Nibbles: A Christmas Nightmare

by Ritch Duncan  —

In less than a second, the sleigh dropped 40 feet of altitude and cut left, hard. Nibbles was thrown off his booster seat, and smashed into a massive sack of Christmas gifts. With a mittened fist, The First Elf grabbed the bright brass safety bar in front of him, holding on for dear life.

“HO! HO HO!” laughed the pilot, cracking the reins. The eight flying reindeer, perfectly synched to the tiniest adjustment of the bits fixed in their frothing jaws, accelerated out of the turn and picked up speed, pulling the sleigh just over the top of a snowcapped Canadian mountain peak, missing a collision by mere inches. It was Christmas Eve, and Santa’s sleigh was absolutely tearing through the pitch black night.

The big man glanced over his shoulder, the rosy hue of his cheeks perfectly matching the crimson coat bundling his heavyset frame. The white pom-pom on his traditional cap was whipping in the wind, a fine companion to his snowy beard.  As he turned to address his second-in-command, his smile was clearly shining through the dark December night.

“You OK, back there, Number One?”

Nibbles, swallowing his terror, shot his boss a thumbs up. He wasn’t particularly comfortable having Santa speak to him directly, much less while flying at those speeds, and the First Elf's Creed, prominently posted above the door in Santa’s Workshop, ran through his head like a mantra:

Santa’s work takes just one night
But this speedy task needs oversight
Elves train all year to help the man.
They learn the route. They know the plan.

The children are what really matter
So please avoid the mindless chatter
Once the sleigh begins its Christmas rounds,
You Ask No Questions. And Make No Sounds.

With the wind howling the way it was, Nibbles wasn’t sure Santa would have heard him even if he had replied, but he figured he’d stay silent on principle. Sure, the “make no sounds” part was probably in there for the home visits, what with all the families being asleep and all, but it was an oath he meant to honor, and the Creed didn’t specify locations.

Nibbles kept his mouth shut.

The frigid air bit into the exposed areas of Nibbles’ face, around the edges of his flight goggles, numbing a sliver of forehead below his stocking cap and the parts of his cheeks and nose just above the thick green and white scarf wrapping his mouth and neck. His mother had made that scarf for him, just for this trip. He was terrified that Santa was flying this fast, not to mention recklessly, a word he was embarrassed to have even thought moments after it entered his mind.

But even had he known how bumpy the ride would be, he wouldn’t have passed up the opportunity for the world. What did Nibbles know from reckless sleigh driving? He’d never been a First Elf before, and if Santa Claus was doing it, it had to be right. Nibbles had no intention of shirking his responsibility to the world’s children.

The booster seat, crowded on all sides by massive sacks of gifts, was specifically fashioned for a passenger no taller than four feet in height, but even so, with the overabundance of cargo, it was a tight squeeze, even for an elf like Nibbles.

The warm, jolly voice rang out again, “You wanna see what this baby can really do?”

Nibbles did not.

He wanted to get to the rooftops of the Northwestern United States safely, and hotrodding around the airspace above the tundra of western Canada had not been something he’d anticipated. Also, Santa had asked him a direct question. Was he supposed to answer it? On the one hand, the Creed advised him to “help the man” and that “the children are what really matter” but on the other, he was supposed to “make no sounds.”  He made a decision.

“It’s Christmas Eve, and those kids are waiting!” shouted the elf, against his better judgement. “Punch it!”

“That’s the Christmas spirit!” bellowed his boss. The sleigh shot straight up into the night, pinning Nibbles back into the bulging sacks. His head spun at the speed. “Tell me, Nibbles,” the red-suited skipper bellowed, twisting his body around to get a good look at his assistant, “Have you ever done a barrel rol–”

Nibbles never knew what hit them, but whatever it was, it all happened at once.

The sleigh burst to splinters in a cacophony of sleigh bells, smashing wood and metal, the horrific bleating of wounded reindeer and the sharp snapping sound of, oh God, was that— bone? Had they hit an airplane? An outcropping of rock? Struck by a surface-to-air missile? Who knew? Not Nibbles.

The purple sky, curtained by clouds, upended and spun. The horizon started twisting like an out-of-control compass needle. He was in the air. Alone. But an elf on his own couldn’t fly. Only Santa’s sleigh could fly. So Nibbles wasn’t flying. He was falling.

White appeared at the bottom of his field of vision, and began slowly filling it before it flipped,  switching places with the inky, star-spattered firmament. It rotated back to white. Wind and snowflakes were stinging his face, so he didn’t think he had died, but wasn’t sure. Was this what death was like? Everything was so white. The frigid wind hissed past his ears. The face of his mother appeared. The corners of her mouth were turning upwards in her familiar smile when BAM! Nibbles smashed through a hard crust of snow, plunging deep into the icy powder beneath.

The warmth of the fire wasn’t what woke him.

Though Nibbles unconsciously rolled towards the heat, it was the sharp pain in his ribs that jolted him awake. They were broken. Nibbles winced. This was bad. His hat was gone and so was— Oh! So was his scarf. He felt a lump in his throat growing. The lens in the left eye of his goggles had cracked, and the right one was missing, skewing his vision of the red-suited man he saw tending the fire in the dark. The man looked distorted. Warped. Off somehow.

Nibbles pulled the goggles off, and focus returned.

The man in the red suit turned, “Oh, Nibbles! You’re up!” Santa’s kindly voice did him some good, as did the smell of roasting meat. “It took me an hour to find you. Now, now. Don’t move now. Stay right where you are.”

Wait. Roasting meat? Where were the reindee–

Nibbles shot upright, and immediately seized up from the pain in his side. He looked around. The fire, which had been built up into a considerable blaze, was composed of the wreckage of the sleigh. The frozen, twisted bodies of several reindeer emerged from the snow in mangled heaps, all hooves, antlers and snapped bones,  frozen into angles that confirmed the very worst. A long trench of snow, clearly left behind by the crash, led away from the blaze, into the darkness. Wrapped presents were scattered along the edges of the frosty culvert, some of them already covered with a dusting of snow.

A pair of reindeer, still alive, thank goodness, their sleigh bells gently tingling, approached the edge of the fire, investigating the new sounds. “Dasher! Dancer!” said Nibbles, recognizing them. Dasher’s right antler had cracked off, but was still attached, if barely. It dangled from a jagged stump, and was hanging over the reindeer’s face when he bent down to nuzzle Nibbles. “Lemme help you with that buddy” he said, clutching the broken antler and gently twisting it. A red leather mitten landed on Nibbles’ shoulder.  The reindeer bolted, leaving the jagged antler in the elf’s hand. He dropped it. Santa Claus stepped into the firelight. He handed the elf a wet, warm piece of roasted meat. Venison.

“Eat this.” Said Santa. “There’s been an accident. But if we do everything properly, all the children in the world will still get to have a very merry Christmas.” Nibbles nodded, but he didn’t eat. He felt nauseous. Still, the sudden appearance of Santa had given him a boost. He hadn’t had too many opportunities to see his boss in full Christmas regalia. Honestly, he hadn’t had much one-on-one time with the big man at all.

But seeing the iconic figure, even in this dark, terrifying situation, warmed his heart. The red coat with white fur trim, along with the matching pants and red leather mittens, accessorized by his shiny black boots and matching belt, looked...well, perfect. He didn’t look like a department store Santa, one of those frauds that Nibbles had seen photos of. He looked deep into Santa’s face. It was a round, shining, old face. Wise, and familiar somehow, even though Nibbles had never stared directly at him before. The face had wrinkles around the edges of the eyes, bushy white eyebrows and rosy red cheeks. He looked kind.

Nibbles’ head started filling with questions he knew he shouldn’t ask, but there were too many to ignore. Anticipating them, Santa put a finger across his lips, looking so positively Christmas-y that Nibbles could imagine him doing the same gesture just before vanishing up a chimney, after delivering presents for a family who had been very, very good this year.

Nibbles felt a surge of Christmas spirit, which buoyed him. Santa would get him through this! Santa would do whatever it took to complete his Christmas rounds. That was Santa’s job. And it was the First Elf's job to help it happen. On time.

Santa took a large bag off his shoulder that was cinched shut with a smart, functional drawstring. It looked more like a garment bag than a satchel of gifts. He loosened the drawstring and the bag yawned open. Santa squatted in front of the elf.

“Now Nibbles,” he said. “Do you know the reason Santa always has a First Elf with him?”

Nibbles hesitated.

“It’s all right. You can speak.”

“Santa’s work takes just one night. But this speedy task needs oversight.” replied Nibbles by rote. “That’s right.” Said Santa. He took off his red hat, his mussed white hair blowing in the frigid wind. He placed the hat into the bag. “Well, tonight, we’re putting that to the test. But if you listen, and do exactly as you’re told, we’re going to save Christmas. Together.”

Nibbles nodded. He knew he’d technically been given permission to speak, but old habits die hard, and the only thing that terrified him more than asking the horrible questions that were popping into his head, was what the answers might be, especially while holding a roasted strip of what was very likely Blitzen. He looked at the ground behind him, and saw the broken antler poking up through the snow. He dropped the meat.

“Do you know how the First Elf is chosen every year?” Asked Santa, peeling off his thick red mittens. Nibbles nodded. Santa continued. “Of course you do. It’s the elf with the most Christmas Spirit. Which this year was you, Nibbles.” He dropped his mittens into the bag. “Now I know that you know who I am, but I am not... only who you think I am. Who I also am is not information that elves are traditionally privy to.”

Nibbles felt a wave of nausea. It was unrelated to his injuries. Or was it? The pain in his side was getting worse. Santa Claus took off his thick red coat, revealing a long white, blouse-like nightshirt tucked into his pants. When he turned to fold the coat, Nibbles’ stomach rolled over again. There was a massive bloodstain on the lower part of Santa’s back. “Santa! You’re hurt!” he blurted out.

“Ho Ho H-” started the traditional laugh, which trailed into a rasping cough.

“I am hurt, little one. But all is not lost. With enough Christmas spirit, I’ll pull through.” He dropped the coat into the bag, reached his hands around the back of his neck and unfastened a clasp. Nibbles gasped as a large latex stomach piece slid out from under the nightshirt and landed in the snow. The skinny, haggard man who stood before him, with a white beard and bloody undershirt was barely recognizable. Nibbles’ confusion was transforming into terror.

The man who Nibbles would have sworn was the one true Santa reached up to behind his ears and with a smooth peeling motion, peeled off his beard.

Nibbles eyes welled with tears.

“No...NO!”

The stranger looked back at him, and sneered, a smattering of black, stubbly beard growth visible under where the white beard had been. “What I’m going to need to do now,” the man said, in a rasping voice that no longer felt kind, “is something Santa Claus probably wouldn’t have the stomach for. So I’m taking this off.” His red pants fell to the snow, and the man who had once been Santa stood on one leg and tried to pull the trouser legs off over his boots. It didn’t go smoothly, but he got them off.

The gaunt, bloodspattered stranger stood before the crippled elf, backlit by the roaring sleigh fire. Nervously shivering in the cold, he picked up the plastic stomach, pants and belt and placed them in the bag. “The truth is, Nibbles, that Santa Claus hasn’t been an elf for a long, long time.” His voice sounded… different. Tinny. ”There just needs to be a Santa. Any Santa. And he can be a man. But when he is, he requires the Christmas spirit of the elves to bring gifts to the children of the world. If a man like me wants to be Santa Claus, he needs the power of the elves."

He stepped closer.

"And I like being Santa Claus."

Bright, loud sleigh bells pierced the night. The haggard man turned skyward, away from the elf. Another sleigh flew above them, drawn by a single reindeer.

“Ah! There he is!” continued the skinny man. He was shorter now too, by about a foot,  Nibbles was sure of it. “Yes— another First Elf will be landing shortly, in that new sleigh, to help me finish tonight’s work. And I’ll need an extra reserve of Christmas spirit tonight.”

He removed a large silver knife from the bag.

“Which is why, little Nibbles...I need to eat you.”

The man moved towards him, the deadly blade glinting in the firelight. Nibbles leaned backward on his elbows, his ribs on fire, sliding backwards, away from the bleeding stranger. The man, who had once been the kindest man alive, stepped on Nibbles’ foot, stopping his retreat. He grabbed Nibbles by the shoulder with his left hand, raising the knife with his right. “The abundance of Christmas Spirit in your blood and flesh, should more than sustain us until we get within range of more homes.” Nibbles grasped the nearby snow for something, anything he could use to defend himself. His hand felt something. He grabbed at it.

Without saying a word, or questioning his resolve, Nibbles stabbed his assailant up under the throat with the shard of broken antler. The man collapsed, opening his mouth in a look of shock that would be frozen on his face until July. Trying, but failing to speak, his voice was choked out by a bubbling gush of crimson than ran over his chin, soaking his previously white nightshirt in gore.

He didn’t look good in red.

The knife fell from his hands. Nibbles was gripping the antler like a vice, the warm blood of the human who had planned to devour him running over his wrists and covering his face and body.  

A cheery, familiar voice rang out.

“What’s going on here? Wheres…Where’s Santa?”

It was Gumdrop.

Nibbles knew Gumdrop. Good elf. Strong toymaker.

Nibbles let go of the antler, and rolled to the side, as Santa’s corpse slumped face down in the snow, the neck perversely tented upwards by the antler. Nibbles stepped into the firelight, soaked in blood. Gumdrop gasped. Neither elf said a word. Five seconds went by. Or was it five minutes? Neither elf knew. And neither elf moved.

The wind howled across the northern tundra.

Without breaking eye contact, Nibbles reached into the garment bag. “Gumdrop. Say it with me. The First Elf’s Creed.” His voice was deadly serious. Gumdrop cleared his throat, but said nothing. Nibbles started without him, his face dripping with blood.

“Santa’s work takes just one night…But this speedy task needs oversight.”

He reached into the bag, and removed something silken and shimmering. He touched it to the back of his ears and his face was… transformed. A long white beard molded seamlessly to Nibbles’ face, adding not only girth, but years of age and experience.The blood was gone.

“Gumdrop. I’m speaking to you.”  Nibbles turned to face the firelight.  He was now over six feet tall. “El…Elves train all year to help the man” Gumdrop stammered. “They learn the route. They kn..know the plan.”

Kindly wrinkles appeared around Nibbles’ eyes, which twinkled in the firelight. He picked up the bag from the feet of the former Santa’s corpse, and spoke in a voice of surprising warmth and familiarity.

“The children are what really matter. So please avoid the mindless chatter.”

Nibbles pulled the cord of the latex stomach piece over his head. The pain in his ribs vanished as his girth expanded, his boots sinking deeper into the newly fallen snow from the extra weight. Gumdrop stiffened to attention.

The shiny black belt, acting on its own, emerged, snakelike from the bag and encircled Nibbles’ waist, fastening itself around the red pants perfectly. The new Santa spoke again, his voice even warmer.

“Ho ho ho!” said Santa, looking around. “Well, I’d hoped to avoid this, Gumdrop, but seeing as we’re down a few reindeer, it seems I’m still a little short on Christmas spirit.” He picked up the silver knife. “Can you finish the Creed for me?” With a gesture of his hand, the presents, scattered around the tundra, rose into the air and filled the Sleigh.

“Once the...sleigh begins its…Christmas Rounds” stammered Gumdrop. “You Ask No Questions”  Santa Claus stepped towards him, raising the knife.  “And make no sounds.”

At the end, Gumdrop was not quite able to honor his oath.

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