“And who is this Gerold?” Charlotte whispered into Ben’s ear.
“He’s the Stealer of Christmas!” Ben whispered back. For once he felt that he had found just the right word. Charlotte, however, looked as puzzled as before.
“Enough!” Niklas called out. “Enough of this unpleasant topic.” He took the candelabra from the shelf and waved the children toward him. “Come on, let’s have a look at some Christmas toys.”
Little Secrets
Well, what do you think? Aren’t my elves true wizards?” Niklas could hardly suppress the pride in his voice as he stood with the children in front of the shelves lining the walls of the workshop. Red candles burned on little silver stars, shedding their light on countless gifts, most of them not much bigger than a walnut.
Ben could only nod as the flickering light fell on cars the size of fingernails, dolls no bigger than acorns, insect-sized cuddly toys, and puppet theaters that were no higher than Ben’s thumb. There were music boxes, trains, and magic things the children had never seen before. They were all miraculously wonderful, but tiny — so tiny that the children didn’t dare touch a thing for fear of breaking the miniature gifts. Charlotte asked the question that was on Ben’s mind as well. “But how are you supposed to play with these?”
“Ha-ha, they don’t get it!” Goldbeard, the master ribbon binder, croaked. He dropped the huge red ribbon he had just turned into a giant bow and marched over to them. As nimbly as a squirrel he climbed the shelf, until he was level with the children’s eyes.
“Stinky glue and scratchy sawdust, you humans are such ignoramuses!” he said. “Have you never asked yourselves how Santa manages to get all those presents into his sack? Huh? Never crossed your mind, has it? By normal standards that blasted sack would have to be at least as big as Niklas Goodfellow’s stinking caravan.”
“Goldbeard, for once can’t you at least try to express yourself in a more civilized manner?” Niklas scolded, although he could hardly hide his smile.
“Whatever,” replied the elf, and did a handstand. “Of course, nothing’s normal when it comes to Santas.”
“The way you’re explaining it,” Matilda shouted down from Niklas’s shoulder, “the poor dears are not going to understand a single thing!” With a serious face she fluttered over to Goldbeard, who was still doing his handstand, pushed him over, and sat down in his place. The elf tumbled off the shelf and landed in Niklas’s outstretched hand.
“As you see, these toys are now just the right size for Santa’s sack,” Matilda explained, “but …”
“I already told them all that!” Goldbeard interrupted huffily.
“But,” Matilda continued as if she hadn’t heard him, “when Niklas takes them out of the sack …”
“Zappy-doodle-doo!” Goldbeard croaked, doing a somersault on Niklas’s hand. “They grow.”
Now it was Matilda’s turn to get huffy. But the children finally understood what this was all about.
“Could you — I mean, could you show us how it works?” Ben asked.
Niklas smiled and sat Goldbeard amongst his ribbons again. Then he carefully took one of the tiny bicycles from the shelf — and touched it with his fingertip. The next moment, a shiny, full-size bike stood on the sawdust-covered floor of the workshop.
Lost for words, Ben and Charlotte stroked the red saddle and the chrome handlebars — until Niklas touched the bicycle again with his fingertip and in a flash the tiny, fragile machine was back in his hand.
“May I?” asked Ben.
Niklas nodded.
Carefully, very carefully, Ben took the miraculous object into his hand and stroked the silver spokes, which were once again as thin as a fly’s legs.
“That’s something, isn’t it?” Goldbeard shouted from his workbench. “Only Christmas elves can build something like that.”
“Show-off!” muttered Matilda, while Ben touched the tiny pedal. It turned.
“Real Christmas presents from a real Santa have another secret,” Niklas said, “one that’s probably even more important than the first one.”
“Another secret?” Charlotte took a toy grocery shop, the size of a school eraser, from the shelf. She opened one of the drawers. It was filled with sweets as teensy as poppy seeds. Charlotte looked at Niklas, enchanted.
“If a child doesn’t like a real Christmas present,” Niklas answered, “the toy disappears into thin air.”
“With a sigh!” Matilda added.
The children exchanged a worried look, but the miniature miracles in their hands were still there.
“That’s never happened to any of my presents,” Charlotte said.
Niklas shook his head. “Well, you wouldn’t even notice it. It simply wouldn’t be there, you see? But” — he put the candelabra back on the shelf and took both children by the hand — “real Christmas presents have become just as rare as real Christmas elves, or milk-white reindeer, or real Christmas snow. You’ve probably never seen one.”
He walked with the children to the wardrobe door and they climbed back into the caravan. Mutt followed them, trailing her leash, and Niklas closed the door after her.
Suddenly the room fell silent: No hammering or shuffling could be heard anymore. Only a faint smell of glue and beeswax lingered.
“I’m afraid I have to send you back home now,” Niklas said. “It’s quite late, and I still have lots of things to prepare for my second Christmas round.”
“Can’t we come with you?” Charlotte asked.
Niklas shook his head. “Oh no, I’m afraid that’s not possible. A few Christmas secrets must remain just that — secrets!”
“Oh!” Charlotte sighed. She picked up Mutt’s leash and realized she was still holding the toy grocery shop. She put it on Niklas Goodfellow’s table with a guilty look. Hesitantly Ben put his hand into his coat pocket and placed the tiny bicycle next to it.
“No reason to be sad!” Niklas said. “Christmas is not far off. But I do hope you don’t really want those. I prefer to give children surprises, you know!”
“I don’t mind,” said Charlotte. “Your presents are all wonderful.”
“Well, thank you!” Niklas gave a bow. “I will pass that on to the elves. And should I, for any reason, no longer be here on Christmas Day, remember to leave your window open. Someone will bring you a present from me — that’s a Santa promise.”
The two children looked at each other.
“OK then …” Ben opened the caravan door, but stopped on the top step.
“At least you’ve got your reindeer back now,” he said.
Niklas nodded. “Yes, and I think I haven’t thanked you properly, have I?”
“That’s … that’s not what I meant,” Ben stammered. “I mean — did the elves fix your wheels as well?”
Niklas nodded again.
Ben didn’t dare to ask the next question, but Niklas answered it, anyway.
“I will stay for a while yet,” he said. “Just a little while.”
Ben was so relieved he nearly fell off the steps. Charlotte stood behind him, a bit puzzled. Of course. She didn’t know anything about Gerold Goblynch and Niklas’s secret life.
“Good night, Niklas!” Ben said. On the bottom step he turned around once more. “Do you think we’re going to have snow soon?”
Niklas listened to the night. “Difficult,” he said. “Do you hear all that noise? So many cars. Normally snow makes its own silence, but with all that warmth welling up … I don’t know. If I had my snow machine, maybe, but sadly it took quite a beating during our crash. I am sorry….” He shrugged sympathetically. “I’m sure the elves will manage to repair it, but even with the machine there is only one way of making the snow really fall, and that’s risky, very risky. Well, we’ll see.” Niklas ruffled Ben’s hair. “Take care, you two. See you tomorrow, if you want.”
He waved once more, and then the caravan door closed behind him.
Ben and Charlotte stood on the pavement, looking a littl
e lost.
“Ben?” Charlotte finally said, fiddling with her earlobe.
“Yes?” Ben looked toward his parents’ house. There was a light on in the kitchen.
“Why did Niklas say he’d stay just a little while? It’s still quite a long time until Christmas.” Charlotte pulled Mutt off the road.
“And who’s this Gerold? And all that talk of sneezing nutcrackers and white doors.” She gave Ben a pleading look. “Can’t you explain it to me?”
Ben shrugged. They had reached his gate. “I don’t know,” he said, and pushed open the frozen gate. Charlotte flushed bright red.
“And why not?” she asked crossly.
“Because!” Ben stopped and fished his keys out of his coat pocket. Then he turned around once more. “I’d just get it all confused, you know? I’m really not any good at explaining.” Ben Lead-tongue. Wordless Ben.
Charlotte looked at him. “I would understand. I’m sure I would.”
Ben put the key into the lock. Mutt sniffed at the trash can. “OK,” Ben said and unlocked the door. “Come on in, then. I’ll try.”
A Silver-Gray Limousine
Nice children,” said Niklas after Ben and Charlotte had left. He got the coffee jar from the shelf and put the kettle on the stove. “You drink too much coffee,” Matilda observed. She and Emmanuel were sitting amicably with the elves on the table, sipping hot elderberry juice.
“What did you say?” Niklas asked absentmindedly. “You drink too much coffee!” Matilda repeated. “I’ve told you a hundred times already.”
“Yes, yes, you’re right.” Niklas pushed back his hair and frowned.
The two angels exchanged anxious glances. “Are you worried about Goblynch?” Emmanuel asked.
“Well, I’m worried about a lot of things.”
Niklas sighed. The kettle gave a long shriek and spat its whistle against his chest.
“Ouch!” He took the hissing kettle from the fire and poured water onto the coffee. “You don’t have to look at me like that. I know that we have to get away from here.” He lowered his voice. “Do you think I haven’t heard it? There. Again.” They all listened, sudden fear on their faces. There was a knock on the White Door. Someone sneezed, and a creaky laugh came from the other side. “Goodfellow!” a hollow voice whispered. “We’ll catch you soon enough.”
“A Nutcracker!” Matilda breathed. Her eyes were wide open with panic.
“Wood-heads! Huh!” Cheesebeard, the fattest of all the elves, spat on the table in disgust. “We’re not scared of them. Not us!”
“Right!” said Goatbeard, although he didn’t sound very convinced.
Matilda shuddered, though, and Emmanuel stared at the White Door as if it might spring open at any moment.
“Steaming reindeer droppings! It’s really high time to go, Niklas!” Rufflebeard burped and took another biscuit. “Why don’t we leave tonight? Everything is ready, isn’t it?”
“No!” Niklas shook his head. “No, we’ll stay a little while longer. What would I tell those two kids?”
“You won’t be able to tell them anything after Gerold’s Nutcrackers have finished with you!” Specklebeard spluttered. The elf really was living up to his name, and now it wasn’t only his beard that was covered with elderberry juice.
“Stop it!” Matilda moaned. “I’m worried sick with all this talk.”
Niklas dug into his pocket and produced a small telescope — a special elf-made telescope. When he extended it, it became as long as his arm. “Emmanuel, would you mind opening the roof for me?”
The portly angel fluttered up to the ceiling and pushed open a vent. Through it a patch of night sky sparkling with stars became visible.
Niklas pointed his telescope toward it. “Hmm!” he muttered. “Hmmm … mm … mm.”
“Mmmm-mmmm!” Cheesebeard giggled. “I get it.”
“Oh, come on, tell us, Niklas!” Matilda cried. She landed on Niklas Goodfellow’s head. “What do the stars tell you?”
“Please, Matilda, get off!” said Niklas. “My shoulders anytime, but not my head.”
Offended, Matilda fluttered back to the table.
“The sun is far away, very far,” Niklas said in a low voice. “Her steps are very faint. The longest night is not far off.” He wiped the lens of the telescope and peered through it once more. “The stars are in our favor,” he muttered, “very much in our favor. But … there’s the possibility of a little trouble.”
“A little trouble? Ha!” The smallest of the elves, Fleabeard, jumped up and laughed. “Well, we’d better be prepared, boys. Come on, back to work.” One after another they climbed down the legs of the table and made for the wardrobe door. “Have you had a look at the snow machine?” Niklas called after them.
“All fixed,” Specklebeard called back. “There were just two fiddly cogs broken.”
With that the elves were gone.
“Emmanuel, you can close the vent again.” Niklas got up and put some ashes from the stove into a little tin. “You know, Matilda, I think we should give Ben and Charlotte a little special surprise tonight.”
“Oh no. You’re not thinking about the polar glowworms?” Emmanuel crossed his eyes.
“It’ll take us at least three nights to catch them all again!” Matilda fussed.
“And they’re a dead giveaway,” Emmanuel added. He sounded rather worried. “If one of Goblynch’s Santas sees them, they’ll know immediately where we are.”
“I don’t care!” declared Niklas. “I’m not going to lose all the fun of Christmas because of that beast Goblynch!”
“If you say so. You’re the Santa here,” Matilda replied pertly, and fetched a lovely wooden chest from the wardrobe.
Niklas, Matilda, and Emmanuel set off around midnight.
“Thank heavens at least I’m not going to get wet feet this time,” said Niklas as he mounted Twinklestar.
It was a beautiful clear night, and the cold air bit into Niklas Goodfellow’s nose. The reindeer carried him up to the tops of the trees as silently as a wisp of smoke, while Matilda and Emmanuel once again went from window to window to collect children’s dreams. Niklas flew first to the front of Ben’s house, and sprinkled some glowworms into the bare bushes lining the stony path from the gate to the door. Then he made Twinklestar carry him over the gabled roof.
“Right! Go right!” Niklas called, hauling on the reindeer’s reins, but as usual Twinklestar couldn’t resist diving through the smoke that rose from the chimney.
“Oh blast!” Niklas rubbed his stinging eyes. He coughed so hard that he nearly fell off the reindeer’s back. “How often do I have to tell you? Santas are allergic to smoke, even if everyone believes we come down chimneys!”
Twinklestar’s only reply was a vault through the air. Then he flew down into the bare garden behind Ben’s house and landed on the lawn, next to a spindly tree Ben’s mother had planted years before. While the reindeer licked the soot from his invisible legs, Niklas, coughing and sputtering, dismounted and looked around.
“Depressing,” he muttered. He took the special tin with the ashes from his sack and sprinkled a bit on the lawn and the roots of the tree. Then he opened the chest with the glowworms and, humming a little Christmas tune, scattered the glowing animals over the bare branches. Satisfied, he inspected his work. Then he jumped back onto Twinklestar’s back.
“Five roofs down, please!” he whispered into the animal’s pointed ear. “But don’t you dare try jumping over any more chimneys or there will be no marzipan for a fortnight. Understood?”
Twinklestar snorted defiantly and rose into the air. They left the glittering garden behind and flew toward Charlotte’s house, which lay surrounded by old trees.
“Oh, this is easy!” Niklas tipped the chest and the rest of the polar glowworms rained down like silvery snow onto the branches.
“Now this is how I like my Santa work!” Niklas laughed. “All right, back to the angels, Twinklestar. But first we’ll ride al
ong the entire street once more.”
The reindeer stretched its long legs and carried him down to the ground. Then it trotted leisurely along Misty Close, up on the left side and back on the right. As they passed the houses, Niklas popped pinecones into the mailboxes, sprinkled ash from the Christmas fire onto the doormats, and hung red apples on the shadowy tree branches — just within reach of children’s hands.
The angels were already waiting on the gate of number 1.
“Phew, we’re frozen through!” Matilda moaned, rubbing her ample behind. “Where have you been?”
“I told you to put on more clothes!” Niklas said. “Look at Emmanuel. He’s wearing his coat.”
“Oh, that silly coat,” Matilda muttered. “Angels look stupid in coats. Anyway, the hood always knocks off my halo.”
“Well, stop moaning, then.” Niklas opened his notebook and pulled a pen from underneath his hood. “So, what did you hear?”
Emmanuel opened his mouth — and shut it again immediately. Through the quiet night they could hear the sound of a car engine, low and humming strangely. It was coming closer. Scared, the angels fluttered into Niklas Goodfellow’s lap. “It’s them!” Emmanuel whispered agitatedly. His round face was completely white. Matilda pressed her hands to her mouth.
Niklas steered his reindeer to the next gate. “Jump, Twinklestar!” he whispered.
The reindeer leaped over the gate in one bound, and the riders hid behind the high hedge. The car drew closer.
“Go on, you two!” Niklas hissed at the angels. “See who it is.”
The two angels took each other’s hands and fluttered to the top of the hedge. Cautiously they peered over it.
A large silver-gray car purred along Misty Close like a stalking cat. When it reached Niklas’s caravan, it stopped for a few endless minutes, its engine idling, before creeping off into the darkness again. The sound of the engine, though, was still audible for a painfully long time.
Pale and shivering, the angels returned to Niklas Goodfellow.