From furry.olsy-na.com!furry.ao.net!news.fysh.org!yiffco.com!news Sat Dec 27 13:21:37 1997 Path: furry.olsy-na.com!furry.ao.net!news.fysh.org!yiffco.com!news From: Felix Lee Newsgroups: fur.stories.misc Subject: Biting Santa Date: 26 Dec 1997 22:33:34 -0800 Organization: YiffCo! Cause Foxes Have Needs! Lines: 406 Sender: flee@no-name Distribution: fur Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Host: ip-pdx37-12.teleport.com X-Newsreader: Quassia Gnus v0.12/Emacs 20.2 Xref: furry.olsy-na.com fur.stories.misc:190 this xmas ditty was written for tsa-talk, but it's medium furry, so I thought I'd toss it here. Biting Santa Copyright 1997 Felix Lee . You may redistribute this as long as a) you keep this notice, b) you don't make changes, and c) you don't charge money. Otherwise, ask first. 1997-12-26/b. One day in December... Santa rubbed his swollen ankle. "Are you okay, boss?" asked Dasher. "Yes, just give me a moment. I'll be fine." Santa carefully tested his weight on his left foot. "You'd think turning into jelly would heal simple wounds, but no...." His ankle twinged. Santa sat back down in his sleigh. "Oh hell. Let's just get this Christmas over with." He could finish his job without walking. All he had to do was jiggle his way around. But jiggling across a roof used different muscles than jiggling down a chimney, and he'd end up with an aching butt for weeks. The reindeer landed on the next roof. Santa winced as the impact jarred his bitten foot. "Donner, remind me to move that Luis Lobos boy to the Naughty list." * * * One day in January, three elves went missing. A search of the entire North Pole turned up nothing, until Mrs. Claus noticed the little bells under the bed. She held her suspicion as long as she could, but finally she confronted Santa with the bells. "What have you done with these elves?" Santa frowned. "I didn't do anything. They were malcontent slackers who probably ran off to Teeter Toys or something. I bet they tore off those bells, as an act of protest or something, and that's why I found them in a pile outside. Yeah, that must be it." "Then why did you put them under the bed?" Santa hemmed and hawwed and burped and chortled. He didn't quite evade the question, but he didn't really answer either. He was playing a naughty boy. Mrs. Claus was not amused. "Next time, just tell the elves what you found. They're not children you know." Santa agreed, and Mrs. Claus thought no more of it. * * * One day in February, another two elves went missing. Mrs. Claus found Santa flushing bells down a seal hole. She was quite upset. "You really must tell people about this sort of thing!" "No, trust me on this one," said Santa. "Blitzen is working very hard on elf morale. If word got out that all these elves were going for high-paying toy-consultant jobs, all hell would break loose." "That's nonsense. What do you suppose they think now? The elves just evaporated?" "This way, they don't _know_ what happened. This way they won't desert in one big mob." Mrs. Claus wasn't convinced. "_You_ don't even know what happened. Why don't you talk to Blitzen about this?" Santa was firm. "No. I'm the owner of this company, and what I'm doing is right. So enough with the nagging already. Don't you have cookies to bake or something?" * * * One day in March, a single elf went missing. Santa was being difficult to find, but Mrs. Claus eventually caught him sewing bells onto a reindeer harness. She looked at him. He looked away. Neither said a word. * * * One day in April, another six elves disappeared. Mrs. Claus had had enough. She was going to grab Santa and force him to... do... something. She didn't know what. But she found him already in conference with Blitzen. "Ho, Mrs. C," said Blitzen. "Maybe you can help. See, all these elves going AWOL, they're doing a number on the esprit de corps, if you know what I mean." "Why don't you just tell...." Mrs. Claus stopped. Santa was furiously shaking his head and slashing his throat with his hand, out of Blitzen's sight. "Tell them what?" asked Blitzen. She had been about to mention the bells, but there was something going on that she didn't understand. And there was, in the back of her mind, a little guilt over her complicity in the secret. "Tell them..." She hesitated. "Tell them we will hire an independent investigator?" "What? No, ma'am. We _know_ what went down. The problem is, we can't get any volunteers for the Polar Bear Patrol." Polar Bear Patrol? Mrs. Claus retreated in confusion. * * * The month of May was a pleasant interlude. The Polar Bear Patrol was a success. No more elves disappeared, and morale was high. St. Patrick and Mr. Bunny stopped by for a week's vacation, and everyone enjoyed the bright spring days in the arctic. * * * One day in June, the Polar Bear Patrol never came back. Mrs. Claus had already decided it was none of her business, but when she was sweeping under the bed, she found another pile of bells. She grabbed a handful and ran to confront Santa in his penthouse office. Santa just laughed. "You think these came from the elves?" "Well, what am I supposed to think?" She stared him in the eye, and he stared right back. Santa looked away first, with a sheepish grin. "Okay, I confess. I have a bell fetish." "What?" Mrs. Claus was shocked. "I like to hear them jingle when I jiggle. I like to stick them up my..." "Stop!" Mrs. Claus dropped the bells. "That's more than I wanted to know." She quickly found the door and put herself on the other side. Santa called out, "Nose!" but she didn't care. She had heard enough. * * * One night in July, Mrs. Claus was sipping lemongrass tea with Mr. Bunny in his private rose garden, when an elf slid down the moonbeams and landed in her lap. "Excuse me. Ma'am. Have you seen Mr. Claus?" "Of course not. I haven't seen him since June." "Sorry for disturbing you. Ma'am." The elf grabbed a borealis tail and started to leave, but Mr. Bunny called out. "Wait! What happened?" The elf looked from Mr. Bunny to Mrs. Claus. "I guess you'll hear it soon enough anyway." He gave a little sob. "Rudolph's dead," he said, and swung away before they had a chance to react. Mrs. Claus would remember that moment for the rest of her life, would always associate the delicate scent of roses with death. She didn't feel anything. She couldn't let herself feel anything, but Mr. Bunny came to her, carefully took the teacup from her hand, and touched a furry hand to her cheek. Tears were sliding down her face. "Do you need to go?" he asked. "No." She wiped her eyes. "No. I'm being silly. It's not as if Rudolph..." Her voice broke. "It's not as if I knew him very well." Mr. Bunny was silent a moment. "Should I leave you alone?" Mrs. Claus didn't answer. She just reached out to him and hugged him tight, burying her face in his warm chest fur. And that was answer enough. * * * One night in August, Mrs. Claus was waken by a knocking on the door. She handed Mr. Bunny his spectacles, and together they went to see what was the matter. At the door was a mass of elves, too many to count, too confusing to name. They spoke in cascading sentences, and this is what they said: Blitzen is dead! He was the only one who liked us. Damn polar bears. I don't feel safe there. No, it wasn't a bear. What _is_ it with Santa and his reindeer anyway? My cousin saw the tracks before they covered it up. Santa isn't doing a thing. It was wolves, or maybe mongeese. How come the reindeer get all the cushy jobs, I wanna know that. Mongeese? They've already buried the bodies. It couldn't be mongooses. It's nepotism, I tellya. What about those missing tracks? He just sends out more Patrols, but they never see any bears. What missing tracks? It's a clear case of racism, and we're not gonna stand for it any more. The second mongoose, of course. Santa says there's nothing to worry about. There were no mongooses! It's a conspiracy, I tellya. We're tired of being oppressed. Will you shut up about the mongeese already? Santa can go patrol for bears himself! "Quiet!" Mr. Bunny shouted. "One at a time, please." But before the elves could start another cascade, he said, "No! Wait! Stop! This could take all night. And I think we grokked it already." He looked at Mrs. Claus. Mrs. Claus was still trying to remember or invent names for all the elves. She turned to Mr. Bunny. "Heavens. What a mess. We must take care of them, of course." Mr. Bunny just frowned. "I suppose they can make eggs." * * * One night in September, Mrs. Claus fumbled and dropped her SIG-Sauer P226. Santa laughed, "Ho ho ho!" The pistol was an alien thing, but Mr. Bunny had insisted she learn how to use it. And she did know how to use it, on wooden targets. Mr. Bunny pointed his Galil ARM. "Shut up! This is not a laughing matter." "Who gave you the right?" asked Santa. "They did." Mr. Bunny waved towards the squads of elves wearing camo. "And the children of the world did. Give your jacket to Mrs. Claus, please." Santa complied with a smile. "It's still Mrs. Claus, is it? I bet the bitch hasn't even told you her first name yet." In a savage mood, Mrs. Claus started ripping the ermine trim from the jacket. Mr. Bunny gave his speech: "Santa Claus. You have been found guilty of willful discriminatory practices, noncompliance with workplace safety regulations, nonperformance of contractual obligations..." "Say what?" asked Santa. "You're way behind schedule for next Christmas." Santa snorted. "Like you know how to do Christmas. All you have to worry about is a bunch of stupid eggs." Mr. Bunny ignored the comment. "By the power invested in me by the Independent Nation of People and Elves, I hereby banish you from this place and abjure you never to set..." "Yeah, yeah. I mean... No, never, you can't do this, I'll be back, etc. etc." Santa put on his stripped coat. "Can I go now?" "Wait a minute. I have a good sentence coming up." "Save it." Santa turned away. "Come, Dasher and Dancer. Prancer and Vixen. Come, Comet and... err... and Donner." Three of the reindeer followed him, but Dancer, Comet, and Donner stayed put. Santa shouted, "Donner! Come!" Donner curled his lip and stood his ground. Santa stared for a long moment, then shrugged. "Whatever." * * * One night in October, the watchtower sounded the alarm and blew the "this is not a drill" whistle. Mrs. Claus rushed from the kitchen towards the perimeter bunker, but when she turned the corner of the elf barn, she saw the monster was somehow inside the fortress walls. It was a dire beast, a deep black shadow in the moonlight, and for a moment she thought it was a reindeer. It had antlers, but the antlers glistened red, and the creature's eyes were bright, bright gold. The beast whispered to her, "Run." She couldn't move. It crept closer. "Run, you fool, you mewling prey. I will rip the sinew from your bone and taste the terror in your heart. But first, you must run, and run away." She could see it clearly now. Sharp silver teeth in a black wolf's head, beneath a rack of blood-tipped thorns. It didn't seem real. She told herself it wasn't real. Without emotion, she pulled her pistol from her holster, the way Mr. Bunny had made her practice a thousand times before. She braced herself, aimed, put a finger on the trigger. The antlered wolf had seen the pistol. It made a sudden leaping rush. She fired, and again, and heard a third shot hit the wolf. It collapsed to the ground and lay there gasping. She watched as the labored breath grew weak then still. She waited until she was sure it was dead, then she decocked and dropped the gun. She felt Mr. Bunny behind her. She fell into his arms. "It's over," he said. "The wolf is dead." The wolf sighed, and shrank like a leaky balloon. They stood there together, watching the body shrink, until it became the body of Donner, and the sighing stopped. "Oh, Mr. Bunny. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mr. Bunny." Mrs. Claus repeated the words again and again, without knowing why she said them. "Please. Call me Easter." * * * One night in November, Mrs. Claus woke from a nightmare of thorns and roses. She turned to Easter for comfort, but found nothing but a severed rabbit head. She screamed. An answering howl filled the room. A huge russet wolf jumped upon her and forced out her breath. The wolf spoke words with a gutteral growl. "You've been a naughty bitch," he said. She smelled carrion on his breath. She saw his tongue stretch out. She felt sticky wetness against her throat. "Ho ho ho," said the wolf. She felt pain, and fear, and death. * * * One night in December... Santa rubbed his swollen face. "Are you okay, boss?" asked Dasher. "Yes, just give me a moment. I'll be fine." Santa patiently waited for the swelling to stop, then cheerfully trotted to the sleigh. "This is _much_ better than turning into jelly." He leaped into the sleigh and called his pack to action. "Tonight we do the _naughty_ children!" As the antlered wolves pulled the sleigh through the silent night, he laughed. "Better watch out, kids!" He bared his teeth at the moon. "'Cause here I come!" He howled down smoky chimneys. "I'm Santa Claws!" His pack howled back. [End]