Silent Nights

Santa raised the glass of bourbon to the burning fireplace and then took a sip. The liquid burned his throat for a second before it reached his jolly, round belly. 

For years now, rather than delivering toys to good boys and girls, he unwillingly reminisced about the past. No matter how many times he revisited the memories of Misses Claus, the pain of her loss never dulled. He placed the empty tumbler onto the table next to him and closed his eyes. If he listened carefully, he could hear her yelling out “Titus” above the howling winds… 

 *** 

“Careful now,” Santa said to Misses Claus as she descended the sleigh. “This roof is steep. We don’t want you tumbling down to the ground now do we.” 

Misses Claus smiled, her rosy cheeks glowing in the moonlight. “You shan’t worry about me. Is it not my hundredth delivery with thee?” 

“It’s been a rather long time since you’ve accompanied me, Gerty.” 

“It has been, hasn’t it?” 

Santa checked the swollen bag full of presents and pulled out two. There were two very kind children in the dwelling, Titus and Chrissie. Young Titus was one of the most altruistic children in the world. He displayed kindness and never complained and chose to do the right thing when doing the wrong thing would have been much easier and better. His behaviour rubbed off Young Chrissie, who looked up to her big brother with admiration.

“Titus,” Gertrude said gleefully. “He’s such a sweet boy. He’s so precious. I wish the world for him.”

“Indeed,” Santa said, presents in hand. 

“Can I take Titus’s present?” She extended her arms as if she were about to receive a hug from a small child.

Santa handed Missus Claus a large present wrapped in green wrapping paper topped off with a large red bow. 

“Ready?” Santa said. 

Missus Claus nodded. 

They invoked the old magick of the North Pole, and let it course through their beings. Their feet sank through the snow-covered roof, through the dusty floorboards of the attic, and through the toy-strewn floor in Titus’s room until they reached the living-room where a darkened Christmas tree stood silent. 

“Can I take up the present?” Gertrude said. Her eyes twinkled and her smile brightened. 

Santa nodded, unable to refuse her request and the happiness gracing her face. While Missus Claus went upstairs, Santa placed Chrissie’s present underneath the Christmas tree. With a flick of his wrist, the Christmas tree lit up—red, blue, yellow, and green lights coruscated within the branches. He read the Christmas cards along the mantle of the fireplace, all wishing a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. 

“He’s such a darling,” Gertrude said when she returned. “He’s breathing so softly. He’s going to grow up to be a great man.” 

“I hope the best of him,” Santa said. “Shall we go?” 

Missus Claus peered toward the stairwell. Santa noticed how rigid and hesitant she became. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it before she could say anything. 

“Gertrude,” Santa said. 

Missus Claus snapped out of her daze. 

“I’m sorry,” she said embarrassingly. “I do not know where I went.” 

“Shall we go?” 

Missus closed nodded. They floated up to the roof and moved onto the next house… 

***

Santa snorted awake and was greeted by the ardent glow of the fireplace. The fire burned fiercely, showing no sign of wear. The wood was enchanted, imbued with tremendous magick, which could burn for days before turning into a pile of smoldering ash. He poured himself another glass of bourbon as another memory resurfaced… 

*** 

“It’s Titus,” Missus Claus said. “He’s sick and going to die.” 

He peered over his half-moon spectacles to the weeping woman standing at the threshold before him. He had known about Titus’s condition and deduced what would happen to him. His name had disappeared from the nice list—along with many other children’s names—which meant he wasn’t going to be around for the following Christmas. 

“We have to do something about it,” Missus Claus begged. “We have to use our magick—“ 

“No,” Santa blurted, standing up suddenly from behind the desk. When he saw her trembling figure fighting against the oncoming tide of anguish, he wanted to comfort her. But he knew he couldn’t give her what she wanted from him. 

“We can’t use magick to bend the laws of nature. We cannot undo death.” 

“Yes, we can,” Missus Claus said, staring at him with puffy eyes. “We can cure him. We can—“ 

“No,” Santa stated. He sat back down, the chair squeaked under his great weight, and the weight he carried in his heart for Titus and the other children who would never experience another Christmas ever again. 

“Please… please…” Gertrude’s legs wobbled, and she collapsed onto the floor. “Please…” 

***

He poured more bourbon into the tumbler and took a swig. Getting drunk never dulled the pain, only a bit, but at least it helped him to sleep. And sleep was what he wanted rather than to relive the memories long ago passed… 

*** 

The day Titus died, Santa watched Missus Claus trudge her way up to the workshop. The red cowl draped over her bowed head and the cloak wrapped around her plump form billowed in the strong wind as she followed an invisible procession leading to the workshop. She had asked Santa she needed time to herself and wanted to keep her mind and hands busy, and the one way she could appease both was to create a doll. 

He watched until she opened the heavy door to the workshop and disappeared inside. 

Santa stepped away from the living-room window and seated himself by the fireplace. He wished he could do more to console her. But, at that moment, nothing came to him. He sighed and closed his eyes, realizing how much unrest he had while Gertrude shuffled throughout the house on sleepless nights.

 “Santa!" 

 He bolted his eyes open. The living-room window displayed his bewildered reflection against the dark backdrop of night. 

"I want you to meet someone!” Missus Claus cried out. 

 Santa rushed over to the main door and found Gertrude holding a shrouded object. She was in a frenzy, moreso with her grey hair tangled in every direction and a wide smile plastered across her face. 

“You needeth to see,” she said, leaving the door wide open behind her. “You needeth to see what I have done.” 

Santa followed, unconcerned about the blizzard welcoming itself into their home. She went into the living-room, placed the object on a high-back armchair in front of the fireplace, and removed the shroud. What sat on the armchair was a wooden life-sized doll. It was four feet in length and dressed in giraffe decorated pajamas. 

“What…?” Santa let his question die out. 

He thought he had imagined it at first, but he was certain he saw it move! He furrowed his brow and held his breath. Above the crackling fire and the fierce wind, the extremities of the doll creaked to life, its fingers and toes flaring in and out. 

Santa’s heart dropped as the doll bore its glassy eyes at him and at Missus Claus. Despite its rigid mouth, he could sense a frown. 

The doll asked, “Where’s Mommy and Daddy?” 

“Mommy and Daddy are home,” Missus Claus coaxed the wooden child. “They’re home.” 

“I was in the hospital,” the doll said mournfully. “Mommy and daddy were crying. They told me everything was going to be okay.” 

"Titus," Gertrude said. "You're okay now. You're—" 

“This is an abomination!” Santa yelled. “Inanimate objects cannot have lives of their own! Especially one containing the soul of a child!” 

Santa grasped the wooden doll by the forearm and ran out the main door. Missus Claus followed behind, intent on rescuing the child. 

“Don’t you dare,” Missus Claus screamed through the wind and swirling snow. 

Santa tossed the doll into the air. And with a flick of his wrist, the doll was cast into the dark blizzard. 

Santa turned around and saw Missus Claus slumped onto the snowy ground. She stared at her weathered, old hands in disbelief, as if she could see blood. 

“I'm sorry,” Santa said. “We cannot have it in our presence. The doll will eat our magick until we are nothing but dust.” 

“Is he gone from the North Pole?” she croaked. 

“Quite possibly,” he said. 

Santa helped Missus Claus to her feet. She didn’t speak. She did not acknowledge him, only allowed him to guide her to the fireplace. He tried to talk to her, but she remained vacant and docile. 

That was the last time he ever saw her before she disappeared forever. 

*** 

He placed the bourbon onto the table and read the piece of paper he kept in his jacket pocket: I’m going to look for Titus. I’ll be back when I find him. Gertrude. 

Years have passed since she wrote the note. There were some nights he could see her burning lantern searching the horizon and calling out the child's name. He would chase after the light, caught in a spell, only to realize he was chasing a phantom. Where her footprints should have been, there were none. 

He raised the glass of bourbon to the fireplace where a wooden doll burned fervently. Fingers and toes flaring in and out.