Santa’s Helpers

Layer upon layer of rough woolen blankets pressed down on Timmy as he squirmed under them. He couldn't fall asleep. He was too excited. But still, he closed his eyes, trying to will sleep to come because everyone knew that Santa only came once you were asleep. If you were awake, he wouldn't come since there was too high a chance that he would be seen. Everyone knew this.

So, Timmy closed his eyes tight and tried to will sleep to come. It felt like an eternity had passed. He opened his eyes, expectantly hoping to see the dazzling sun coming through the window, but it was still dark outside. He huffed. It had only been a few minutes. Now boredom was taking hold, and he rolled onto his back. The blankets that had been cozy when he had first gone to bed were now feeling hot and stifling.

He pushed them off, feeling the cool air in the house against his skin, causing goosebumps to pop up all over him. Then he got cold, so he pulled the blankets back on. Now he was hot again. So he tried taking off a few of the blankets, seeing if it would be just right. It was. Now he was comfortable again, and he could finally go to sleep.

He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, again willing sleep to come. He was just beginning to drift, his body starting to relax, and his mind starting to wander when he heard it—a creak.

His eyes flung open.

What was that? He wondered.

There was another creak. It was from above him, near the roof of the house. He heard what he thought was the sound of muffled footsteps. Santa, Timmy thought. It was real. He was here. Santa was here!

All desire for sleep left him, and he felt himself buzzing with excitement. Santa was at his house. Should he go try to see him? No. Timmy decided that was a bad idea. Everyone knew you couldn't see Santa, and if you did see Santa, then that would put you on the naughty list, and you didn't want to be on the naughty list because naughty kids got coal, and Timmy didn't really want coal. He wanted a lot of things, but he didn't want coal.

Still, how could he resist the urge to see Santa? He should stay in bed, and that's what he was going to do. He was going to stay in bed and ignore the sound of creaking and footsteps on the roof where there had to be a sleigh.

He realized—a sleigh pulled by reindeer.

He started to get out of bed and then lay back down. No. He was a good boy. He was not going to try to see Santa's sleigh. So he rolled over, but his eyes wouldn't close. How could they? There was a sleigh with magic reindeer on his roof right now, while Santa was probably in the den putting out toys and filling stockings.

He couldn’t wait to tell his sister. She wouldn't believe him, of course, but that didn't matter because he knew he’d be telling the truth. But what if he could get proof, or what if he could just see it?

Would seeing Santa's sleigh put him on the naughty list? Maybe, but probably not. After all, it wasn't exactly naughty to see if there was something on your roof, was it? No, it wasn't naughty to see if there was something on your roof, Timmy decided.

Though it might have been naughty to get out of bed after he was supposed to be asleep, he thought. But he wasn't entirely sure that that would be a problem. Timmy always got out of bed, and he still got presents in his stocking every year, so maybe that didn't put you on the naughty list. Either way, he wasn't going back to sleep now, and he suspected he’d be awake for the rest of the week. After a moment of thought, he decided he was going to see what he could find.

After all, even if it put him on the naughty list for this year, Santa already had come with his toys, right? And Timmy could spend the rest of the year being a good boy and getting back on the nice list. So Timmy slinked out of bed, but he didn't go downstairs because he didn't want to see Santa, because that would definitely put him on the naughty list for a long time, and everyone knew that Santa had ways of hiding. Which was odd, because he was supposed to be fat and wore a big red suit. How was he so good at hiding, and how did he go down the chimneys? Timmy had always wondered that. His parents had said that it was magic, and he supposed that made sense. But still, why the chimney? You would think it would get the clothes all dirty.

Timmy shook his head. He needed to get his mind back in the game. He had a mission. He opened his door and crept down the hall to a window that looked out on the lower part of their house.

He softly opened the window, making sure that it didn't make any sound. As it opened, he felt a blast of cold air wash across him from outside. The air bit at him as he looked out on the roof, seeing that it was covered in snow. Dang it, he thought. The snow looked kind of thick. He heard some more movement above him. He dashed back down the hall and grabbed some slippers, pulling them on his feet. The slippers would have to do.

He came back to the window and slowly swung his leg out the window. His foot came down, crunching softly on fresh, powdery snow. As his foot came down, a little bit of the snow got in the top of his slipper, sending icy shots up his leg. He tried to ignore them as he pulled the other foot out.

He stepped down on the snow, hoping he wouldn’t slide. His heart was beating fast now, not just to see Santa's sleigh, but because he was on a snowy roof. He moved along the roof until he found an area where he could climb up to the upper level of the house's roof. He started climbing up the bricks, feeling his fingers go numb with the cold. As his head peeked above the roof, he saw it!

There on the upper roof of their house was a large red sleigh. Bags were in the back, piled high, and Timmy could make out the form of presents. The sleigh was the deepest of reds, with iron rails along the bottom carving channels into the snow. At the front of it, he saw the forms of the reindeer. His heart picked up. It was really Santa's sleigh! He couldn’t believe it. He pinched himself just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. The pinch hurt but not too much. His sister pinched much harder, but that was because she was mean.

He should go back in, but how could he, being this close to the sleigh? He crept up the roof, moving closer and closer to the sleigh. It was so much bigger than he had imagined it to be, but at the same time, it seemed small. After all, it had to carry all the toys for all the good boys and girls who were getting presents from Santa. But then he suspected that magic again might have played a role, because while the reindeer were big and shaggy and neat-looking, he didn't really think that they could fly without magic. After all, he'd never heard of a regular reindeer flying about; otherwise, he suspected there would be people who had flying sleighs all over the place, and he had never seen one. And that was probably a good thing because he suspected reindeer were like horses and probably pooed everywhere like the ones that pulled carts and carriages around town. It was bad enough when a bird pooed on you, even though his mother said it was good luck. He didn’t believe her and thought she was just trying to make him feel better whenever it happened. But he definitely didn’t think people would say it would be good luck if reindeer flew and they pooed on you. One of the reindeer snorted, and his attention was brought back to the sleigh.

As he crept closer, he wondered if there were elves in the sleigh, and if there were, would he get in trouble? He wasn't sure. He also wasn't entirely sure what an elf looked like; he knew they were small, but that was about it. No one had ever seen an elf, so he wasn't too sure. And everyone knew that Santa was nice, but were the elves? 

Slowly, he poked his head over the edge of the sleigh, hoping not to be spotted by an elf, but there didn't seem to be any. There were several rows inside the sleigh with bags in them; the bags were of crushed red velvet with white fur around the rims, just like the drawings he had seen in the books at the library. There was an empty space where maybe a sack had been.

Timmy looked down at the reindeer, which didn't seem to be paying him any attention whatsoever, and he scuttled over the side of the sleigh. As he landed, it felt warm inside the sleigh, and he crept up to one of the sacks. The velvet was soft and warm under his fingers, and as he looked up at the top, he could see lots of presents sticking out. He was tempted to pull one out and look at it but thought better of it. After all, he didn't want to take another kid's present.

He was about to leave the sleigh when he heard a crunch of snow on the roof. He stopped, holding his breath. He heard the sound of walking, and then a deep voice said, "Ho, ho, ho, on to the next stop." 

Santa! Santa was on the roof. He couldn't decide if he was more excited or terrified. Not only was Timmy not supposed to be out of bed, but he was definitely not supposed to be on the roof, nor was he meant to be looking for Santa, and most certainly was not supposed to be peeping inside Santa's sleigh. All of these things made Timmy realize that he was going to have to be exceptionally good this year if he didn't want to end up on the naughty list.

The sound of walking came closer to the sleigh, and Timmy froze. He heard something at the front of the sleigh that sounded heavy, like the scraping sound of someone climbing over the edge of the sleigh. He would sneak out the back. That's what he would do. He could crawl over a few of the bags while Santa was getting situated. He'd get on the roof, scramble over the edge, and make it in through the window before anyone was the wiser. And that's exactly what he would have done, but as soon as he started to move, something heavy landed on him. He felt a jolt of fear as he was pressed down onto the floor of the sleigh, and looking back, panicked, he saw that it was a sack.

It was lumpy, as if filled with presents, but not as stuffed as the other sacks. Darn, it was the sack that he had brought into Timmy’s house. Timmy slowly moved, trying to get out from under the sack, and he heard Santa say something to the reindeer. There was a snap of a whip, and then the sack, along with Timmy and everything else, shifted as the sleigh began to move.

He felt sheer panic and a bit of joy at the realization that the sleigh was starting to move across the roof. He heard it grind along the roof in the snow until, finally, he felt it tip up, and he experienced a weird sensation in his gut, almost like falling, but he wasn't falling; he was rising.

He poked his head out around some of the sacks, seeing that they were airborne. Cold air washed across his face, burning his skin, but he had to look around. Below him, his town became smaller and smaller. He could see a few windows lit up, but for the most part, the town was in darkness. He was in Santa's sleigh, and it was flying! No one at school was going to believe him.

He didn't know if he should be scared or excited, so he settled on both. The sleigh turned in the sky, and Timmy kept quiet, not wanting to attract attention. Perhaps the sleigh was going to another house in his town. He could get off there and walk home. It would be cold, but he could manage. Yes, this was what he would do.

The sleigh turned and wound in the sky, and he felt it start to descend. Timmy hid again behind some sacks, not wanting to be discovered. He heard the sound of clomping hooves on snow, and then he felt a slight bounce as the sleigh landed somewhere. It skidded along for a moment and then stopped abruptly with a great lurch. He heard more movement out front as Santa got out of the sleigh.

The sound of crunching snow continued. "Ho, ho, ho, what do we have here?" Santa said. 

Timmy was petrified. Had he been found? He heard clicking and a sound almost like a goat's bleat, but it wasn't. It was almost like a voice.

Timmy moved and peered up, trying to stay as low as possible, wondering what roof they were on. But as his eyes cleared the edge of the sleigh, he realized they weren't on a roof at all. They were in a field, it seemed. 

No, not a field. There were little stones everywhere. With a shock, he realized where they were. They were in the graveyard. 

Why would Santa be in the graveyard? he thought. He heard Santa speaking again and a raspy voice answering. Maybe Santa needed a place to land to store more toys, Timmy thought. Yes, that made sense; he couldn't keep all the toys for all the boys and girls in one sleigh. Of course, he'd need a place to land, and what better than a graveyard? No one would be there at night, especially not on Christmas Eve. The graveyard wasn't far from Timmy's house, so he decided this was the best time to make his exit, even though he thought the graveyard was really scary. But it couldn't be too scary if Santa was there. After all, Santa would never go anywhere bad or frightening. Everyone knew that.

He crawled over the edge of the sleigh and landed with a plop in the snow. He slipped and fell, trying to stay quiet, but his breath whooshed out.

Some of the reindeer seemed agitated, and Timmy stayed still for a moment, feeling the cold snow seep into his pajamas. Then he tiptoed to the back of the sleigh and peeked around to make sure he didn't cross Santa's path. Shivering with the cold, his breath formed little clouds as he moved around the sleigh. He saw a headstone and paused. He recognized the name on that stone. 

It was the name of a man who had died that year. The fever had taken his entire family. Timmy had known their son, Max. Max had been a horrible bully all of Timmy's life. He knew he was supposed to feel sad about the boy's passing, but it was hard. He did feel sad for Max's parents, though, who had always seemed like kind people.

Timmy heard more talking and that weird goat sound. Curiosity got the better of him, and he moved around the sleigh. As he moved, he saw the headstone of Max's mother, and then he saw Max's grave. The earth around it was dug up, and a hole was in the ground. Next to the grave was an open casket. Timmy's heart came to a stop. This time there was no chance of excitement or elation, just fear.

Standing next to the grave were three forms. Two of them wore red velvet vests. Their arms and legs were covered in thick black fur. Their heads looked like a goat's but like a man's at the same time. They had red beady eyes and sharp teeth that looked mean. Their horns wrapped around and above their heads, looking evil. Their hands were free of fur, but their fingers were long and clawed.

Timmy felt very afraid.

Standing before the two goat-men was a tall, fat man in a red suit. He had white hair and a long, white beard, and a cap on his head. It was Santa.

He was talking to the goat-men. Santa shuffled around and looked down into the open casket.

What was going on, Timmy wondered.

He saw Santa hold out his gloved hands, and red and green tendrils of light came out from his hands like smoke, moving down into the casket. The inside of the casket glowed, and he heard a cough and then a murmur.

Timmy wanted to leave, but he couldn't move. His muscles were frozen solid.

There was movement inside the casket, and Timmy wanted to scream, but no sound could come out of his throat as he saw Max sit up. His skin was mottled and gray and green with rot, and parts of his hair had fallen off his head. His eyes glowed blue, and he looked up. They were confused for a moment, and then a rasping voice said, "Santa?"

It sounded like Max's voice, but somehow not.

"Santa Claus, is that you?" Max said, his voice sounding more like his own.

"Ho, ho, ho, yes, it is, Max. I am Santa Claus," Santa said.

Max looked around the graveyard and then over at the goat-men; he flinched away.

"Am I dead, Santa?" Max asked, confused.

Santa chuckled, but it didn't sound merry. "Why else would you be in a grave, my boy, if you weren't dead?" Santa said.

Max looked confused, and Timmy had to agree; he was very confused. What was going on?

"Santa, I don't understand," Max said. He sounded afraid.

Santa chuckled. This time his voice had some merriment. "Max, you were a naughty boy. You have been on the naughty list for years," he said. Max looked confused, and Santa went on. "Get out of that casket, my boy. Come to me," he said.

Max struggled for a moment, but he managed to get out of the casket. He was wearing a pair of trousers and a tattered shirt. Timmy hadn't remembered the funeral, but he knew that they hadn't done a viewing. Because his family had been taken by the fever, it wouldn't have been safe.

Max got out and tripped. One of the goat-men bleated at him, and Max flinched away.

"Santa, I'm scared," Max said.

Santa moved around the side of the casket, and Timmy could now see his face. He had rosy cheeks, just like the stories said, and his eyes were so blue they almost seemed to glow. He smiled down at Max.

"You should be afraid," he said, and he pulled out a cap just like his own from his jacket and placed it on Max's head. He patted Max's shoulder. "You were on the naughty list, and you died while on the naughty list," Santa said. "And now it looks like the workshop has a new helper," he said.

Max looked confused, as did Timmy, and then it hit him. The workshop had a new helper, and Max was now wearing a hat just like the ones he had seen in the drawings of Santa's workshop. The same hats all the little elves wore that were making the toys for all the good boys and girls.

The shop wasn't being worked by elves at all.

"Take him back to the shop," Santa said, his voice harsh. Max began to cry and held out his hands toward Santa. He yelped and screamed as one of the goat-men hit him with a long stick. It bleated at him, and Max slunk away. "Better do as they say, Max," Santa said as he started walking back toward the sleigh. "Trust me, you don't want to find out what happens when elves are on the naughty list," he said, his voice holding no merriment.

"Please, Santa, no, please, I'm sorry," Max said, his voice terrified, and then he screamed as he was hit with another one of the sticks. The goat-men grabbed him and began pulling him away from the grave.

Timmy looked in the distance, seeing the form of another sleigh just out of view, but instead of having sacks, it had cages. Timmy backed away, seeing what was in the cages. It was the form of other children, all appeared to have died before, just like Max, their eyes glowing a soft blue, all of them wearing hats. The kids looked forlorn and sad, and Timmy was backing away further and further. He turned to run and ran into something solid but soft. He gave a whoosh, and he fell back on the ground. He looked up, seeing a towering form before him.

"Ho, ho, ho, what have we here?" Santa asked, smiling down at him.

Timmy felt pure terror running through him, and he began to move away. His hands stung and burned in the freezing snow. He mumbled. Santa smiled broadly. His face was kind and warm and loving.

"What are you doing out here on such a cold night, Timmy?" Santa asked.

Timmy babbled, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said.

"Ho, ho, ho," Santa said. "There's nothing to be sorry about, my boy," he said. Santa looked up to where Max was being pulled away, then he looked back down at Timmy. "You're worried that you're going to be like Max over there, aren't you?" he said.

Timmy backed up against the sleigh, and his head bobbed. Santa smiled and came down close to him.

"You're such a good boy, Timmy. Why would you be worried about that?" he asked.

"Because I snuck out of bed, and I got into your sleigh. I didn't mean to come here with you," Timmy said, looking down. "I'm sorry."

He felt a large hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Santa smiling.

"There's nothing naughty about being curious," Santa said. His voice warmed. "But your parents will get a fright if you don't get home, and it's so cold out."

Santa stood and walked over to his sleigh and came back with a heavy coat. He tossed it to Timmy. 

"Have a Merry Christmas, Timmy, and remember what happens to good boys and girls—and also what happens to the naughty ones as well." 

Timmy's head bobbed. "I understand, Santa. I'll be good," he said. Santa grinned. 

"I know you will. Timmy, here's something special for you." 

Santa pulled a chocolate bar out of his jacket and handed it to Timmy. He put on the coat, feeling it warm him instantly. 

"Now get back home and be a good boy," Santa said. 

"I will, Santa," Timmy said. "I will. I promise. I'll always be good." 

Timmy scrambled to his feet and began to run through the graveyard. He looked behind himself a few times, seeing the goat-men pushing a sobbing Max into the cage. One locked eyes with Timmy and bleated. Timmy felt panic and then tripped, falling over a headstone. He looked at the stone. It was trying to warn me, he thought. He got up again and started to move; this time he was more careful. The jacket was warm, and he was getting the feeling back in his fingers and toes. 

As he made it back to his house, he felt a sense of relief wash over him, and he was determined never to make it on the naughty list. He climbed up the side of the house and slipped back inside. He walked into his room and looked out the window. He saw a sleigh in the sky being pulled by reindeer; he could see the silhouettes of sacks filled with presents against the moon. He also thought he made out the shape of another sleigh being pulled by reindeer, this one with the silhouette of a large cage. He felt himself shiver, and he crawled under the layers of rough, woolen blankets, never wanting to leave.

Why did I write this?

I recently found out an interesting part of St. Nicholas's lore which was that he resurrected three children. So, as someone had kindly pointed out on Threads, that means that Santa's a necromancer. Hence the story. I thought it'd be a fun twist on Santa's workshop if the elves were dead people. But in the spirit of giving credit where it's due, my daughter is the one who came up with the idea of the resurrected people being children on the naughty list. So, kudos to her for this nice twist of the plot. I hope you enjoyed the story and that you have a wonderful holiday season.