The wind gusted, pushing in the side of the tent, and a short, stout man seated on a cot could hear the snow pelting against the material. Outside was a frigid wasteland of deep, icy drifts and empty black sky. Pilip was used to surviving the frozen north in winter since his people, the Inuit, had done it for untold centuries. Looking at his surroundings, though, he silently admitted that he had seldom been so comfortable while camping in the north. With bare fingers he brushed his black hair back from his face, and put his hands back in his lap, bored.
It was warm enough in the ten-foot square tent that he opened his fur lined coat. Normally there would be any number of essential tasks to perform, but several devices were operating to handle the workload. The light came from a pair of cylindrical electric lanterns with sliding covers that could change the shine level. They did not have wires and could be moved around with ease. He put his fingers against the one closest to him, and it warmed without burning. In the center, between the two cots, a smooth, ceramic square with metal circles on top was heating a pot of water. Another square on the ground was fit with a square grate. The attached rods glowed red and provided the comfortable temperature. Both strange devices had black wires running to another square. None of it made any noise and the wind howled harder as though filling in the silence. He had used electric heaters before, though he did not own any, yet these machines were more sophisticated than any he had seen. He still heated his small apartment with a wood burner, but even his black, iron stove had the manufacturer name and production number. These devices had no corporate logos or information, not even to mark the small black buttons. Pilip had not touched any of it, but his employer worked them easily.
He did help set up the tent, but it was a foldable frame with light weight rods that he realized could be set up alone.
The other person in the tent was sitting at a small, folding desk. Southerners came in different tones, and this one was light skinned. He wore the same fur lined coat as when he hired him, and Pilip had never seen him without the hood up. He had his gloves off, and his hands were thin with long fingers. On the desk he had a small rectangle device with buttons and a black wire connected to a small rod that he held in his hand. After pushing a pair of the buttons, he spoke into the rod with an odd accent that Pilip thought might be from Europe.
“Expedition night twenty-nine. It’s December twenty-third, year nineteen sixty-three as the current system counts it. My guide and I have made good time despite the inclement weather. Tomorrow night I plan to reach the enemy compound and confront Mizzezclaus before she can feed again. The timing is crucial since her mystic golem, Santa Claus, will be out for collection duty. She will be at her weakest since she will not be able to feed until it returns, which should increase our chances of surviving this encounter.” With a pleased expression, he reset the buttons and put the rod down.
Pilip held his hand up, as though asking permission to speak. “Mr. Kemberton?”
“Kembearerton,” he corrected with a finger held up for emphasis.
“Oh, right. I was just wondering what the hell you are talking about?”
Kembearerton spread his hands in a pacified gesture. “You might as well know the mission now. I’m going to kill Mizzezclaus, Santa Claus’ mistress.”
Pilip felt a surge of panic that he was out in the wasteland with an insane person. This stranger had lured him out here with a palm sized sack of gold nuggets, with a promise of another equal amount once his job as guide was finished. Pilip tested it before they departed four days ago and found the metal to be authentic.
He licked his lips. “Do you mean that silly myth about Santa Claus that the southerners love so much? That’s his wife, right? Mrs. Claus.”
“That’s the genius of her disguise,” Kembearerton replied with a vibrant nod. “Mizzezclaus is a magical being thousands of years old. She’s gotten by so far, but now she is glutting herself on the beliefs of the Americans, and through them, other countries. After lurking most of her life, now she is hiding in plain sight.”
“So what, does she eat people? I have never heard of such a creature out here.”
Kembearerton shook his head. “No, it’s more complicated than that. Mizzezclaus feeds on emotions tied to physical objects, and this scam with Santa Claus has meant she has not gone hungry in years. She’s stronger than ever.”
Pilip nodded as though understanding, even though he did not. “So what, she feeds on Christmas spirit?”
Kembearerton shook his head slowly, keeping his eyes locked on Pilip. “No, cookies.”
“Huh?”
“Christmas cookies! Think about it. Part of the Santa Claus myth includes leaving out cookies for him to eat, as a ‘thank you’ snack. Mizzezclaus introduced that idea through her corporate connections. Yet, Santa Claus does not really exist, never has, so the emotional connection from the families to those cookies goes unspent. Santa collects the cookies and brings them back to his mistress. That’s what she eats all year.”
“Nothing but cookies? She must be huge,” Pilip surmised.
Kembearerton looked sideways at him. “She only consumes the emotions; she used to survive on lost items. She’s a magical creature, so she can manipulate her mass and weight depending on her energy reserves.”
Pilip nodded. “Mr. Kembearerton . . . “
“You can stop with the ‘mister’ stuff. I’m a woman.”
He was shocked. The face was a bit effeminate, but he would have sworn Kembearerton was male. “I’ve been calling you ‘mister’ the whole time.”
She shrugged. “Two other potential guides turned me down. I was concerned you would not agree to work for a woman, so I concealed my gender. I honestly thought you would figure it out before now.”
“Oh, sorry. You’re not the kind of woman I’m used to looking at.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m an elf woman, so you’re not my kind of guy either.”
Again, Pilip was shocked. “An elf? So what, are you hundreds of years old?”
“Thirty-four,” she replied.
“Thirty-four hundred years old?” Pilip blurted and his eyes bulged.
“No, thirty-four years old. I was born in year seven-thousand eight. Or rather, nineteen twenty-nine by your system.”
“Our system? Where do elves live?”
“Another world,” she replied. “I could say the name, but it would not have any meaning for you. Mizzezclaus is from my home plane. My family is actually the ones that sent her here, which is why I decided to transport to this world and put an end to her.”
“So what, like a revenge thing? She wronged your family?”
Kembearerton’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “The reason I’m here to kill her is not for you to know. I doubt you would understand the subtleties of elven culture and why I want Mizzezclaus dead.”
Pilip held his hands up. “Ok, that’s fine. Here’s my thing: I’m not going to help you kill anyone.”
She nodded. “Fine by me. All I need you to do is guide me like you’ve been doing, and you’ll receive the rest of your payment after I finish this quest.”
That declaration ended the conversation and they retired to their cots. Pilip tried to forget what he just heard, but the words of Kembearerton kept bouncing around in his mind. This upset him to the point that he brought out his bottle of whiskey and took a drink. It always helped him rest to have a couple of drinks, so he took another one. Finally, he found sleep, but it felt like he just closed his eyes when his employer was shaking him awake.
Kembearerton handed him a wrapped wax paper packet with his breakfast. Pilip ate smoked fish with a dense, sweet bread, and washed it down with water. He did not see his employer eat, but she busied herself with packing away her strange equipment.
“So, I was thinking about something,” Pilip said.
“Ask away,” she cheerfully replied. All her devices had special bags to carry them and then were placed in her backpack.
“What about the presents Santa leaves? Where does he get those?”
She turned to him with a condescending look. “It doesn’t leave presents. Visiting all the homes with children in one night is impossible even for a magical construct. The golem works tirelessly and only reaches a few cities every year to collect cookies. People buy the Christmas gifts and set them out for children to find. It’s all part of the marketing. Some people actually put tags on the gifts that they purchased as ‘From Santa Claus’. Supposedly it’s just a fun game to play with naïve children, but it also supports the ‘let’s put cookies out for Santa’ bit that keeps her fed.”
She stood up with all her equipment stored as he popped the last bit of bread in his mouth.
When they left the tent, it was still dark, but the wind had lessened to a soft breeze. He helped her fold the tent and then they departed on skis. The high-quality conveyance was provided by Kembearerton and allowed them to push along the ice easily on poles. She also gave him a set of glass goggles that allowed him to see even with the fierce wind. Although she carried the large backpack, she kept a brisk pace across the new snow.
Every few miles she would take out a flat rod with a round dial and wave it around. Sometimes she would change course, but steadily kept them moving northeast. She did not ask him what he thought about their direction once. After a day’s journey through the blowing snow, they arrived at a large rock upthrust through the pale drifts. The wind was gusting again, pushing blasts of snow against their backs.
Kembearerton leaned in close to Pilip, “Okay, this is it. Knock on that rock three times.” She pulled off her pack and dropped it on the ground.
“Why me?”
Even with the wind in his ears, he could hear her impatience. “Because it’s shielded against my kind. You have to do it, human.”
Realizing this was the real reason she brought him, he removed his skis, and pushed through the piled snow to reach the flat face of the rock. He knocked three times, Kembearerton close enough to see over his shoulder. At first nothing happened, and he stared at the rock, expecting some door to form. Instead, the ground opened under them, spilling them and a layer of snow down a long shaft.
With his stomach lurching, Pilip screamed, a long wail that echoed in the dark space. He reached out to slow his fall with his hands, but the circular shaft had sides as slick as melting ice. Gradually the tunnel sloped so that he was sliding instead of falling. At the end of the drop, it turned up and his stomach lurched again as the slide launched him into the air. He expected a hard landing on a stone floor, but instead a pair of soft hands caught him, turned him upright, and set him on his feet. He was in a rough walled cave, and on one side was a circle of glowing yellow-green mushrooms. They provided enough light to see.
Looking around for Kembearerton, he saw her flip elegantly and land on her feet with amazing acrobatic skill. Sudden realization caused him to look to see who had caught him. He raised his goggles to his forehead as he stared into a stone face. It was an approximation of human features, with round cheeks, curly eyebrows and beard, but the eyes were flat rock. It was dressed in a Santa Claus suit, red hat and coat, white cuffs and collar, and thick black gloves and boots. After it released him, it did not move again. He looked around, and opposite the mushroom ring he saw uneven rows of the stone Santas, none of them moving.
After that fall, Pilip felt his nerves were significantly frazzled that he pulled out his bottle and took a drink. The familiar taste and burn in his mouth were comforting enough that he took another drag.
After pulling her goggles down to hang around her neck, Kembearerton explained, “These are what’s left of the mystic Santa Claus golems that Mizzezclaus creates. After a few years, the magic wears off and turns them to stone. Then she plops them down here and creates another one.”
He stashed his bottle back in his pocket. “Why did it catch me?”
“To protect the myth, Santa golems are commanded to never bring harm to a human. If you had collided with it, that would have done plenty of harm.” She held up the flat rod, and after pointing it around the room, started out in a direction that took them through the spent golems.
Pilip followed and looked at the strange sculptures as he passed. The stone faces all appeared the same, but the Santa suits were in different states of decay. The oldest suits were strips of cloth hanging on featureless stone bodies. After making it through the statues, Kembearerton found a heavy wood door with gleaming brass bands and latch. She put the rod away and pulled out an automatic pistol, cocking back the hammer with one thumb.
“Is that a Colt 1911?” he asked.
“Yep, nothing beats a death machine crafted by humans; loaded with iron bullets, of course. Time to kill this scag. From here on out, stay behind me,” she told him over her shoulder.
“Why do you have to do this?” he asked. His own question surprised him, but he doubted he would get another chance.
She paused and looked back at him, nodding at the Santa statues. “See those spent golems?”
Glancing back, he nodded.
“They used to be elves. Mizzezclaus can’t just summon magic energy from nothing, she must transform it. To make a golem that she can command, she has to use a lifeforce. In our home plane, she stole the lives of hundreds of elves over the centuries, warping them to power her constructs. We sent her here because she can’t use the lifeforce of humans, your people are too fragile. The spell shreds your life energy like a chainsaw trying to cut a cake. We thought we were done with her, but she found a way to pull elves into this world to use them for her golems again.”
“Who did she take from you?” Pilip asked softly.
Kembearerton sighed. “My mother. She was over a thousand years old and just hitting her prime. From the condition of the suit, I’m pretty sure her golem was the one that caught you, but I can’t be certain. Whatever was recognizable about her is long gone.”
That was depressing enough that Pilip took out his bottle for another drink.
She glanced at the booze. “Don’t lose your head in there, human. I have no problem with you living through this to spend your gold, but I won’t shed a tear over your demise.”
After a swallow, he chuckled. “I’ve been living with southerners all my life. I know how to keep my head down.” He tucked the bottle away.
She opened the door, and the smell of fresh baked cookies wafted out. It was the most delicious odor to Pilip’s nose in a long time, but Kembearerton made a disgusted face.
“Oh, that’s foul,” she declared. “Let’s get this over with.”
Through the door was an ornate hall with complex patterns on the walls decorated with uncut gemstones and lines of gold. There were three other doors with brass bands, all on the far side of the room. The floor was flat, covered with woven rugs, and the ceiling had eight hanging chandeliers with lit candles. In the center of the hall was a long wood table with thick recessed legs. Piled on gold platters in the center of the table was every kind of Christmas cookie Pilip had ever heard of. There were round cookies with thick frosting of Santa faces and snowmen or crisp sugar coatings, some filled with nuts, fruit jam or chocolate pudding. Some were in the shape of sleighs and reindeer, gingerbread men, snowflakes, stars, and bells. They were mixed without any discernible order, but all appeared in perfect condition. No mold or rot, roaches or rats were in sight.
“Is that an illusion?” Pilip whispered, awestruck.
She shook her head. “Nope. After she consumes the emotional intent of those cookies, she puts them on that enchanted table that preserves them.”
The aroma was divine, and he licked his lips as his stomach grumbled. “What now?”
Holding her pistol ready, she nodded at the table. “Have a cookie.”
Pilip hesitated. “They’re not going to poison me or steal my soul?”
After a strange, deep giggle, Kembearerton shook her head. “No. To you they’re just cookies.”
Trusting that his employer did not bring him all this way to ruin him, he selected a reindeer cookie with perfectly detailed frosting and took a bite. The flavor was sweet cinnamon and vanilla, and he shoved the whole thing in his mouth. Chewing vigorously, he thought a swallow of whiskey would be perfect to wash it down.
A door opened at the end of a hall, and he heard a voice like an impatient grandmother.
“Did one of those human runts find its way in here again? I swear they’re as bad as rodents.”
The creature that came into view was like no grandmother he had ever seen, and Pilip estimated her over seven feet tall. She did have curly white hair, with two irregular horns curving back on her head and no neck that he could see. Her face was round and vaguely human with two eyes, a hooked nose, thin lipped mouth, and two pointed ears. The torso was long and thick, with two front arms tipped with sharp pincers, and four legs that ended in hooves. Her skin was brown and speckled with irregular pink spots. She wore a black coat that reached her knees with white trim and gold buttons.
With both hands Kembearerton pointed her pistol at the creature. “Mizzezclaus, you nasty bitch!”
“Oh! An elf!” Mizzezclaus exclaimed and held her pincers up in horror. She turned a disapproving glare on Pilip. “Why did you bring her in here? I would have shooed you away back into the cold, but now I’m very cross with you.”
Kembearerton inched closer around the table. “I hope you enjoyed these cookies because they were your last meal. Your head is going to look great over my mantle.”
Mizzezclaus smirked back and put her pincers on her hips. “If I had a cookie for every elf that tried to kill me, you wouldn’t be able to walk in this room.”
Kembearerton retorted, “But it only takes one elf to do it right!” With careful aim, she fired her pistol.
Three shots rang in the air, and the iron bullets struck Mizzezclaus in the torso, throwing her back against the wall. Gasping for breath, the creature closed her eyes and slumped against the floor.
Pilip followed Kembearerton as she walked over. The victory seemed too easy, but he had never seen a creature like this before.
From her coat Kembearerton took out a hatchet with a silver blade. “I swore I would not return home without her head.”
She stepped close enough to raise the hatchet to strike when Mizzezclaus’ eyes opened again. Faster than Kembearerton could react, her pincer reached out and snapped off the hand holding the hatchet at the wrist. With a cry of pain, the hand and weapon fell to the ground and Mizzezclaus rose to her full height, towering over the elf. Kembearerton tried to aim the pistol again, but the other pincer knocked it out of her hand. The gun landed on the cookie table.
Pilip inched closer, watching the confrontation without drawing attention to himself, and was unable to take his eyes off the terrifying creature.
Shaking from the pain and cradling her gushing wrist, the elf cried, “The iron bullets . . . no protection spell could resist that.”
With a coy smile, Mizzezclaus pulled open her coat to reveal a thick vest of metal plates where the iron slugs lodged. “Bullet-proof vest. You know humans like to make the weapon and the prevention.”
Kembearerton shook her head and turned to flee, but Mizzezclaus knocked her from her feet. With her life pouring out from her wound, the elf could not rise again and slumped face down.
“I am glad you came, though,” the creature said and put her pincers together.
As she drew them apart, she uttered words in an unknown language. A whisp of fog began to flow out of Kembearerton and formed into a sphere between the pincers. Holding the transparent sphere up, an image of Kembearerton’s head appeared in it without the hood, showing her blonde hair and pointed ears. The elf’s expression was desolate agony, and on the ground her body was eerily still.
Smiling, Mizzezclaus said to the sphere, “Well, I’ve got my next Santa Claus now.” She turned a disgusted look on Pilip. “You failed, human. Go back to your igloo.”
“I have an apartment in Anchorage,” Pilip told her.
She snapped back. “I don’t care if you live in a treehouse in Argentina. Get out!”
“What I mean is,” Pilip said as he picked up the Colt 1911, “I don’t have a mantle to hang your head over.”
Mizzezclaus opened her mouth, but whatever she was going to say ended in a scream. With ease Pilip aimed and fired the gun, shooting first through her parted lips, blasting black blood against the wall. His next two shots struck above her eyes, blowing the top of her skull out, and the creature crumpled. Her blood pooled under her, and the sphere fell from her pincers. It burst on contact with the stone floor and the mist wavered in the air for a moment.
“Thank you,” Pilip heard Kembearerton’s voice for the last time as her lifeforce faded out of view.
Immediately Pilip felt a chill in the air and the candlelight grew dim, though he could still see. He considered the two corpses in front of him. Stepping around the spilled blood, he went to Kembearerton’s body and found a leather bag with the rest of his payment in gold nuggets. He saw the side holster for the Colt but did not want to take off her coat to claim it. Instead, he put the pistol in his pocket, and the metal rang against the glass whiskey bottle. Releasing the gun and taking out the booze, he set it on the table with barely a glance. After picking up the silver hatchet, he hacked off the horns from Mizzezclaus’ skull, thinking some souvenirs would give this story credence. With quick fingers he plucked the gold buttons off her coat and added them to the nugget bag. After a moment of consideration, he stuffed a pocket full of cookies for the trip home, then overturned the gold platter, thinking to stick it in his coat.
He peered closer. The platter was not made of gold, but ice. As he watched the dish cracked in half and fell onto the pile of cookies. He examined the baked goods again, but thankfully found they were real cookies. He went to the wall with the uncut jewels and saw they were ice as well.
Searching through the rest of Mizzezclaus’ lair did not yield much. There were no other living beings present, and he did not find any magic paraphernalia like potion ingredients or jewelry. The first door led to Mizzezclaus’ bedroom, and he was disappointed to see she slept on a pile of bear pelts in an otherwise empty chamber. He surmised that this terror to elves was just a lonely creature after all. The second door showed him a small closet with a stone pedestal. On the pedestal was another gold platter with a single cookie with icing shaped like a traditional Mrs. Claus. Something about the set up made him apprehensive, and he touched neither platter nor cookie. The third door brought him to the main entrance, a stone stairway ascending to a cave adorned with glistening icicles open to the winter air. Beyond the cave entrance was a small, frozen pond surrounded by evergreen trees. The clouds had cleared, and stars twinkled in the black expanse above. A shadow passed across the star light, and he remained calm as the dark shape drew near.
Not surprised, he saw a flying sleigh being pulled by two reindeer, and a traditional Santa Claus figure directing from his seat. It slid to a stop a few feet away, and the bearded man hopped out. His red suit with white trim was spotless.
“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!” Santa said to him, but there was no puff of steam to mark his breath in the frigid air.
Pilip waved back, but Santa had already turned back to his sleigh to pull out a partially filled brown sack. The reindeer stood still and stared ahead.
Slinging the bag over his shoulder, Santa approached. “Have you been a good little boy?” he asked.
Pilip stared at the bearded face, but what he saw made him sad. He appeared like a jolly, fat man with bushy, white beard, but there was no intelligence in the black eyes. It was like Kembearerton said, and the illustrious Santa Claus was merely a creature following commands.
“I just broke into someone’s cave and killed them, so probably not,” Pilip answered. He put his hand in his pocket to grip the pistol but wondered how many shots he had left if this thing attacked.
His caution was unwarranted. The Santa golem did not respond, and walked past him into the cave, leaving behind the faint smell of cookies. Pilip investigated the reindeer and discovered they were made of leather covers over mechanical frames. He sat in the sleigh and attempted to make it fly, but no command or motion of the reins caused the fake reindeer to move even an inch.
Shrugging his shoulders over his lack of magic, he abandoned the sleigh and walked through the frost covered evergreens to find the rock where they first entered. Next to the rock he saw the metal trap door, half covered in snow. In a nearby pile, the elf had stashed her gear and skis. Pilip lifted the backpack to keep her equipment, but found he struggled under the weight. He would never make it back to Anchorage with this burden, so he set it down and opened it. He discarded the heavy electric appliances, including her recorder, and kept the tent and lanterns. Sliding back into the straps, he was confident he could carry the pack.
Pilip strapped his feet into his skis, and set out over the snow, humming a few songs about warm weather and sandy beaches.
By Aaron Ward
Published by Aaron Ward
Copyright 2021 Aaron Ward
Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Original Literature 