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Bud's been sentenced to community service, but it's his son's birthday as well as Christmas. What's a ghost to do?
Fiction
Speculative
The year after I died, it was my turn to play Santa. I had been sent the uniform, the Clauses were checking the list for any last-minute updates, and the elves had loaded up my sleigh—some on standby for last minute changes. It was up to me now to deliver the goods. I shivered in anticipation. If I had flesh, it would have had goose pimples.
As Jasper, my elf liaison, checked over the sleigh one last time, making sure all the packages were stowed and none of the reins crossed, I realized that this was it. I had my list of assigned deliveries to make, but thinking about my visit to my son, Jimmy, put me over the edge. I did a few ghostly loop de loops just to get it out of my system.
“Watch it! You’re letting off sparks!” Jasper hurriedly put out the embers as they landed on the packages, waving his manifest around like a flag to waft away the ones in the air. Little spits of fire landed on his red sweatshirt, lighting up the “Santa Is My Homeboy” written there in bright yellow letters.
I fluttered back down, too chagrined to say anything.
“I know you’re excited, Bud, but you’ve got to calm down or you just might forget something.”
He was right, of course. This was not only my chosen time to visit my son; it was also my first time “out” playing Santa.
“Sorry, Jasper. I’ll tone it down.” I felt like a kid again. If I still had a stomach, it would have been filled with butterflies. Instead, my spirit form translated it as molecules moving so rapidly that I glimmered with excess energy. I needed to rein myself in.
Before we go any further: Yes, Santa Claus exists. Yes, he’s married to a fine lady who keeps him in check by promising cosmically renowned cookies and hot cocoa. Since my death, I have discovered that they are two of the nicest immortals in the multi-verse—and that’s saying a lot. It takes more to plan, execute, and deliver Christmas than you might think, combining Elven Magic and good old-fashioned Time/Space Continuum physics. They do it every year without fail.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
The first thing that happens after you die—the Big J—we don’t discuss in polite company here. That’s strictly between you and your Deity of Choice (DC for short).
The second thing that happens after you die is you get this neat little packet of brochures and pamphlets in a gift bag with a perky little bow. Inside is a booklet from your belief system (or nonbelief system) and/or DC with maps and volunteer recruiting materials. The titles of the brochures range from How to Adjust to the Ethereal Plane, to How to Travel the Multi-verse in Three Easy Steps, to How to Further Ascend in the AfterLife, to, of course, Wanna Help Santa? How to Apply!
Make no mistake—Santa Claus is not a Deity. Though immortal, neither he nor Mrs. Claus nor the elves are Divine (except in the case of the cookies and cocoa). The single-minded mission of the Santa Claus Collective (i.e. The Santa Claus Workshop at the North Pole) is to bring love and happiness to all they visit, decreasing emotional poverty while increasing the likelihood of a better world, which is why I volunteered. Well—that and my DC decided it would contribute to my community service requirement (see the Big J).
As I said, it was my turn to play Santa. So what’s a spirit like me doing helping with Christmas, you ask? You didn’t really believe that Dickens’s story was all fiction, did you? I mean, the names were changed to protect the identity of the ghosts and Tiny Tim was not nearly as angelic as Dickens claims, but other than that, it’s all the truth. Some spirits help Santa deliver Christmas. For that one expanded and timeless moment we visit homes around the world, appearing as Santa and delivering the gifts and magic that he is known for.
There’s just one catch.
You can’t use it as just another opportunity to visit (read “haunt”) your friends and family while they’re alive; otherwise, there are spirits who would never leave the living alone. While your loved ones are alive you can visit each one once. Otherwise, you’ll never get on with your death and they’ll never get on with their lives.
“Okay, Bud. Let’s see ya in the suit.” Jasper handed me the red felt pants. I felt a charge of electricity as I lay my hand on the magic suit, unsure how it would stay on my incorporeal form. But just as in life, I put my trousers on one leg at a time. Next, Jasper handed me the tunic, helping me smooth it down after I got it buttoned.
“How does this work? How does it stay on me like this?” I felt the suit flop around but remain up.
“It just does, Bud. Here’s your belt and boots.” Jasper sighed, eyes looking more haggard than usual. I got the impression he had been helping ghostly Santas fulfill their duties for entirely too long.
Not all of Santa’s volunteers deliver the packages—some wrap, some inspire musicians to put out Christmas or holiday albums, and some help in the workshop. Special pre-flight classes are taught for the delivery volunteers; I had my certificate to show I had completed said course of study.
It felt odd dressing without the socks, boxers, and undershirt I’d worn in life—until I put on the felt stocking cap and it all became a second skin.
“Voila!” Jasper stuck his pencil behind his ear, tongue in teeth as he tugged on the belt to make sure it was secure.
“You are now, to all intents and purposes, Santa Claus, Father Christmas, Père Noël, himself. Here’s your list. Remember, you are in charge of the Eastern Seaboard of the United States. Visit your son last. I can’t stress that enough. Visit. Jimmy. Last.” Jasper grabbed my now-corporeal shoulders so he could look me in my now-bespectacled eyes.
“Yes, I know. I might get so caught up with seeing Jimmy that I throw off the time.”
The elves stretch out Time so the visits to the children around the world happen almost simultaneously. The timing has got to be spot-on. Pause long enough in one place and we fall out of the Time/Space pocket the elves put us in and back into Real Time (RT). If we were going to visit family or friends that always came last. No exceptions.
Jimmy was turning ten this Christmas Eve. I was going to use my visitation after I had done my deliveries. I hadn’t always been there for him, but I had always loved him. I wanted this Christmas to be special for him. I wouldn’t be able to be there to take him fishing or biking. No annoying questions while I fixed the car like I’d done with my old man. I wasn’t there for him for those things when I was alive. I hoped visiting him this once might help make up for all that. I caught myself letting off sparks again and moved away from the packages.
I’d heard (through Santa’s check lists of course) how Jimmy had been having a bad time of it. He disobeyed Margery, his mother, as well as his stepdad, tormented his little sister, and out-and-out ignored his teachers. Even the dog had taken to leaving him alone. The Clauses had seriously considered changing him from “nice” to “naughty,” but I think they felt sorry for him.
It felt odd having a body again as I clambered into the sleigh. I felt the limitations, appreciating my ghostly form that much more. Taking the reins from Jasper, I watched as he and another elf anchored two sides of a portal for me to fly through. Then I said the magic words.
“Dash away all!” On the word “all” the sleigh jerked into motion. The reindeer knew their job, leaping into the portal opened before them like old pros. As we flew into the crisp, dark sky of a New England winter with the wind rushing across my face, I almost felt alive again. In the brief time I had been dead, I had forgotten how beautiful the night sky could be, clear indigo with the cold burn of the stars shining on the snow below. I felt the clean, clear air brushing past, letting go a whoop of joy I hadn’t felt since childhood. I could have flown up there for hours, but I had work to do.
My first stops were in Maine, Vermont, and Rhode Island. Since this was my first year, Flight Control had set it up so I could get used to touching down, delivering, and taking off in relatively unpopulated areas. By the time I hit the more populated areas I would have some deliveries under my belt and be better able to jump between Space when I needed to. First few times were tricky, but I worked it out.
About the time I got to Maryland I was ready for a break. I felt like I’d been at it for hours, but it had only been about five minutes of RT. The treats the kiddies left out for Santa I left for the parents to snack on when they came down later. Mrs. Claus herself would present us with cookies and cocoa when we returned. I was saving myself up for that.
It’s when I got down to a place in Baltimore that it all went wrong. It reminded me of where I grew up. Wallpaper peeled off the walls. A worn out fake tree stood in a corner. You know how on Christmas Eve some people leave the lights on the tree on all night? Usually looks real pretty, unless half the bulbs are out and the plastic branches so worn they’re only wire, like this one.
The snack plate consisted of a glass of water and some carrot sticks. For once, I decided to stop. I knew the reindeer would appreciate the carrot sticks. That was mistake number one.
I was grabbing the carrots for the reindeer when I heard a noise behind me and froze. Looking over my shoulder I saw a little boy, about five, sleepy from bed. Except for his hazel eyes, he was the spittin’ image of Jimmy at that age with his light brown hair sticking up over his brow.
Santa and the elves had covered this possibility in pre-flight training. Normally we move so fast through Time and Space that no one sees us. Stop long enough to admire a tree or sample a cookie though and we drop out of Delivery Time and into Real Time. It’s nothing that can’t be fixed once you contact Flight Control, but RT is the most likely time to Get Caught.
The delivery to this place had been to a Scott Nelson. In training, they’d said that if you get discovered, be friendly. Say hello, put the kid back to bed, give him or her their gift. He or she will remember it as a good dream, and that’s what their parents will think, also.
“Merry Christmas, Scott.” I hoped my grin didn’t look as ghostly as it felt. I wondered if the little boy would remember to breathe.
“Santa!” he whispered in awe.
I sighed in relief as I heard his little voice. I was Santa after all, but I felt like a fraud. Getting past my own discomfort, I noticed tear stains down pink chubby cheeks. Scott wasn’t doing so well. I eased around, ponderously getting down to one knee. I wasn’t used to carrying all this weight anymore, so I moved slowly.
Margery had always been the one who could tell the difference between real tears and alligator tears, but it seemed to me this little guy was hurting for real. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I just held my arms out, as I would have for Jimmy. Scott rushed me like a line backer, burying his nose in my shoulder. From the shaking and muffled noises, I gathered he was crying. I patted his back gingerly, trying to remember what Margery had done at times like these, hoping his parents wouldn’t wake up to a total stranger hugging their son. There was nothing for it but to hold the kid some more until he quit or went to sleep. At least, that’s the way I’d remembered it being with Jimmy when he was Scott’s age.
Soon the sounds quieted—right about the time when I began feeling the tears and snot bleed through the suit. Gently, I pulled Scott up.
“Now tell Santa what the trouble is.” I hoped it was something I could solve with a gift from Santa’s sleigh because that’s really all I had to give.
“I miss my mommy!”
That’s when I made my second mistake of the night.
“I’m sure you’ll see her soon,” I said in what I hoped was a soothing voice.
“Sh-she’s in heaven.”
Had Jimmy ever cried for me like this? How I missed my boy! In that grimy living room I realized the soothing things I was muttering were more for me and Jimmy than for Scott. Then out it came—the third mistake of the night.
“There, there, Jimmy.” Compounded by “I’m sure you’ll see her soon.”
“Really, Santa? For real? You think I’ll see her soon?”
He either was a polite little bugger or too grief-stricken to notice my slip on his name, but now I’d torn it, but good. I stammered, trying to fix it.
“What I meant is that I’m sure she misses you, too.” The kid looked up at me hopefully.
“And thinks of you often.” That may or may not have been true. I crossed my gloved Santa fingers hoping it was.
“B-but you’re Santa. You can do anything. Can’t you? You could help me s-see my mommy!”
Crap. I missed my own boy too much. My head wasn’t in the game and I could feel the minutes ticking by in RT now. I hoped the elves could reclaim what I’d lost.
So I tried to make things better.
“Santa! Help me!” Scott cowered in a corner of the sleigh, eyes pleading with me to remove him from this horror I had so blithely flown him into. I had forgotten about the cold he would experience as we flew through the upper atmosphere, or how a physical three-dimensional body would react to the fourth dimension on the way to the AfterLife. My own “meat suit” was having problems remaining comfortable, but at least I knew what to expect. Helplessly I looked around the sleigh, realizing belatedly the lack of any blankets, capes, or anything else I could have used to keep a human child warm. And now I realized that everywhere Scott looked there were ghosts, spirits marking themselves on his physical body as freezing cold ectoplasm. It felt like we had been out in the AfterLife wastes for hours, wandering endlessly looking for a lone spirit. We were too far out, too long gone. This felt like one of the old jobs gone wrong, back when I was alive. Gritting my teeth I drove on, hoping we’d find Scott’s mother before too much longer.
It was 3 A.M. according to the Robot Clock in Scott’s room when I tucked him into bed. Hopefully he would remember tonight as one long dream. Though there were some parts I sincerely wished he’d forget. I hadn’t thought about what visiting the AfterLife would do to a mortal. I sincerely hoped Jasper and his elf buddies could get me back on track for my deliveries because I was way off schedule now.
“Hey, Jasper,” I whispered into the night air. I was on the roof of the apartment building, where I’d left the sleigh and reindeer. Absentmindedly, I patted one of them as I looked over the sleigh, and got a derisive snort in return. The reindeer knew I was in trouble.
“Jasper!” I tried again. “I really need your help!” I felt a suck in space and pop in my inner ear before a hole appeared in front of me. Then He was there. No, not Jasper. Him. The Big Guy. The One and Only. Father Christmas. Kris Kringle. Santa Claus himself. Dressed in heavy-duty work jeans, a flannel shirt, and sheepskin coat, he didn’t fit the expected image, but it was him all right. He didn’t look very happy to see me.
“Where have you been for the last three hours RT?” Santa was dangerously quiet. The kind of quiet a parent gets when they’re glad their kid isn’t dead in a ditch, but they’re gettin’ ready to ground him and kick his ass for good measure.
I felt my chest cave in. I hadn’t felt this small and ashamed in a very long time. It was almost worse than the Big J. I hoped I might still be able to visit Jimmy.
“You knew you weren’t supposed to visit Jimmy until after your deliveries. We reminded you of that repeatedly, yet the first chance you got, you went to visit him. We had to call in some of the other volunteers to finish up your section because we didn’t know where you were or where the presents were. You think you’re the only one who left kids behind and wanted to visit them on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day? You think just because we can portal through Time and Space that you can slack on the job and make it up later? You know that’s not how it works, Bud.”
Santa’s piercing blue eyes sparked with the anger he was barely holding in. I had never seen the Big Guy so pissed.
“Now, will you kindly explain to me why you disobeyed direct orders and visited your son before you were finished with the deliveries?”
“I-I never—”
“Where did you go with my sleigh on my time?”
I could have lied—but all Santa would have to do was contact my personal Deity to get the truth. Where do you think he gets his lists? I looked down at my Santa boots. I didn’t deserve to wear this suit.
“I took Scott, the kid, to see his mother, in the AfterLife.”
“You what?!”
I started babbling.
“He caught me, ya know? I was just going to give him his gift and put him to bed like you said in class and it would all be a dream. But he looked so much like Jimmy did at that age. And he’d been crying. His mother died this year and he was missing her and one thing led to another and I said I’d take him to visit her.”
Santa took his spectacles off and began some kind of fifty-point inspection with them, rubbing them clean, looking at the hinges, and checking for problems, looking everywhere but at me. Every once in a while he would take a deep breath and expel it, not saying anything, but his mouth kept moving. He was counting. When he reached about 150 he finally looked up at me.
“I’m not going to give you any corporate bullcrap about this being”—he held up his fingers in a quote—“‘Team Santa.’ I am going to remind you that we stated several times in those classes you took that if anything happened, if you ran into trouble of any kind, at all, to call for backup. In your case that was Jasper. Do you really think you’re the first one to enter into a home where a child is in grief or despair or crisis on Christmas Eve and runs into Santa? We go into millions of homes a year. How many of those children do you think are in crisis?” Santa paused, seeming to give me time to answer if I chose. I shrugged, having never thought of that.
“The presents we leave behind may only be accessible through the dream world, but they’re just as real, sometimes meant to help those children deal with that crisis. Did you even give Scott his gift? If you had it may have solved everything.”
I opened my mouth to speak, and then closed it. I had almost just handed Scott his gift. But it seemed so small, his grief so huge, and he was so much like Jimmy. I looked down at my boots again. I wondered when the dressing down would end and I could relinquish the Santa suit and go explore the Horsehead Nebula or something.
“I appreciate why you did what you did but—” Santa held up a gloved finger and began ticking off a list. “—you deserted the team that depended on you. You deserted the other children who depended on you. You broke only gods know how many rules in taking Scott to visit his mother. Did you even think what the effect would be for a mortal to visit the AfterLife? Neither his body nor his mind is made to deal with that. And what of his mother? Did you think she might not be ready yet to visit with her son? To use up for her, her one visit that she gets between now and when he eventually dies?”
I had no answer and simply hung my head. I knew Scott had been scared, but I didn’t think how it might haunt him later. And his mother, well, I hadn’t thought that she might be waiting for a special occasion, like I was with Jimmy. I hadn’t been thinking at all. Except of myself—and of Jimmy.
Old habits die hard. Santa was fidgeting, patting his jacket and pulled out a candy cane to suck on. It’s what he does now that he no longer smokes a pipe. Offhandedly, he reached into the air next to him and gestured at it, opening a hole in space.
“We were able to fix things this time.” Santa sized me up, puffing out his cheeks. I stood there gaping at him, probably looking a lot like Scott had.
“You need to turn in your suit to Jasper. Go see your boy. It is his tenth birthday, after all. I’ll take care of the sleigh and the reindeer.”
Something inside me leapt up. For the first time since seeing Santa, I found my voice.
“Thank you.”
“Just go.” He waved me away dismissively. “Once you’re finished come see me.”
It seemed my community service stint for the North Pole might come to an end soon after it had begun, but at least now I was going to see my boy.
“Jimmy.” I whispered into a small petal-shaped ear. He twitched at the cold it must have translated to on his skin. His brown hair was mussed and mouth all sticky, a small hand clutching a toy car. It looked like Margery had made sure he had his birthday cake tonight. His soft breathing was almost a little snore. I settled on the end of the bed and just looked at him for a while—getting lost in dreams I had for him and thinking about what adventures he may have. I floated back up to his head.
“Jimmy, wake up. It’s me. Daddy.” Was he getting too old for that? “Jim, it’s Dad.” I amended.
Eyes crusty with sleep blinked open.
Jimmy sat up, looking around, blinking and shaking his head.
“Dad?”
Calling on the energy I had been given for this visit I allowed an image of my body to materialize on the bed in front of him.
“Dad!”
“Shhh! Jimmy—”
“You’re back! I knew you weren’t really dead!”
“Jimmy, please. Let me speak.” Jim looked up at me, blue eyes gazing hopefully. I could tell he was reconstructing a life where his father hadn’t died after all. This was beginning to feel like the visit to Scott’s apartment all over again.
“Jimmy, I’m only here to visit you. I have to go again in a little while.”
“But you’ll be back, yeah?”
I shook my head.
“Dad! That’s not fair!” Only ten years old and already adolescent defiance peeked out of his eyes, leaked out of his voice.
“I’m allowed to visit you just this once.” I held up a hand. “Of all the people I left behind when I died, you’re the one I miss the most. I wish I had been around more often—” I reached out and tried to touch his cheek. I almost became solid enough to touch him. His eyes grew wide and he shivered. Quickly I withdrew my hand. Santa had been right. Exposing the living to the AfterLife was dangerous. I didn’t want Jimmy to have nightmares.
“I just—I love you. You know that, don’t you?” I pleaded. More than anything I wanted him to understand how much I loved him, despite not being there when I should have been.
“Yeah. I know.” Jimmy looked down at the little car in his hand. “I miss you.” He spoke into his lap.
“Yeah. I miss you, too.” We both paused awkwardly. “Didja get that for your birthday?” I gestured at the car and smiled as Jimmy launched into the litany of what he had received for his birthday and what they had done and what they were going to do for Christmas Day.
“And then, after we have breakfast, we get to see what Santa brought us, but then we’re going to go see Gramma and Grampa for dinner.”
I wondered briefly who had been Jimmy’s Santa, if they’d been here yet or would be here after I’d gone. He was at the point of not believing in Santa anymore. I decided to see if I could take advantage of what I knew to play parent one last time.
“Jimmy, do you think you deserve anything from Santa this year?”
I watched Jimmy stop in his story, look down and play with his car on the bed and shrug.
“You know your mom, your stepdad, your sister, your teachers, Santa, me, Gramma and Grampa, we all love you. We all just want what’s best for you. Jimmy, look at me.”
Jimmy looked up. I saw streaks down his cheeks. Oh, how I wished that I could hug and comfort him as I had Scott! I didn’t have a magical suit this time, so I gathered my energy about me, willing myself to become solid matter as I heard others had done. I needed to do this, to hold my son one last time. I saw Jimmy’s eyes grow wide, right before I received my second tackle of the evening.
It felt so good to hold my son, my boy, close to my heart. I wanted to sit there forever and hold him, keep him from harm. But forever is a long time, and soon the sun would be coming up. After a while, I felt Jimmy shivering again and a tug on my form. It was time to go. I felt myself fading, losing the solid mass I was exerting so hard to keep.
“Dad? Stay longer!” I could hear the panic in his voice.
“I can’t, Jimmy. I have to go.” It was a struggle to keep my shape, as I looked down into his young face. “I can’t come back, but I’ll always be there for you. Just remember that I’ll always love you.” Finally, I couldn’t hold my shape any longer and felt myself being pulled back again. But as I wafted back to the AfterLife I heard him.
“I love you, too, Dad.”
I still volunteer for Santa at the North Pole Home Office, but he thought it best, under the circumstances, to take me off delivery detail. At least until the elves and other spirits who had to take up my slack quit grumbling about it. He said to give it a century. Or two.
These days, I’m one of the fact-checkers. He and Mrs. Claus go over the final lists, but they use volunteers for the fact checking. I’m glad they gave me another chance. I’ve learned a lot. For instance, did you know they not only have a list of naughty and nice kids, but also naughty and nice adults? Yep. True story.
You better watch out.
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Copyright 2008, Rachel V. Olivier. All rights reserved. Rachel lives in a studio in LA with an orange tabby who thwaps her with his tail whenever she's been sitting at her computer too long. On warm SoCal Christmas Eves they both wait for the allotted time when Santa Claus will visit in his cherry red convertible delivering tuna, catnip, chocolate, and wine. Rachel has had poems published in Electric Velocipede and Aoife's Kiss. She makes a living proofreading and copyediting, as well as writing. For more information or writing samples go to www.puttputtproductions.com.
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