Note: I wrote this story for my senior English class in high school. Reading it now causes me to cringe severely. It’s painfully bad in some respects, particularly in the way it mashes a hard Christian message on at the end despite being full of outlandish gore and alcohol consumption. It strikes me as very much the product of a Christian teen (it’s very teenagery) who was trying to cleverly push the boundaries while also maintaining a foot in the Christian camp. However despite it’s glaring flaws, it fascinates me because of how well it captures the creative and cultural influences that were active in my life during high school. The writing is heavily influenced in particular by three sources I clearly hear in the background of some passages: I hear the early Internet (particularly an old web series called Grudge Match) in the irreverent comedy and outlandish violence; I hear Tom Clancy, particularly Clear and Present Danger, in the descriptions of the elf commandos; and I hear Frank Peretti’s Christian supernatural novels (This Present Darkness and Piercing the Darkness) in the closing section. Rereading this now is a vivid reminder of how much I liked all three of those things then. A few months after this, I started my five years at Bob Jones University, during which time I turned away from the ‘worldly’ aspects of this story and began to invest ever more heavily both intellectually and emotionally in the Gospel elements captured in the closing section. I have not cleaned up any of the many typos in this piece. (DL, Sept. 19, 2021)
Once upon a time, there was an old, fat, philandering lawyer named Daddy Mack. Now Daddy Mack had two loves in his life, beer and guns, a deadly combination at best. One Christmas Eve, Daddy Mack had been celebrating in his customary fashion, when he decided that he wanted to shoot himself a nice buck for Christmas dinner. Therefore, Mack trundled off to his gun cabinet to select the perfect weapon for the occasion. After several moments of reflection, he settled on his pride and joy, a mini-gun that he had purchased from some Arab terrorists after seeing Terminator 2. He loaded up a backpack with sufficient ammo for about 15 seconds of automatic carnage, and strolled over to his wardrobe, where he selected a black leather jacket, and motorcycle boots. He then grabbed his Terminator 2 soundtrack, stuffed it into his discman, donned his shades and headed for the garage. He loaded all his gear onto his Harley, kicked the starter, and crashed through the garage door, singing “Bad to the Bone” at the top of his lungs.
High overhead, Santa Claus was frustrated. The Elf Union was acting up again, asking for better working conditions, shorter hours, and better benefits. It was the same old drill, and Santa was tired of it. On top of this, Mrs. Claus was at him again.
“Do you HAVE to give plutonium to the North Koreans this year?”, she had wondered, “And what about that sniper rifle you’re taking to Ronald Goldman’s father? After the steak knives you gave to O.J. Simpson, I’d think you’d have more sense. I swear, it’s going to be the Menendez boys all over again. Hmph, matching shotguns, the very idea.”
She just didn’t understand. He had to have an impact somewhere. It was boring working behind the scenes all the time.
“Aw, the heck with it. What does she know anyway?” Santa mumbled, “I need a drink.”
After a moments hesitation, Santa circled down through the clouds, and landed his sled. He slowly dismounted, and strolled to the front of the line of reindeer that pulled his wonderful sled through the sky.
“Ah now, Blitzen.” he said scratching the shining reindeer’s ears, “There’s a good fellow. You boys like a chance to rest, eh? It’ll only be for a few minutes.” He slowly went down the line, greeting each reindeer, stroking its ears and antlers, and then unhitching it. He thought that they’d enjoy a little breather from the hectic pace of Christmas Eve. The reindeer were Santa’s only reason he even kept the job anymore. Whenever the stress and politics of his position were getting him down, he’d go see his reindeer. He loved them all, for they had been with him from the beginning. They were with him before the elfs, or Mrs. Claus, they were as old as he was, and in fact as old as Christmas itself.
After releasing his friends, he walked back to his sled, and started rummaging through his giant bag.
“Now where did I put that?”, he muttered to himself, “Ah ha! Here you are you sneaky devil.” he exclaimed in triumph as he pulled a bottle of vintage Bordeaux from his bag. “Prince Charles won’t miss you at all, will he my good friend. He doesn’t deserve you anyway.” With a snap of his fingers, Santa caused a simple round table and a wooden chair to appear from nowhere. The table was covered with a snow white cloth, on top of which was a single red candle in a golden candlestick. St. Nick pulled a beautiful crystal wine glass out from one of the many pockets in his huge red jacket, and poured himself a glass of the wine. He decided that he’d relax a little. He needed it, and besides, he reasoned, he’d never not finished his work, not in 2000 years.
Three hours later, Daddy Mack was getting tired. After blazing a trail through his back garden, he’d rammed his Harley into a hedge, crashed through it, and just missed a tree. Before he had time to recover, he’d hit a slick spot, and dumped the bike. Not to be dismayed, Daddy Mack had picked himself up, and started into the forest that was adjacent his estate. Now, however, he was covered in mud, cold, and his discman was missing. He hadn’t seen a thing that lived, and therefore, hadn’t been able to fire a shot. He was trying to keep his spirits up by singing a lusty ballad about a bonny lass named Jenny, and toying with the safety on his gun.
He was just on the verge of turning back to get himself a hot toddy, when, off to his left he saw a stunning sight. In a clearing in the moonlit grove, were the nine most beautiful animals he had ever seen. They had glistening white coats that reflected the moonlight like a mirror, and their velvety antlers were the color of snow. Each reindeer was grazing, apparently on snow, and they seemed to suffer no ill effect from the cold temperature. It seemed that they had not heard him approach, despite the fact that he had been singing loudly, and stomping his way through the undergrowth. Then, one of the reindeer raised its head to look around, it’s breath showing in the chilly air. Daddy Mack, blessing his good fortune, started to move into a firing position.
Meanwhile, 300 yards away, Santa had his head down on the table, and was snoring loudly. Scattered on and around the table were the empty bottle of wine, as well as several empty bottles of good whiskey. Sitting in the snow next to the chair in the snow was an opened case of the whiskey, that had been originally intended for the Chair of the English department at Oxford. Suddenly, deep within Santa’s coat, a cell phone rang…and rang…and rang. Finally, the groggy old man snorted, and raised his head. His mouth felt like cotton, and he had a splitting headache. On top of this, a string of drool and frozen to his lips and cheek, making his face hurt. He blinked a few times, and groped for the phone in his coat. After what seemed like a long time, he was able to drag the phone to his ear.
“Hello?”, he mumbled.
“Mr. Claus,” said a bright tenor voice, “this is Peter. Is everything all right? You were supposed to check in over an hour ago.” Santa struggled to put his brain back together for a few moments before he replied. Peter was his foreman, and Chairman of the Elf Union’s Advisory Board. Santa didn’t like him. He felt Peter was an agitator, continually pressuring him to improve conditions and do more for his workers. He would have fired him, but he was too popular with the other elfs. The truth be told, Peter was very powerful, and that made Santa feel threatened. He’d even heard rumors that Peter was calling for employee ownership. Santa couldn’t afford to mess up his Christmas Eve run, he’d have to play this very carefully.
“No, no problems.” he replied in a voice that was only very slightly slurred, “I just took a break, and must have dosed off.”
“You’ve been asleep for over an hour?” replied a surprised foreman, “That’s going to make things tight. You’ll have to push pretty hard the rest of the night if you want to finish in time. Should I have some elf sleds come help you? Where are you now?”
“Uh oh.” Santa thought.
“Um, I’m just south of Denver.” he lied, “I ran into some delays in Chicago.”
“Hmmm,” Peter thought for a moment, “That puts you about 2 hours behind schedule…”
“Try three.” Santa said to himself.
“…Should I send the sleds?”
“Uh…” Santa pondered his situation. He hadn’t had elf sleds help him out since the big storms during the middle of the 17th century. If he had them help him out now, there’d almost certainly be a call for him to step down.
“No,” he decided, “don’t send the sleds. I’ll be fine. It’ll just take an extra push on the part of the reindeer. I’ll check in with you when I reach San Francisco.”
“I’ll be waiting.” said Peter. He hung up and swiveled his chair around. “He’s been drinking.” he stated definitely to Gary, the head of that year’s Christmas Shift.
“During the run!?” asked an incredulous Gary.
“Yeah, during the run, and I’m pretty sure this is not the first time. He’s probably no where near Denver.” Peter smiled sadly. “The old fool. What’s happened to him? For the past hundred years he’s been letting everything go to hell.” Peter was right. Over the last century, working conditions had fallen, and therefore productivity and worker contentment. Santa worried less and less about his workers, and he was doing little if anything himself to pick up the slack.
“What if he doesn’t finish?” inquired Gary.
“Never, never, have elfin toys not been delivered on Christmas Eve. I’m not going to let this be the first year.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“I’m going to call an emergency board meeting. This has gone far enough”
Santa set the phone on the table, and sat for a few moments, staring at the trees around him. Finally he drained the dregs from the bottle of Bordeaux, and struggled to his feet. He groaned as all the blood drained from his head. Despite the wobbly feeling in his knees, Santa began to stagger towards his sled. Pushing himself to hurry, he reached for a silver hand bell under the dash. He had to get the reindeer hitched up ASAP…
“Gotcha!” muttered Daddy Mack with glee, as his finger tightened on the trigger.
Santa’s head jerked upright as the forest around him exploded in a cacophony of automatic gunfire. Startled, he vainly attempted to ascertain the origin of all the noise.
“What the heck?” He spun around and saw what looked like a flickering light in the trees.
“YEHAA!!” shouted a triumphant Daddy Mack, “I’m BAD!”
He charged into the clearing with mini-gun blazing. He’d managed to circle around the edge of the glade undetected, and now all the reindeer were very exposed. He was half drunk, and still wearing his shades, but the kill zone was tight, and he had surprise on his side. Plus, you pretty much have to try to miss with a mini-gun. The reindeer were decimated. Within seven seconds, four of them were dead.
Santa watched in horror as, less than 100 yards away, Prancer exploded. He saw Donner’s body blossom into a misty red cloud, as twelve slugs designed to destroy airplanes, ripped through it.
“NO!”, he screamed, “No! No! No!” Reflexively, he began to run towards his fallen friends. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Comet fleeing through the woods, blood pouring from his shattered antlers.
Halfway to the clearing, the firing stopped. Sobbing with horror and rage, Santa, now quite sober, entered the clearing. Seven of his stunning reindeer lay dead, their bodies mutilated almost beyond recognition by the mini-gun. The once pure snow was now a bright red, even the trees bore the mark. Santa staggered through the clearing, stumbled, fell to his hands and knees, and dragged himself to his feet again. Numb with shock, he moved from body to body, until at last he came to Blitzen.
Santa’s head swam. The ears, those soft ears that he had loved to stroke, were nothing more than a read smear. Gaping holes riddled the carcass, out of which spilled the intestines and vital organs. Chunks of flesh had been carved from the body as though by a sharp blade. Santa looked at the staring eyes. Once full of a magical life, they were now locked in a death gaze, filled only with a dull reflection of the moon. Santa swayed, fell to his knees, and puked his guts into the snow. Whith a shudder, he passed out next to the mutilated corpse of his beloved reindeer.
Daddy Mack never noticed Santa Claus. As soon as he was out of bullets, he’d hurried towards his house, the “Overgrown Estate”, as fast as he could.
“Oh man,” he repeated to himself over and over, “oh man, oh man, oh man.”
When he arrived back at his garage, he began to rummage through his gardern tools, in an attempt to find the right item with which to collect his kills. This task was complicated by the fact that he had failed to turn on the light, or remove his shades. Eventually, after many bumps, bruises, and swear words, he found what he was looking for. He grabbed the shovel tightly with two hands, and headed back for the clearing.
While Daddy Mack made his way back to the sight of the recent massacre, events of a more important nature were underway in the board room of the Elf Union.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” said Peter to the assembled board members, “it is time to come to order. I’ve called this emergency meeting to inform you, that Santa will not complete his run tonight.” – a generally astonished reaction rippled around the table – “This is due to the fact that he stopped for a break, and ended up drunk. Ladies and Gentleman, what he is done is such a gross breach of The Contract, that it cannot be overlooked. Time is short, so suffice it to say that I have ordered out Elf sleds to finish the job. Additionally, I make a motion to vote to remove Santa Claus from his leadership position, and transfer all control of this operation to us, the members of this board.” The motion was seconded, and the voting got underway.
Back at the clearing, Daddy Mack was busy shoveling the remains of the various reindeer into one large pile. Since Santa’s red and white coat blended so well with the bloody snow, Mack still failed to notice him. Instead, he began to follow the trail of blood left by Comet, in hopes of bagging yet another prize. He was busy tracking, and not really paying attention to his surroundings, when he bumped into a simple round table.
“What…” he wondered as he surveyed his surroundings. He took a few moments to examine the table, whiskey, and sled. In the back of the sled, he noticed a very large bag, and the pieces began to fall into place.
“Wow!” he thought to himself, “I’ve been so good this year that Santa left me his whole sled!! All RIGHT!!” He immediatley began to rummage through the bag with reckless abandon. Dang, it was big. He found and discarded many cutsey items, until at last he laid hold of a 9 mm Glock. Attached to it was a small tag that read, “to Mrs. Breedon, for crowd control”
“Now this is fun.” he commented. He pocketed the Glock, and returned to the bag. He noticed nothing else of immediate interest, although in no way did he even begin to scratch the surface of all that the bag contained. His thoughts drifted back to the opened case of whiskey he had seen by the table, and he sauntered back in that direction. With a sigh of content, he settled himself in the chair and reached for one of the bottles.
Meanwhile, back at the North Pole, the final vote count was being tallied. Of the 9 board members, all of them had called for Santa to step down. “Well,” announced Peter to his fellow board members, “It is clear. The general consensus here is that it is time for Santa to move on. As of now, this is officially an emplyee owned operation. However, I think it would be wise to keep this decision to ourselves until we’ve been able to have a meeting with Mr. Claus to make clear the issues. At that point I feel we will then be able to make a general announcement regarding this decision.” Peter checked his notes. “Okay, that’s pretty much it. Before we close this meeting, is there anything anyone else would like to add?” no one said a word. “Very well, this meeting is closed.” he said, pounding the walnut gavel.
Unfortuantley for Daddy Mack, he couldn’t hold his liquor quite as well as old Santa, and before even his first bottle was emptied, he began to drop off.
“Shtrong whishkey.” he mumbled to himself as his head hit the table, right next to Santa’s cell phone. Twenty minutes later, a red light on the phone started blinking.
“Sir, we’ve activated the Emergency Locator Beacon as per your orders. Santa is not moving at this time.” reported an elfen security specialist in a crisp voice. “I have authorized Team Rove to investigate. They are ETA twenty minutes.”
“Very well, keep me posted.” replied Peter.
Twenty minutes later, four sleek sleds dropped silently into the woods surrounding Daddy Mack, their contents spilling swiftly and quietly into the forest. “Rove squad, this is Rove leader. Move to surrounding positions. Go pattern Alpha Four Delta.” ordered an elfen commando into a walkie-talkie, as he lept from one of the sleds. He was outfitted in a black uniform, and carried a specially made sub-machine gun. “Point, what have you got?”
“Sir,” responded the lead commando, “I have the beacon in sight, it appears to be guarded by an unkown, possible hostile.” He was peaking through the trees, thirty yards from Daddy Macks slumbering form.
“Very well, Rove squad, initiate attack pattern Omega. Let’s make this quick and clean people. No screw-ups.” Immediatley, the commandos of Rove squad began to move. Within thirty seconds, Daddy Mack was on his back in the snow, four sub-machine guns pointed at his face. He still snored. In the next two minutes, the sqad ascertained that the reindeer were dead or missing, that Santa’s bag had been somewhat ransacked, and that Santa himself was nowhere to be found. Things looked very bad for Daddy Mack. “Okay people, let’s get out of here. Pack it up.” ordered Rove leader. “Jim, here, take the beacon.” he said, handing the phone to one of the commandos. With that, the commandos scooped up Daddy Mack, took control of Santa’s sled, and their own, and lifted off into the night sky.
For the next two hours, things were very hectic at the North Pole, and Daddy Mack, once he was awake, started having a really, really bad day. It wasn’t until 7:10 a.m., just as the sun was peeking over the treetops, that Santa stirred. He groaned, and gradually was able to lift his numb face from the bloody snow. He managed to roll into a sitting position, and look around him.
“So it wasn’t a dream.” he moaned. As he continued to survey his surroundings, he was overwhelmed be despair. Santa’s life came to an end in that moment. Although he still lived physically, his heart died, and he lost all will. This was a blow to him from which he could never recover. How could he? His precious reindeer were dead, and it was his fault. “I have failed.” he said brokenly. Looking up to heaven he cried, “I have failed!”
Suddenly, a light began to grow in the clearing. It was brighter and whiter than the rising sun, and it began to fill the surrounding forest. It enveloped Santa, burning the cold, and warming his face. It filled the sky, and still it grew. With a sickening realization, Santa realized what it was, and he began to cower in the melting snow.
“No, no.” he moaned. “Not You, not now, not after what I’ve done. Please…please…I’m not worthy.” He covered his face and kneeled low. And as he was there, his knee bowed in the snow, a warm, scarred hand reached out of the light and grasped his. Santa knew that hand, he’d taken it once before.
“Claus.” called a voice, a warm, sweet voice, a voice that Santa recognized. Like a sheep knows it’s shepard, Santa knew that voice.
“Yes,” Santa paused for a moment, “Lord.” He stared at the hand that held his, and then at the scarred feet that stood before him, as he kneeled in the snow.
“Claus, what has happened here?” asked the kind voice, kind, yet stern.
“Lord,” Santa sobbed brokenly, his eyes filling with tears, “You know what has happened here. I have failed You. I have failed your commission, your calling. I have failed to remind people of the true meaning of Christmas. I haven’t stood for Your true gift. Instead, I have been a symbol for greed, and personal gain. I have put my own will before yours, Lord. Oh Lord, forgive me.” In halting, sorrow filled sentences, Santa recounted his deeds of the last five centuries. As he knelt there, in that clearing, surrounded by a light brighter than the brightest sun, he recounted his gradual descent, his failings, his failure.
“Claus,” said the voice when Santa had finished his tale. “tell me again what you are to remind people of.”
“Lord, I was to remind people of the your great gift. That is why I gave gifts.”
“And what was my greatest of gifts?” asked the voice.
“Your blood, Lord, your life, your death, your body. You died that we might have life, and life more abundantly. You died so that we wouldn’t have to.”
“Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and though shalt be saved. Isn’t that right Claus?”
“Yes, Lord.”
“And have you believed?”
“Yes, Lord.”
“Claus, what does The Contract say in I John 1:9?”
“If we confess our sins, He is faithful and righteous to forgive us our sins, and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” quoted Claus in a trembleing voice, his eyes almost blinded in the light.
“Haven’t you done just that, Claus?”
“Yes, Lord.” And as he said it, Claus felt hiself pulled to his feet by the hand.
“Look at me, Claus.” Santa raised his eyes, and looked at the Lord. And, as he looked, he was astonished to see smears of blood, and reindeer gore, and lines of care, and worry begin to cover that beloved face. And, as he watched, the smears, and the lines, faded away. “Claus, your sin is covered by the sacrifice I made. My gift to you is forgiveness. You are clean, my child.” Santa looked down at himself, and saw that he was indeed clean. He was no longer covered in the blood of his friends, his hands were clean.
“Oh thank you, Lord.” he sobbed as he fell on his face in worship. “Thank you my Mighty Lord.”
“Claus, my child,” said the Lord, “what I did, I did out of my love for you. However, you still must accept the consequences of your actions. What is done, is done. I will not change that. While you are clean in my eyes, you must live with the things that have happened, for they will not change. You have a hard road ahead, my child, but remember, I will never leave you, nor forsake you, because, I love you. Whenever you call on Me, I will be there for you.”
The End