After listening to SantsPantsRadio’s ‘Shut Up A Second’ Podcast Episode “Elves”, I wrote a short Christmas Story:
Once there was a very depressed young man named Nick. Nick was in his early thirties, and had given up on life. He had gained a fuck-ton of weight and his hair was greying prematurely. Depression had gripped him and wouldn’t let go. He bought a sled and some fine reindeer, and took off for the arctic, where he hoped the great howling white death would swallow him whole.
One by one the reindeer collapsed in the freezing temperatures, until only the sled remained. Nick wandered into the sheer white, hoping this was the end. He was quite Emo. He wrote poetry.
The last thing he remembered before passing out from what he assumed must have been ‘snow madness’ was little faces appearing out of the haze and the sound of, well, not quite laughter, but close…
He awoke with a start, to find his frostbite healed, apart from some very sore, red abrasions from the cold wind on his cheeks and nose. He looked around him. He was in a small room surrounded by at least fifty smelly little people brandishing roughly-hewn chisels and hammers. They wore pointy hats covered in arcane script and heavy boots with sharp bits on the tip.
They explained to him that he was slowly dying, his organs shutting down one by one, but that he had a choice.
Option 1: Be dragged (slowly) back out into the snow where he would surely die, but would find no peace and would likely wander the white hell as a wraith.
Option 2: they could give him near-eternal life and he would become their servant, doing their bidding.
They would also grant him some of their Elven magic.
Nick had come so close to death (and saw it for what it was – boring.) It no longer held the allure it once had, and an eternity as a wraith didn’t sound like a good move (plus Elven magic sounded interesting) so with a grave sigh, he agreed to their terms.
Slowly his heart stopped beating, then only a vague memory of cold that seemed without end.
Until December 24.
To extend his life, the Elves cast a spell to freeze him with magic ice EXCEPT for one night a year, when he and his reindeer would be reanimated. In this way he would achieve a ‘kind’ of immortality, but still remain human enough for the Elves’ purposes. With his undead reindeer, Nick could travel the globe with magical powers of flight and a bottomless psychic bag that would produce gifts designed to first excite and then bore children.
As part of his ‘binding’, the Elves removed his ability to cry or express his endless sadness, partly because he was a bummer to be around, and also so that he wouldn’t try to harm himself or commit suicide to gain freedom from their deal. Every time he wanted to say “please kill me” all he could manage was an insane grunt that sounded to most people who heard it like “Ho”.
Because he had to hibernate for almost the entire year, Nick took every opportunity to gorge on cookies, milk, beer and anything else that was left out for him, to satisfy his immortal hunger and thirst.
The Santa Weapon (as he was then dubbed, but only within the walls of the expansive underground Elven Holds) would travel the world delivering mind-numbing, spirit-crushing toys to children, distracting them from what’s actually important (like building Anti-Elf Weapons) and indoctrinating them into a materialistic, plastic-fantastic lifestyle and disposable-friendly, world-weary, attention-deficient mindset that would ensure the Elves would, in time, be able to easily enslave humanity.