'Twas the Night

By Robin Reed

Rollo is the overworked, stressed-out Head Elf at the North Pole. As he prepares for Christmas Eve, he has to deal with toys that look like they're having sex, terrorist reindeer, and worst of all, the sudden death of Santa Claus. Rollo has to save Christmas after he finds out that Santa is not just dead -- he is undead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robin Reed
• Release date: Nov 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9780989924818

Robin Reed

Robin Reed lives somewhere in the vicinity of Los Angeles, with cats.

Book preview

‘Twas the Night

by Robin Reed

‘Twas the Night

Robin Reed

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 Robin Reed

First ebook edition, November 2012

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Edited by Sarah Beach.

Cover by Sarah Beach.

Discover other titles by Robin Reed at Smashwords.com:

Xanthan Gumm https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/7786

Powers vs. Power Book 1:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/7901

Powers vs. Power Book 2:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/20186

Powers vs. Power Book 3:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/172885

Thank you to:

My brother Brian, who co-wrote the screenplay version of this story.

Chapter One

It wasn’t a fit night out for man nor elf. But then it never was at the North Pole, where it gets so cold that Frosty would freeze his snowballs off. The view from Rollo’s office window was darkness. Driving snow rattled against the pane, and the wind howled like a six year old who got nothing but socks for Christmas.

When he first got to the North Pole he thought the view was spectacular. In the sunny season the fantastic ice formations and the reflections of sunlight through them were something to see. But it never changed, and after a few hundred years anything can become boring. He shook his head and sighed. He was a long way from the woodlands of his youth, where he had nothing on his mind but frolicking and scaring the occasional woodcutter.

Rollo shouldn’t have been staring out the window and thinking about times long gone. It was the busy season, and there was a lot of work to do. He took a sip of coffee and turned to the large computer monitor on his desk.

There was a Facebook message from Jay, asking if they were still on for poker on Thursday. Rollo couldn’t think about that, or anything, until after the delivery. He decided to answer later. He opened reports from his staff. There was a problem in inventory. A whole container of talking Barbies were missing. They had to be in the complex somewhere, but nobody could find them.

On the desk next to his monitor there was a copy of The North Pole Post, with the headline PRODUCTION DOWN 21% FROM LAST YEAR. A picture of Rollo was underneath the headline with his quote We’ll make it. We always do.

A window opened on the monitor, showing the worried face of Deebo, the warehouse foreman. You gotta get down to shipping. There’s something strange, Deebo said.

Like what? Rollo asked.

Just - you have to see for yourself. The window closed down. This was just great. As if he didn’t have enough to do as Head Elf, he got called to look at every little problem the idiots under him didn’t know how to handle. He opened a drawer and pulled out a half-empty bottle of Wild Turkey. He took a shot glass from the drawer and looked at it, then put it back and drank deeply from the bottle.

He grabbed his green, pointed hat from the hat rack on the way out of his office. There was no need for it in the enclosed complex, but he was the boss and he should be in full uniform in front of the troops.

He took the elevator outside of his office. Santa Claus Is Coming to Town played on the speakers. Rollo bobbed his head slightly in time to the music. The elevator stopped on level nine and the doors opened.

Rollo stepped back as Blitzen crowded onto the elevator. The elevators were designed for elves, there was barely enough room for a reindeer. Fortunately he had shed his antlers for the winter, if he still had them he never would have made it into the small space.

Oh hey, Rollo buddy pal, Blitzen said. I got a great joke.

Rollo smiled politely, trying not to wrinkle his nose. The reindeer smelled like an insurance salesman the morning after the office Christmas party. Blitzen was blitzed again.

Not now, Rollo said. There’s an emergency.

Whatsamatta? Santa’s out of bon bons? Victor bump his head again?

None of your business. Rollo held his nose against Blitzen’s stink, no longer bothering to be polite.

The Ghost of Christmas Past and two horny Swedish masseuses walk into a bar…

I told you never to mention the GCP. Santa might hear you.

And the bartender says… Blitzen started to laugh so hard he couldn’t finish. The bartender says… he began to hiccup uncontrollably.

Rollo was relieved that the door to the elevator opened on Level 18. He pushed his way out, leaving Blitzen still trying to finish his joke.

We don’t serve… the reindeer said as the closing doors cut him off.

Rollo realized he smelled of whatever Blitzen had been drinking. He must have spilled some in his fur. Great, now the Head Elf would face his troops smelling like a distillery.

Graffiti in the hallway proclaimed FREE THE NOSE! Rollo gritted his teeth. That wasn’t there yesterday. He would have to get someone to paint over it.

As far as he knew, Blitzen wasn’t part of the reindeer terrorist group that had been slowing down production this year. He didn’t think Blitzen could sober up long enough to plant a bomb. When he caught the terrorists, they would regret their actions.

The problem was, they were the only eight talking, flying reindeer in the world. Nine if you counted The Nose. The magic that made them that way was lost. Rollo couldn’t remember the times he wished he could just run down to Lapland and buy a new bunch to pull the sleigh. They knew he couldn’t get rid of them, and it made them even more arrogant.

Rollo approached a huge door. Around it were old decorations of candy canes and teddy bears, and a wooden sign above the door said Santa’s Workshop. The decorations and the sign had peeling paint and were dirty. A new sign, painted onto the door, said SHIPPING.

The door opened.

There you are! A very old elf stepped out of Shipping, holding a toy. His beard almost brushed the floor.

Sammo, I don’t really have time…

I hear you’re the new Head Elf, Sammo said.

Only for the last hundred and five years. Rollo didn’t want to insult the ancient elf; he truly respected him. In his time, Sammo was a master toy designer and builder. But things had changed.

Rollo, my boy, I just want to get your okay on the new design for this truck. He held up the wooden truck, painted in bright colors.

New design? It looks the same as always.

Instead of red paint I used Sunset Crimson. You keep telling me to keep up with the times.

Deebo called me. There’s some emergency. Rollo entered the door. Sammo trotted behind him, trying to catch up.

The shipping department was a cavernous space filled with forty foot containers shipped from all over the world, giant cranes to lift them, and hundreds of elves unloading them and entering the contents into inventory. Elf-sized forklifts carrying pallets of toys moved down each wide pathway that cut through the space. Conveyor belts carried boxes, elves sorting the toys for delivery.

Sammo still followed Rollo, clutching his old-style wooden truck.

You know we don’t make anything any more, Rollo said. We get hundreds of millions of letters, emails, text messages, Facebook posts, and even telegrams from some parts of the world. No one has asked for a hand-made toy for over fifty years.

The old elf nodded as if he understood, but Rollo knew he didn’t.

They want Barbie, they want Star Wars toys, robot dogs, video games, Transformers. They even want iPhones, iPads, Android phones, ereaders…hey, Donno.

An elf with a handlebar mustache stopped and turned. Hi, Rollo.

Show Sammo the hot toy this year.

Sure. Donno showed the toy he was carrying. It was a doll that looked like a man with a beard and a broad brimmed hat. Tickle Me Shlomo.

Rollo took the doll from Donno. He tickled it on the belly.

Stop with the tickling already. Meshuggeneh! Tickle Me Shlomo said.

Rollo gave the doll back. Donno walked on.

Do you see, Sammo? Kids want what they see on TV and the Internet. And this… he indicated the wooden truck, …fine piece of old-world craftsmanship is not it. We have everything shipped in from all over the world, mainly Asia. All we do is sort the toys, wrap them and deliver them.

I could put an antenna on it, Sammo said, happy with his innovative idea. I hear cars and trucks all have radios in them now.

Rollo patted Sammo on the back. You do that.

Sammo smiled and walked away through the organized chaos of the shipping department. Rollo watched him and sighed. He missed the days when they designed and made the toys as much as the old elf, but the world had moved on.

***

Behind a crate, two reindeer watched the Head Elf. Comet nervously held the detonator. Now? Comet asked.

Not yet, Dasher said.

Chapter Two

There you are. Shipping foreman Deebo strode up to Rollo. You have to see something. It’s horrible.

You always say that. Rollo said. It can’t be that bad.

Deebo rubbed his hands together and seemed to be ready for his annual nervous breakdown a little early this year. Deebo was skinny for an elf, probably because of all his nervous energy. It’s dreadful, just dreadful. You have to come see.

Any luck finding the Barbies? Rollo asked as he followed the foreman between piles of boxes. An elf-sized forklift stopped to let them go by. The driver waved. Bongo was his name, his wife just had a baby. Rollo waved back and hurried after Deebo.

That’s how we found it, Deebo said. We’re looking in every box for the Barbies and when we opened this one, well…look for yourself.

While every other forty foot container in the warehouse was surrounded by a crew of elves