When Santa Fell to Earth

  “Oh dear, oh dear!” wailed Matilda, wringing her little hands. “Oh dear, Niklas!”

  “It was one of Goblynch’s bad Santas!” Emmanuel’s voice was trembling. “A huge silver limousine with pinecones on the license plate and a star on the hood. No doubt about it, Niklas, they’ve found us.”

  “We have to leave, now!” Matilda cried. “Or you will lose your head — and more.”

  “Nonsense!” Niklas steered Twinklestar back onto the street. “He probably didn’t even see the caravan between all those trees.”

  “No!” Matilda exclaimed. “The car stopped right next to it.”

  “Did anybody get out?” Niklas asked.

  The angels shook their heads.

  “So you don’t know if there was a Nutcracker with him?”

  “Heavens!” Matilda threw up her hands. “You mean there might have been one of those horrible creatures in there? Heavens! Heavens above!”

  “I don’t know,” said Niklas. “I don’t know anything anymore.” He fell silent. Twinklestar trotted back to the caravan calmly, as if all this did not concern him.

  “Niklas, you must hide!” Emmanuel said. “Please, let’s leave!”

  But Niklas remained silent.

  Twinklestar stopped in front of the caravan and turned his head inquisitively toward him.

  Without a word the Santa slid from the reindeer’s back and climbed the steps. Only when he reached the door did he turn around. “We’re staying!” he said. “At least for a day. And you’re not to tell the children about the car, understood?”

  “You’re crazy, Niklas!” Matilda whispered.

  “You always knew that!” he said quietly. Then he pulled Twinklestar into the caravan.

  The angels followed him with drooping wings.

  Trouble

  The next morning Ben was late for school. He just couldn’t tear himself away from the glittering glowworms. It was only when his father began to back out of the garage that Ben was startled out of his daydream.

  “Wake up, boy!” his father shouted out the car window. “School’s not going to wait for you, you know.”

  With a jerk Ben turned around and walked out the gate. Of course his father hadn’t noticed the glowworms. He never saw things like that. Just as well, Ben thought. Niklas put them there just for me, anyway.

  He skidded happily down the icy pavement. But when he passed Charlotte’s house he froze in his tracks. Niklas had given her glowworms, too! Jealousy bit off a huge chunk of his happiness.

  Well, Santas are meant to be fair, he told himself. That thought comforted him, and he spent most of his history lesson drawing Santas and little fat angels on his desk. The next lesson was P.E., the only subject Ben was any good at. Then there was math….

  I’ll be going to Niklas’s soon, he told himself every five minutes, his eyes glued to the clock. When the bell finally rang, Ben’s schoolbag was already packed and ready.

  Outside the gate he ran straight into Dean. Dean had just been demonstrating to some other kids how their bumbling principal panted up the stairs.

  “Hey, Pea-brain, where did your folks get that brilliant light show in your backyard?” he asked.

  “From Santa!” Ben muttered. He wanted to push past them, but Dean stood in his way.

  Ben was taller than Dean and stronger. And ever since first grade they hadn’t been able to stand the sight of each other. But considering how bad he was at math, Ben couldn’t afford to fight with the only math genius in the class. Copying tests was what kept Ben out of trouble in school, and Dean knew it.

  “Oh, you don’t still believe in Santa Claus, do you?” he asked, grinning. Dean was always grinning so that everybody could see his gold tooth. He was very proud of it.

  “Yeah. So?” Ben scowled.

  “Oh really? And why do you of all people get stars sprinkled over your yard? Do you know him personally?”

  “You got it.” Ben pushed him aside, but Dean held on to his jacket.

  “Pea-brain knows Santa! Well, I never. Which one? The one from the street corner, or the one from the department store?”

  “The real one,” Ben growled. “Let me go.”

  Dean raised his eyebrows. The three other kids pricked up their ears.

  “The real Santa! You mean the fat one with the beard who’s always shouting, ‘Ho, ho, ho’ and is a bit dumb? That one?”

  “He’s not fat.” This time the words came, although Ben didn’t want them to. “He hasn’t got a beard, and he’s definitely not dumb.”

  “Wow, that was quite a speech by your standards.” Dean looked around at his audience for approval. “Maybe you think your dad is Santa? I really should explain a few things to you.”

  Ben felt the anger boiling up in his head like a red-hot broth. Whenever that happened he couldn’t think clearly and his tongue became so heavy that he wanted to spit it out.

  “Stop talking like that!” he roared. “You’ll see.”

  Dean smiled with deep satisfaction. They had gained quite an audience by now. “This is getting better by the minute. And what, exactly, will I see, may I ask?”

  Ben had no reply. There was none. He would never take Dean to see Niklas or show him the angels and elves. Never. He’d rather have them all think he was an idiot.

  “How about some snow?” said a girl’s voice behind him. “How about it snowing so heavily that you won’t be able to open your front door? Would that make you believe in Santa?” Charlotte was standing next to Ben, giving him a self-conscious smile.

  “Hey, Mouseface. Since when do you cover Pea-brain’s back?” Dean looked at them both scornfully. “Wait, you had stars in your garden, too! Does that mean you know Santa as well?”

  Charlotte looked at Ben.

  “Awww, look at them. They’re a couple. Mouseface and Pea-brain — what a match!” Dean gave a low whistle. Ben had never been so close to hitting him.

  “OK. How about a new bet, Pea-brain?” Dean stared at the sky. “I bet the big snow miracle will never happen. If I’m right and there is no snow, say, within the next five days, then” — a huge golden-toothed smile — “you have to carry me on your back, around the school yard, during lunch break while I call out, ‘Santa Claus is dead.’ If you win, I carry you, and I will shout whatever you like. And since I’m feeling generous, you can copy from me during our next test. Is that a bet?”

  Ben didn’t answer. His head was still filled with thick red soup.

  “Aha!” Dean made a sarcastic face. “So he doesn’t exist after all, your Santa, does he?” Sniggering, he slapped Ben on the shoulder. “Don’t take it to heart. Most of us have known that since we were three.”

  “I accept,” Ben growled, pushing Dean’s hand away. “I mean, I’ll take your bet.”

  Dean nodded, satisfied and obviously slightly surprised. “Pea-brain, I’m already looking forward to it. I mean — I m-m-mean …” He loved to imitate Ben. The audience giggled. “I mean — I mean to our little ride. See you. And say hello to Santa from me.”

  Laughing, Dean ran out of the school yard. Ben stayed behind, feeling a little lost. He sensed Charlotte looking at him.

  “I shouldn’t have said that about the snow,” she said quietly. “Should I?”

  Ben shrugged.

  “I just wanted to help you with that … that …”

  “Jerk,” Ben muttered. “He’s a jerk, but he’s good at math.”

  They both walked out of the school yard and down Misty Close.

  “Are you going to tell Niklas about the bet?” Charlotte asked.

  “Don’t know.”

  They both walked in silence until they stood in front of Charlotte’s house.

  “Would you like to come and visit me sometime?” she asked. “I still don’t know that many children here.”

  “Maybe,” Ben mumbled. How on earth could you play with a girl?

  “I’ll see you at the caravan later on,” Charlotte said. “I have to study for a test
first.”

  “See you later, then,” replied Ben. Then he turned and ran off. He still wanted to find those boots his father never wore before going to Niklas Goodfellow’s.

  “Ben?” his mother called from upstairs as he walked in the door.

  “I have to go out again!” Ben shouted back. Why was she home from work already? He yanked the boots out of the closet and wedged them under his arm.

  “I left early,” his mother called. “Terrible headache. Look on the dresser.”

  Ben went over to it and froze.

  Three tickets lay on the dresser. He instantly felt as sick as if someone had punched him in the stomach. Children are never asked, he thought, never. They just get carried off.

  “You’ll enjoy it!” Ben’s mother called from upstairs.

  Niklas Goodfellow’s glowworms glittered in front of the window. And there it was again, that red-hot anger. Ben clamped his eyes shut. His head was hammering. He stared at the dresser and kicked it as hard as he could.

  “I — am — not — going!” he shouted. “I’ll be ill. I’ll break a leg. I’ll get the plague.”

  Then he grabbed the boots and stormed out of the house.

  Another Crazy Idea

  Ben’s heart was still beating wildly when he knocked on Niklas Goodfellow’s door. “What’s the matter with you?” Niklas asked as he let him in. “You’re sort of white around the nose.”

  “Nothing,” Ben muttered. “Here, these boots are for you.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Niklas said and looked at his own worn boots. “That’s very nice of you, but I’m afraid they’re no good to me. You see, every Santa wears special boots, made by elves. He wears the same pair all his life, and he never takes them off.”

  “Oh, OK …” Ben put the boots down.

  “But do sit down!” Niklas went back to his chair. He was busy hanging bells on Twinklestar’s harness. Ben sat by his side and found a biscuit to eat.

  “No wonder the boy brings you new boots,” Matilda called down from the wardrobe. The angels were tying ribbons. They were up to their round bellies in bows of all colors. “You don’t look after your boots, Niklas. Just look at them!”

  Embarrassed, Niklas bent down and wiped his sleeve over the dirty leather. “Yes, I know!” he admitted.

  “It’s dangerous for a Santa to take off his boots.” Emmanuel was tying a thread of pearls around a red ribbon. “Did you know that, Ben?”

  “Oh, don’t go making up horror stories again,” Niklas scolded.

  “What horror stories?” Matilda asked boldly. “They’re true, aren’t they?” She leaned forward confidentially. “As soon as a Santa loses his boots he turns into chocolate — within twenty-four seconds!”

  “That’s how Goblynch did it with the other four Santas,” Emmanuel added sadly. “His Nutcrackers stole their boots and Gerold’s now using them as candlesticks.”

  Ben shuddered. He stared at Niklas Goodfellow’s boots again.

  “As you can see I still have mine,” Niklas said. “So let’s stop all this gloomy talk. Why don’t you tell us what you did all day?”

  “Oh, nothing special.” Ben looked out the window and up at the steel-gray sky. “About the snow …”

  Niklas put his needle aside and cocked his head. “You’d like some snow, wouldn’t you?”

  Ben nodded.

  “You know, as I said, there is a way, but …” Niklas shook his head.

  “No, Niklas!” Matilda shouted. “No, no, no!”

  “… it would mean we’d have to open the White Door,” Niklas continued. “There’s plenty of snow behind it. We’d have to connect a pipe to the snow machine, connect that to the chimney, and feed the pipe through the White Door into the snow in Yule Land. Simple. That’s how we used to do it. I mean, before Goblynch’s Nutcrackers started patrolling Yule Land.” Niklas had attached the last bell. He hung the harness on the wall.

  “And if I …” Ben looked at him inquisitively. “… I mean, if I did it? If I went out there with the hose? The Nutcrackers only sneeze at Santas, don’t they?”

  “No, no, no, no!” cried Matilda. “What a crazy idea!”

  “Not that crazy,” Emmanuel said. “Gerold’s Nutcrackers are only trained to spot Santas. They might not pay any attention to a human boy.”

  “That’s a maybe!” Matilda shook her head firmly. “But what if they do?”

  “They can’t turn humans into chocolate,” Emmanuel replied. “At least I don’t think they can.”

  “You don’t think?”

  “I would like to try,” Ben said. “Please. Can I?”

  Niklas looked at him thoughtfully. “A little bit of snow is really that important to you?”

  “It would …” He hung his head in embarrassment. “It would prove something.”

  “Prove what?”

  “That Santa Claus really exists.”

  “Ahh. Would it prove that?”

  Ben blushed. He nodded.

  Niklas was still looking at him. But he asked no more.

  “As you wish,” was all he finally said. “But I won’t let you go out there all by yourself.”

  Ben jumped up. “Be right back!” he called. “Thanks! Thanks tons!” — and he was out the caravan door.

  “Crazy boy,” Niklas murmured. “Such a crazy boy.”

  “Just as crazy as you,” Matilda said from the wardrobe. “He’d make quite a good Santa.”

  Ten minutes later Ben was back — with Charlotte and Mutt.

  “Great. Reinforcements!” Matilda sighed.

  Niklas dragged the snow machine out of the workshop, together with a long red hose.

  “You have to plunge the hose into the snow, up to this golden ring here,” he explained to the children. “If we’re lucky the snow will be high enough right by the door.”

  “And what if we’re on the Great Christmas Lake?” Matilda asked tartly. “You know that the snow never lies very deep there.”

  “True,” said Niklas. “But why should we be unlucky again? Fetch them two of the elf coats. And gloves. They’ll definitely need gloves.”

  Clucking crossly, Matilda vanished into the workshop. She returned with two tiny coats and gloves the size of pennies.

  Niklas snapped his fingers and the things began to grow.

  “That’s enough!” he called, snapping his fingers again. “Now, see if they fit.”

  They fit perfectly. The children pulled the hoods over their heads.

  “Once you have put the hose into the snow you come right back to the caravan,” Niklas told them. “Right away! Understood?”

  The children nodded.

  “The machine has to run for seven minutes,” Niklas continued. “Then we can pull the hose back in and bolt the door again. Seven minutes.”

  “Seven minutes isn’t much,” Ben said.

  “Seven minutes can be a very long time,” Niklas answered, attaching the snow machine to the chimney. Then he unwound the hose and plugged one end into the snow machine. The other end he dragged to the White Door.

  “Does the machine just blow the snow all over the town?” Charlotte asked.

  Niklas smiled and shook his head. “No, it’s a bit more mysterious than that. But the elves won’t even tell me how it works. They guard the secret as fiercely as they guard their caps.”

  He put his ear to the door and waved the angels toward him. “Matilda, Emmanuel, could you listen as well, please?”

  “I still think it’s a stupid idea!” Matilda grumbled, but she put her ear to the door, anyway.

  “I can’t hear anything,” Emmanuel said. “Can you, dear?”

  Matilda shook her head. “No, but I still don’t like it.”

  Ben looked at Charlotte. “Shall we?”

  She nodded. Her face was nearly hidden under the big hood.

  “Good.” Niklas pulled a key from his pocket. “Emmanuel, please tell the elves in the workshop to be completely silent.”

  Emmanuel fluttered
off. Matilda held Niklas back by his sleeve. “Don’t do it, Niklas!” she said. “Anything could happen out there. This is no longer our Yule Land, but the empire of Gerold Geronimus Goblynch.”

  “Nonsense! This is still our Yule Land.” Niklas yanked back the first bolt. “And it always will be. The children want snow, and snow is what they will get. It will be all right.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Matilda said, her voice shaking with fear.

  But Niklas just shook his head and pulled back the second bolt. “Children have to keep believing in Santa Claus,” he said. “And I am telling you, Matilda, if things carry on Goblynch’s way, very soon no child will believe in Santa or in a real Christmas anymore.”

  With that he hauled back the third bolt. Then he carefully pulled out the elf boot stuffed in the keyhole and inserted the big key. He gave the children a last inquiring look.

  “Open it,” said Ben.

  The lock creaked twice. Then the White Door sprang open.

  Yule Land

  A cold wind blew into the caravan. Snowflakes drifted in. Niklas opened the door a bit farther and poked out his head. Curious, the children peered beneath his arms.

  All they saw was white and black. Thousands of snowflakes fell from a black sky. It was night in Yule Land.

  “No tracks!” Niklas whispered. “Right, out you go.”

  Ben and Charlotte slipped underneath his arms and jumped out of the caravan. They immediately sank up to their ankles in snow. Thick flakes covered their coats, and within moments they were as white as the world around them. Ben looked around him. His eyes found nothing: no trees, no shrubs, no lit windows in the darkness. All he could make out were a few strange, pointy mountains in the distance. Mutt poked her head through Niklas Goodfellow’s legs and howled.

  “Sshh! You stay!” Charlotte hissed. “It’s too cold for you.”

  “There!” Niklas cast Ben the end of the hose. He looked around worriedly. Ben yanked the hose a little farther out of the caravan and pushed it into the nearest snowdrift. It hit frozen ground long before the golden ring had touched the snow.