Lost in a Place That Isn't There is
an Epic Length Novel of more than 200,000 words
(400+ paperback pages)
This chapter is...
Word count: 2,481
8 paperback pages.
NOTE: This novel is still being written and these online free sample chapters are unedited draft versions that may be very different from the final paperback book.
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~o0o~ Chapter ? ~o0o~
It had been a long, hectic day. Krumpas had gone off his meds again and killed several more Christmas Elves, while BoomFuzzy seeing this as yet another excuse for a good joke, baked the dead Elves into Elf shaped Elf Cookies.
"Keeblers the Phooka called them," the not so jolly old, not really an Elf, said to his wife. "Can you believe it? I give them a place to live, a roof over their heads, food in their bellies, and what do they do? They bake my staff into cookies and eat them."
Críostóir shook his head.
"Why did I ever hire Faeries?" he asked as he sat down in his warm comfy chair by the fire.
"Well, on the bright side," Mrs. Kringle said. "At least they aren't Demons. Think of the trouble they'd be causing if they were Demons."
"I almost wish I had hired Demons," he sighed.
"Oh, don't be so down. They're just Brownies. They're not real Elves any ways. What's a few less Brownies in the world?"
"I'm getting too old for this."
"What do you mean you're getting old? You've been dead for centuries."
"Yes, but life as a Lich isn't all it's cracked up to be. Look at me! Stuff making toys all year long. Freezing time once a year. For what? Giving free gifts to ingrate Humans who don't give a rat's ass about it. Greedy little ingrates. Just want more, more, more, more, more. When was the last time a little girl asked for a doll? ONE doll. Just one. Not ten. But one! When was the last time a little boy asked for a truck? One truck. Not a whole damned toy factory!"
Santa grabbed a handful of letters off the table and shook them angrily in the air as he spoke.
"Have you read these letters? Look at this one. It's a damn top 10 list. Dear Santa," he read the letter. "I've been extra good this year, so Mommy said I can ask for more this year. My list was longer, but she said I had to narrow it down to just the top 10 most wanted items...TEN!"
He threw the letters across the room.
"What is wrong with children these days? Do you have any idea how much it would cost us to give 10 toys to every single child?"
"Don't blame the child for the parents, Dear," she said. "You know the children are innocent in these things."
"Greedy parents, raise greedy children."
He sat and silently stared into the fire for a few moments.
"Mail's here, Sir," a tiny Brownie said as he dragged a heavy mail bag into the room.
"Great. Just what I need. More letters. More greedy little children begging for toys they don't deserve."
"Now, Dear, just because you're having a bad day, doesn't mean you have to take it out on the children. They didn't bake your Elves into cookies, now, did they?"
"No. I suppose you're right. Damn good cookies though," Santa said eating one.
"Aren't they though?"
"Never had a chef like BoomFuzzy before."
"Where'd you find him?"
"Krampus' cousin. Came to visit him. Didn't like the food, eat the chef and took over the kitchen. Strange one that."
"Stranger than Krampus?"
"Oh, much stranger. Jut don't know why he has to keep cooking all my Elves."
Santa ate another cookie.
"He's right though. These are the lightest, fluffiest cookies I've ever ate. He says it's the fact that Elves have hollow bones like birds. They grind up into a nice fine powder, much silkier than cake flour."
"So these cookies are made out of Elves?"
"Yep. The gingerbread is too. And the cocoa is thickened with Elf blood. I gotta say. He was right. The Elves sure are tasty." He took a sip of his Elf blood spiked cocoa."But still, I can't make the toys without them. Christmas is only 3 months away. Where am I going to get more Elves?"
"Why don't you go read your letters. That used to cheer you up, remember?"
Santa opened the mail bag and pulled out a stack of envelopes. It was mid-October, only the beginning of the holiday season, so not many letter were coming in yet. Only a few hundred a day.
"Dear Satan. Ha ha! Look at this one, Muirgheal. Here's another one. Kid spelt my name wrong. Wrote Satan instead of Santa!"
He continued reading the letter and soon stopped laughing.
"Oh dear. Oh my. Look at this."
He handed the letter to his wife. She looked at it a moment then read it out loud:
"Well, what do you know?" She said as she handed the letter back to him. "This one actually was for Satan."
He didn't answer.
"Honey? What wrong?"
"I just had a terrible thought."
"What is it?"
"What if, I was Satan and I didn't know it?"
"What? Where'd you get an idea like that?"
"Well, think about it. I'm undead. Immortal. I only ever wear red. I have two demonic Faeries bloodily massacring everything they meet. Those little Brownies are nothing more than imps. And you know what people say about Hell freezing over? Well look at where I live? How do I know, I'm not Satan and I just forgot. I can't remember who I was in life. I've been a Lich for who knows how many centuries. What if I'm really the Prince of Darkness? Why else would I keep those two Phookas even though they just keep killing the rest of my staff?"
"You're not Satan."
"How would you know that? You don't know who I was in life any more then I do. What if Christmas isn't me being kind hearted to children. You've heard those ministers on TV, how they say Christmas was just a pagan holiday created by devils meant to distract Humans away from remembering Jesus. What if it's true? What if I am Satan and I did invent Christmas to make people forget about Christ. That would explain what I call myself Santa. I'm Satan and I've amnesia all this time. My little Elves, they are not Elves. They are imps. Little devils doing my bidding. They're only making toys because I commanded it. I wonder. If I commanded them to slaughter children instead of making toys for them... would they do that too? No questions asked?"
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