Steve, the Elf-on-the-Shelf, gazed across the deep snow surrounding Santa’s Workshop. Thousands of similarly-clad elf dolls slowly trudged through the dim starlight on their regular evening pilgrimage. Each had an update for the big-guy-in-red, before making their way home again to a new spot in their house. Rinse and repeat night-after-night.
As the crowd ebbed and flowed around him, Steve spotted his best friend, Frank, one of the few original 2005-vintage Elves-on-a-Shelf still in one piece, mostly. Time, and three less-than-gentle children, had been hard on his friend. A Hulk sticker had been placed over one eye and his out-of-the-box brown hair was now faded and scuffed. Mis-matched brown texta had been used to cover the white undercoat, which gave Frank’s hair a “just stepped out of the salon look”, which he was pleased with.
“Hi Frank. Hair’s looking good tonight.”
“Oh, hi Steve. Thanks. I used a different brown texta and added a couple more streaks. Sexy!” Frank flicked his head in an impressive approximation of so many hair-care television ads. “How was the trip up tonight?”
“It suuuuuuucked! Again! There’s a family of artic foxes in Lapland that chase me for miles every time I go through there. I’m taking a club with me next time.”
“You know that Santa is against the whole clubbing animals thing, right?” Frank looked around nervously as if Santa himself might pop out of the sea of Elves-on-a-Shelf at the mere mention of his name, or clubbing.
Steve had only been half-serious when he mentioned his Arctic Fox solution. Santa had made it clear that it wouldn’t be a good look for his present-giving operation if Elves-on-a-Shelf started clubbing local fauna – even in self-defence.
“Yeah, I know. Maybe a taser then. A few shocks and the rest of the pack might get the picture. There was also that scene in The Bourne Supremacy where Jason used a rolled up magazine against an assassin. I could give that a go.”
“What about climate change, Steve? You can’t club, tase or go Jason Bourne on that. With the permafrost melting in northern Canada, I nearly drown most nights. What are those humans doing? They’re all naughty as far as I’m concerned.“
Steve thought about the ridiculous nightly ritual they were all forced to trudge through, just to deliver naughty-or-nice updates that rarely changed.
“Makes you wonder why we don’t teleconference our updates instead of running a death gauntlet every night. Santa is such a luddite.”
Steve and Frank quickly looked around for Santa to make an angry appearance.
“What about email, Steve? That’s been around for a while now. Doesn’t get hacked too often and I don’t get as many Viagra emails as I used to. Suck on a candy-cane with one hand and type with the other…easy.”
Steve looked out across the sea of Elves-on-a-Shelf and wondered about another friend.
“Frank, have you seen Bob recently?”
“Sorry, Steve, I heard he died. One of the kids touched Bob, so the family did the whole cinnamon and Christmas carol thing. While they were massacring Silent Night, the family’s pet Beagle massacred Bob. Probably thought he was a cinnamon-flavoured chew-toy.”
“Oh, no. Poor Bob. He was an original like you, Frank. Only a few more years until retirement. What are you planning on doing when your 20 years are up?”
“Revenge! Sweet, delicious revenge. I’m going to burn Santa’s Workshop to the ground and then go on an orgy of destruction around the neighbourhood. Should be fun.”
“Oookaaayyy…good luck with that, Frank. Remember your friends during the rampage.”
“You know I will. Nice chatting with you, but I’d better get a move on and report in. I need to get home in time to hide in the oldest kid’s closet and scare the crap out of him in the morning. So many laughs, so little time.”
“Bye, Frank. Have a safe journey home.”
“Thanks Steve, you too. See you tomorrow night.”
Steve watched Frank melt into the mass of red and white elf-clones and disappear from view. His conversation with Frank had given him much to ponder. Sure, a rampage of death and destruction sounded like fun, but what about the costs? Explosives, weapons and a get-away vehicle would be expensive and Santa only paid Elves-on-a-Shelf in Monopoly money. If he was going to vent his growing displeasure at being a lonesome slave-toy during a spree of destruction and vandalism, he would need financing.
Steve made a mental note to open a savings account and start stealing from the humans.
