When Santa Fell to Earth Page 3

  “Hmm!” Ben mumbled, and went into the kitchen to get his food. Smoked fish — his dad’s favorite. I should have brought some of Matilda’s gingerbread with me, Ben thought. Smoked fish always made him burp.

  “Well, I ask myself, what kind of a profession requires him to live in a caravan?” asked his father.

  “Mrs. Heatherstraw says he is a scientist. A weather scientist,” his mom said.

  Ben almost choked on his smoked fish. He couldn’t suppress a smile. “What are you smiling at?” His father watched him suspiciously. “Do you know something we don’t?”

  Ben didn’t answer. His mother took the next brochure from the huge pile next to the couch. She lowered her voice. “Mrs. Heatherstraw says she heard several voices in there!”

  Ben put another piece of smoked fish in his mouth. Matilda’s gingerbread had definitely tasted so much better. “There’s an elderly lady, too,” Ben finally mumbled. It wasn’t strictly a lie, after all.

  “Don’t speak with your mouth full,” his father said. “An elderly lady? I suppose she’s a weather scientist, too.” He gave Ben’s mother an amused glance.

  “Well, they are in the Christmas business,” Ben said — and instantly regretted his words.

  “The Christmas business?” His mother looked at him in disbelief. Quickly Ben grabbed one of the travel brochures. Time to get their minds off that caravan.

  “I’m not going,” he said. “If you go away for Christmas, I’m staying here.”

  “Of course you can’t stay here all alone,” his father replied, smiling firmly.

  “Ben, we’ve been through this a thousand times.” His mother tossed one brochure on the table and grabbed the next one. “I don’t want to hear any more about it. We just need to get away from it all for a bit.”

  Ben clenched his lips together. Curse it! He’d never liked Christmas. Spending Christmas Day in front of the television with his parents wasn’t his idea of fun. But at least here he could go over to Will’s if things got unbearable. That had saved him for years. And now, with Niklas Goodfellow out there and the angels and elves, maybe this year Christmas would be fun after all.

  “What about Santa?” he asked, placing his half-eaten plate of fish on the brochures. “Will he go with us on vacation as well?”

  “Ha-ha, very funny,” his father replied. “And who gets angry with us each time we take him to visit Santa? You pulled the beard off the last one, remember?”

  “That wasn’t a real Santa!”

  “A real Santa?” snapped his father. “OK, I’m tired of this conversation. As far as I’m aware, you have a math test tomorrow, right?”

  Sometimes Ben wasn’t sure whether his father knew the color of his son’s hair, but he always knew what was going on at school.

  “The math test’ll be a breeze,” Ben said. Then he turned and made his way upstairs.

  “Oh, don’t make such a face!” his mother called after him. “I am sure they have Santas at the seaside.”

  “Sure,” mumbled Ben.

  When he got to his room, he didn’t switch on the light. He just sat down by the window and looked out on the dark garden and the wet roofs of the neighbors’ houses. How he wished he could see Niklas Goodfellow’s caravan from his room, and the warm light pouring out of the small window. Were the elves still fixing the wheels? And Niklas — was he still mending his worn-out coat? His boots were worn-out, too. I’ll get him a pair of Dad’s, Ben thought, to make sure he doesn’t freeze his toes off.

  Then he undressed and slipped into his cold bed.

  Christmas Dreams

  It was already after midnight when Niklas Goodfellow climbed out of his caravan. He had his two angels with him, an umbrella, and a small sack. The elves remained in the caravan, promising they would try once again to fix the second wheel. But they had yawned suspiciously often when they said so, and thrown longing glances at their bed-drawer.

  The night was cold. Niklas’s breath rose, cloud-white, from his mouth. A fine drizzle fell, freezing immediately on the pavement, and the thin ice crust shimmered beneath the streetlights. It was so slippery that the Santa’s worn boots gave him hardly any grip. Skidding, he made it to the sidewalk, where he felt the frozen ground through his thin soles.

  The houses on Misty Close were packed closely together, most of them large brick apartment buildings with several mailboxes by each front door, or single-story family homes with pointed roofs and pine trees in the front gardens. Very few windows were still lit. Niklas didn’t ask the angels to fly to Ben’s house — he wanted the boy to tell him his Christmas wishes himself. Instead he stopped in front of the next gate. “OK, let’s get to work!” he whispered.

  Hand in hand the two angels flew over to the house next door and peered through all the windows. Behind two of them they found sleeping children. Carefully the angels leaned their heads against the wet glass and listened to the children’s dreams — while Niklas waited on the walkway, his feet getting colder and his nose redder. Every now and then he looked around uneasily, but the dark street was filled with nothing but silence. Even so, Niklas moved into the shadow of a high hedge until the light of the streetlamp touched only the very tips of his boots. Then, with frozen fingers, he pulled a golden notebook from his coat and wrote down the numbers of the houses.

  “Niklas!” Matilda called. “Niklas, where are you?”

  “Over here!” Niklas whispered back. “Behind the hedge.”

  The two angels landed on his shoulders.

  “Two children,” Matilda whispered into his right ear. “Kate and Sean. They want snow, and so many presents their little heads are all muddled.”

  Niklas Goodfellow nodded and wrote in his notebook: Surprise.

  “Do you think they’d appreciate a little miracle?” he asked. “I’m afraid not,” Emmanuel whispered from his left shoulder.

  Niklas wiped out his ear: Emmanuel always spat when he whispered.

  “Fine,” he sighed. “Let’s keep going. Goodness, I really need a new pair of socks.”

  At the second house the angels simply shook their heads and fluttered straight on to the next one. Here they took ages, while Niklas waited in the freezing drizzle behind the garbage cans.

  “Why don’t you open your umbrella?” Matilda asked when they returned. “You’ll catch your death in this horrid weather.”

  Niklas just shook his head — and sneezed three times. “Too dangerous,” he sniffled. “I don’t want to end up as a chocolate Santa just because of an umbrella. Now, please, your report.”

  “No children on the top or bottom floors,” Emmanuel said, “but one girl on the middle floor — Charlotte.”

  “She has bad dreams,” Matilda continued. “Poor thing. She wants snow and a better Christmas than last year.”

  “Ah!” Niklas scribbled it all into his notebook. “And what happened last year?”

  “They moved,” Emmanuel answered. “No friends, no Grandma, everything felt strange and she was very lonely. I think she still feels quite alone.”

  “Oh dear!” Niklas shook his head. “And how about a little Christmas miracle for Charlotte?”

  “Worth a try,” said Matilda, shaking out her wet wings.

  Emmanuel nodded.

  So Niklas scribbled into his notebook: Snow and an elf dance.

  “Snow, snow, snow,” he said sadly. “They all want snow, but their little heads are running too hot with wishes. And on top of that our snow machine is broken — this really is going to be one sad Christmas!”

  For many, many hours Niklas Goodfellow walked through the neighborhood with the angels in tow, taking notes. Here and there he tucked a few golden nuts or an apple under the doormat, or blew some silver dust from a small tin against a door frame, leaving little traces of Christmas.

  When he finally returned to his caravan, Niklas was soaking wet and tired. Matilda and Emmanuel were drooped on his shoulders, their wings heavy from the rain and a long night’s work.

&nb
sp; Once more, before he climbed the creaky wooden steps, Niklas looked around. But still nothing stirred; the night remained quiet, and by the side of the road no silvery gray car lurked under the dripping wet trees.

  That’s how Gerold Goblynch sent his bad Santas into human cities — not on their snowmobiles, but in big silver-gray cars, each emblazoned with a bright silver star on its hood. No. No such car was anywhere to be seen, but sadly Niklas couldn’t make out any signs of his reindeer, either — no tinkling of silver bells, no snorting, no cold wet nose trying to get into his coat pocket. How was he ever going to get away from here without Twinklestar?

  The fire in the stove was just about to go out when Niklas finally opened the caravan door, but it was still wonderfully warm inside. A faint snoring rose from the elves’ drawer. Of course, they were all fast asleep. The wheel was lying on the floor, the tiny hammers piled up next to it. A few spokes were fixed, but two were still broken.

  “Oh those sluggards!” grumbled Matilda. “I’ve a good mind to wake them up.”

  “Let them sleep.” Niklas took off his wet coat and hung it on a hook by the door. Then he poured the dregs of the coffee into a pot and put it on the stove. “Do you two want some?”

  “No, thank you!” replied Matilda, yawning. “And it’s not healthy for you, either, by the way.” Then she flew up to join Emmanuel on the wardrobe. “Good night, Niklas!”

  “Sleep tight, Matilda!”

  The Santa let himself drop onto his bed, then pulled the damp woolen beard from his face. He felt both sad and happy. All those children’s heads, hot from wishing, had made him sad. But if he thought of all the small surprises they would find tomorrow he was happy, very happy. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll deal with the snow situation, Niklas thought. I’d be an embarrassment to my profession if I didn’t manage to repair that silly snow machine. He poured the hot coffee into his mug and warmed his fingers on it, listening to the tiny snores of the elves. Life could be so wonderful, he thought, taking one sip and another, till he felt himself slowly getting warm again. Yes, sometimes it is really wonderful! he thought. Then he carefully crawled into bed, keeping his boots on.

  Two elves had made themselves comfortable on his pillow. Niklas got up again, carried them to their drawer, and placed them gently next to the others. Then he tiptoed back to his bed. That boy, he thought, pulling the blanket up to his nose, didn’t look happy at all. I should ask him tomorrow about his Christmas wishes. And poor Twinklestar, I wonder where he is. Probably wherever there’s lots of marzipan. And then, finally, Niklas Goodfellow fell asleep.

  Ben Is Jealous

  Ben was in an excellent mood as he walked out of school. Dean really had let him copy his math test, without complaining, and so for the very first time Ben had not just sat there, chewing his pencil, making unlucky guesses at the right numbers. He had even included two deliberate mistakes so as not to make it too suspicious. Well, even if it was suspicious, who cared? He strolled across the school yard, whistling, and decided not to go home right away. Why should he? His parents wouldn’t be back from work before six, so he had plenty of time to visit Niklas Goodfellow.

  Ben had to knock five times before Niklas finally opened the door. He was still in his pajamas, and yawning. The elves and the angels were also still asleep. A faint snoring echoed from every corner of the caravan.

  “Ooops, sorry,” Ben mumbled. “I thought … I mean …”

  But Niklas smiled at him with delight.

  “Oh, it’s you! Come in, come in — before you turn the caravan into a fridge!”

  Shyly Ben sat down on the same chair he had sat on before. Nothing had changed. Everything was just like the night before. Just as wonderful.

  Niklas Goodfellow stared at his alarm clock. “What? Is that the time? Here we go again. Overslept. Well, it’s not as if any of these lazybones were going to wake me.”

  “At school today,” Ben said, looking around, “everyone was talking about some strange things.”

  “Indeed?” Niklas put the kettle on the stove. “Strange things?”

  “Yes, golden nuts and … and glittering doormats and …” Ben pulled an apple from his jacket pocket. Where the stem should have been, it had a tiny Christmas tree. “… and things like this.”

  “Now will you look at that? Well, Christmas is certainly on its way,” said Niklas. “Would you like some hot chocolate?”

  Ben nodded and put the apple back into his pocket as carefully as if it were made of glass.

  “I think I’ll have tea for a change,” Niklas said, dangling a tea bag into his mug. “Though I definitely feel like coffee — coffee, as black as a winter’s night.”

  “They’re all wondering … what you …” Ben cleared his throat. “What you’re doing here. Our neighbor thinks you’re a weather scientist.”

  “A weather scientist? Sounds excellent. What a good cover. I would have never thought of that.”

  Niklas raised his head. Outside there were voices — voices and a loud snuffling.

  “Get away from there!” a girl’s voice called out. “Get off, Mutt!”

  “See? Even the dog thinks it’s strange,” a woman’s voice said. “This run-down caravan suddenly appears out of nowhere. It makes the whole street look shabby. And the street sign — just look at what it did to the street sign.”

  Niklas peeped carefully out the window.

  “There’s a man in there,” another voice said. “A tall, thin fellow. Someone should call the police.”

  The dog scratched at the caravan door.

  Niklas quickly pulled his clothes on over his pajamas and boots, brushed his tousled hair, and splashed some water onto his sleepy face.

  Then he gave Ben a conspiratorial wink and opened the door with a broad smile.

  “A good day to you, ladies!” he said.

  Ben looked past him. Mrs. Heatherstraw was standing in front of the caravan with the woman who owned the small shop at the corner and another woman Ben didn’t know. Next to them stood a girl with a huge black-and-white dog. Mouseface. That’s what everyone called her. She went to the same school as Ben and had been living in Misty Close for a little more than a year. How they all stared at Niklas!

  “May I introduce myself?” the Santa continued. “My name is Niklas Goodfellow and I am a … um … weather scientist. I’m investigating the influence of certain street shapes on the weather, especially the Christmas weather. We … uh … we’ve been getting a bit worried about the extensive rain. Very worried. Well, have a nice day.”

  With a small bow Niklas tried to close his door again, but Mouseface’s dog had stuck her nose in the way.

  “Oh!” Niklas smiled at the girl. “Your dog seems to be interested in my research. Would you like to come in for a hot drink? As you can see” — he pointed at Ben, who had turned bright red — “I already have a visitor. The scientific skills of children are of particular interest to me, as children tend to be much more observant than adults.”

  Mouseface gave one of the women — apparently her mother — a questioning look.

  “Of course, your mother is also most welcome,” Niklas Goodfellow said. “I’ve just prepared some tea.”

  At that moment a miniature nutcracker stumbled between Niklas’s legs and fell headlong down the steps.

  Mouseface quickly picked him up, before her dog had the same thought.

  “I still have some shopping to do, Charlotte,” her mother said. “I could come and pick you up from here afterward if you like.”

  No, Ben thought. Oh no.

  But Charlotte nodded, and her dog was already pulling her into the caravan. Mrs. Heatherstraw and the two other women were craning their necks, but Niklas closed the painted door in their faces with a firm smile.

  With wide eyes, Mouseface looked around the caravan. Then she handed Niklas the nutcracker. “Here,” she said. “I hope he’s not broken.”

  Ben watched the two of them suspiciously. He didn’t like girls, especially o
nes with big owl’s eyes and hair as short as matchsticks.

  Niklas placed the nutcracker on the table. “No, he’s fine. Please, sit down,” he said, pulling up another chair for his new guest. “What’s your name?”

  “Charlotte,” the girl said, so softly that it was practically impossible to hear her.

  “Charlotte. That’s a nice name!” Niklas said, and prepared another mug of hot chocolate while Ben and Charlotte tried to ignore each other.

  “Here you go,” Niklas said, and pushed the two steaming mugs toward them. Ben took a sip and scalded his lips, but Charlotte suddenly just stared fixedly at the top of the wardrobe.

  Matilda was sitting there, dangling her legs over the side.

  “How lovely, Niklas, another visitor!” she piped. “Haven’t you offered her a biscuit yet?”

  And quickly the angel flew over to the shelf above the stove where she kept her biscuit tin.

  Charlotte was so surprised that she spluttered hot chocolate all over herself and her dog.

  Ben couldn’t help smiling.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, did Matilda startle you? Here.” Niklas tossed her a towel and refilled her mug while Matilda came fluttering to the table with a big bowl full of biscuits.

  “But I’m just a harmless old angel, my dear!” she chirped. “Just like the one up there.”

  Emmanuel peered sleepily over the edge of the wardrobe.

  “Well, what do you say to that, Emmanuel?” Niklas brewed his tea and sat down at the table. “Two children! What a pity we have to leave. Although” — he sighed as he took a biscuit from the bowl — “our reindeer hasn’t reappeared yet, and the wheel is still broken, so it may take a while….”

  “Reindeer?” asked Charlotte.

  “Haven’t you noticed? He’s a Santa,” Ben said without looking at her. “The weather story is just something he tells adults.”

  “He’s a what?” Charlotte looked first at Ben, then at the two angels, and finally at Niklas Goodfellow.