There was no perfect way of telling who, exactly, the light would settle upon. There were, after all, any number of people around the world who could become the next Santa Claus, but the beacon would only settle on one, and it tended to be, well, a bit finicky, and well, a bit conservative. It was, after all, designed to correct the course when things went awry, and so it tended to go with people who were, in general a bit stodgy. This, of course, would be the difficult part, and why Timmy had rifled through his old clothes, and found a more traditional outfit to wear than his much more comfortable leather harness and chaps. This wasn’t to say that the elves planned on moderating themselves–not in the least–but they needed a Santa more than anything else, and so Timmy was going to bring back a Santa no matter what it took. Once he’d agreed to take on the position? Well…then things might take a slightly different direction. Still, Timmy didn’t have much interest in returning to Marty’s methods, even if his goal was the same. All the elves agreed, in fact–the kinds of presents they were making now were much preferred to the stupid toys for the stupid children they’d been making before. Still, he’d no more once he got inside and investigated who, exactly, they would be dealing with this year.
The light came to rest over a large house, nestled in the suburbs of the American heartland–not exactly a good sign. Still, the light would choose–it was just Timmy’s job to fetch them. The sleigh alit on the roof of the house, and looking down, Timmy could see a large nativity on the lawn, and the house was festooned with lights. It was late–nearly midnight, when Timmy made his way to the chimney, and slipped down into the house below.
Inside, Stanley Marshall was just about ready to say his prayers and put himself to bed for the night. Emily was already upstairs, but he’d been relaxing in his small study, nursing a pipe, and practicing the bible passage he’d be reciting at church the next Sunday. Christmas was, really, his favorite time of year, although he couldn’t help but wish that, someday soon, Jesus might come again and bring his wrath down upon the sinners of the world. It needed it so desperately, but alas, it likely would not be in his lifetime, which was nearing it’s end. Already seventy five this year! It was hard to believe that he was that old, but every time he saw his grandkids, that was all he could think about–how old he was. He should take better care of himself, he knew that–his doctor kept telling him that if he didn’t lose some weight he’d have a heart attack, but he loved food too much–his only vice, really. Hopefully God could forgive his occasional overindulgence. He set the bible down and adjusted his spectacles, rubbing his sleepy eyes for a moment, before hefting himself up from the chair, walking around the desk, and finding himself faced with…with a strange, tiny person in the doorway of the study. It was a very curious thing–clad in some red and green jumpsuit, grinning up at him from it’s height of about three feet tall. “Hello,” it said, “You must be Stanley–it’s such a pleasure to meet you.”
He stumbled back, wondering what in the hell this thing was. A hallucination? Some strange imp sent by the devil to tempt him? He didn’t know, but it wasn’t natural, and he wasn’t about to tolerate it in his house! He went to the bookshelf, reached up to the top shelf and brought down the shotgun he kept there in case someone broke in, and pointed it directly at the strange thing…who did nothing but roll its eyes.
“Ugh, one of those ones, eh?” it said, “Sorry, but I can’t go back empty handed, and I doubt you’ll be very receptive without seeing it for yourself, so why don’t we just do this the easy way?” it said, and faster than Stan could react, lobbed some strange black ball at him, striking him in the arm when he raised it to shield his face. The ball immediately broke, or maybe it merely stretched out, coating his arm and…and spreading. He dropped the gun and tried to shake it off, but it just kept coating him, and in less than thirty seconds it had absorbed him entirely, mummified and struggling in the tight rubber.
Timmy walked over, and the rubber formed a tie for him to grab–a convenient invention, actually. Santa had used it to transport people in his travels over the last couple of years, generally to give them as gifts to other people nearby, but it would work equally well in getting Stanley back to the North Pole. He grabbed the tie and dragged the still writing, grunting and whimpering form of the old man back to the chimney and whisked them back up and into the sleigh, the reindeer immediately taking off, as the light winked out over the house. The next Santa had been chosen–all that remained now, was to actually convince him to do the job. Then again, if he couldn’t convince him, the elves had plenty of other means of bringing him around, but Timmy hoped it wouldn’t come to that. After so much strife the last few years, what this next Christmas needed was so peace on earth, and sexy toys for all the men of the world.
Bracken's Corner 