by Michael Bracken
Enjoy this never before published Christmas mystery short story!
“One jolly fat man?”
“With a long white beard,” I elaborated. “We’ll supply the Santa suit, the elf, and the reindeer.”
The woman on the other end of the line said, “Our Santas are booked solid through the holiday season—”
“I know your regular Santas are booked,” I said. “That’s why we’re asking for a jolly fat man.”
“But—”
“We’ll even consider a reasonably happy, moderately overweight man. We can supply the beard if we have to.”
“But—”
“Look,” I said. The man we had hired to play Santa for several consecutive years had missed his flight home from Baltimore and wouldn’t arrive in time for that afternoon’s Christmas party for our employees’ children. “We’re desperate here. What do you have?”
Through the phone I heard the clicking of computer keyboard keys. “Elves,” said the woman at the agency. “I can get you half a dozen elves. Most of them haven’t worked since St. Patrick’s Day when everybody needed leprechauns.”
“I don’t need elves. I have an elf,” I said. “We promised the kids Santa Claus and Santa Claus is who we need to deliver.”
Keys clicked again. “Mrs. Claus? I have one Mrs. Claus available.”
“No, no, no,” I insisted. “Santa Claus. That’s Mr. Claus.”
More clicking. “We have one guy who might be willing, but he’s a bit thin for Santa.”
“We’ll find padding.”
“Let me call him and see if he’s available.”
* * *
Thin turned out to be an understatement. The man who walked into human resources that afternoon looked as if he could slide through a soda straw without touching the sides.
“I’ve never been asked to play Santa Claus,” he said. “I did once wear a brown leotard, strap on foam antlers, and stick on a red nose.”
I could imagine him as a boney Rudolph but was having trouble picturing him as Santa. I asked, “How’s your jolly?”
He smiled wide and gave me a hearty, “Ho-ho-ho.”
“That’s not bad,” I said. “How are you with children?”
“I’m the oldest of seven and I substitute teach while I’m looking for a—”
That was good enough for me. I interrupted whatever he had been about to say and led him into my office and showed him the costume my assistant had rented. We’d had to purchase the long white beard and the white wig he would be wearing, but everything else would be returned to the rental place the next business day.
“We don’t have much time,” I said. The children were already beginning to assemble in the conference room at the other end of the building. “Think you can put all this on by yourself?”
“I’ve never worn a fatsuit before,” he said.
“I’ll be right outside the door,” I said. “Call if you need any help.”
Our hired Santa managed to pull everything on by himself but needed my help with the finishing touches—affixing the beard to his face with spirit gum and assuring that the wig completely covered his short dark hair.
“How do I look?” he asked.
“Better than expected,” I admitted as I grabbed his white-gloved hand. “Let’s go.”
I hustled our hired Santa down the hall to the conference room where my new assistant—a petite young woman who had to wear heels to clear five feet—wore an elf costume and was entertaining the children with juggling skills I didn’t know she had.
“Santa!” When the first child spotted him and shouted his name, all the other children turned in our direction.
Emily caught the last airborne Christmas tree ornament and stuffed it into her bag of tricks. “This way, Santa.”
We led him to one end of the conference room, where we had put a Christmas tree and a throne-like chair on a riser and had decorated around them with fake presents and fake snow. To one side of the riser were the real presents, one for every child.
We had the children line up in front of Santa. As each child approached him in turn, we handed our Santa a wrapped gift with the child’s name written in large block letters on the tag so that he could glance at it and then greet the child by name.
This was a hit with the children, and each walked away with an inexpensive gift that they were to take home and open on Christmas morning.
Soon, every child in the room held a Christmas present, but one present remained behind. I turned to Emily, “We missed one.”
“Who?”
I read the name from the gift tag. “Bobby Johnson.”
“I’m sorry,” my assistant said. “I meant to hold that one aside.”
I asked why.
“His mother called this afternoon,” she explained. “Yesterday’s chemo treatments took a lot out of him, and she didn’t feel he could handle all the commotion.”
“That’s too bad,” I said. “I’ll have someone deliver it tomorrow.”
Our hired Santa had obviously overheard us from his seat in the throne. “Why not take it to him now?”
“We need to clean all this up and change clothes and—”
“Why change?” Santa asked. “Don’t you think he’d like a visit from Santa and one of his elves?”
Perhaps I’ve gotten a little jaded, but I thought our hired Santa was angling for extra income by extending his gig another hour or so. “We can’t pay extra.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not doing this for the money.”
Before I could respond, my assistant said, “I’ll call Bobby’s mother and see if he’s up for visitors.”
Emily made the call while parents collected their children, bundled them in heavy coats, and thanked us for yet another successful holiday family event.
After the last child left, the three of us—Santa, Emily the Elf, and I—drove across town to the Johnson home. Bobby’s mother met us at the front door and led us into his bedroom.
“Bobby,” she said quietly to the sleeping boy as she gently shook his shoulder. “You have visitors.”
Bobby opened his eyes, blinked several times as he looked at Santa and the Elf, and then he opened them wide and sat up. “Santa?”
“Ho-ho-ho,” our hired Santa bellowed with a bellyful of good cheer. “We missed you at the Christmas party.”
“I know,” Bobby said. “I didn’t feel good.”
“I heard,” Santa said, “so I came to see you and bring you this.”
He handed Bobby the gaily-wrapped package.
When Bobby hesitated, he added, “Go ahead. You can open it now.”
Bobby looked at his mother.
“It’s okay,” she said with a wan smile.
Bobby tore open the gift and found a fire truck inside, something his mother had told us he wanted.
Emily juggled some Christmas ornaments, and Santa told stories about living at the North Pole and how all the elves back home were working hard to get ready for the big night.
Bobby asked questions about Rudolph and the other reindeer, how Santa knew which children were naughty and which were nice, and how Santa managed to visit every house around the world all in one night. Our Santa had answers for all of Bobby’s questions, as if he had known what he would be asked and had prepared in advance.
When Bobby grew too tired to continue and he lay back down, his mother walked us to the door.
“Thank you,” she said. “He needed this. The doctor said this will probably be his last Christmas.”
The three of us were subdued on the way back to the office. Once there, our hired Santa stripped off his costume and I helped remove his beard.
Once he was back in his street clothes, I told him what a great job he’d done and thanked him for being our Santa. He’d been gone almost twenty minutes when my assistant asked, “Did we ever get his name?”
* * *
I had forgotten to hand Santa the check our accounting department had prepared for his employer. So, on my way home, I dropped it into a mailbox. The following Monday, I received a phone call from the agency.
“We’re going to have to return this check,” said the woman on the other end of the line.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because our guy never made it,” she explained. “Didn’t you get the message? He was in an accident and couldn’t get to your party.”
I dug around on my desk and there it was, a note from the receptionist. She had taken a message rather than put the call through to my voice mail.
The call ended a moment later, and I never found out who our Santa was that day.
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This is sooo good. It makes you think, tear up and ponder things that happen in life. Merry Christmas Santa.
Loved this short story so cheerful and meaningful. Thank you.