Holiday G/T Stories:
Secret Santa
I
t was a quiet night. Snow capped every rooftop, and the neighborhood from a bird's-eye view was nothing but swathes of white and twinkling lights. There were no wild animals out, for they all had receded into their dens to keep warm from the winter.
If you were awake, you'd hear the faint jingling of sleigh bells.
A bright blue sped through the air, the faint sound of, "Ho, ho, ho!" briefly audible to anyone on the icy streets - had there been any.
A sleigh, pulled by nine flying reindeer, soared through the chilly winter air. The reindeers' hooves clattered on cold air, as though it were as solid as the ground we stood upon. The bells that adorned the railings of the sleigh jingled an empty and echoey sound, that travelled through the air like birdsong.
The sleigh curved gracefully in the air, before descending, and landing soundlessly on the roof of a house.
The reindeers snorted and grunted, stirring impatiently as someone's voice muttered out of the sleigh. A small figure with a small Christmas hat and large red clothes sat atop the seat, holding a large leaf of paper in his hands. Yet this was no Jolly Ol' Saint Nicholas.
Far from it.
You see, Santa Claus, old as he seemed, was immortal. He was alive and healthy because of the people who truly believed in his existence. The tales of St. Nick, the songs, the stories, the spirit...
In turn, he would give out presents to those who - he indeed did keep track - were good, and refrain from doing so for the naughty children. It happened every year; who was he to break tradition?
It went without saying, during the recent few decades, things had changed rather drastically. Children simply stopped believing. Whether it be their parents, their own thoughts, or any of the like, no one, save for a few, sincerely believe that Santa Claus was real.
He fell deathly ill, and was bedridden for years. His wife, held eternally in a bond with him, tended to him as best she could.
But as they reached the tenth year, Santa Claus, believers and stories and spirit be damned, finally came to rest. He and his wonderful wife, who had stayed together for two millennia, finally faded away, to go to a better place, hopefully for their souls to peacefully rest.
In their quaint little home in the North Pole, they had families of elves that they protected and housed for generations. To express their gratitude, they helped make toys for Santa Claus, and tried their best to tend to him when they could.
When the two had finally left, they left their land to the elves, and willed that they continue the Christmas tradition. The elves, slowly churning out magic, and tearful of their beloved couple leaving, agreed with hesitation.
However, the elves were quite a bit shorter than the stories made them out to be. The tallest one of them only barely topped 4 inches.
The daunting task of delivering presents to millions upon millions of families was not impossible, however, which led to the start of a new tradition; each year, an elf would train to become the Santa Claus for the year, and then carry out a gift-giving trip on the sleigh.
That elf, on this year, happened to be Olivier Patch, of the Patch family. He was quite young, only 40 years old on the spot (roughly the same as a 8 year-old human child), and was enthusiastic to begin his year as Santa Claus.
The tiny elf scratched one of his long, pointed ear absentmindedly as he gazed up and down the list. He had reached...
"Boy number one-million, five hundred and sixty-three," He mused aloud, reading the name. "Devyn Lep." He carefully hefted his sack of magical orbs up onto his back, and grabbed his hook.
