santas, probably in his mid to late forties. I forget. But I like him. I’ve worked in a fewof the other workshops, and they’re fine, but #22 is where I’m meant to be.
#22 laughs at a joke someone shares with him. He looks around the room until his eyes land on me, and he winks.
