Holiday Stories and Poems

Elf on Titan

The elf had to go to the moons of Saturn, but it was worth it to save their marriage.

Writer's Cramp PROMPT: In keeping with the holiday spirit, write a short story or poem about meeting one of Santa's elves in a bar. Why is he there?

Elf on Titan

I had just downed my fourth jigger of Hobnob Brew and was still clinging to the wooden bar frame, waiting for the waves to become gentle again so I could crawl off to bed, when that slinky sprite with his red and white good cheer and the jingle bells on his toes, tapped at my shoulder.

“Ackggggg!” I screeched, putting an end to all background noise in O’Cooley’s. For 3.6 seconds all heads swiveled a stare, before returning to normality.

I licked the inside of my empty jigger and looked down at the little guy. He was staring up at me with such disgust it had turned his usually slightly green skin a pale blue.

“What do you want, Paisley?” I asked, signaling the bartender for another jigger, which I figured I’d need if I had to listen to elf-talk for any length of time.

Paisley shook his head, raised his left hand, and danced it across the air. The jigger the bartender was handing me turned into a cup of steaming hot coffee. I groaned and waved the bartender away.

“Listen, I don’t care what’s wrong. I’m not coming back yet. Got that?” I said with a burst of vehemence

Paisley started to wave his hand again, but I caught it and held it still. “Don’t you start that. Magic isn’t allowed out here. Remember?”

Paisley’s mouth curled up into an even brighter, bigger smile, a smile so big it made his pointy ears rock up and down. He giggled. Then before I could interfere, he raised up his left foot and shimmied it up and down. Suddenly I found myself sitting in one of the booths over at the side.

“Darn it, Paisley. You’re not supposed to do that outside the North Pole. It’s not fair. You want me to. . . “

Paisley gave me a look that stopped me cold. I remembered then -- one flick of negative magic, and I’d fall headfirst down the nearest chimney. Why had I ever taken that vow? That was Mrs. Claus’ fault . . .

“Paisley, it’s only October on Earth. You can’t expect me to come back now.”

The elf nodded. He had bells in his elf. Each nod set them to ringing. The noise was dragging people’s eyes back on me again. I stilled Paisley’s head.

“Stop that. Enough. What do you want?” I said while massaging my forehead because the aftereffect of Hobnob Brew was starting to hit.

Paisley’s elf voice was so high-pitched most of the occupants of the bar couldn’t hear him, but several of the ladies placed their hands over their ears. They were probably no more than a breath away from a headache. I had to get the elf away from humans.

“Okay,” I said. “You win. Come on back to my pad. I’ll start packing.”

Perhaps my walk wasn’t the steadiest, but I was headed in the right direction. Paisley didn’t have to do what he did. But the next thing I knew, reindeer were pawing at the pseudo-wood of Cooley’s flooring, and a sleigh, complete with red velvet lining on the seat, was part of the floorshow. Now the eyes that had formerly only glanced at me, were pouring stares down my back like quarterbacks at a football game dousing their coach with congratulatory beer.

Whispers began crescendoing into shouts. “Santa, Santa, Santa!” they began to scream.

I turned and bowed. Perhaps four jiggers of Hobnob Brew didn’t make for a lot of grace, but, at least, I didn’t fall.

I clutched at the sleigh and half-pulled myself in. With Paisley’s help I managed to sit up on the seat, grab up the reins (Alright, he handed them to me,) and was just about to fly on home when I noticed that the crowd in O’Cooley’s had formed a line right next to the sleigh -- Paisley’s fault, of course.

I closed my eyes and allowed the magic to cleanse away the last of the buzz from my Hobnob Brew. Then I cleared my throat, blasted the place with a deep-throated “Ho, ho, ho,” and allowed the first person in line to come up into my lap.

Naturally, it was the bartender – a weight-builder who must weigh close to three hundred pounds – thankfully since we were on Titan, he only weighed 10% of that. As he perched on my knee, I listened to his very long list.

By the time all the occupants of Cooley’s Bar had presented me with their Christmas wishes, I was completely sober. I remembered freshly why I didn’t want to go back. Mrs. Claus would be there breathing down my neck again about how those violent video games were ruining the innocence of children. But what could I do about it? Kids were kids. I couldn’t disappoint them, could I?

Paisley hopped into the back of the sleigh, threw open the tertiary doors of the bar, and whisked us in and out and through the protective chambers until at last we were resting outside in the cold, haze of Titan’s icy domain. Enclosed inside my bubble of warm air, I hardly noticed our transition. My mind was still on Mrs. Claus and the upcoming confrontation.

Our flight back was a whirr of stars, a slight ill feeling as we lowered down into the atmosphere, and then the final stage -- the invisibility slicker, which for some strange reason, always coated my tongue with the taste of hot chocolate.

However, what I’d been dreading dissolved itself into a wiggly, warm body of welcoming. My wife whispered, “I’m sorry” into my ear just before her lips met mine in a deep, delightful, star-eyed kiss.

Of course, my wife’s apology made me feel so guilty I had to redesign all the video games, but that’s another story. Meanwhile, Gloria and I settled down by the fire and began whispering sweet nothings as we caught up on all the things we’d both missed so much.




(996 words)

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