Nibbles: A Christmas Nightmare

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.