"Santa?" She called. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw the figure again. Wait...that’s not Santa. It was a tall red postbox. The top of it was covered in a thick cap of snow. Pulling a ticket out of her pocket, she stepped forward. At last. The final trip. Time to meet Santa Claus.
Nothing she'd seen over these four Christmas Days made sense. Rich people who got everything, poor people who got nothing, orphans who didn't even get a Christmas, and a boy who came from a family that loved Christmas but forced him out of the family. What Mr. Vekil had said about Christmas still echoed in her mind...Christmas is a lie...where was Santa when I needed him the most? For a moment her hand hovered over the slot. Did she want to even mee Santat? Was she ready? What if she didn't get the answer she wanted?
The key to the orphanage weighed heavily in her pocket, as though it were pulling her back. She took a deep, cold breath and slipped the ticket into the letterbox.
It was different this time. Instead of the light pouring out of the door, it streamed out of the letterbox like a golden smoke. It filled the opening with a bright, butter-yellow light. It was so bright that Sarah had to shut her eyes. She felt the earth under her feet move, but she didn't dare look: the light burned a hot pink though her eyelids. And then, quite suddenly, the light went out with a snap.
Chapter Nineteen
Explorers
If she thought she'd been cold before, it was nothing compared to this. It sunk into the deepest parts of her, making her shiver to the core. She opened her eyes. The trees and postbox had disappeared. The snow remained, stretching as far as she could see in every direction under a pale blue sky. The sun hung low in the sky. Was it rising or setting? Sarah couldn't tell. Turning around, she saw what looked like a shed, shaped like someone had cut a giant barrel in half and laid it down flat in the snow. That looks warm.
Shivering furiously, she was about to make a dash for the shed when she saw something that made her stop dead. There, about twenty steps away, was a thin pole, about twice as tall as her, sticking out straight in the flat snow field. I know that pole...
Forgetting how cold she felt, she walked up to the pole. As she drew closer, she could make out the pattern: a swirling pattern of red, white and blue, with a silver ball on the top. The North Pole.
Sarah felt a strange tingle run through her. THE North Pole? The most northern point in the world? This...this was it? No, it couldn't be. She had to be imagining things. She pulled off a glove, reached out with a shaking hand and touched the pole. It was like she'd dipped her fingers into a bucket of ice, it was so cold, and she immediately pulled her fingers away before they stuck to the pole. That had felt real enough. And she couldn't think of anywhere else in the world where the snow and ice stretched out in every direction with nothing else to see but a pole and a barrel-shaped shed. This had to be it.
A blast of wind ran through her, and she gasped as the freezing air made her eyes sting. I need to get inside, get warm...
She ran for the shed, and pulled at the door. To her surprise, it opened straightaway. She stumbled backwards and slid across the ice as the door swung out, but she kept a hold of the handle. She pulled herself inside the shed and slammed the door shut. The noise echoed across the round metal ceiling, and she looked around.
It looked like some kind of explorer or a group of explorers used this place. Clothes hung from strings on the ceiling. A large metal table stood in the middle covered in rolls of paper and maps, surrounded by metal fold up chairs. A standing furnace was propped up nearby, a fire crackling away within. Sarah shuffled closer and held her hands over it, suddenly feeling very cold again. If this fire is here, then somebody is here.
"Hello?" She called. No answer. Maybe they were out? But then again, she hadn't seen anyone out there...
She looked around, walking towards the back of the big shed. If the metal table was the place where the explorers worked, then here was where they relaxed. A thick rug lay in the middle of some old but cozy sofas, another furnace burning away nearby. In the left corner were what looked like a line of sleeping bags, and the far right corner was the toilet: a hole in the ice surrounded by slabs of wood for temporary walls. Being an explorer must be hard, Sarah thought.
She turned and looked out of the window. The sun hadn't moved up or down: it just seemed to roll along the horizon like a ball. The North Pole cast a long shadow, stretching all the way to the shed.
Sarah felt a shiver run through her. Was she excited? Scared? A bit of both? This is it! I’m going to meet Santa at last! Despite everything he’d done, despite being furious at Mr. Claus for all of the bad things he’d done and all of the good people he’d ignored, Sarah couldn’t help but feel excited. She’d never met a celebrity in real life before. Was he going to be shorter than she imagined? Maybe he wasn’t as fat as all of the pictures and cartoons made him out to be?
Slowly, ever so slowly, the sun dipped below the horizon, and the sun flushed pink, then a darker blue. Sarah had read a lot of stories and seen a lot of movies about how to find Santa’s Workshop, all of them different. But all of them agreed on the same thing: it couldn’t be seen normally. Something magical had to happen.
Night fell. Yes, it must be night too, I think. It’s a more magical time. I can’t imagine Santa’s workshop appearing in the daytime, it just doesn’t feel right.
The last rays of sunlight crept up the North Pole, illuminating the silver ball at the top. Sarah felt a thrill of excitement run through her. Yes! This is it! A shadow crept up the pole until the silver ball was the only bright thing. It shone like a star, lighting up the night. Sarah felt a mystical power ripple through her. She leaned forward, pressing her nose on the glass. Here we go...
The light passed over the ball, and everything went dark. Sarah waited. And waited. Then waited some more. Finally, when it was too dark to make out anything outside, she stood up. Was that it? No, it couldn't be, nothing had happened. Maybe it was something else that needed to happen instead, like the Northern Lights. Maybe it was a button she needed to press on the pole. Oh, but she had been so sure!
An idea struck her. Making her way over to the work desk, she looked over the explorer's maps. Whoever lived and worked here must know the place pretty well. Maybe they've discovered the secret.
The maps had tiny writing, and Sarah found them really difficult to read, but she soon found the map of the North Pole area with lots of notes scribbled on it. Aha! This must be it! She scanned carefully over the notes. But all it said was a lot of boring things about the thickness of the ice and the location of polar bears. Maybe...maybe that’s the secret? She shook her head. No, of course not! Sliding the map aside, she read her way through the piles of other papers, taking a handful of them over to the sofa to sit by the warm fire. None of gave a hint that they had found so much as an elf, let alone an entire workshop. She threw the last map aside and slumped on the chair. She gazed into the low fire crackling in the furnace. A cold thought was creeping towards her, getting ever closer. Maybe...maybe there isn't...
"No!" she said aloud, leaping to her feet. So these explorers hadn't found Santa's Workshop yet. That might be the reason they were here! Maybe they were searching too! And maybe they hadn't found it yet because - Sarah clapped her hands together - only children could see it! Ah, of course, now that is an important rule. Zipping up her jacket and pulling on her hat and gloves, she stepped back outside.
Chapter Twenty
Sarah and Santa
It was bitterly cold outside, as though she'd just walked into a giant freezer. Zipping her jacket right up to the top so it covered her nose, she walked slowly towards the North Pole. A thin slice of the moon was rising, illuminating everything with a ghostly blue light. She reached the pole, and looked up at it. It gleamed in the moonlight, sparkling with a thin layer of frost. It looked completely smooth. Maybe the button is hidden or something. She ran a gloved hand over the surface, rubbing away the frost. Nothing. She knocked on the pole three times as
if she were knocking on someone's front door. Nothing. Feeling frustration boiling up in her, she yelled "LET ME IN!"
Nothing.
She punched the North Pole so hard that it shuddered. Sarah howled as pain throbbed in her hand, and she slumped to the ground. Why? Why was nothing working? Santa had bought her all of this way, through a rich house, a poor house, an orphanage and finally the North Pole. Why wasn't he here, waiting to greet her at the door of his workshop with a merry smile and a big mug of cocoa? But no. Here she was, out in the cold polar night, alone.
Why...why was Santa doing this? Every step of the way, the things he'd shown her had only made her even angrier at him. Her rich parents could afford to buy everything in the world, and yet Santa had given her more presents than ever. Her poor parents had been so nice and had tried really hard to make Christmas special, but Santa had given her almost nothing. And the orphanage...where did Sarah start? As much as she disliked Mr. Vekil, she felt sorry for him, his mean parents who claimed to love Christmas pushing their own son out of the family. And those kids at the orphanage, who needed some Christmas joy the most, got absolutely nothing.
Why? It almost like Santa was doing the opposite of what he was supposed to do. This went against everything Sarah had learned and believed about Christmas. And now, when Sarah was the most angry and confused she'd ever been, Santa wasn't even here to answer for himself.
Sarah felt a chill on her cheeks. Tears ran down her face and froze over on her chin. She wiped them away.
"I'm not going to cry for Santa Claus," she said aloud, "You hear me? If you can't show yourself, then what am I supposed to do?" Her voice grew louder, "If you won't speak to me, if you can't explain to me what is happening and why you are so mean, then...then...I DON'T BELIEVE IN YOU ANYMORE!"
The words burst out of her and echoed across the land, carried far and wide by a blast of wind.
As she listened to her own words of "I don't believe in you anymore" bounce back at her, something seemed to clear in her mind, as though a fog over her mind had lifted.
Santa...not real...could it be?
If...if Santa Claus was not real...then suddenly a lot of things made sense. It hadn't been Santa who had been giving out the presents and spreading the Christmas spirit all along. Her parents had been the ones who gave out presents. Yes, that made sense - after all, her rich parents had a lot of money, so they could buy her so much. Her poor parents had probably spent so much of their own money just to get her those few Christmas presents. And of course the orphans had nothing: those poor kids had nobody who would get them anything. Mr. Vekil sure wouldn't.
Sarah felt wide awake, as though she'd just woken up from a long dream...so, Santa Claus isn't real...she felt funny, as if she'd learned some deep secret. Strangely, she wasn't angry or sad. In fact, she felt...taller, as though she'd grown up just a little. But then, what had caused all of the magic? The tickets, the postboxes that brought me here, the person who sent me that letter?
Right on cue, a flash of light behind her made her spin around, and two postboxes stood there. Something magical was definitely making this happen, but what?
She walked up to the postboxes, light streaming from them. Two? Looks like I have a choice...but I have only one ticket left...
When she came closer, though, she saw that the doors of each postbox was slightly open. She opened one wide and looked inside. Flecks of snow floated out, and the looming grey bulk of the orphanage lay in the distance. She turned and looked inside the other postbox. Inside was dark and warm. Her bedroom. It was the real one this time, with her own bed and writing desk.
Home at last.
She yawned. Her bed had never looked so inviting. She was about to climb through, when she stopped. Wait. The key to the orphanage still weighed heavily in her pocket.
If Santa was not real, then...
She slammed the postbox door on her bedroom shut, pocketed the ticket, reopened the postbox to the orphanage and climbed through.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Snowball Fight
Despite the howling wind and snow, if felt warm here compared to the North Pole. Boots crunching in the snow, she followed the lights back through the gate and up towards the big entrance door. As she came closer, the falling snow calmed down, and the wind stopped. By the time she came to the steps, the snow had stopped completely. She turned and looked back the way she came. The courtyard was filled with untouched snow except for her own line of footprints, but beyond that was the vast forest of pointed pine trees. The red postbox still stood there, next to the gate.
She took out the key and unlocked the door with a loud clunk. But she didn't go inside. She stood back, looking for the window to the playroom. There it was, off to the left. The dark shapes of children roamed about inside. She gathered handfuls of snow in her hands, smoothed it into a ball, and threw it at the window. It slammed into the glass, snow splattering out like a scoop of ice cream. Instantly the windows of the playroom filled with the faces of children, all staring at her. Sarah smiled and waved.
"Come and play!" She shouted. She threw a couple more snowballs at other windows, and soon the whole orphanage was staring down at her, noses and cheeks pressed against the glass.
Sarah rolled a ball of snow around the courtyard, the ball of snow getting bigger and bigger until she couldn't push it any longer.
"Come help me build a snowman!" She shouted, pointing at the big ball and gesturing in case they couldn't hear, "The door is open! Come on!"
None of the children budged, they just stared at her. Her smile fell for just a second, but she pulled it back immediately. No. I can't give up yet.
Sarah lay down in the snow and waved her arms and legs, making a snow angel. She stood up and looked over her handiwork. Not bad. She looked back at the windows of the orphanage. Still nobody moved. She turned away, and took a deep breath. This isn't working. Have I made a mistake? She clenched her fists. No! I must not give up!
She started to write her name in the snow with her footsteps. S...A...
"This is fun!" She yelled, “you should all try -"
Sarah slipped, the world spun and she landed face first in the cold snow. For a moment, she listened to the silence. Then, sitting up, she let out a long sigh. Why wasn't this working? She had been so sure, so -
A snowball splattered across her neck and cold ice dripped down her back. Gasping, she spun around. Becky and Anna stood there, holding snowballs, wearing thick jackets and cheeky smiles.
"Well, are we doing this or what?" Said Anna, tossing her snowball from one hand to the other.
Sarah grinned, scooped up some snow in her gloves and whipped it at Anna.
"Gotcha! You're it!" And she and Becky ran from Anna. She didn't get far though, because a few other kids had stepped out of the front door, blinking in the bright light. Slowly, as though they were touching snow for the first time, they scooped up snow in their own hands. Becky threw a snowball at them to get them going, and sure enough they pressed the snow in their hands into tight balls and threw them. Becky ducked, and so did Sarah, but she felt hard pellets of snow pound on her back like rain.
"Gotcha back!" Anna laughed.
It was as though a pipe that had been building up pressure had suddenly burst. More and more kids ran out into the courtyard, first in a trickle but then in a flood. Soon the air was filled with snowballs zipping back and forth, the air a whirl of snow, happy yells and smiles. A group of big boys including Michael built on Sarah's snowman, making it as tall as any of them, and the smaller kids simply leapt around in the snow, giggling uncontrollably. Sarah stood back, taking it all in.
And then she saw him. Mr. Vekil strode out of the door and stood on the top step, glaring around the courtyard. The children nearby froze at the sight of him, dropping the snowballs in their hand. It rippled out in seconds, until the whole courtyard was still and silent.
"What is the meaning of this?" Mr Vekil yelled, his voice booming around the cou
rtyard, "I did not give you permission to come out here! Who did this? Who opened the door?"
The children shuffled their feet on the spot, passing sidelong glances at Sarah. Mr. Vekil met her eyes. Sarah stood up straight, not daring to look away.
"You..." Mr. Vekil's face flushed red, "Miss Pebbleton. Come closer."
Silently, Sarah weaved through the frozen children. She gave a small nod to Becky and Anna as she passed them, and they nodded back.
Up close, Mr. Vekil's eyes were bulging from his red face, and he was shivering - was it from the cold? Or being so angry?
"What do you...how could you..." He spluttered, so furious he could barely form words.
Sarah smiled. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Vekil," she said.
The whole courtyard gave a collective gasp, and Mr. Vekil took a step back. The red from his face drained away, leaving him as pale as the snow.
"What...what did you say?" he said, voice right as if someone was holding hands around his neck.
"You heard me. Merry Christmas!" Sarah repeated brightly.
"How dare you..." Mr Vekil, his voice soft and low, "After the talk we had. You know everything I went through..."
"And again, I'm sorry," said Sarah, "But you can’t blame others for your problems."
"So you're saying this is my fault!" Mr. Vekil snapped, "My parents disowned me!"
"And you are repeating the cycle," said Sarah, "These children in front you, who do you think they're going to blame when they’re older? Your parents? Or you?"
Mr. Vekil gazed over the courtyard. Sarah heard a flutter of whispers behind her.
"Bad stuff happens all the time, Mr. Vekil," she went on, "And some of it is unfair. Really, really unfair. Nice people get nothing, and bad people get too much. But we should stop laying the blame on others, even if they deserve it. The best thing we can do is show everyone what the right thing is. If we want Christmas spirit, we have to spread it ourselves."
Sarah picked up two handfuls of snow. A louder murmur spread through the courtyard now, and Sarah caught a few of the words:
"Is she going to do what I think she's going to do?"
"Uh oh..."
"This isn't going to go well..."