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Santa's Raid on The North Pole

The Adventures of Quaraun the Insane

A Random Short Story

By

EelKat Wendy Christine Allen

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 Quaraun, a male Moon Elf silk weaver and glass blower from Ivujivik, Quebec, now residing in Pepper Valley, Maine, lived and travelled with his lover BoomFuzzy the Unicorn, who was a Lich. GhoulSpawn, Quaraun’s time travelling companion, had dropped out of the sky during the night and was now debating with Quaraun, while Unicorn slept.

“So, you’re telling me,” GhoulSpawn sputtered in disbelief. “That Santa Claus is real?”

“Yes,” Quaraun said, very matter-of-factly, while staring intently at the pink silk that was stretched across the enormous wooden hoop in front of him. He set about to threading his needle and embroidering the cloth.

“And Krampus is real. . .” GhoulSpawn went on.

“Krumpas,” Quaraun corrected, not lifting his eyes from his task. The pink silk he was embroidering blended in with the pink taffeta gown he was wearing. Both flowed over his lap, draping gracefully down to the ground, trailing into the snow, becoming soggy and frozen solid.

GhoulSpawn huffed impatiently. “What?”

“His name is Krumpas, like a crumpet. Not Krampus, like stomach cramps. Everyone always gets it wrong.”

“Krumpas.”

“Yes,” Quaraun replied again, looking up briefly to regard his companion. His tone was calm but firm as he continued his work.

GhoulSpawn sighed heavily. “But why?” he asked exasperatingly. “Why does anyone believe that this guy exists when everyone knows he doesn’t?”

Quaraun shrugged and said nothing.

“And all this time I thought you were making it up,” GhoulSpawn said sarcastically, still disbelieving.

“I’m not making it up,” Quaraun replied firmly. He turned back to his task, now attaching tiny seed beads to the embroidery.

“Krampus is a Troll. . .”

“KRUMPAS is a Phooka,” Quaraun smiled wryly as he spoke. “Faeries are real. You know that. BoomFuzzy was a Faerie. Unicorn is a Faerie. Is it so hard to believe that Santa Claus is a FarDarrig and Krumpas is a Phooka, and the Christmas Elves are Brownies?”

GhoulSpawn stared at his best friend for a moment, unable to believe what he was hearing. “Are you serious?” he asked.

“Of course I am,” Quaraun said. “I’m an Elf. I am incapable of making jokes or telling lies. Would you hand me those scissors?” Quaraun gestured towards the basket on the ground.

“You know I met plenty of Elves who told jokes and lies, Quaraun,” GhoulSpawn said as he knelt beside the basket and rummaged through it, looking for Quaraun’s scissors. “Your inability to laugh or smile or understand jokes or tell lies has nothing to do with you being an Elf and everything to do with you being Autistic.”

“Being what?” Quaraun asked as he took the scissors from GhoulSpawn. “Thank you.” Quaraun cut the thread and proceeded to thread the needle again, this time with a different shade of pink silk.

“Autistic.”

“What’s that?” Quaraun asked simply, continuing his work.

“It’s mental disorder. You wouldn’t understand it if I tried to explain it. Science hasn’t discovered it yet, so even if I tried to explain it, all I would do is confuse you. Just believe me when I tell you that you are the most savant Autistic Savant I’ve ever seen.”

“I will believe you, that I am whatever you just called me, if you believe me when I tell you Santa Claus is real and so is Krumpas.”

“So, besides telling me Santa Claus is real, and he’s a Leprechaun . . . ”

“FarDarrig.”

“Same thing.”

“No. Leprechauns are Irish and FarDarrigs are Welsh.”

“And Clurichaun are Scottish. Yes, I know. I know my Faerie races. Leprechauns are Irish mischief sprites who hoard up gold. Clurichaun are Scottish mischief sprites who go on drinking binges. FarDarrigs are Welsh mischief sprites who push Humans off precipices and later make coats out of Human skins. But they are all mischief sprites who grew old and became solitary grouchy old men. They are all three the exact same thing, just called something different depending on where they live. But that’s besides the point. You’re also telling me Krampus is real and his name is actually Krumpas, not Krampus?”

“Yes.”

“And Krampus. . .”

“Krumpas.”

“Krumpas, is BoomFuzzy’s cousin?”

“Unicorn. Yes.”

“And you two go visit him at the North Pole every Christmas?”

“Labrador,” Quaraun said.

“What?”

Quaraun didn’t say anything for several moments. He sat back, crossing his legs, looking down at the glistening snow thoughtfully. Finally, he nodded slowly, seeming to think better of whatever it was he had planned to say.

“Santa’s Village is in Labrador,” Quaraun said slowly and calmly. “Not the North Pole. Common mistake. We of Ivujivik are actually further Northward than Santa Claus is.”

“Oh yeah?” GhoulSpawn’s tone was condescending.

“Yes.”

“Whatever. You’re telling me he’s real and you visit him?”

“Yes.”

GhoulSpawn crossed his arms angrily in front of his chest, as he muttered under his breath and stomped through the snow, pacing for several moments.

Quaraun intently regarded GhoulSpawn’s cloven hoof prints in the snow.

“Your footprints look like reindeer trails,” Quaraun mused.

“What?” GhoulSpawn was caught off guard by this change in subject.

“When we get to Santa’s Village, you need to run past the stables a few times, so I can see how much like reindeer hooves, your sheep hooves are.”

GhoulSpawn threw his hands in the air in frustration. Then he paced back and forth some more.

“He’s real? Like, really real?”

“Of course.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes.”

“And you haven’t been back in a few years, because last time you were there, Unicorn ate Santa’s Elves, slaughtered his reindeer, and accidentally produced a portal that sent Santa to Hell and brought Satan to the North Pole?”

“Yes, but that was years ago. I’ve dealt with those situations.”

“Oh.”

“And besides, I told you, it’s not the North Pole. . .”

“Uh! Whatever!”

Quaraun momentarily glanced up from his embroidery, then continued focusing on his project.

“And you just informed me all of this, because I inquired if you celebrate Christmas?”

“Yes,” Quaraun said.

“How?”

“How what?”

“How is Santa real? Explain that.”

“You’re a talking sheep. Explain that.”

“I’m an Ursiug. I am a Welsh sheep-Demon. I’m a Chaos Demon with Cotswold wool. I was born in Hell and I escaped and now I’m here, stuck with you again. And Santa Claus isn’t real.”

“Santa Claus is real. He’s as real as the Easter Bunny.”

“What?”

“I said . . . ” Quaraun started again.

“I heard what you said!” GhoulSpawn yelled. “What are you even talking about? No one believes in Santa Claus. I don’t even believe in Santa Claus. He’s a made-up story to get children to behave. Now you are telling me the Easter Bunny is real too?”

“He’s real. Santa Claus is real. Satan is real. Krumpas is real. And the Easter Bunny is an Elf who accidentally got turned into a rabbit and is cursed to hand out chocolate coated marshmallow bunnies to all the children, one day a year, for the rest of eternity, or until I can figure out how to undo the wish he made.”

“Wish? You don’t mean you . . . ”

“Yeah, I may have unintentionally made the Easter Bunny real. You see there was this Elf, who was singing some holiday song at random, something about Easter Bunnies hoping down bunny trails, and he stopped singing to announce he wished he was an Easter Bunny so he could hop down bunny trails too, and, he turned into a bunny, and . . . ”

“That’s enough,” GhoulSpawn interrupted. “Why do you keep doing things like that?”

“Like what?”

“Granting these hare-brained, numbskull wishes people ask for.”

“It’s not like I meant to do it!”

“You are a terrible wizard,” GhoulSpawn said. “How do people call YOU, of all people, the world’s most powerful wizard, when you can’t even grant a wish properly?”

“Can YOU grant wishes?”

“No. But I’m not a Di’Jinn either. How do you do things like this so often?”

“Well, I was a kid at the time. I didn’t yet know I had a wish granting area around me. I don’t do it on purpose. It just happens. Every wish I hear, my soul somehow grants it.”

“So, Santa Claus is real? Satan is real? Krampus is real?”

“Krumpas.”

“And now on top of that, you are telling me the Easter Bunny is not only real, but he used to be an Elf who you accidentally turned into a rabbit, because you’re a Di’Jiin?”

“Yes.”

“So if I want to go to the moon, all I have to do is to wish it, and you will make it happen?”

“Yes. But please don’t wish for that. You’ll end up inside the centre of the moon or something like that.”

“How in the heck do you expect me to believe any of this?”

Quaraun shrugged. “Don’t know what I can say to cause you believe me.”

“And you find that odd?”

“You said Santa isn’t real. That’s like saying that the Easter Bunny isn’t real. That’s like saying that Hell isn’t real.”

“Hell is real,” the cloven hooved sheep-Demon said. “I should know. I was born there. I spent my childhood there. And I never want to see it again.”

“Did you ever believe in Santa?”

“I used to believe in Santa when I was a kid. . .”

“Don’t you mean lamb?”