A familiar fox arrives, the rose behind its left ear bobbing as it bows its head to you, then takes a missive from the bag at its side.

You take the letter, and begin to read...

In personal news...

I am an aunt! The baby in question is a darling little fellow.

Very attentive. HUGE eyes. Has hair, which I approve of in an infant.

For reasons of privacy, I am not sharing his name or likeness.

I am doing better with the ear infection, I believe. Working with a new nasal spray has been helping, as well as keeping hydrated. I'm eager to start work on a new chapter in my current pet project, and I'm baking several metric tons of cookies for Christmas gifts.

What I’ve Been Reading:

Still slogging through the books. It would be better if I were not constantly distractable when I sit to read. I am near to the end of them, though, and hope to have these books finished by the next newsletter.

(I also have 2 ARCs calling my name that I really want to review!)

Some Funny Stuff:

And, as a Christmas present... a bonus meme.

And if you would like my opinion on Elf on the Shelf (which I choose not to share here for the reason that I tend to ramble), you can send me a response to this and I'll spill the tea.

Snippets/Stories to Share:

At Havok (the magazine where I work), we do stories each month following a theme. This story is in line with November's theme, Ebenezer Scrooge... you can find his character profile here, if you've somehow never seen or heard of A Christmas Carol. I'm writing these exclusively for you guys, not even submitting these. So enjoy! This is the last in a series about imaginary friends starring the various prompt characters. Next year, I've got something else in mind to surprise you with... but you'll have to wait to find out.

Being a Christmas elf has its perks. Not many of them, between the snot, tears, wailing, and occasional vomiting… but perks nonetheless.

I, for one, get to see old friends. Not the kids, nor their parents; but the Imaginary Friends that often accompany kids, especially to events like this. The mall is a riot of color, sound, and chaos, which only gets worse when you can see Imaginary Friends as well as their children do. Luckily, though, most of them are well-mannered enough to keep their kids on their best behavior.

Near the front of the line, a gentleman in Victorian garb stands with his child, who gabbles away excitedly to his family. He notes my presence and tips his hat, and I acknowledge him with a nod.

“Are you ready to tell Santa what you want for Christmas?” I ask the very next child, who bounces up and down with glee.

“I want a scooter, and, and, and a Xbox, and—”

“I’m not Santa, silly!” I giggle in what I hope is an elfish manner, pulling out a candy cane. “But he’ll be ready for you soon.”

A round of Ho-ho-hos indicates that the current child is being ushered out, and I hasten to escort this one up to the podium.

“Santa” scoops up the child with no problem (being an entirely fit police officer under the false beard and padding), and attempts to take charge as the child stammers his way through a very-practiced (and rather lengthy) list.

As I return to the line, the child with the Victorian friend gazes up at me, eyes wide.

“Hi,” he says solemnly. “Thank you for helping today.”

“Hi, and you’re very welcome!” I respond, making sure to not be overly enthusiastic. The first thing they told us in elf training was “adjust to the child”, and they were stunned when I took to it easily. What they don’t know is, compared to being the Ambassador of Imaginary Friends, this is a breeze.

“You must be a giant elf,” he says with great gravity.

As his grandmother opens her mouth to object, I interrupt her. “I am,” I chuckle. “It makes it easier to work with giant people.”

She closes it again, smiling gratefully.

“Do they make fun of you if you’re a tall elf?” my little friend asks. “My daddy’s really tall and he said he got made fun of sometimes, before he got muscle-y.”

“Um, sometimes!” I have to bite back a giggle of his frank description of his father’s plight. Ah, high school. Wouldn’t go back if you paid me. “But honestly, most of the others think it’s nice to have someone who can reach the top shelf for them, so not too much.”

He beams up at me. “What’s your name?”

“Ellie,” I say. “Nice to meet you.” He shakes hands with me, then glances at his Friend. “Oh! Miss Ellie, Ebenezer.”

“How do you do?” I shake hands with the gentleman, and he gives me a slight smile.

“It’s Ebenezer Scrooge— Charmed, I’m sure, Miss Eleanor. I’ve heard great things about your work, and I have a proposition for you while Francis speaks to St. Nick up there.”

I raise a brow skeptically.

“He reminds me of Tiny Tim,” he says.

Francis and his grandmother both laugh. “I’m afraid Ebenezer will have to wait with me,” Grandma says. “It looks like it’s your turn next. Come on, Ebenezer.” She pats her leg like he’s a dog, and walks to the other end of the line. Scrooge rolls his eyes and continues to wait with Francis and I as Santa grows increasingly weary. “I do hate when adults do that,” Ebenezer murmurs. “Honestly, do they not remember being children themselves?”

“HO-ho-ho!” Santa interrupts our previous visitor, cutting off his list at last, and I bring Francis up to the dais, then return to my place. Luckily, the next child is busy texting and shoots me a scowl when I offer them a smile, so I turn to Ebenezer.

“Regarding Francis,” he says, a bit hesitantly. “The family’s not in dire straits, but they’re tight with money. Military, you see.”

I nod, and he starts again, more confidently.

“He bonded to me because he knows what it’s like to be in want, more often than a child should. I’ve been encouraging him to be spendthrift at the right times so that he can be generous. But I’d like for him to be gifted well this year. His father’s deployed and his mother’s working more often than not. I’ve been told about a certain tea party you engineered, and I think you’re the person for the job.” He adjusts his cravat. “Now, I don’t have anything material to offer, but I do have some manipulation of Christmas Spirit that I bring to the table. I think I could spare some time to tug at the heartstrings if you’ll point me in the right direction.”

“When and where can I contact you?”

The kid looks up at me for a moment, then back at their phone, unconcerned.

“You’ll be at Sphinx House in your non-elf hours, yes?”

I nod.

“Then I’ll stop by three days from now. Thank you.”

I nod again, and he strides through the child to Francis’ grandmother and awaits his child, who pops off of Santa’s lap and dashes to his grandma, beaming, before Santa can even ho-ho-ho. “Grandma! Guess what I asked for?!”

As I escort the phone girl to Santa and Francis skips away, I can just hear him say “That Daddy comes home!”

***

Scrooge lifts a skeptical brow, and lets out a dry chortle. “What do you mean, this won’t work?”

“Exactly what I said.” I cross my arms, trying not to feel childish. “What Francis really wants, I can’t get.”

“Is there some great shortage I’m unaware of? From what I’ve seen this year, people seem to have no difficulty in obtaining all manner of overpriced merchandise.”

“That isn’t the point. I can’t get a soldier removed from active duty. He wants his father home.”

“And?”

“That’s not within my power.”

He shakes his head. “You can still obtain him some sort of nice gift. I didn’t ask you to get his father back.”

“But nothing other than that will satisfy him, I’m pretty sure. And I think you know it.”

His lips pinch tightly. “Perhaps. And perhaps the reason I asked for your assistance was because I know there’s not much in the way of options. So, what have you got planned?”

I let out a heavy sigh. “Alright. Here’s what I can do, then: Gaming systems aren’t great for smaller kids—”

“I think they’re pointless,” he snorts. “Staring at screens for hours while your brain turns to mush.”

“... And he’s not much of a sports fan…”

“Can’t be helped. He’ll grow into it or he won’t.”

“So I thought perhaps a set of Childcraft books, a ‘free movies for a year’ pass at the local theater, and a brand-new bike.”

“Hmm. He is hitting the limit on the tricycle. But do you have anything else?”

“I’m not made of money, remember? I’m not objecting to helping, but you have to realize that’s better than I got as a kid.”

“Clearly, your parents learned a thing or two from me about money management.”

It’s my turn to snort. “They weren’t stingy. There were six kids on one income, and a ministry at that. You do the math.”

“Mom’s giving him walkie-talkies and a miniature indoor trampoline she found at a yard sale.”

“Um…”

“Just because the child can’t peek at his gifts doesn’t mean I can’t. Now, Grandma’s giving him a handmade sweater and fifty dollars in his bank account, and his other grandparents are considering a cat. As if they don’t already have enough mouths to feed. Meanwhile, his classmates are bragging about skiing trips, miniature ATVs, and their Playstation Switches. From just their parents.”

“Kids shoot off their mouth. A lot. They don’t know what they’re getting, and I doubt it’s...”

“I know the national debt is high, and that personal debt outweighs it. I see how spoiled these children get. Don’t tell me you had the norm.”

My cheeks grow hot. “Maybe not. But we were happy.” I thought, anyway. “It doesn’t take much, physically, if your heart’s in the right place. Now, if you could keep from picking my childhood memories apart long enough to remember that you wanted my help in the first place…”

We face each other, scowling, for a long moment.

“I’m sorry,” he says at last. “I just… I cannot solve puzzles of the heart. I was hoping that you could do something more than I can.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, scratching at the back of my neck, where heat blooms with my embarrassment. “I didn’t need to get so worked up over it.”

“It’s a fragile part of one’s self, childhood,” he says. “It wasn’t to provoke you. But I wanted to make a point that he’s feeling a measure of hurt far beyond his peers.”

“And it’s not right. But there’s also so much spoiling and pampering for these kids… I think many of them have lost touch of reality.”

“All right, then. Can we negotiate and meet in the middle?” He proffers a hand, some of the tension leaving his frame.

“I think we can.” I take his hand, and give it a squeeze. “I’ll see if I can find some other options at work, and we’ll regroup day after tomorrow?”

“That’s fine. I’ll see if I can gently prod a few more options, myself.”

***

Santa and the elves are changing shifts, and I slip into the changing room, taking off the velvet hat and ears, grateful for the relief. Why do they always turn the heat up so far? Everyone’s wearing coats, anyway.

My Santa, former police sergeant Philip Mason, arrives a few minutes after me, and sighs as he slips off the beard. “Man, this thing itches. I can’t say I’ll be sorry to see it go.”

He’s always been a decent guy. I’ve been debating asking for his help for a couple days now, and it’s better than nothing. My brothers are either up to their eyeballs in work themselves, or not speaking to me. Hence… I gotta ask someone what boys like. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“As long as it’s not to have me show up at your holiday party,” he says, shedding the coat. “I think I’ve had enough of playing St. Nick.”

“Actually, I need your advice. I’m playing the old Saint.”

He looks me up and down, and gives a good-natured snort. “No offense, but you’re about the opposite of Santa.”

“I’m gifting someone, not dressing up,” I clarify. “A little kid who came through half a week or so ago. Heard his dad was in the military and that they’re going to have a leaner Christmas this year.”

“Mmm-hmm?” He sits down, taking off the showy boots and replacing them with his sturdy ones.

“I don’t know what boys like. At least, most of them. I think my brothers were oddities.”

“Ah. So you’re picking the brain of the first available dude?”

“Look, I’m not asking Wilhelm.” Another elf, one who spends more time on his appearance than most girls I know. Somehow, I don’t think he’s got the answers I’m looking for.

“Which kid?”

“His name is Francis. Francis Rickles.”

“Ah, that one. I remember him. Nice kid. Offered me a squashed Ho-Ho, unaware of the irony.”

“What’d he ask you for?” If he has any other thoughts from the horse’s own mouth, so to speak, even better.

“That his dad would come home.”

“Ah.” Blast.

“And maybe a bigger bike.”

Okay. That’s definitely on the list. “Any color in particular?”

“He was wearing purple socks and was really excited about them. Probably purple.” He shrugs, and stands up with a stretch. “By the way, do you know his dad’s name?”

“I Googled him. James Rickles. Seemed like a good guy, according to all the stuff I could find online. So I wanted to really get the kid something nice, since...”

“Mmm. If you’re going to get a bike, I’ll chip in.” He flips open his wallet and begins to dig around in it. “But may I suggest taking up a collection from the staff and leaving his mom a big tip?”

“How did you know—?”

“He had to tell me about the pie his mom serves. Best in the world. But I think he was trying to drum up business… I’ve been to the Pie N’Serve before, and their pie ain’t as good as it used to be.” He proffers a twenty, and throws me a wink. “But I think he’ll have a good Christmas, with Little Miss Santa running around.”

***

“Sure, I’ll give you five bucks.”

“Oh, how awesome! I’ll give three today ‘cuz that’s what I got, but I’ll bring in more cash tomorrow. I should have another twelve in spare change I can give...”

“Aren’t there programs for that kind of thing? Besides, I don’t do cash.”

“I’ll PayPal you?”

“I can only give the change I’ve got on me, sorry.”

“Yeah! Is he into Pokemon? I can give a couple packs of cards! What a righteous gift for a little dude!”

Two days fly by. I’ve gotten six hundred thirty-one dollars from various mall employees, vendors, and customers who overheard. Sure, there’s been cynics, but it’s worked out well in the long run. I’ve also accumulated eight packs of Pokemon cards, a Nerf bow-and-arrow set, a baseball signed by a minor-league player in town (“That’ll be worth a lot in the long run!”), and a coupon for a free pair of shoes of his choice.

“No measly feat,” Scrooge says, nodding approvingly when I show him. “Are we wrapping the goods?”

“No. We’ll be taking them to Mom at work, with the money as a tip.”

“When?”

“You said she was working Christmas Eve, right?”

“Correct.”

“How about then?”

“Perfect.” He actually rubs his hands together like a stereotypical villain, and I laugh.

“What?” he pauses, and cocks his head comically, which only makes me chuckle the harder.

“Nothing,” I say, wiping away the tears. “It’s nothing.”

He frowns, but Zai pops around the corner, grinning like the idiot he is. “Now, I know it’s funny if you’re laughing.”

“Pop culture joke I finally got. I’ll explain later.”

Scrooge looks suspicious, but leaves without further comment.

***

Last day of Santa and the elves. December 24th. The mall’s closing early, so our shift ends earlier as well, so that the flow of customers slows naturally for the shops.

“Hey,” Santa Philip says as I slip on my coat. “Give that kid’s mom the tip?”

“Not yet. I’m going today. She can wrap the gifts we’ve collected and use the cash for food or something.”

“You ride the bus, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Want a ride?”

I look at him askance. “You’re sure?”

“Look, I don’t have folks in town. Why d’you think I play Santa? I don’t mind if you don’t.”

“Sure. I’ve been keeping the gifts in the maintenance closet so we’ll have to snag them from there, but at least you ain’t gotta go all over town.”

He gives me a crooked grin and gestures. “Lead on, then, Mrs. Claus.”

“Lucky you’re not wearing the beard, else I’d take that as a terrible pickup line.”

He flushes, and laughs. “Should’ve thought it through first, huh?”

I shake my head, and we head out to load the bed of his pickup with the festive load.

***

The Pie N’ Serve is surprisingly busy, and Philip seats himself across from me in the booth. “What I said before about the pie here… it’s not bad, you know. It’s just not what it used to be. Want a slice, on me?”

“No thanks. Gotta save my pie appetite for the pecan pie my neighbor brought me. But I’ll take a cup of cocoa.”

He nods, and flags down a brunette spinning by with a tray. “Could we have two peppermint cocoas, and, um, are you Mrs. Rickles?”

“Not a problem,” she says, “Be right back.”

She flies into the back and reappears with another full tray. “Do I know you?” she asks on her way by again. "I knew your husband in the service,” he calls after her. “Just wanted to say that he’s real proud of you and the kiddo.”

She comes back by, shooting us a smile, and nods. “I’ll have yours in a sec, then I can take a quick minute. Always got time for a friend of Jim’s.”

As she vanishes into the kitchen again, he looks over at me, a mischievous light in his eyes. “I’d better unlock the car. Get the envelope ready.”

I nod, and fish in my bag as he darts outside.

“Miss Ellie Elf?”

I look up, surprised, as Francis stands near me, eyes huge. “Your ears!”

Blast. What’s he doing here?

“Shh!” I put a finger to my lips, look around stealthily, noting Grandma trying to smother a giggle, then beckon him closer. “I’m undercover. Gotta get something warm in me before I head back to the North Pole. What are you doing here?”

“This is where my mommy works! I’m coming to say hi!” He bounces up and down, then slides into Philip’s seat.

“Let the nice… lady have some quiet, Francis, dear,” says Grandma, clearly embarrassed that he’s taken the seat.

“I don’t mind,” I say with a wink. “But, uh, my friend might mind if you take his seat.”

“Oh! Another—” he stops himself before saying ‘elf’, then wriggles back out of the seat. “Then I can just wait here. What are you gonna eat?”

“Cocoa, of course,” I say, as Mrs. Rickles emerges from the back with our tray. Her face lights up as she spots her son, and she sets the tray down carefully before sweeping him up in a hug. “Did you come to eat some pie?”

“No!” he giggles. “I came to see you!”

She looks at Grandma, who shrugs. “I just got a feeling it would be a nice surprise.”

Scrooge appears in Philip’s seat. “This was my contribution. I thought this might sweeten the pot for Mother, as well.”

I shake my head with a smile, and she turns to Philip’s “empty” seat, mouth open, and hesitates. “You can meet—” she looks around, puzzled. “Where..?”

“He had to take a call.”

“I’ve got the tab,” Philip calls from the register . “Would you handle the tip?”

The atmosphere is charged, now, people looking over and murmuring as I proffer the envelope.

“What’s this?” She lets Francis slip to the floor, and takes the packet. One peek, and she lets out a little squeak and sits heavily in the booth.

Philip steps up, grinning as if he were personally responsible, and other patrons pipe up with cheers or come over with contributions of their own as Scrooge wiggles his fingers at them from beside her, a thin stream of sparkling flakes swirling out towards them.

Francis hops up and down, shaking his hands. “What is it, Mommy?”

“But I’m afraid that’s not all,” Philip says, and pats my shoulder. “We’ve got something you should see in the car, miss.”

“I–” she chokes out, and Francis grabs his mother’s hand and starts towards the door, the entire diner on our heels, a disorderly human flood of joy.

“I should’ve wrapped them,” I murmur as Philip guides me in Grandma’s wake.

“I don’t think it’ll matter,” he says, chuckling.

Scrooge steps steadily at our side, then pops up ahead to slow Francis down a bit.

The whole group stops by Philip’s truck. The tarp pulls itself back before I can step up, and a figure dressed in fatigues jumps over the side to scoop up Francis in one arm, and pull Mommy in for a kiss with the other.

The group erupts in cheers.

My jaw drops.

Scrooge’s eyes boggle, and he looks at me like I am, indeed a miracle worker.

“I—” I turn to Philip, and he grins. “Had to pull a few old favors out, but… Merry Christmas.”

“DADDY!” Francis finally screams, now over his shock, and the crowd cheers again.

Mommy dissolves in joyful tears.

I have to dig for a hanky, and after failing to find one, I throw up my hands and hug Philip. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t wanna get your hopes up. That’s why I didn’t say anything,” he says, laughing. “It was a close one.”

“I suppose my work here is done, for the moment,” Scrooge says at last, and with a twinkle in his eye, he fades from view.

“And God bless us, every one,” I whisper, as flakes fall gently around us.

Something Cool to Me:

I am a fan of graphic novels.

I was not always... but having to be the one to review things for a lot of comic-rabid siblings does a LOT on that score for you. So without further ado, I offer you the finest webcomic I have ever seen:

​Extra!​

This work is still in-progress, but it evolves over the course of the story. I would suggest, however, that you be prepared for some hard subjects to come up. It's pretty lighthearted, but there are moments. So if you're under 14, just ask someone to pre-read or read it with you.

I will note that the writer/illustrator says that if you were okay with the Princess Bride, you'd be okay with this, and I think it's fair. There's some torture at a certain point but there's nothing overly graphic or dwelling on it.

Closing thoughts:

The meme with St. Nicholas above centers on when the Council of Nicea was called to discuss some theories (heresies) that had been circulating about the deity of Christ. Arius, a certain bishop, was adamant that Christ was LIKE God, but not God Himself.

So Nicholas, being the passionate man he was about the truth, punched him (or at least slapped him. Reports vary. Hand and face made contact, though). While it may not have been necessarily appropriate, the fact remains that Nicholas was determined to defend his people from the poisonous lies that Arius helped push.

At the end of it all, we got the Nicene Creed, a confession of faith that clarifies Jesus' deity so that we can denounce the lies that surround us. While I'm no big fan of Santa Claus, I love the passion the real figure had for truth and protection. And that's a morsel of what God Himself has for you and I.

You think Christ came for us, taking on limits galore, because it wasn't a big deal that we be with Him? It was so important to Him (not because of need, but because of love) that we be His, that He gave up everything for us. He fought through Hell itself on our behalf.

And that... that's even better than Santa punching heretics.

The fox bows again, and as it turns to leave, cocks its head.

"Shall I take a message in return?"