PIP/Santa/It Begins
It was a cold, rainy November day in Indianapolis. Randal looked out the window of his hospital room; and tried to ignore the pain. He had pretty much lost his battle with stage four liver cancer. All that was left was the dying and the crying. His family was all around him, even the children. He would spare them this if he could; but it's better that they know that life ends for everyone . . . even grandpas. Rachael was holding his hand. His oldest, she was his angel. She was always a daddy's girl; and she was always special to Randal. He even had impure thoughts about her the entire time he was raising her . . . even as an infant. He was surely going to Hell for that; but at least he had never acted on those thoughts . . . especially since he had them about his grandchildren too.
Sean, Rachael's husband, stared out the window with his hand on his chin. He would likely make a painting after Randal died and name it after him. The epitome of poser, Sean played the role of sensitive artist to a tee . . . and the art world ate it up. Randal had always seen through the man's facade; but he kept Rachael happy, and that is all Randal Cared about. And at least he had given Randal three beautiful grandchildren.
Little Haley was asleep in her big sister's lap. Kinsey looked very brave and mature as she held her sleeping sister. Jason, on the other hand, while in a similar situation with his cousin Misty, looked sad . . . sad and bored. One could tell from his expression that he would like nothing more than to have his five year old cousin on his aunt or uncle's lap so he could be off doing god knows what else.
Speaking of the boy's uncle; Kirk was there, trying not to cry. Randal's youngest, Kirk was a sensitive soul . . . all the things that Sean pretended, Kirk possessed. He sat by his wife Brandy, holding her hand as if to support her; but anyone knowing him realized it was Brandy giving the support. The beautiful mixed girl was a blessing. Randal always felt that his son had done much better in the marriage department than had his daughter.
He felt the pain seize him, and knew in an instant that his death was upon him. The clock struck midnight on the first of December, and Randal knew he was dying . . . but the clock stopped moving. He wasn't dead? He was still weak, but felt no pain. He heard . . . sleigh bells? Suddenly a bright light emanated from the air vent in his room. He shielded his eyes weakly with his hand as a figure, obscured by the light, appeared before him. The light slowly faded leaving the strange man before him.
The man was dressed, of all things, like Santa Claus. The full red getup. But there was a lot about this picture that didn't fit that description. The man was huge. He stood at least six and a half foot tall. He was also not the least bit fat. He had the white beard and hair; but the scar across his left eye seemed to be out of place on Saint Nicholas. He was an imposing man in all; and if Randal weren't dying he might be afraid of him. As it stood, however, he simply found himself curious.
"Who . . . are you?" Randal managed to croak.
"Who do you think I am, my good man?" he responded. "I am Santa Claus. I am also known as Sinterklaas, Saint Nicholas, Kris Kringle, Father Christmas, Jólnir, Wodan, and Odin; amongst other names. You have questions, I am sure, but hold your breath for a time, as it is quite labored, and I shall tell you what I can. The questions that remain thereafter, I will answer." Randal simply nodded weakly. "You see, I am ready to go now, Randal. I am done being Santa. I need someone to take my place. You see, while it is true that I am all that I have told you I am; I was once a man like you. Some three hundred odd years ago, I became Father Christmas. It started with Odin and Yule . . . but it is a very mixed up amalgam now . . . it being me . . . Santa. We need a central spirit to hold us all together. Combining a Norse god, Catholic Saint, literary figure and more into a single entity is . . . not easy. It requires the most powerful force in the universe, a human soul. Not just any human soul, either. It requires a soul without a single spot of sin . . . a pure soul . . . Like yours."
Santa, if that's who he truly was, looked deep into Randal's eyes with his own piercing blue orbs, the left one glowing unnaturally. At that moment all thought that the man wasn't Santa was gone. Randal felt a sense of vertigo as the awe threatened to overwhelm him. He looked about himself for support, but his family seemed frozen in time. He finally came back to himself enough to whisper, "Not . . . without . . . sin."
"Ho, ho, ho, ho," laughed Santa heartily. The deep rumbling laugh made Randal ashamed that it was relayed in written form by a series of aches and ohs; it was oh so much more. "You mean your thoughts about your children? That is nothing at all. You can't sin with your mind man! It's what you do that matters; not what you think. Even if you had mated with children, or your kin; it would only matter in whether or not you brought them to harm. Sex is a blessing from Nature; and Nature didn't intend you all to be monogamous. That was your own doing. That said, purely good souls are extraordinarily rare. If you don't want my position; It might be another hundred years or more before there is another pure soul to take my place. Keep that in mind as you decide, because once you become Santa Claus, you will abide by those same limitations."
Randal thought about what had been said. He had held himself back . . . for nothing? He could have been expressing his love physically with his children and grandchildren all these years and he hadn't. And now it was over . . . or not. What could be better than to be Santa Claus? Bringing joy to all those children . . . not to mention his own family . . . a second chance. "Okay," he croaked out, "I'll . . . do it."
"Very well," said Santa solemnly. He approached Randal and placed his hand on his forehead. There was a sudden flash of light, and Randal was standing over his weakened form. Knowledge flooded his mind, but pulled back.
Not so quickly, came a thought in his head. It was his own, but at the same time it was not. You're always in such a rush, Woden.
And you take too long, Nicholas, replied another thought that was at once his and not his.
Our thoughts will become yours soon enough, another thought answered his unspoken question. I am Kris. It may take a bit of time, but we will all become one by Christmas Eve. We are only separate for a short adjustment period when we get a new center, welcome Randal.
We're wasting precious minutes, came another thought, along with the image of a pocket watch. Randal reached into his right pocket and drew out the watch. The arms swept backwards. The nature of the watch came to him like a memory; but it was one that he had never made. The watch stored each sabbath day . . . both Saturday and Sunday . . . throughout the year. When he pressed the button at the top he could use that time, and the world would stand still. He used this to get the time he needs each year to deliver his gifts. He would never see another weekend . . . unless the twenty-fifth of December fell on a weekend.
He began to wonder how he would leave, but it came to his mind as easily as the nature of the watch . . . the vent. He looked down at his body once more, and was surprised to see that it still breathed. "Thank you," said the former Santa from his body, "I can rest now." With that his body expired. Randal sighed once, then took a last look at his family frozen in time. He made his way to the vent, winked his eyelid over his magical glass left eye, nodded his head; and was suddenly flying through the ventilation system of the hospital. In the fluttering of a fairy's wing, he found himself on the hospital roof.
In front of him was a sleigh. It was of exquisite construction, red and gold. On the side of the sleigh was the image of an eight-legged horse and the name Slepnir below it. His Odin self grew nostalgic looking at the logo. A team of eight reindeer were hitched to the sleigh, mirroring the eight legs of the horse. In the sleigh sat what could only be an elf. She looked like a child of six . . . then his mind told him that she was a child . . . long ago.
It came to him at once. He brought the good children gifts and treats . . . but there was another . . . Krampus. Krampus was his counterpart . . . well underling really. Krampus punished the naughty children with rods . . . and his cock? Randal shook his head quickly. Yes, he raped the bad children to teach them a lesson . . . but in the morning it was as if it had been a bad dream. The worst children, however, he took up in his sack and carried them away. These children he conditioned in his own workshop next to Santa's. When he was done, they were elves; frozen in age for all time, working off their evil past by making gifts for the good children of the world. It seemed too much for Randal for a moment . . . the enormity of the revelation. He steadied himself and looked back at the . . . elf . . . girl . . . he remembered Penny . . . Peppermint Penny, head elf.
"We about done gawking, New Blood?" she said suddenly.
"You aren't frozen?" exclaimed Randal. You really need to stop thinking of yourself by that name, came a voice in his mind. It will speed up the reunification if you can thing of yourself as who we all are . . . Santa Claus.
"Yeah," said Penny, "elves, your reindeer, Krampus, some other magical beings . . . we share the time you use on the watch. Speaking of which, you might want to start time back up. That watch only has about one hundred four days on it, and you need a lot of that time for Christmas Eve.
"Right," said Santa as he pressed the button on the watch. Time lurched forward again. "Back to the North Pole then?"
Penny shrugged saying, "You're the boss, New Blood."
Santa climbed into his sleigh, taking a moment to remember how to drive the reindeer, then speed North at a ridiculous rate of speed. He was amazed at how fast they were flying, but at the same time he was amazed that he was amazed. He was becoming used to the separate parts of himself . . . he was becoming one. His new unity was letting him know a few other topics. For instance: his sleigh, and anything therein or attached to it (like the reindeer), could only be seen by those who were pure and innocent, or those of the Christmas Village . . . except on Christmas Eve, where it is visible to all. The Christmas Village was actually under the Arctic icecap, not on it. His sleigh and reindeer actually swim home, but are protected from the arctic temperatures with the help of the magic of the sleigh and harnesses. There was also an elf in charge of caring for the reindeer called Reindeer Rachael, and she . . . oh my . . . she took care of them in every way.
Santa found himself suddenly plunging into the waters of the Arctic Ocean. A bubble formed over the sleigh and the reindeer swam through the water as if it were a tropical lagoon. Soon he found himself entering the domed city of Christmas Village.