When Santa Fell to Earth Page 8

  “Maybe we can find some tiny little street that Gerold isn’t interested in,” Matilda suggested, but Niklas just shook his head.

  “I am staying right here,” he said. “You can leave, if you want, but I am staying put. That’s final! It’s nice here, and I like the children, and …” Niklas looked out the window once more. “… I’m staying.”

  “You will do no such thing!” Matilda was outraged. “You are the last real Santa.”

  There was another knock on the door. Matilda fell silent.

  “Hide, Niklas!” Emmanuel hastily pushed the Santa toward the wardrobe door. “Come on, let the boy open it.”

  Ben walked to the door while Niklas vanished into the workshop. The boy waited until the angels had disappeared as well. Then he carefully opened the door.

  There he was, the other Santa, already standing on the topmost step. He seemed a little surprised to see Ben, but the next moment he was smiling down at him jovially. He looked as if he had climbed straight out of a picture book. His belly was round; his face was fat and friendly, with chubby cheeks, a knobbly nose above his white beard, and cheerful crinkles around his eyes. But not a single snowflake stuck to his shiny black boots. His long red coat had no patches, only shiny golden buttons and a white fur collar.

  “Good morning, my boy,” he boomed. “I would like to talk to the fake Santa.”

  “There’s no Santa here,” Ben replied. “What fake Santa?”

  The fat Santa was still smiling, but his eyes glinted as cold as ice cubes. “My dear boy, don’t lie to me. Don’t you recognize the real Santa Claus when you see him?” he said, putting his hand on Ben’s shoulder. It made Ben feel hot and cold at the same time.

  “I am looking for a dangerous impostor, and I have a feeling you know where he is.”

  “Excuse me.”

  The Santa turned around. Charlotte was standing behind him. Ben had never been happier to see her. With determination she squeezed past the Santa’s round belly, while he glared at her angrily.

  “He was also at my parents’,” she whispered into Ben’s ear, giving the fat Santa an icy look. “What poor animal had to die for that?” she asked, poking his fur collar.

  “Eh, what?” he asked. His sugary smile slipped a bit, but the next moment it was back, perfect and sticking to his lips like sweet honey. He was tall enough to look over the children’s heads, and Ben noticed how hungrily he scanned Niklas Goodfellow’s caravan. But when he didn’t discover what he was looking for, his ice-cube eyes returned to the children.

  “So what do you want for Christmas, boy?” he oozed. “Don’t know,” Ben said.

  “What?” The fat Santa looked at Ben with contempt. “Surely you want a brand-new games console? I can get it for you if you let me into this caravan.”

  “No.” Ben tried to slam the door shut, but the gleaming Santa jammed his shiny boot in the door. He raised his gloved hand, and three more bad Santas jumped out of the gray limousine and ran toward Niklas Goodfellow’s caravan.

  Ben and Charlotte tried desperately to shut the door, but the fat Santa pushed against it with all his weight. The other three were already coming up the steps. Suddenly Ben and Charlotte heard the wardrobe door fly open behind them.

  “Get out!” Niklas shouted. “Out, Goblynch! And don’t you dare touch those children.”

  “Goblynch!” Ben whispered.

  “Yes, Goblynch!” the fat Santa boomed. He and his three henchmen brushed aside Niklas and the children and barged their way into the caravan. Two of them grabbed Niklas by the collar, and the third snatched the children, while Goblynch himself kicked the door shut.

  “Let him go!” Matilda came flying from the wardrobe, red with rage. “Let him go, you horrible Christmas thieves!”

  There was no sign of Emmanuel. The two Santas holding Niklas swatted at Matilda as if she were an annoying fly.

  “An angel, yuck!” Goblynch snarled. “I bet you have elves, too.” He walked over to the wardrobe and peered inside. Ben could hear the elves swearing. Goblynch slammed the door and locked it. “I’ll deal with them later,” he said, and walked back toward Niklas Goodfellow.

  “My dear Niklas,” he said in a voice as sweet as honey. “My dear, dear Niklas! How could you dare to disobey my ban? Playing Santa for years without permission, hmm? Shame on you! Look at him, children. Does he look like a real Santa? No, he does not.”

  Then he stroked his fat belly. “This is what a real Santa looks like.”

  “You scoundrel!” screeched Matilda as she pulled Goblynch’s beard, but he ignored her.

  “Gerold, you’ve always been an old windbag,” Niklas said. “I’m not in the mood to listen to your blathering. So, shall we get it over with? But first let the children go.”

  “Oh no, let them watch what I do with rogue Santas,” Goblynch replied with a nasty smile. “After that they can go home, as far as I am concerned, IF” — he held out his hand — “you give me the key to the White Door.”

  Niklas shrugged and pulled the key from his pocket.

  Matilda collapsed, sobbing, on the table. There was still no sign of Emmanuel, even when Goblynch stuffed the weeping Matilda into the drawer underneath the dresser.

  “You rotten pig!” screamed Ben. He tried to struggle free, but Goblynch’s henchman had him in a firm grip. Charlotte kicked his shin, but he just laughed.

  “Wasn’t easy to catch you, Niklas,” Goblynch said as he walked toward the White Door. “You were more difficult than the other six. But I knew I’d get you all sooner or later.” He pulled the elf boot from the keyhole and threw it over his shoulder. Then he unlocked the door. With a terrible grin he pulled back the three bolts. The children watched him, transfixed.

  “Please feel free to step outside!” said Goblynch, tearing open the White Door. The stiff wind of Yule Land fluttered through his beard. “I’m afraid you’re going to get cold, but this won’t take long.” Goblynch’s fat belly wobbled as he laughed.

  The Lost Boots

  Goblynch’s Santas shoved Niklas and the children out of the caravan. They all landed next to one another in the snow. It was dark in Yule Land, but it wasn’t still snowing. The sky was clear and full of stars. Ben and Charlotte were freezing, but they tried not to show it. They didn’t want to give Goblynch that satisfaction as well.

  “Ah, what a wonderful night,” he boomed. “Don’t you agree, Niklas? You know what? I will leave you as a cautionary chocolate memorial here on the lake — as a reminder to all the other Santas. Good idea, don’t you think?” He laughed out loud and gave Niklas another shove.

  A loud rumble came from the caravan.

  “It seems your stupid elves can’t wait for me to deal with them.” Goblynch gave his Santas a signal. “Go on, throw him down,” he growled. “Throw him down and take off his boots.”

  “No!” Ben flailed wildly. “No!”

  Then it happened. With a huge leap Twinkles tar jumped out of the caravan. On his antlers sat Emmanuel and several of the elves.

  “Stop that animal!” Goblynch roared, but in that instant the reindeer knocked him flying. He plumped down into the snow with a groan. Surprised, his Santas let go of their prisoners.

  “Niklas, over here!” Emmanuel called, and Niklas quickly swung himself onto Twinklestar’s back.

  “The boots!” Ben shouted.

  Charlotte reacted immediately. They both jumped on Goblynch, who was still lying in the snow, waving his arms around helplessly. Ben grabbed the left boot, Charlotte the right. Then they both pulled.

  “My boots!” Goblynch screamed. “My boots! Stop those brats! Now!”

  His Santa henchmen stumbled toward the children. “Throw!” Ben called to Charlotte.

  Goblynch’s boots sailed through the air. Niklas caught them as Twinklestar soared into the sky.

  “Goblynch!” Niklas called, waving the boots. “Goblynch! You have twenty-four seconds.”

  “No!” Goblynch screamed. “I’ll get you for t
his, Goodfellow!” Panting, he heaved himself up and stood in his red socks in the snow. “Give me your boots!” he barked at the nearest Santa. “Go on, hand them over.”

  But of course the Santa just ran away, as far as his boots would carry him, all the way across the Great Christmas Lake. The other two looked at each other — then ran off after him.

  “Nutcrackers!” Goblynch screamed. “Get them!”

  Ben spun around. The Nutcrackers! He had completely forgotten about them. The huge wooden creatures were already thumping across the lake. There were five of them.

  “Oh no!” Charlotte whispered, grabbing Ben’s hand.

  “Get their Santa boots!” Goblynch howled. “Their boots, you numbskulls.”

  But Niklas steered Twinklestar over one of the Nutcracker’s heads and laughed out loud. “Your numbskulls are not going to help you now, Gerold. You’ve only got ten seconds left.”

  “Nine!” Charlotte screamed, throwing a snowball into Goblynch’s face.

  “Eight!” Ben yelled. His snowball hit the first Nutcracker right in the teeth.

  “Seven!” Charlotte shouted.

  Goblynch hopped from one stockinged foot to the other and tried to catch one of the children. But with his extra weight he wasn’t very fast, and Ben and Charlotte just slipped through his fingers.

  “Six — five — four!” Niklas shouted. He galloped past the Nutcrackers, so close that they lost their balance. Meanwhile the last of Goblynch’s Santa henchmen slipped through the legs of the swaying giants and vanished forever into the darkness.

  “Three!” Niklas yelled.

  “You demon!” Goblynch’s voice screeched with anger. “Give — me — my — boots!” He jumped up and down like a madman, trying to grab one of Twinklestar’s legs. But instead he just dropped back into the snow like a sack of potatoes.

  “Two!” Charlotte and Ben hardly felt the cold anymore. They were just staring at Goblynch.

  “One!” Niklas landed with Twinklestar in the snow. “Zero!”

  “Nutcrackers!” Gerold Geronimus Goblynch gasped. Then he shook his fists — and froze. A faint glitter covered his coat, his beard, his red socks. And then he turned brown — chocolate brown, from his head to the tip of his toes.

  The Nutcrackers took one more step, waved their creaking arms, whirled around, and finally collapsed into the snow. Their huge heads hit the snow-covered ground just a few feet from the children.

  Niklas climbed from Twinklestar’s back and walked slowly over to Goblynch. Emmanuel followed him, his nose bright red and his wings shivering. Niklas put Goblynch’s boots next to him in the snow.

  “Has he really turned into chocolate?” Charlotte whispered, carefully stepping closer.

  Niklas winked at her. “Do you want to try him?” He knocked on the big belly. It sounded hollow, just like a chocolate Santa.

  Charlotte shook herself. “Horrible.”

  “His head was already hollow, anyway!” Specklebeard shouted. The elves were still perched on Twinklestar’s antlers, happily dangling their legs.

  “You’re right.” Niklas looked at Gerold’s grim face thoughtfully.

  “It hasn’t improved his looks much,” Emmanuel observed, and pinched Gerold’s chocolate nose.

  “Good-bye, Goblynch, you big bully,” Niklas said. Then he put his arms around Ben and Charlotte and together they trudged happily back to the caravan, Twinklestar trotting after them. From outside they could already hear Matilda shouting. “Hey, let me out of here, you fat scoundrel!”

  Ben was first into the caravan to free her.

  “Where is Niklas?” she asked in a trembling voice.

  “Here, Matilda.” Niklas smiled and held his arms out toward her.

  “Oh, you’re still alive!” She landed on his shoulder with a sigh of relief. Then she looked around. “Where is that disgusting Goblynch?”

  “Chocolate!” Thunderbeard crowed.

  “What?” Matilda nearly fell off Niklas’s arm. “How did you do it?”

  “Well,” murmured Niklas, gently pushing Twinklestar to one side. With a last glance at Goblynch and his Nutcrackers, he closed the White Door. “That’s all thanks to one person alone!”

  “Who?”

  “Our dear Emmanuel.”

  Matilda, speechless, gazed at Emmanuel.

  “Surprised?” Rufflebeard asked. “He waited until Goblynch was outside with the rest of you and then he unlocked the wardrobe door and let us out.”

  “You and Twinklestar,” Niklas added.

  “Yes, him, too,” Dieselbeard grumbled. He sneezed into his beard. “Phew, by all the gluey sawdust of Yule Land, that was cold work.”

  “You know what?” Niklas clapped his hands. “I think we’ve got something to celebrate. Matilda, fetch your best biscuits, and you, Juicebeard, get us a keg of elf lemonade from the workshop.”

  “Niklas.” Ben hardly dared to ask the question, but he just had to know. “Do you still have to leave? Before Christmas Day, I mean?”

  Niklas scratched his ear and looked first at his angels and then at his elves.

  “I don’t know why I should,” he said. “Can you think of a reason?”

  “Oh, stop those stupid jokes,” Matilda answered. “Of course we’re staying.”

  Finally even Ben felt like celebrating.

  No Christmas Spirit

  Ben’s father had a cast put on his leg. He was so angry that he actually nailed the airline tickets to the wall. The only thing that eased his mood was the ? Ben got on his math test and his son’s promise to do just as well on the next one. Of course Ben’s father had no idea that Ben’s improved math performance was only thanks to Santa Claus and two momentous bets.

  And of course Ben also never told his parents anything about riding twice around the school yard on the back of the math-class genius, making him shout: “I believe in Santa Claus!” Dean had not shouted very loudly, but Ben had had a wonderful time nevertheless.

  Since the mood at home was so bad, Ben spent the afternoons before Christmas Eve with Charlotte and Mutt. Mainly because of Mutt, of course. But also a little because of Charlotte. They built a whole gang of snowmen, went sledding together, and bought Christmas presents. With Charlotte, even shopping was fun. Will, who Ben usually spent all his time with, was mortally offended, and so they took him with them a few times. Most of the vacation, however, Will was left to throw gloomy glances at Charlotte.

  Sadly, Niklas had placed the caravan strictly out-of-bounds for the children during those endless final days.

  “We’ll see one another on Christmas Day,” he said in a friendly but firm voice, hustling Ben and Charlotte down the steps. Then he hung a sign on his door: DO NOT DISTURB (UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES)!From then on, curtains with a pine tree pattern were drawn in front of the window all the time. Meanwhile a few polar glowworms twinkled on the caravan roof like fallen stars, and the smoke coming from Niklas’s chimney sparkled silver with fairy dust. The whole caravan started to smell so deliciously of gingerbread and marzipan that even the people rushing past stopped and sniffed longingly.

  Ben sat by the kitchen window for hours every evening. He looked across the street and tried to imagine what was going on behind Niklas Goodfellow’s glowing windows.

  There were no Christmas smells at home — only the sharp scent of detergents. His mother, once she had realized they wouldn’t be going south, had started cleaning the house. Ben borrowed Charlotte’s incense sticks. He even snipped a few scented branches from the neighbor’s pine tree and left them lying throughout the house, but that didn’t help much. It still smelled like the household cleaning section of a supermarket.

  On the twenty-fourth of December Ben’s mother finally bought a Christmas tree. Ben wanted one in a pot, one that they could plant in the garden afterward. But his mother brought back a blue spruce that looked like a plastic tree and fitted exactly into Grandma’s tree stand. “Come on, let’s decorate it!” said his mother, bringing the box of d
ecorations down from the attic. And with every bauble Ben hung on the spiky branches the scrawny tree looked a little more Christmassy. Usually his mother would interfere when they decorated the tree together. “No, that’s too much tinsel!” or “Better put that ornament there, dear.” But today she let him do whatever he liked. Only when Ben left the fat Santa that looked exactly like Goblynch in the box did she protest.

  “But we always put him on the top. Why don’t you like him all of a sudden?”

  “He … he doesn’t look real,” said Ben, putting a small wooden angel on top instead.

  “Not real?” His mother took the Santa from the box and held it under Ben’s nose. “So what does a real Santa look like?”

  “Well, different,” Ben said.

  His mother shook her head. “Ben, sometimes you do say the strangest things,” she muttered. The Goblynch Santa, however, stayed in his box.

  When the tree was finished, his mother put her arm around Ben and squeezed him. “Nice!” she said. “You’ll see, it will be a wonderful Christmas — even without Santa.”

  When Christmas Day arrived it was wonderful. It started snowing in the morning. Ben emptied his Christmas stocking onto his bed and smiled at the little joke-shop presents his mother found for his stocking every year. He knew there would be nothing from Niklas — he’d be seeing him later. When Ben came down for breakfast, his mother was lighting a few candles and she’d put a chocolate star on everybody’s plate.

  “Merry Christmas, Ben,” she said.

  Even his father managed a lopsided smile. He had tied a red ribbon around his plaster cast. The radio was playing Christmas tunes.

  “What do you think?” Ben’s mother took a roll. “Shall we open the big presents after lunch?”

  Ben sighed. “As late as you like.”

  “Why?” his father asked. “Usually you can’t wait.”

  Ben looked down at his plate. “Whenever Santa gets here.”

  “Oh dear, I had completely forgotten about him.” Ben’s father drummed on the table with his spoon. That usually meant: Caution! “Anyway, Ben, I think it’s about time you stopped with that silly game. I know it’s a messed-up Christmas, but you’re not making it any better.”