of this. “It’s more the application of extremely advanced scientific understanding and presumably of some sort of phenomenal technology.”
“Essentially you are right. ‘Magic’ is ultimately something of an imaginative term. It gives a more inspiring and uplifting feel to things,” the reindeer explained. “Of course, the underlying reality of it involves extraordinarily sophisticated and advanced scientific knowledge and capability. But it’s so far beyond anything the everyday world can comprehend that, in a sense, it is, and certainly can feel like and appear like magic. From any ordinary viewpoint, it practically is magic. It’s quite beyond practical science as the world knows it.”
There was a pause. Screwge was still feeling enthralled by this entire situation.
“Say, do you have a name then?” he asked this reindeer with whom he had struck up this rather fascinating conversation.
“Of course. I’m Prancer,” answered the reindeer.
“I thought Prancer was a member of Santa’s sleigh-pulling team. What are you doing down here?” asked Screwge.
“Well, Santa always has reindeer who are trying to make it onto the team for Christmas Eve. We all have a traditional sleigh-reindeer name. That way a crew can always be made up to comprise a reindeer of each name, to be in keeping with tradition. And all of us here are on rotation throughout the night as it does take a very long time for Santa to visit all of the places he goes to.”
“So where’s Rudolph?” enquired an interested Screwge.
“Oh, there are a couple of Rudolphs around here somewhere. They’re the ones without the antlers,” explained the reindeer.
“Er…” began Screwge.
“No, Rudolph hasn’t got a shiny red nose, just a good instinct for direction,” Prancer, to whom it was obvious what his next question was going to be, told him. “That ‘red-nosed reindeer’ story is just a myth, I’m afraid.”
“Well, that’s, er…very interesting,” declared Screwge, rather spellbound by all of this.
The delightful scenery enraptured him. The moon was shining brightly in the night sky. The brilliance of the thick snow, lying undisturbed across vast areas of land, reflecting its light into the darkness, gave a soft, ghostly illumination. Outside the large, solitary house behind him, there was an inviting, warm, gentle glow coming from all of the coloured lights. And all of this was in complete silence, save for the odd tinkling of bells.
“Hay, there must be some very special reason for you to have been brought here,” remarked the reindeer. “Only particularly special cases get flown out here to Santa’s home in Lapland at Christmas. And by the man himself, no less.” This last point carried great significance. “There must be some issue of greater importance than just you as an individual.”
“Well,” responded Screwge, thoughtful of the circumstances of his presence here. “I had a very negative attitude towards Christmas. I slighted and snubbed it all. I saw nothing in it; couldn’t be bothered with it. Even had an undecorated Christmas tree just to purposely not decorate it, as a tangible way of rejecting the whole thing,” he said, chuckling with the realisation of how foolish it now seemed to have done this. “People were well aware of my complaining, miserable, miserly, selfish attitude, particularly towards Christmas,” he went on, describing the way he had acted and felt at this time of year.
“What about charity and goodwill to all; peace and joy, the spirit of Christmas?”
“When I looked at things, I never saw a world that embodied or inspired in me any of these qualities. Anyway, that was just my general demeanour.”
“That’s precisely why Christmas is so important,” the reindeer told him, his tone becoming more emphatic and sincere. “It brings to the world a sense of hope, a sense that there is something better, something magical.”
“Clearly I was a very stark representation of the rejection, the dismissal, of the importance of the meaning and the message of Christmas. And I suppose that was something that had to be addressed,” said Screwge, reflectively. “Now I can go back changed completely, and impart to others, and make them more aware of, the reality and true meaning of it all. As known as I am for rejecting the whole thing, people will be astonished to see and hear me conveying glad tidings and wishes of goodwill and joy at this time of year, advocating merriment and giving, and ardently embracing and promoting the whole thing. People will have to consider the idea that there must be something really special about it all to have caused me to be exhibiting such behaviour. I suppose most don’t take it that seriously anyway, though,” he continued, thinking about the typical attitudes he had noticed in people during the Christmas season, “at least not in the sense that they appreciate, or that their behaviour reflects, its true value. To them it’s just a time for partying and eating and drinking. They involve themselves with the commercial side of it, getting lots of presents and supplying themselves with copious amounts of food and alcohol, but that’s all it means to them. There’s no real sense of the wonder and magic, except where children are concerned, of course. The feeling that there is anything particularly special about it seems to be lacking.”
“Yes, clearly you’re here because you represent the antithesis of what Christmas is all about. They want you to go back and be more cheerful and inspirational, more generous and unselfish,” the reindeer pointed out.
A contemplative pause followed.
“What if this is all just a dream?” asked Screwge.
“Does it matter? Would that diminish any of the understanding you’ve gained from it all?” asked the reindeer, rhetorically, demonstrating some very wise thinking.
“I suppose, essentially, it wouldn’t. But then if none of it was real…”
“You’d still have learned the lesson. Why don’t you go and meet some of the people inside the house?” he was then invited.
“Are there elves in there? Santa’s little helpers?” asked Screwge, almost jokingly, as if this seemed too fanciful to be true.
“Why don’t you go and have a look?” said the reindeer.
Screwge made his way over to the house, treading a path through the thick layer of snow, hearing it crunching as it compacted underfoot. As his feet scrunched through the snow, the colourful lights increasingly came into focus. Glancing back, the reindeer had returned to being once again just shadowy figures in the dimness. He knocked on the door of the house, and moments later it opened, revealing the mass of colour and activity inside. The elf who had answered it was a little over four feet tall.
“You must be Screwge,” he said, looking up to meet Screwge’s downward gaze. “We’ve been expecting you. Come on in.”
“Are you an elf?” Screwge enquired, looking for confirmation of this as he entered the house, finding himself among a multitude of elves and other people.
“Why, of course I am,” came the slightly surprised reply, as though to the elf this was so obvious he wondered why anyone would even need to ask. “As you can see, we’re quite busy. What we do on Christmas Eve is the equivalent of a whole month’s work, but takes up only around half a day of normal time in the outside world. Though this is only at Christmas, of course. Obviously, for the rest of the year, we have to function in normal time. And we must keep ourselves informed of what’s going on everywhere in the world,” the elf told him. “We have to find out everything.”
As he mingled with the other elves, noticing several ordinary people, he was subject to a stream of Christmas greetings. He almost felt like he was some sort of special invitee everybody had been expecting.
“What am I supposed to be, some kind of special guest?” he asked, quite surprised by the attention he was receiving.
“Indeed. All of our guests are regarded and treated as special,” declared a nearby elf clutching a clipboard, whose task it was to check the arrival of the people who were supposed to have come.
“What am I here for?” Screwge enquired, curious as to the exact purpose of his having been invited to join in the elves’ Christmas celeb
ration. “Come to think of it, I was basically kidnapped, you know,” he added as an afterthought, though not terribly serious or concerned about this.
“Dear me, there’s no point looking at things in that way,” the elf told him. “You’re here because there was something about you, something in your character or your nature or behaviour. There is some reason why you needed or deserved to be brought here.”
“Have a mince pie,” offered another elf, in a rather encouraging and jocund manner, passing him with a tray piled high with warm, enticing, freshly baked mince pies. He could tell just by looking at them that they would be marvellous to eat.
“Christmas celebrations and merrymaking, you see, had their origins in the Pagan winter rituals and customs of revelry and rejoicing of many centuries passed,” another elf explained. “Since then it has come to be a religious celebration of the birth of Christ. Many new ideas and customs have been adopted over the centuries and old ones rethought and reworked. Christmas gained much of its importance because of the way it has always drawn families together. The traditions we associate with it today are the food, family gatherings, festivities, presents, general enjoyment and, of course, goodwill to all.” Such things as this, Screwge had only ever vaguely acknowledged. To him they had held but superficial significance. Never really had he