I'm tossing around the idea of writing some flash fiction every day in December. Let's see how it goes.
It’s not well known, but it’s absolutely true:
Elves don’t actually like Christmas.
I know they pretend to, and they are grinning idiotically on all the Christmas cards and the like, but that’s mostly artist’s depictions and actors dressed as elves. True elves wouldn’t touch Christmas with a ten foot candy cane if they could help it.
They can’t though. Help it, I mean.
They are under a spell you see. That man that you call Santa Claus? He’s not a jolly old elf like you think. Sure, he seeeems nice, bringing presents to children and all that, and that part of his personality is totally cool, but there’s more to him than that.
He’s an evil wizard and he’s playing the long game.
Sure, it’s been hundreds of years of Saint Nick and Santa and all that, and it’s been him behind it the whole time, and he’s been building this image of himself as benevolent. That’s all part of the big plan.
What’s the big plan, you ask? I’m not sure yet. I am only skirting the edges, gathering the details so far. Investigative journalism is tricky when your subject sees you when you’re sleeping and sees when you’re awake.
I just know that evil is afoot and that foot is clad in a big black boot. That big black boot is prepared to crush us all at some point, I just don’t know when.
I do know, though, that the elves are part of it and I know that because I’ve seen their dazed expressions. I’ve seen the thin golden chains that link them to the tables that they work at. They are drugged on sugar and small sips of whiskey, and they are trapped at those tables while Santa gets most of the credit.
It’s been the same crowd of elves since the beginning, you know. They look young but elves age very very slowly. I’m not sure whether that’s an advantage or a disadvantage in this situation, but I know it’s true.
I’m hoping I can count on you to help me free them when the time comes. When I have the big plan figured out. When the opportunity presents itself.
I hope they aren’t all Stockholm Syndromed at this point and unable to do anything to help themselves. I hope they won’t fight me as I try to free them. I hope I can find a place to hide them where Santa won’t find them.
I’ll keep you in the loop. I’ll let you know when to spring into action. Be ready.