Sarah Sues Santa

  "Fine," he said, "If you won't talk to me, then you'll have to talk to Mr. Vekil. I'm sure he'll be really interested to hear about this."

  Sarah felt her stomach plunge into a bucket of ice. Before she could leap at Michael, he bolted out of the dining room, his friends and following him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Vekil’s Office

  "Get back here!" Sarah yelled, chasing after them. She pushed through the dining room doors with her shoulder, and watched as she saw them disappear around a corner. As she ran after them, she heard footsteps behind her. Becky and Anna ran just behind her, with a whole crowd of other kids running behind them, apparently wanting to see the drama unfold.

  "Turn left!" Said Becky, "It's a shortcut to Vekil's office!"

  Sarah swerved left at the corner. With Becky yelling directions from behind her, she ran upstairs, through empty rooms and down stairs again until they came to a clean wooden door with peeling gold letters saying 'Mr. Vekil.' And Michael and his friends were already standing there. Too late! Michael shot her a twisted grin, and knocked on the door three times.

  Hands on her knees as she caught her breath, she heard the sound of a hundred footsteps from both ends of the corridor as what looked like every child in the orphanage gathered around to watch, surrounding her, Becky, Anna and Michael.

  The door rattled with the sound of a latch being unlocked. The crowd backed away by a step. The door opened, and out stepped Mr. Vekil. He took one look around the gathered orphans.

  "What is the meaning of this?" He boomed. Immediately half of the kids ran, their feet echoing through the corridors like heavy rain. Even Michael looked a little bit scared.

  "Sarah had this, Sir," he said, holding out the tickets. Mr. Vekil snatched them out of Michael's hand and looked over them for what felt like five whole minutes. Sarah could only hear the blood pumping in her ears. Finally, he looked up.

  "I see," he said, then he met Sarah’s eye. "Miss Pebbleton. In my office. Now. The rest of you, get out of my sight. Don't you have evening chores to be getting on with?"

  Reluctantly the crowd broke up. Michael stayed where he was.

  "That includes you, Mr Andrews," said Mr. Vekil, "And I suggest you wipe that smug look off of your face. It doesn't suit you."

  Michael’s face fell. Despite her own fear, Sarah felt a twinge of satisfaction as Michael turned and walked away. They gave each other their best scowls as he passed by.

  "Don't keep me waiting, Miss Pebbleton," said Mr. Vekil, stepping back into his office and leaving the door open for her. Sarah turned and nodded bravely at Becky and Anna, though she felt anything but brave. They looked like they were about to cry. They waved sadly at her as though she was never going to see them again. Sarah took a deep breath and walked through the door.

  "Close the door behind you, please."

  Sarah clicked the door shut. The office was...well, the first word that came to her mind was warm. For the first time since arriving she couldn’t see her own breath steam in front of her. Instead of big empty corridors and concrete walls there was a lot of dark, varnished wood. A bookshelf packed with leather books lined the wall, and the desk was empty except for two chairs, one on each side. Mr. Vekil sat in the large, fancy chair while he indicated for Sarah to sit in the smaller, plastic chair opposite. Sarah lowered herself into her chair as Mr. Vekil inspected the tickets.

  For a while, neither of them spoke. Mr. Vekil didn't even look at Sarah: he just turned the tickets over and over in his hands, as though they were a fine pieces of art. Sarah didn't dare move. What will he do? Will Mr. Vekil punish me? Maybe he'll kick me out of the orphanage. That wouldn't be so bad. I can look for the postbox and get out of here.

  But what if Mr. Vekil didn't return the tickets to her? What if he just tore them up into tiny little pieces? She'd be stuck here! How long would it be before she could get a pen and paper to write a letter to Santa, hide it so bullies like Michael never found it, and get to the postbox, wherever it was? Weeks, months...maybe never?

  Mr. Vekil smiled. "I see," he said. He held out the tickets to Sarah.

  Sarah shrank back in her seat as though Mr. Vekil was holding a fist up at her. Was it a trick? A test?

  Mr. Vekil frowned. "Do you want these tickets or not?"

  Slowly, as though she was being handed a bomb, she carefully took the tickets back. She stared at Mr. Vekil, then at the ticket - yes, they were the real ones - and back to Mr. Vekil.

  "But...but..."

  "But what?" Mr Vekil leaned forward, "Do you think I’m trying to trick you? Because I am Mr. Vekil, and I am supposed to be mean and terrible?"

  Sarah was so lost for words that she could only make a faint squeaking sound. Mr. Vekil snorted. "You children. You believe things so easily."

  "I...don't understand," Sarah finally managed to say, "What's going on here?"

  "What do you mean?" Mr Vekil leaned back in his chair. Now he was a bit further away, Sarah found it a little easier to speak.

  "I...well, you don't seem like a bad person..."

  Mr. Vekil shook her head, "Oh, but Miss Pebbleton, you are quite wrong. Some of the rumors about me are true: Your friends have told you that I made the orphanage a bad place. yes? Well, that’s true."

  "But why? Why have you done this?" Now that Sarah had found her voice again, it grew louder and louder until she was almost shouting at Mr. Vekil, "This place is just...it's a nightmare. And to kids! On Christmas Day! I've changed my mind. No, you’re not a bad person, you're evil."

  Mr. Vekil stroked his short beard, and he looked tired and sad. "That's almost exactly what my parents said to me when they abandoned me."

  Sarah felt all of the rage disappear from her faster than a click of the fingers. This man...I just know what to think. One second I hate him, the next I feel sorry for him.

  Without thinking, she asked him a question. "Who are you?"

  Mr. Vekil looked at the ceiling. Then he sat up straight again, as though he were in an interview. He looked over Sarah carefully, as though considering her for an important new job.

  "Come with me," he said, "I will show you."

  Without waiting for an answer, he stood up and pulled a book from the shelf. He opened it, and inside was a key. He grabbed the key and walked out of his office without even waiting for her. Sarah twisted around in her chair, half expecting him to come walking back in and telling her that it was all just a test. But he didn't. Sarah jumped out of the chair and chased after him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Magic of Christmas

  After only a few turns through the freezing corridors they arrived at the locked door that they'd met at the last time. Sarah’s heart gave a jolt. Was he really going to...

  He inserted the key into the door, and with a loud click he unlocked it and stepped inside. Sarah followed.

  The thing covered in the white sheet looked even bigger from the inside. It didn't have any clear shape: bits stuck out here and there, and there was a big dip in the middle.

  It wasn't just this thing either. Looking around the room, she noticed that pictures hung to the wall, except they were covered in white cloth too. It would've made the whole room look bright and clean if the sheets weren't so dusty and dirty.

  Mr. Vekil circled around the big thing in the middle, as though walking around a sleeping monster. His hands shook. Is he scared? But then he gathered up a fist of cloth and gave a great pull. The cloth flew aside and Sarah covered her eyes as dust billowed around her. Blinking, she looked at what lay beneath.

  It was a pile of furniture. Sarah had seen lots of rooms full of stacked tables and chairs, and for just a tiny moment she felt her heart sink in dismay. But then she looked closer. This was not just any furniture. It all looked...Chistmassy. The biggest thing in the middle was a wooden four-poster bed with velvety red bedsheets sewn with a snow pattern. There was also a chest of drawers with handles shaped like pine trees, a writing desk where legs were painted like c
andy canes, and a wooden chair with a pair of fake reindeer antlers on the back. But what really made up most of the pile were the toys. There were toys heaped everywhere: wooden blocks, board games, teddy bears of all shapes and sizes...but while the furniture looked like it was still in good condition, many of the toys looked utterly destroyed. Soft toys with arms ripped off, board games without boxes, books with pages hanging loose in their covers.

  Sarah looked at Mr. Vekil, and a lightbulb went off in her head.

  "This...this stuff is yours." She said quietly.

  "Was," Mr. Vekil added, "When you join an orphanage you don't have your own belongings anymore. Everything gets shared. Anything you don't want to share gets bullied out of you eventually. You already know that."

  "You were an orphan too?" Sarah scratched her head, "But I heard that you have a family."

  Mr. Vekil frowned, "I do. And they are crazy about Christmas. And so was I, when I was your age. I believed in the magic of Christmas, in the Christmas spirit. In Santa."

  Sarah frowned. What is he talking about?

  "But then I grew up." He went on, walking slowly around the room, "And I didn't want to celebrate Christmas that much anymore. I didn't hate Christmas, I just felt like my parent's way of doing things was too much. All of the big feasts, the presents, the parties from November to January, it didn't seem to be the true meaning of Christmas.

  “So when I tried to do things my own way, when I wanted to put away my decorations in January, my parents got angry. Really angry. They told me 'If you cannot celebrate Christmas like the rest of our family, then you are not part of this family.'

  "One night, after the fifth day of parties in a row, we had a big argument. Lots of shouting and crying. Then I ran away. I was only ten years old, so it didn't last long. But when I came back, I wasn't greeted by my parents with open arms or even another argument. They sent me straight back out of the door. They had already packed up all of my things. The next day, I arrived at this orphanage. I never heard from my family ever again."

  Sarah held her hands over her mouth. "That's terrible!"

  Mr. Vekil began pulling the cloth off of the pictures on the wall. It was a young Mr. Vekil, living his life as an orphan, playing with toys and surrounded by other children. In none of the photos was he smiling. "This was my room. The orphanage was much bigger, then, and we all had our own rooms. That didn't stop the big kids from coming in and breaking all of my toys though. I didn't mind that much. The toys reminded me of my family. Nobody adopted me. Everyone knew about that weird Vekil family. When I turned sixteen, I was old enough to get my own job and leave."

  "But you came back..." Sarah whispered, "You're the owner of this orphanage now."

  Mr. Vekil nodded.

  "Wait, hang on," Sarah rubbed her head, as though she was trying to massage all of the information into her brain, "If all of this is true -"

  "It is."

  "Then why have you made this place so horrible?" Sarah waved an arm down the empty concrete corridor, "You know how hard it is be an orphan, so why are making everyone's lives miserable? No toys, no going outside, all crammed into one bedroom, lots of chores, no..."

  "No Christmas?" Mr. Vekil added with a sneer, "Christmas is a lie, Miss Pebbleton. Oh, I believed it was all real, for a while. All the things they say in those songs. Christmas spirit, peace on earth, goodwill to all men. My family were obsessed with Christmas, but they put their own son into an orphanage. Where's the Christmas spirit in that? Where was Santa when I needed him the most?"

  Sarah held her tongue. What Mr. Vekil said sounded eerily similar to her own thoughts over the last few days, except his story was much worse than hers.

  "You say that it is horrible here?" Mr Vekil gave a short, sharp laugh, "This is real life, Miss Pebbleton. The children here will be ready for just how cruel the real world can be. They will never have to experience the pain of having their dreams shattered like I did."

  "But...it's good to have dreams," said Sarah, "It's good to believe in something."

  "Like Santa?" Mr. Vekil gave a twisted smile, "Even when he has disappointed you every single year, Miss Pebbleton?"

  Sarah bit her lip. It was like Mr. Vekil could read her thoughts. She didn't want to agree with him, but a tiny bit of her did.

  He stood up straight. "I'm sorry to hear what happened to you, Mr. Vekil," she said, "but you shouldn't make other kids sad just because you think it's right. It doesn't matter if it's Christmas or not. The real world isn't that bad."

  "Oh really?" Mr. Vekil raised an eyebrow, "Well, Miss Pebbleton, you have your tickets. Go. Leave. You don't believe me? Go and see the real world for yourself. You won't like what you see. Trust me."

  Sarah and Mr. Vekil stared at each other for a moment. Then Mr. Vekil put his hand into his pocket and pulled out another, bigger key.

  "Here," he said, handing it to her, "It's the spare key to the front door. Keep it. You'll need it for when you come back."

  Sarah clutched the key tight in her fist. She felt her cheeks burning, and without saying a single word she turned and left the room.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lost in the Forest

  That man...he really is terrible. His words echoed through her head like her own footsteps through the corridors. Something about what he said made her feel...angry. Really angry. Why? Mr. Vekil hadn't shouted at her or hurt her. He’d even let her leave.

  She shook her head. No. I don't need to think about him or this place any more. It’s time to leave. To meet Santa at last. I have so many questions...

  As she walked down the corridor, she passed the other kids as they were doing their evening chores. They stared at her as she passed, and she could feel their eyes burning on the back of her neck. Footsteps pattered behind her: a few at first, then more and more. Soon it sounded as if the whole orphanage were following her. As she passed the playroom, out stepped Becky and Anna.

  "Sarah!" Said Anna, "You're OK! What happened? What's going - "

  Sarah silently shook her head at them as she walked passed. Finally, she came to a stop at the door. The crowd behind her stopped too, staying back from her by about ten steps as if the door was some kind of dangerous animal. Whispers rippled down the corridor. Sarah ran a finger along the cold surface of the metal door. Tiny drops of condensation ran down it. It was a lot bigger up close. She took the key from her pocket, and a few of the orphans gave a gasp. She inserted the key into the lock and turned. The door clicked with a low booming sound like a faraway explosion, and Sarah pushed the door open.

  Snow flew at her, as though it was running inside to escape the cold. She stepped out, and fresh snow crunched under her feet. She shielded her eyes as big flakes flew into her face. She turned around. She could barely make out the kids still standing in the dark corridor: for all she knew, they might have all run away at the sight of the outdoors. One thing was for sure; none of them were running out into the snow to play. Sarah sighed. Vekil really has made them scared of the outside world. I’ll show him. I’ll show him there is a Christmas spirit! She pulled at the door handles, slammed the door shut and with another turn of the key locked it again.

  She looked around the courtyard. It was nearly impossible to see: everything had been covered in snow. All she could make out were the lampposts forming a line into the distance. A path...

  The key was getting cold in her hand. She longed to throw the key into the snow, to prove Mr. Vekil wrong - I will never, ever come back here! - but at the sight of the snowstorm, she growled in frustration and stuffed the key in her pocket.

  Sarah followed the line of lampposts through the courtyard and out of a rusting gate. A dark shadow swayed in the swirling snow in front of her. As she came closer she saw it was a thick forest of tall pine trees. The path of lampposts ended at the edge of the forest. The postbox was always to the right, at the far end of the street. She let out a long breath, steam rising in front of her, and she stepped into the forest.

&n
bsp; The snow was much less here: the thick blanket of pine needles up above shielded her from most of it, and Sarah could finally look around without squinting. The forest was silent. The straight tree trunks stretched out in every direction around her, fading away into the darkness - even the trees behind her, where she'd come from. Wait...that is the direction I came from, right? Maybe it's that way, the trees in that direction looked thinner...

  Sarah's heart raced. Was she lost already? No way: she was just a little confused, that's all. Anyway, this forest couldn't be that big. If she kept walking in this direction she’d come to the postbox eventually, she’d just have to...

  On and on she went. And so did the forest: it started to make her feel a little bit dizzy. For all she knew, she could be walking in circles, because all of the trees looked the same. And was it her, or were the tree trunks slowly closing in on her? She felt suddenly short of breath.

  A twig snapped behind her. She bolted away like a frightened rabbit, weaving through the trees, not daring to look back. She tripped over a tree root and landed face first into a pile of fallen pine needles.

  "Ow!" Sitting up and wiping the needles away from her sore face, she looked around. Nobody or nothing else was there. Straightaway Sarah felt silly for running. This place...it's making me feel weird. Why did I come this way? I should've walked around the edge of the forest! Why would a postbox be in the middle of a forest anyway? Why...

  She peered through the trees. In the distance was a patch of light. An opening. And there, in the middle of the opening, stood something tall, red and white.

  Sarah froze on the spot. A cold chill swept through her, even though there was no wind between the trees.

  "Santa?" She whispered, her breath rising in a stream of smoke.

  The figure didn't move. Or did it? It was too far away to make out. She forced one foot in front of the other, as though her feet were made of ice. Gradually, she felt her limbs thaw, and without thinking about it she was running towards the opening. She burst out of the trees and into the blinding white light of the snow. She blinked, shielding her eyes with her hand.