CLOSE ENCOUNTERS WITH SANTA
By Brenden Koo a.k.a Dread Solomon
Dark clouds rumbled overhead as snow drifted atop roofs and streets. Drake Dawson leaned against the window of his apartment, gazing at the street below where a crowd sang passionately in the snow while a straggly beggar by the street, coins ringing along the rhythm of the singers. Why would nincompoops sing when it’s snowing? He thought, chuckling under his breath. Oh, that’s right, it’s Christmas. Sighing, he cocked his head, eyeing the dark sky warily.
Drake pivoted on his heels and sauntered towards his leather chair. The fire crackled from beneath the chimney. Definitely not music to my ears, he wondered. Why do they have to do this every year? Chuckling, he reminded himself of the similarities he shared with Christmas: Firstly, they were both cold, and secondly, he celebrated his birthday and Christmas on the same date. His life had been an ironic punch line to a humourless joke his parents always shared with relatives at this time of the year. Which was why he had learnt since his youth to hate the festivities.
Reminiscing those pleasant years of tormenting his companions with the undying cunning he had inherited from no one in particular in his gullible family, Drake slowly dozed off. The moment he had landed on the soft clouds of dreamland, a rapping from somewhere inside his room sounded and reality accelerated before him like a bullet train as he fell forward, colliding with the carpeted ground. His senses swaying like a leaf at the brink of shattering, Drake clambered to his feet, spewing curses volubly. The rapping stopped when he motioned for the door.
As it swung open, he took a few paces back as right before his eyes, a beefy man clad in red stood before the threshold, a red cap perched awkwardly on his snowy hair. An ivory beard dangled from his chin and there was a glare of fierce determination in his blue eyes. Instead of a potbelly, his abdomen was carved with sinew. His biceps bulged, exuding an aura of unfettered menace.
Stunned by the man’s presence, Drake waved his hand. ‘Hi, I’m not celebrating Christmas this year; come to think of it, I don’t celebrate Christmas at all,’ he sneered as he held out a hand, indicating him to step off the threshold as soon as possible. The man did not budge, his face grim and expressionless.
‘What do you want?’ said Drake, terror creeping into him slowly then.
‘You do know me, don’t you, Drake?’ Taken aback, Drake stared at the stranger. He never befriended anyone in the neighbourhood and no one here knew who he was.
‘Ok, Chuck, you got me. Now, stop acting,’ Wait, I never had friends when I was a child, especially Chuck in kindergarten, he wondered.
‘Close. Now try again.’ Drake raked every corner of his mind, searching for a shred of memory of the man before him. ‘Wait, you can’t be…the Santa Claus?’ said Drake as he fought an overpowering urge to rip off the beard.
‘The one and only,’ said the stranger triumphantly. ‘You see this?’ He pointed to a gold-plated belt around his waist. ‘Last year, I graduated from the North Pole Tae-kwon-do Academy with a black belt. This year, I wrestled my way through the WWF championship and won this.’
His brows knotted into an annoyed frown when Drake retorted back, ‘Yeah right, there are thousands of people dressed like you, and a bodybuilder in a red suit popped up in the middle of the night in my doorsteps. Seriously, you can’t tell me to believe you’re really him. You’re like the business icon of Christmas.’ Shrugging, Santa snapped his fingers, startling his host. A fleeting second later, he was struggling in a filthy chimney where four walls pressed against him with no space for comfort. His legs dangled helplessly over the fireplace. A whiff of soot flooded his nostrils and his nose wrinkled with disgust. How could this be? One moment I was at the door, the next I was shoved right through the chimney. Logic and the laws of physics did not seem to apply in his current situation. Unless it was…magic? It didn’t make any reasonable sense. Yet, then again, his life never seemed to abide by the laws that governed sense.
‘Okay, I believe you! Now get me out of here!’ He wriggled his torso in vain to release himself from his soot-layered confinement. Drake heard a sigh from below; clearly the stranger was entertained by the way his legs danced above the hearth. A muffled snap followed, and he was swished from the darkness of the chimney back on the familiar carpeting and the warmth of his apartment. As he staggered upright, Drake stared at the beaming stranger, who claimed to be Santa. Yet, the Santa he was taught to recognize since childhood did not fit right with the person right in front of him.
‘This doesn’t make sense. The Santa I knew had a potbelly; you just seem out of shape, that’s all,’ Maybe out of shape wasn’t the right phrase to describe him. The man glowered at him, a revolted grimace curving up his face. ‘Oh, so I’m out of shape, you say? Look in the mirror, tough guy. I’ve spent eleven months before Christmas training my body, cutting down sugar consumption which my forefathers seemed to indulge in.’ Santa narrowed his eyes around the room. ‘Not a single decoration for the Christmas festivities. What a disgrace.’
Santa pulled a chair from the table and leaned back, gazing at Drake from head to toe. Drake, still perplexed, swept soot off his shirt and took a seat in front of him, his eyes adjusting to the miracle before him.
‘I can tell this is quite impossibility for you to accept. This is all of a sudden for me and you, you know?’ said Santa darkly as though hiding an unspeakable truth behind those words. ‘I’ve inherited the family business since the beginning of the twentieth century, when a rising disbelief toward my existence began. Since then, it had been a busy riot throughout the years. I’ve checked and double-checked my “naughty” list of the kids around the world, and the names of those who have been on the list for at least 10 years have been rewritten on a new one. I called it the “incurable-to-demonic” list. And guess who’s the first snot-nosed brat to be blacklisted?’ Drake was now perspiring profusely, wet blotches encumbering his garment as Santa glared furiously at him. This is just a dream, a figment of my imagination run amok. I’m going to wake up in no time.
As if reading his mind, he gestured at Drake. ‘Hey, come closer for a moment,’ He obeyed and a gloved fist glanced off his cheek, reeling him backwards. Wincing, Drake rubbed his swollen cheek gingerly. ‘You awake now?’ asked Santa, enjoying every moment of tormenting his victim. ‘Guess you and your magic are real. Now tell me you had a reason behind your visit,’ Drake massaged his forehead now with both palms. ‘and your assault.’
‘Do me a favour here: mend your ways and embrace the Christmas spirit,’ Santa boomed. ‘You have been a pain on my neck for at least 20 years, and sooner or later, I’m going to run out of ink just by rewriting your name on it. And my supply of charcoal too.’
Drake looked at him uneasily as if expecting another blow. ‘Right,’ said Drake slowly. ‘And how did I end up being blacklisted by a fictional figure of the season?’
‘Funny you should ask,’ Santa rumbled, stroking his beard absent-mindedly. ‘Do I need to list every bad deed in your past chronologically or alphabetically?’
‘Chronologically, please?’
Gazing at him with contempt, Santa unfurled a long scroll of parchment out of his wide drooping sleeve. ‘I will just point out those of utmost notoriety in your life.’ Scrutinizing the worn-out parchment, he drew a long breath before droning on Drake’s history. ‘You already started your reign of terror when you were four. Impressive. The first kid you oppressed was Billy Lee. Turns out you gave him something to remember you on his ass.’
Drake nodded. ‘Yeah, I remember him. He’s a wimp alright. Cried for an hour non-stop.’ Santa glared at him murderously from the aged parchment which extended from his face to the carpet and continued as if Drake had never spoken.
‘When you were ten, you broke the school record for shooting 10 spitballs from the mouth at the school’s disciplinary teacher.’ Drake giggled, recalling the gaunt face of his teacher glued with saliva-coated paper balls.
‘When you were fifteen, you played dodge-ball in the teacher’s lounge and the girls’ locker room. Your abuse of people did not end even after school and your schemes matured in quality. Torturing your employees with low wages, extended working hours, and who knows what else in the future.’ He clenched and unclenched his fist balefully. ‘You do know that you’re worse than Scrooge, don’t you?’
Drake widened his eyes and mumbled, ‘Sorry, I wasn’t paying much attention then. You do know you sounded a lot like Mr. Hobson, my history teacher, don’t you? Two words: Bore-ing!’ He stretched his arms out lazily and shrunk back as Santa’s nostrils flared with anger. ‘For starters, what do you expect me to do? If I haven’t mentioned to you, I was born with a cynical sense of humour.’
‘Treat people nice for starters, starting with your family,’ replied Santa. Drake’s eyes traced Santa’s towering torso and blinked, waiting for a punch line. ‘You’re kidding, right? Y-you want me t-to be nice to them? Now that’s just interfering with the way of life,’ stuttered Drake when it never came. He had touched Santa’s last nerve, whose arm flashed forward, clutching Drake’s neck like a vice and slammed his skull down on the table. Stars twinkled before his eyes when the wooden table greeted his face twice. ‘What is your problem?’ Santa growled. ‘I will judge you tonight and if you do not fare well, let’s just say things are going to be pretty ugly. A penalty which will befall you might be named after you, though I have not given thought to how I should chastise you. TheDawson Judgment. Ah, I can even imagine threatening rogue elves in my workshop with,’ he lowered his voice dramatically. ‘the DawsonJudgment.’ With a sudden twitch, Drake landed back onto his leather armchair.
‘I always like doing that, besides laughing jovially in my Bentley,’ said Santa, satisfied.
‘You’ve a Bentley?!’ exclaimed Drake.
‘Well, what do you expect from a man who has to travel around the world in one night? It’s right down there.’ replied Santa, indicating the window. Drake peered over and saw the car parked beside the street, its roof caked with snow. ‘Oh yes, it’s a magical Bentley, for your information. Now back to business.’
‘So I should invite my family here. Easy.’ He scrambled up and dialled a number. A familiar beeping drummed his ears before a voice sounded. ‘Hello? Drake, is that you?’ Mom.
Groaning, he brightened his tone awkwardly. ‘Hi mom. Merry Christmas to you. How’s dad?’
‘Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday to you too. Your father’s fine, thank you. It’s late already, so don’t beat around the bush.’
‘Can you come to my place to celebrate Christmas with me? Oh, bring Dad and Keith too,’ blurted Drake.
‘Oh,’ replied Mrs Dawson, taken aback. ‘This is unexpected. Sorry to disappoint you, honey, but your father’s sort of under the weather. You wanna talk to him?’
‘No thanks, mom, it’s ok. Say hi to Dad.’ The phone went dead.
‘Well,’ Drake shrugged, inserting his phone into his pocket. ‘I tried. You can come back next Christmas, if you want to.’ He started towards the door, inviting his visitor out almost eagerly. Without warning, a claw-like hand pulled him back by his shoulder.
‘I don’t think so. My assessment remains on schedule.’ As if on cue, a rhythmic rapping reverberated from the door. ‘I wonder who that could be.’ Drake looked at the door, and back to Santa, who whistled innocently.
The door swung open and bounced off the wall, where a shallow groove was visible. Right before his very eyes was his parents and Keith’s family, every one obviously an addict to the Christmas spirit. ‘Merry Christmas!’ The flames hissed, as if disgruntled by the intrusion. Dazed by his family’s sudden arrival, the first words which escaped his lips were: ‘What’re you all doing here?’ His brother, Keith stepped out from the crowd and squeezed his brother in his arms. ‘Dude, you son of a gun! How are you?’ His voice was laced with an alien accent, indicating his brother had been travelling overseas for a long time. Grasping an eyeful of his tanned face, Drake blushed and willed his lips to utter an insult. His brother raised an eyebrow and beckoned for his family to enter. Without warning, all of them barged in like a herd of elephants before seating themselves cosily on the couch.
Unsure of what to say next, Drake headed back for the chair. ‘Uhm, guys, I would like to introduce you to Santa.’ He indicated towards a seat beside him whose occupant had vanished without a trace.
‘Right, and I’m the Easter bunny,’ said Keith shakily, realizing it was merely a joke as he wiped tears of mirth. ‘That’s how you used to sound like, eh, Drake? Always sour with sarcasm,’ Drake smiled, chuckling as he watched his family intently. His nephew and niece, Brandon and Kelly, had grown a lot since he last saw them at the maternity ward. That was too long. He hid his eyes in his hands as for the first time, tears streamed down, wondering what a wretched miser he had been all this years. So this is what it feels like, enjoying Christmas with your family, no matter what idiots they turn out to be, he thought, embarrassed of weeping in front of his parents. Thanks, Santa, for this gift.
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