Christmas at the Hansons'

Christmas at the Hansons’

The round man in the red suit stood on the roof of the two-story mid-century American home, hands on his hips, staring down the chimney in the pre-dawn dark.

“Jesus, Donder.” He raised his hands in exasperation, and then tugged his beard. “How?” He turned to the elf sitting passenger side on the sled. “How much time have we got, Spronk?”

“About twenty minutes, O Jolly One.”

Santa tossed his sidekick a sideways glance, shaking his head. He looked back down the chimney at the reindeer stuck inside, and then followed the traces leading back to the rest of the team. Prancer fidgeted side-to-side, snorting and tossing his head, almost putting out one of Dasher’s eyes. Blitzen was working on his fourth martini of the night, his eyes glassy, his hooves curled around the delicate stemware as he sloshed its contents over his harness. Comet and Cupid had a poker game going, herbal cigarettes clamped between their teeth, their eyes shaded with clouded intent. They were both sharks, and the other reindeer knew better than to try. And, as Rudolph had found out the hard way, their interest rates were outrageous, their debt collectors knowledgeable in the ways of, shall we say, negotiation. Rudolph’s kneecaps still ached.

Vixen and Dancer were flush against the chimney, straining to keep from following Donder. They gritted their teeth against gravity, cursing under their breath at the rest of the team. Rudolph, of course, lay smashed underneath Donder, his tail dander beginning to singe from the late-night cinders in the fireplace. He braced his hooves on the chimney walls to prevent sliding further. His nose glowed bright, but he was shaking under the strain.

Santa nodded, his jaw set, and removed his coat to strap on his utility belt. As he sidled down the ivy trellis to the ground, he called back to Spronk in a hushed tone, “Hold the team. I’m going in.” Spronk swallowed, then swiped Blitzen’s martini and finished it off. Eighteen minutes. If they weren’t back in time…

Santa touched down and padded to the front door. Squinting in the light, he reached under the glass and unscrewed the bulb. The moonlight was bright enough. He knelt at the door lock, examined the jamb and hardware, and then pulled from his belt a small-hinged box. From it he slipped three small metal rods and picked the Hanson’s lock, hitting the tumblers inside thirty seconds. He edged open the door and stepped inside, relieved the Hansons oiled their hinges.

The lights were off except for the Christmas tree. Multi-colored twinkles flashed, reflecting off the glass ornaments, and the metallic garlands draped around the tree as a retired actress wears her stoles. Lo, on an end table lay a plate of cookies and a tall glass of milk. Chocolate chip, Rudolph’s favorite. Mmhmm. He picked one up and tossed it up the chimney. Rudolph grunted as it bounced off his shoulder and fell into the ashes below, the chocolate instantly charring.

“Rudolph, you idiot.” Santa growled, killing the fire with dirt from the potted plant nearby. He walked into the kitchen and rooted around for potholders, finding a set with cartoon kittens stitched into them. He also dipped into the freezer and plucked out a carton of Haagen Dazs eggnog ice cream. Santa sifted through the pile of utensils in the sink until he found a spoon, and then returned to the fireplace. Thirteen minutes left.

He spent a minute taunting Rudolph the dairy-intolerant reindeer with his find, then considered the situation as he scraped the bottom of the carton with his spoon.

“Fire’s out. Drop down.”

Rudolph squinted at him with distrust. Santa had suckered him with that one before.

“I’m serious. Fire’s out.” Santa smiled, his teeth showing. “Trust me.”

Rudolph shook his head, antlers scraping soot off the brick. He chuckled when Santa dodged out of the way but not before catching some in his face. He knew time ticked away, and slid the rest of the way down the chimney, banging his elbow on the flue, landing in smoking Dieffenbachia dirt. Donder thudded down on top of him, his eyes bugging out at the impact. A cloud of soot, smoke, and reindeer sweat flumed out into the living room, floating into the foyer, coating everything with a fine black silt.

“Damn it!” Santa rubbed his eyes, searching blindly for a soft cloth to wipe away the soot. He settled on a throw pillow from the sofa. He opened his eyes, a rueful grin on his face as he replaced the cream pillow, soot side down.
Rudolph and Donder stood by the fireplace as Santa returned to the kitchen for a knife. Rudolph started eyeing the plate of cookies.

“Hey, Rudy.”

“Yeah.”

“I gotta go.”

“Wha? Don, not here.”

“I know. But, I gotta go.”

“Dude, can it wait a few minutes?”

“Um.” Donder raised his fluffy white tail and shot steaming urine onto the Hanson’s carpet, dropping a few pellets, too.

Rudolph covered his face with his front hooves, pulling as far away from his teammate as he could, the leather traces taut between them. He squinted against the acidic fumes, laying his ears back.

“Oh, you are so gonna get—“

Santa walked back into the room and recoiled. “What? Jesus, you two!” He leaned down and called up the chimney. “Spronk! Time!”

“Seven minutes, Great Bearded One.”

“Shit.” He looked around, realizing they would have to leave the mess. Damn. He sliced through the leather. “All right. Both of you, outside. I’ll, uh, leave a note.”

The two reindeer looked at each other, and then sprinted outside, tracking more filth through the house and accidentally knocking a family portrait from its hook as Donder slid on the parquet floor in the foyer and dented the dry wall. Santa winced, then sat down on the sofa, pulling the note little Jimmy Hanson had left for him from under the cookies.

“Dear Santa,

I been good all year. Please eet these cookes. My mom maded them.

Thanks,
Jimmy”

Glancing around the room and surveying the damage, Santa pulled a pencil from his pants pocket. A glimmer of inspiration struck.

“Dear Jimmy,

Thanks for the cookies. Learn to spell, or next time Donder visits your room.

Santa”

He snorted, grabbed another cookie, and left. Three minutes to spare.

Jimmy awoke to the fairy sounds of jingle bells in the gray dawn, and the hearty laughter of Old Saint Nick as he launched his sleigh back toward the North Pole. He even felt the thumps of the reindeers’ hooves on the rooftop as they swung up into the sky. Clapping his hands, he scampered from under the covers and raced toward the stairs to see what Santa had brought him.