Elf in the Ornament

ONE

Mrs. Claus knew who it was without even turning to look, the whistling growing louder as he entered the picture room and plopped down into a rocking chair beside the fireplace. The old green paint on the chair was heavily worn, completely gone on the seat and the arms, and the wood made an awful creaking noise when it rocked. Still, Santa refused to let anyone fix it. "It just wouldn’t be the same," he’d reply when one of the elves wanted to repair his favorite chair.

This night, he appeared deep in thought; sighing as he stared into the crackling fire. "November 30^{th already. The big day will be here in less than a month!"}

"Everything will be ready, Santa," Mrs. Claus assured him, as she handed him a cold glass of milk.

Santa nodded in agreement, his long, white beard brushing across his red flannel shirt and green suspenders. "Tomorrow I must check my list again to make sure I haven’t missed anyone."

"I’m quite sure that every child’s name will be on your list," said Mrs. Claus.

Santa sipped the milk. "Yes, but have they been ‘naughty’ or ‘nice.’ I must be sure."

Returning to the bright red rocking chair on the other side of the fire; Mrs. Claus lifted a cup of hot tea from the round wooden table between them. "Woody was looking for you this afternoon. He mentioned plans for a new ornament of some sort...and seemed very anxious to tell you about it."

"Woody creates the most marvelous toys," replied Santa. "I wonder what he’s come up with now?"

Just then, they heard a familiar sound. "Clop, clop, clop, clop, clop"...ending with a gentle knock at the door.

Mrs. Claus smiled. "That must be Woody. I told you he couldn't wait."

Indeed, it was nearly impossible for Woody to go anywhere in the castle unnoticed. Barely three feet tall, he had curly brown hair and wore thick wire rim glasses which framed his gray-green eyes. It was his rather large feet however, the longest of all the elves at the North Pole, which drew notice. "Clop, clop, clop, clop!" The distinctive sound they made when he walked was as unusual as the elf himself.

"Come in, Woody," said Santa, as he reached toward a plate of cookies on the table.

"Ah, oatmeal with chocolate chips, my favorite."

"Good evening, Mrs. Claus. Good evening, Santa," said the little elf as he entered the room; his arms filled with several rolled sheets of wrinkled parchment that were tied with ribbon. The dancing flames of the roaring fireplace reflected in his glasses as he came nearer, surrounded by pink walls almost entirely covered in gold, green and red wooden frames filled with drawings and paintings of Santa. All had been made and left by children, next to the glasses of cold milk and cookies of a hundred Christmas Eve’s passed. The Picture Room was a very special, almost magical place. It was also Santa's favorite room in the entire castle.

"Well let’s see what you’ve been working on," said Santa wearily as he pushed the plate of cookies to the side.

Woody carefully unrolled sheets of parchment crowded with notes, drawings and measurements across the table.

"I believe this ornament could help you keep track of who’s being naughty or nice!" Woody exclaimed, proudly pointing to a drawing on the top sheet.

Santa leaned back into his chair, slowly running his fingers through his beard. "Mrs. Claus and I were just discussing that very problem...but how could an ornament do that?"

"Allow him to continue, Kris," insisted Mrs. Claus. "Go on, Woody."

Woody took a deep breath. "Soon, families all over the world will have Christmas trees in their homes, decorated with lots of lights and ornaments and...perhaps this ornament."

"What makes your ornament so special, Woody?" asked Mrs. Claus.

"Well, it’s not really the ornament, it’s what will be living inside the ornament."

Santa pulled his spectacles down to the edge of his nose and the smile disappeared from his face. Woody now had Santa's full attention.

"What will be living inside the ornament?" asked Santa.

"An elf!" declared Woody.

"An elf?" exclaimed Mrs. Claus, almost dropping her cup of tea.

"A what?" cried Santa in disbelief.

Woody picked up the top sheet of parchment and held it tightly against his vest as he took another deep breath. "I believe a tiny elf could secretly live in this ornament during the Christmas season; sending reports to us at the North Pole every night about the children living in the home. The elf could keep a close watch over the children without them ever knowing. Then the elf would leave with Santa when he arrived on Christmas Eve."

Santa was now on the edge of his seat, looking deeply into the eye's of the little elf as if he were trying to see inside Woody's head. When Santa spoke, it was merely a whisper. "In all my years, I’ve never seen these tiny elves of which you speak, here in my castle...or anywhere else for that matter."

"N-No, Santa," stammered Woody. "It would take a little bit of magic."

"Zanzibar’s powder could reduce an elf to the size of my finger," suggested Mrs. Claus, waving her pinkie in the air.

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