By Steve, the Elf-on-the-Shelf, gazed across the deep snow surrounding Santa’s Workshop. He brushed fluffy snow from his tight red-and-white onesie and straightened his similarly coloured pointy Elf hat. Another elf’s hat drifted towards him on the bitterly cold breeze. In his mind’s eye, he saw the face of Sarah, the psycho 11-year-old who stuck pins in him when no one was watching. He timed his moment and volleyed the hat/Sarah’s head into next week. Steve imagined beating the keeper and scoring a fabulous goal to win the game. In reality, Elf hats have very little mass, so it only fell limply in the snow nearby. Steve strode over and jumped on the hat/Sarah’s face before continuing his journey.
Tens of thousands of similarly-clad elf dolls slowly trudged through the snow, under bright starlight. Scattered amongst these were some of the newer generation elves. These annoyingly ‘modern’ versions were dressed in edgy black or as firefighters, chefs and super-heroes. Show-offs.
Another night and another evening pilgrimage. Each elf had an update for the big-guy-in-red, before they would make their way home again. There, they would find a new spot in their adoptive houses to observe the family’s goings-on. Rinse and repeat night-after-night. The only break in the routine was watching a child fall over or stab themselves with fork. Steve loved those moments.
As the crowd ebbed and flowed around him, Steve spotted his best friend, Frank, one of the few remaining original 2005-vintage Elves-on-a-Shelf. He was still in one piece, mostly. Three less-than-gentle children had been hard on his friend; not much interest was paid to the rule of ‘no touching the Elf-on-the-Shelf’ in that household. A Hulk sticker had been placed over one eye and his out-of-the-box clothing was tattered and ripped. Mis-matched brown marker had been used recently on the heavily faded parts of his hair, which gave Frank a “just stepped out of the salon” look; he was understandably pleased.
“Hi Frank. Hair’s looking great tonight.”
“Oh, hi Steve, thanks. I tried a different brown marker and added a couple more streaks. Sexy, eh?” Frank flicked his head in an impressive approximation of so many hair-care television ads. “So, how was the trip up tonight?”
“It suuuuuuucked! Again! There’s a family of artic foxes in Lapland that chase me for miles every time I go through there. I’m taking a club with me tomorrow night.”
“You know that Santa is against the whole clubbing animals thing, right?” Frank looked around nervously, as if Santa himself might pop out of the sea of elves at the mere mention of his name, or animal clubbing.
Steve had only been half-serious when he mentioned his arctic fox solution. Santa had made it clear that it wouldn’t be a good look for his present-giving operation if Elves-on-a-Shelf started attacking local fauna – even in self-defence. No, they were to bring the joy of Christmas to the children in their adoptive homes, and the important lesson of good behaviour leading to material reward.
“Yeah, I know. Maybe a taser then. A few shocks and the rest of the pack might get the message. There was also that scene in The Bourne Supremacy where Jason Bourne used a rolled-up magazine against an assassin. I could give that a go.”
Like most Elves-on-a-Shelf, their magical existence did not require sleep. While the humans were asleep or out of the house, Steve chose to use his free time by watching action movies. Steve suspected Frank watched the news waaaay too much.
“What about climate change, Steve? You can’t club, tase or go Jason Bourne on that. With the permafrost melting in northern Canada, I nearly drown most nights. What are those humans doing? They’re all naughty as far as I’m concerned. Maybe we can get Santa to pop some Jacques Cousteau DVDs under Christmas trees this year?“
Steve thought about the ridiculous nightly ritual they were forced to trudge through, just to deliver naughty-or-nice updates that rarely changed. Surely it could be done with the world’s largest Google Sheets file.
“Makes you wonder why we don’t teleconference our updates instead of running a death gauntlet every night,” Steve mused. “Maybe even a shared spreadsheet on Google Drive would work. Santa is such a luddite.”
Steve and Frank quickly looked around and waited for Santa to make an angry appearance. They both relaxed when the Beefy Man in Red didn’t appear.
“What about email, Steve? That’s been around for a while now. Doesn’t get hacked too often and I don’t get as many Viagra emails as I used to.”
“Santa’s fat-fingers would have difficulty with the keys, Frank. Emails would probably look like dksjhgerfwfvilnbervwlkg. That won’t help us at all.”
Steve looked out across the sea of Elves-on-a-Shelf and wondered about another Elf-friend.
“Have you seen Bob recently?”
Frank’s head dipped in sadness. “Sorry, Steve, I heard he…died. One of the family’s kids touched Bob, the parents noticed, so the family did the whole cinnamon and Christmas carol thing. While they were massacring Silent Night, the family’s pet beagle massacred Bob. Probably thought he was a cinnamon-flavoured chew-toy. Buried him in the backyard while no-one was looking.”
“Oh, no. Poor Bob. He was an original like you, Frank, wasn’t he? What are you planning on doing when your 20 years are up?”
A sinister twinkle flashed across Frank’s plastic eyes. “Revenge! Sweet, delicious revenge. I’m going to burn Santa’s Workshop to the ground and then go on an orgy of destruction around the neighbourhood. Or vice-versa.”
“Didn’t you just mention that Santa doesn’t like clubbing local fauna.”
“While on the job, employed, Steve. But afterwards? It’s on like Donkey Kong!”
“Oookaaayyy…good luck with that, Frank. Remember your friends during the rampage.”
“You know it. Nice chatting with you, Steve, but I’d better get a move on and report in. I need to get home in time to hide in the oldest kid’s closet and scare the crap out of him in the morning. So many laughs, so little time.”
“Bye, Frank. Have a safe journey home.”
Steve watched Frank disappear into the mass of red and white elf-clones. His conversation with Frank had given him much to ponder. Sure, a rampage of death and destruction sounded like fun, but what about the costs? Explosives, weapons and a get-away vehicle would be expensive and Santa only paid Elves-on-a-Shelf in broken candy canes. If Frank was going to vent his displeasure with being a lonesome slave-toy during a spree of destruction and vandalism, he must have already planned financing.
Steve made a mental note to open a savings account and start stealing from the humans.
