Santa One. 3,400 Tiny John has an affinity toward Christmas. (standard:action, 3369 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jul 04 2020	Views/Reads: 1159/822	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
John, an orphan, works as a janitor at an orphanage. He doesn’t know his surname or even age. Then a Santa comes to visit.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

 I suspect they'd been warned not to screw with me, but they did treat 
me like one of themselves.  Of course, we all knew each other from 
before, when I was only one of the kids.  After a few awkward hours, on 
my part, I felt accepted.  It was the first time in my life I ever felt 
that way. 

Nobody bullied me or made special allowances except for Miss Edwards
bringing me a stool from a classroom so I could get my own coffee out 
of the machine in the staff lounge. 

The kids, though, took longer.  Tommy Noname deliberately kicked over my
mop bucket, like he was used to doing.  Before, Ms. Mathews would never 
do anything.  That time, though, she called him into her office and 
chewed him out.  She, get this, made him my assistant for the entire 
day.  I gave him orders, making him do all the heavy work.  After that, 
the kids got the idea and left me alone.  Some of them even call me 
"Mr. John." 

Me and Pete get along well.  Now, he comes in later in the mornings,
leaving me to start work early and get off early.  I'm trusted to do 
things like adjust the heat in winter and clean the walks before the 
workers come in. I can even drive the lawnmower in good weather and our 
small snowplow in winter, like it is now.  They trust me to do all 
those things. 

When two kids broke some windows last month, I fixed them myself and
they didn't have to call Pete in.  The same when Billy Bates plugged up 
a toilet and didn't tell anyone.  I had it cleaned up before wakeup.  
It's nice to be wanted ... and what a normal-sized person must feel. 

Anyway, this morning I go in for early breakfast.  Ms. Mathews is in
already.  She don't usually come in  before eight.  While I'm eating 
eggs and bacon, she comes over and sits across from me. 

"I wanted to talk to you, John.  We're expecting an inspection by the
state.  They want to do it before Christmas.  That only gives us a 
couple of days. 

"I want you to take charge of the kids and supervise them cleaning their
rooms.  The rest of us have to do paperwork.  Mr. Smithers will be busy 
with other things -- so that leaves you." 

Jeez, I think. The thought scares me, of telling all those kids what to
do. How can I do it? 

"I dunno, ma'am.  They won't listen to me." 

"You'd be surprised, John.  Remember how I told you to be
self-confident?  Now's the time to show me you can.  You'll have to 
take charge, and don't take no crap about it.   You can do it, John.  I 
have confidence you can. 

"After you're done eating, you go down and get the cleaning supplies
together.  I'll make an announcement during regular breakfast, so 
they'll be expecting it." 

I hurry up to finish, gulping down the rest of the meal.  I hope nobody
sees how much my fork's shaking, banging off the roof of my mouth.  
Then I go downstairs and get all that stuff ready.  We have four 
dormitories and over a dozen smaller rooms, which means a lot of stuff 
to get sorted out, which goes where and for what. 

I'm still working when a dozen kids come thundering downstairs to get
the stuff.  I point it out to them and, kidding around with each other, 
they push and shove as they head for the stairs. 

"Don't I get any rags, Mr. John?" Cynthia Spelling asks me, and I give
her some out'a the bin. 

Upstairs, most of the kids are already at work.  Ms. Mathews both put
the fear of God into them, and told them I would release them only 
after I thought they were done.  Since classes are canceled for the 
day, that means they'll have the rest of the day off -- and on MY say 
so.  That's why they're in a hurry. 

By noon, a couple of the small rooms, used by the older kids, are
finished.  Some of them are angry, thinking their part is over, when I 
tell them to clean the halls, windows and all.  At first, I try to 
reason with them, then remember when I was a "kid" there, and simply 
tell them, “Don't argue, just frickin' do it.  You won't be finished 
until you do. 

"I don't care how long it takes," I tell them, "but I ain't gonna
release you 'til those halls are spick and span.  Take all day and half 
the night if you want." 

They talk among themselves for awhile, then Joey Knight comes over and
asks, "You got any of that Windex stuff, Mr. John?  We need it for the 
windows." 

After lunch, I have to search for a couple of the younger girls who are
goofing off.  I find them hiding in the laundry room. 

"You get your butts back to work,"  I order, and I am angry by then. 

"Aw.  We already cleaned our areas.  Why should we have to clea--" 

"Because I told you to," I tell them. "Now, get moving." 

"Alright.  Alright, Mr. John." 

It isn't until the work is done, and I inspect it and let them go, that
I really look around. 

I realize that it's both a good job and that those kids have actually
done as I told them -- and without a lot of trouble.  Man, I think, 
there's something to this authority stuff. 

*** 

Here it is, Christmas Eve, and I'm sitting in my room, watching tv on a
set Pete gave me.  Earlier, I went to a party upstairs with everyone, 
kids and staff. 

I'm feeling mellow, feet up and watching that big Christmas tree in
Washington or somewhere, when I hear activity outside.  My window faces 
the back parking lot, and I see some sort of spaceship, airplane, or 
something parked back there. 

All these little guys are running around, some unloading and others
towing floating sleds or something toward the orphanage.  They look 
like tiny Santas, wearing that kind of getup.  I have to shake my head 
to clear it. 

I put on my shoes and baseball cap, grab a metal coal-poker -- maybe
four feet long -- run out to the hallway, then upstairs to the rear 
door.  I gotta find out what's going on out there. 

Going out into the snow, I run over to the spaceship.  There's a thin
normal-sized young man there, seemingly giving orders to the little 
guys.  He's also dressed like Santa, but with no gut or beard. 

"Jeffery.  You load more goodies on that cart.  We can't take all day
here.  We're already behind schedule.  Now, move it.  Cathy, watch that 
giraffe.  It's getting ready to fall off.  We can't give out dirty 
toys." 

I reach up and grab the guy by the arm.  "What'a you doing?" I ask. 

"Where you come from? Nobody's supposed to see or hear us." 

"I can.  You're making enough noise to wake the kids.  Stop or I call
the cops." 

"Bu ... But, but you can't see us.  Nobody can see us." 

"You gonna explain yourself, or you wanna do it to the police?" 

"Take over, Samuel," he orders one of the little guys. “I gotta deal
with this." 

Samuel, an older dwarf, runs over.  Looking me over closely, he jerks
off my cap. 

"Look, Santa. Look.  He's one of us.  That's why he can see us." 

Indeed, they do look familiar.  In all the activity, I hadn't noticed
before, but they have my nose and pointy ears. 

The boss guy gives out a yell and a dozen of those guys grab me, holding
on tight. 

"Put him in the sleigh," he tells them. "We'll sort it out later. Right
now, we got a job to do." 

I struggle, but they take me in and tie me to a seat, using bright
orange-and-red ropes. There ain't nothing I can do, except get angrier 
as I fight the bonds.  I have to sit and watch them as they run inside, 
grab numbered sacks, and hurry back out, presumably giving presents to 
the kids in the orphanage.  It's over in a few minutes. 

Santa, or whoever it is, gives me a funny look before going up front. 
Seconds later, we take off, only to land in a few minutes, him and the 
elves running around like crazy.  This goes on for the rest of the 
night.  In fact, it seems to go on forever.  Can these idiots stop 
time, itself? I wonder. 

Then, eventually, we take off on a long trip.  This Santa guy must be
driving, cause it's Samuel that comes back in, sitting across from me. 

"Are you AWOL?" he asks. 

"I ain't telling you nothing. Take me home or I'll have your butt in
jail." 

"You really aren't one of us, are you?  Yet, you are....  Jeez, Santa
One has to see this." 

"Tell you what, Jack.  You take me home right now, and I might not call
the cops." 

"Where did you come from?  You must have come from Christmas Island. 
There aren't any of us anyplace else." 

"I came from this orphanage.  Dropped there as a little baby." 

"But you must have come from the Island, originally." 

"It's a big world, buddy."  I am curious, though. "What's this Christmas
Island?" 

"You don't know?" 

"Would I ask if I already knew?" 

"It's ... It's where we and the Santas live.  Are born and live.  We
spend a year buying and making toys for kids. Then, on Christmas Eve, 
do this stuff, delivering them to the good kids.  Why, you should see 
our Accounting Department, where we keep records on all the children in 
the world.  A huge building, a skyscraper, it's a technological 
masterpiece." 

"Who's this Santa guy, here?  He ain't got no beard or nothing. The guy
don't look any older than me.  Santa's supposed to be an old fat guy." 

Samuel laughs.  "You're thinking of the old guy we had in charge 
hundreds a years ago.  He's dead and buried long ago.  We got 
Johnnie14563 Santa driving this rig.  There's thousands of Santas on 
the Island.  Even with our Time Decelerators, it takes all of them to 
cover the entire Earth in one night.  Are you stupid enough to think 
one man can do it?" 

"I never gave it any thought." I shrug. "I guess you're right." 

"So?  Where did you come from, really?  I don't remember hearing about
any AWOLs.  I'm a supervisor, so I should have." 

"I told you.  I was left at the Jackson Street Orphanage, and been there
ever since." 

"We'll be at the island soon.  Someone must know something.  You seem
like a good kid. You gonna behave if I untie you?" 

I nod and he cuts my ropes, then goes forward to what seems like the
control room or something. For the rest of the trip, I sit, anger down 
to a slow simmer.  Some bureaucratic mix-up, I figure.  The orphanage 
has a lot of them things.  Turning around, I see an empty bay behind 
me, elves sleeping on the floor, with several of them playing cards in 
a corner.  They seem happy enough, though tired. 

It's daylight when we make a bumpy landing.  The door opens onto a
tropical island, brightly-colored palm trees mixed with parking lots 
filled with tiny brilliantly-painted cars.  The elves file out, get 
into vehicles and take off.  Presumably for home, I guess.  I see what 
appears to be a city in the background. 

Finally, Samuel and the young Santa -- Johnnie14563? -- come to get me. 
After introductions, we leave, getting into a normal-looking Ford van. 

"We're stopping at a McDs," Santa tells me. "Christmas Eve takes a lot
out of a guy, and I could eat a horse." He laughs. 

Darned if we don't find one of those fast-food places.  Is there
anyplace on Earth that doesn't have a McDonalds? 

"I thought you guys lived at the North Pole." 

"Would you like to live at the North Pole?" Santa asks, Samuel passing
out hamburgers and fries. 

"Uh, uh." 

"'Nuff said." 

We eat in virtual silence, only a burp or two interrupting the quiet.
Afterward, I sit quietly, watching the scenery as we drive to a large 
building.  What I haven't seen, since landing, are any slum areas, like 
around the orphanage. Everything is clean and neat. Also, all the 
buildings are brightly-colored in mostly-primary colors.  It doesn't 
seem real, more like a surrealistic dreamscape by Salvador Dali. 

Walking down brightly-lit corridors, we come to this door.  A silver
plaque saying "Santa One" adorning it.  Inside, there's a receptionist 
-- a beautiful girl with ears and a nose like mine.  That's the only 
similarity -- as the rest is all woman. 

"Santa One will see you now, and who's," she says, licking luscious lips
and batting lovely green eyes, "this handsome fellow?" 

"This is John.  We found him during our trip," Santa tells her. 

"My name's Allie," she tells me, smiling sweetly, "and you can call me
anything and anytime." 

I can only force a smile.  Samuel also grins, staying close beside me as
we follow our Santa into one of three inner offices, labeled “Santa 
One.” 

Inside, behind a large desk, sits an older man in a pinstripe suit --
only the stripes are red, green, and yellow -- quite flashy.  I can see 
the family resemblance to our Santa. 

He rises to shake my hand. 

"While you were flying home, I checked our computers," Santa One tells
me after we're all seated. "Over in the fifth quadrant of the island, 
twenty-two years ago, a baby was lost. 

"Although an immediate search was taken, he wasn't found.  Since it was
on Christmas Eve, it seems that you were somehow loaded along with the 
toys.  How you ended up on Earth is still a puzzle, but must have 
happened.  Maybe someone found you in their stocking?  Not knowing what 
to do with you, they sent you to the orphanage.  That's about all we 
can figure. 

"Anyway, you're back home now.  We can test your skills and put you to
work." 

"What about my real parents?  When can I meet them?" 

"Not hardly, John.  See, here on the island, baby elves leave their
parents as soon as weened. Finding yours would be impossible," Santa 
One tells me, shaking his head. 

"You mean they all go to orphanages?" 

"You could say that, though we say it differently." 

"Then, I'd like to go home," I tell them. "I'm comfortable there, among
all my friends." 

"Don't you feel out of place on Earth, with all those big people?"
Samuel asks. "And we could use someone with your orphanage skills, at 
one of our Children's Hostels." 

"Na," I tell them. "I'd just like to go home." 

"Maybe you can stay for a vacation first?" Santa One suggests. "It might
change your mind." 

"If I did," I reply, shaking my head, "I'd lose my job.  So I better
not." 

"That's no problem," he says, "since we have limited control of time. 
We can take you back to the orphanage on this very Christmas Day ... 
after Allie shows you around the island for a few months." 

Now, that definitely catches my attention. How can I resist? 

*** 

"Honey.  Bring me another soda," I call out to my wife.  It's the best
part of my day.  The kids are still at school for band practice or 
something.  My day's work is finished and I'm planted securely in my 
easy chair.  Wife Allie is in the kitchen putting finishing touches on 
a beef roast. All is right in the world. 

After a six-month vacation on Christmas Island, a guest of Santa Prime,
Allie decided to return to the orphanage with me.  We had a huge 
wedding with the staff of the orphanage, over a hundred orphans and 
several Christmas Island guests.  It was the first time a Santa One had 
visited, except at Christmas, for hundreds of years. 

The End.


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