Ben said nothing. He poked his finger into his bread roll and pursed his lips.
“Oh, come on,” his mother said. “It’s Christmas! Let’s have no fights today.”
“We’re not fighting!” Ben’s father said. “I just want to know why he keeps on with that silly Santa talk all the time.”
The doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Ben said.
It was Charlotte. Her hair was covered with snowflakes. Mutt gave Ben’s knee a friendly shove with her nose.
“Merry Christmas!” Charlotte smiled awkwardly and handed Ben a little package. “Go on, open it.”
“Thanks!” Ben stroked Mutt’s big head. He was terribly embarrassed, because he had no present for Charlotte.
“Why don’t you ask your girlfriend in?” Ben’s mother asked.
“Thanks, but I have to get right back,” Charlotte replied. “We have to pick up my aunt from the station.”
“How nice! Well, Merry Christmas!”
“My aunt’s not nice at all!” Charlotte whispered when Ben’s mother had vanished into the kitchen again. “What do you think? When will he come?”
Ben shrugged. “When it’s dark and he’s finished his rounds.”
“Oh dear!” Charlotte sighed. “A long time to go. Come on, unwrap it — I have to go.”
Ben fumbled with the ribbon. When he finally ripped the paper apart, two pieces of chocolate-covered marzipan and a tiny plastic reindeer fell into his hands. Charlotte had tied bells to the antlers.
“As a souvenir,” she whispered to Ben.
“Thanks!” Ben muttered. “I don’t have …”
“It’s OK,” Charlotte interrupted him. “See you later, OK? And Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” Ben followed her with his eyes as she stomped off through the snow. Then his gaze fell on Niklas Goodfellow’s caravan. No sign of life there. Except for the silvery smoke that still rose out of the chimney.
This waiting is horrible, Ben thought.
He jumped when his mother tapped him on the shoulder.
“Where did you drift off to? Nice girl. But you can close the door now, it’s getting cold in here.” She stroked Ben’s hair. “Come on, let’s switch on the Christmas lights.”
Ben’s father hobbled in on his walking stick. The crutches the doctor had given him stood in the wardrobe, but he refused to use them.
“Pretty overloaded!” he observed, looking at the Christmas tree. Ben’s mother shot him a look of warning.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Twelve.”
“Oh dear, that late already? I must check the oven!”
Ben’s mother always cooked something “unusual” for Christmas dinner. His father loved that; Ben didn’t. He didn’t like unusual things, and he didn’t like it when his mother spent most of Christmas Day in the kitchen while he had to hang around with his father. That could be quite hard work at the best of times — and usually made Ben flee to Will’s on Christmas afternoon. But sadly Will was still offended because of Charlotte.
Ben’s father dropped onto the sofa with a sigh. “How about a little game?”
Ben had been afraid of that question. His father liked games and especially quizzes. He called them general knowledge games and took them very seriously. He would lick his lips with delight before he took a card. And if Ben didn’t know the answer, his father always had a long explanation in store for him.
No, Ben was definitely not in the mood for a game.
“I still have to wrap my presents,” he said.
“Oh, doesn’t Santa bring them?” his father teased. “OK, pass me the remote, then. Maybe there’s something interesting on the box for a change.”
Ah well, it’s still better than Christmas at the beach, Ben thought while he sat at his desk and wrapped first the car magazine for his father and then the cookbook for his mother. Outside, fat snowflakes were still falling from the sky. Niklas, oh Niklas, when are you coming?
Ben pulled Charlotte’s present from his pocket. The marzipan was crushed, but it still tasted good. And the reindeer did indeed look a little like Twinklestar. Ben placed it under the vase of pine branches his mother had put on his desk. Then he looked out the window again, across the snow-covered gardens and white roofs. From the kitchen came the sound of clattering pots and Christmas music.
It’s not a bad Christmas, Ben thought, but it could still get a lot better.
Santa Claus
They ate their way through three courses of Christmas lunch, and Niklas did not come. It grew dark. He did not come. They started giving one another their presents — no Niklas.
“Do you like your presents?” Ben’s mother asked. She gave him a kiss. His father hummed a Christmas tune and looked at his car magazine.
“Great!” Ben pushed his new cars across the carpet. One after another vanished underneath the sofa.
“Even though Santa didn’t bring them himself?” his father teased, laughing. Ben would have loved to kick his leg cast.
“You look sad,” his mother said. She looked concerned. “Shall we go for a nice Christmas stroll in the snow? What do you think?”
Ben shook his head and turned away from her. Surely Niklas would still come. He simply had to come. Otherwise everything would have been for nothing, the Nutcrackers and Goblynch and everything.
His mother got up to gather the torn wrapping paper. She always started cleaning up right after the presents were unwrapped. But suddenly she looked up in surprise. There was a knock on the front door.
“I’ll get it!” Ben called. He stumbled over his presents and ran to the door. He was so excited, he hardly managed to turn the handle.
“Merry Christmas, my boy!” Niklas boomed, ringing a huge bell in his hand and making such a deep bow that his bushy beard nearly touched the doormat.
Ben smiled. He was so happy. So deliciously happy. He felt like bursting with happiness.
“Are you going to let me in?” Niklas asked, giving him a wink. “Even a Santa doesn’t like to be left out in the cold.”
“Of course!” Ben hastily stepped aside. Niklas looked wonderful, simply wonderful, with his cotton-wool beard and his red hood pulled over his dark hair. He had even polished his boots. His coat only had one tiny hole on the right elbow, and he was covered from head to toe in polar glowworms. The huge sack on the young Santa’s shoulder already looked nearly empty.
“I always keep the nicest kids until the end.” Niklas stepped into the living room and made a small bow to Ben’s parents. “A very Merry Christmas to you and congratulations on your wonderful son!”
“Merry Christmas!” Ben’s mother nearly choked with surprise. His father didn’t make a sound. He just sat there staring at Niklas as if he had just crawled out of the chimney.
Niklas Goodfellow let his sack drop onto the carpet and put his bell next to it. Frowning, he looked around the room. Then he went to the radio and switched it off. The blaring Christmas music vanished like a bad smell. Niklas put his finger to his lips and his hand in his coat pocket. When he pulled it out again, Emmanuel was sitting on his palm, a little lute in his hands. The plump little angel fluttered to the Christmas tree, sat on a branch, and began to play. Beautiful.
“Ben, could you please switch off the lights?” said Niklas, loosening the red ribbon from his sack.
Ben switched off the lamps and pulled the plug on the tree lights. The room fell into darkness. Only Niklas glittered and glimmered. He clapped his hands and the glowworms spread over the entire room. Emmanuel’s lute sounded as cozy and soft as cotton wool.
“Good!” Niklas said, stroking his beard. “This is more like it! All ready for the presents?” He smiled mysteriously and looked into his sack. “Matilda, please bring out the gifts. The parents’ first — in this exceptional case the parents also get something.”
Matilda floated out of the sack, made an airborne curtsy, and fluttered toward Ben’s speechless parents. She held a t
iny present in each hand, tightly wrapped with a ribbon and a bell. “Merry Christmas!” she chirped, and let the presents drop into the adults’ laps. Then she flew back to Niklas.
Ben’s parents just sat there and stared at their gifts. All of a sudden they looked like children — like the children they had once been, many, many years ago.
“Angels!” Ben’s mother whispered. She gently stroked the little package, the tiny bell, and the ribbon. Ben’s father hid his present in his hands as if he was afraid Niklas was going to take it away again.
“And now for the most important person!” Niklas announced. “For Ben, the scourge of the Nutcrackers, the enemy of all gruesome Santas.”
Matilda flew back into the sack and came out with two packages. “Merry Christmas, Ben!” she called. Then she flew close to his ear and whispered, “At the caravan at midnight — to say good-bye.”
Ben nodded. “Merry Christmas!”
He took the presents from the tiny angel’s hands. Emmanuel plucked a few more chords on his lute, then he fluttered back to Niklas Goodfellow’s shoulder.
Matilda sat down next to him.
“And a wonderful Christmas to you all,” said Niklas. He stepped up close to each one of them in turn and tapped his fingers against the little packages. Gradually the presents began to grow.
Niklas stepped back with a smile. He tied up his sack and threw it over his shoulder. Then he walked slowly backward to the door. Only after he had reached the hallway did he clap his hands and call back the glowworms.
Then he strolled out into the night. The door shut softly, and Ben and his parents sat in darkness.
Ben’s mother was the first to move. She felt her way into the kitchen and returned with two burning candles. She put them next to the Christmas tree. “Merry Christmas,” she said, giving Ben and his father each a kiss. “Who’s first?”
“You,” said Ben.
With a timid smile she sat down on the sofa and pulled the ribbon from her package. She opened the rustling paper. On her lap lay a little music box with two small angels that looked very much like Matilda and Emmanuel. When Ben’s mother carefully wound it up, they heard the same tune Emmanuel had played.
Enchanted, they all listened. Then Ben’s father cleared his throat. “Is it my turn now?”
“Of course!” Ben grinned.
His father clumsily removed the ribbon and pushed the paper aside. There were three things inside: a pair of pink glasses, a book with the title A Thousand Questions Without Answers, and a small sled with a label that had illegible writing on it.
Ben’s father put on the pink glasses and looked around. “What do you see?” Ben asked.
“That’s a secret,” his father said, “between me and Santa.” He looked at the label. “Ah, now I can read it. PLEASE LEAVE OUTSIDE. WILL GROW IN FALLING SNOW!”
Ben’s father grabbed his walking stick, put Niklas Goodfellow’s book without answers into his pocket, and hobbled with the small sled to the front door. “I hope it grows quickly!” he called over his shoulder. “And I hope Ben will pull me.”
“Of course, Dad!” Ben said. His mother was still staring in amazement at her little music box. “Now it’s my turn!” Ben said.
“Oh yes, of course! Sorry!” his mother said. “Go on, I can’t wait.”
His father came back a little out of breath and dropped onto the carpet next to Ben. “Go on, Ben.” He still had the pink glasses on his nose.
Ben first pulled the ribbon from the smaller of the two packages. The bells attached to it tinkled softly. Inside the paper was a little box covered with stars. Ben lifted the lid carefully. On a bed of sawdust lay a tiny flute, and next to it a wooden elf exactly the size of Niklas’s Christmas elves.
“What kind of a strange fellow is that?” Ben’s father asked.
“It’s a Christmas elf,” Ben answered. He blew into the little flute. With the first note the wooden elf started to move. He shook his stiff legs and frowned. Then he hopped through the sawdust, turned a few somersaults, and stuck out his tongue at Ben.
Ben took the flute from his lips and laughed. The little wooden fellow immediately froze.
Ben’s father gave him a gentle shove. “Go on, make him dance again.”
“No, open the second gift,” his mother said.
Ben picked it up and turned the long package in his hands. Then he unwrapped it.
Inside was a nutcracker. It looked exactly like one of Gerold Goblynch’s Nutcrackers.
“He looks spooky,” his mother said.
Ben nodded and smiled.
His father gathered himself up. “I’m going to check on my sled. Want to come outside with me?”
They all put on warm clothes. It was still snowing.
“Whoopeee!” Ben’s father yelled. “Look at that!”
The sled had already grown to the size of a brick. “If it carries on snowing like this we’ll have a fully grown sled by tomorrow.”
“Ben, darling” — his mother put her arm around his shoulders — “I don’t know where you found this Santa Claus, but he’s the most wonderful Santa I could ever imagine.”
Ben shrugged. “That’s because he’s a real Santa, Mom.” He paused. “And actually, he just fell to Earth.”
Farewell, Niklas
It was ten minutes to midnight. Niklas Goodfellow was sitting on the stairs of his caravan, looking down snow-covered Misty Close. Everything was ready. Twinklestar was hitched up and waiting on the side of the street. Only a quiet snort every now and then betrayed him. The empty Christmas sack was stored safely in the wardrobe. The elves were snoring peacefully in their drawer. Matilda and Emmanuel were asleep under Niklas’s hood. All that remained to be done was to bid the children farewell.
Niklas sighed and looked up at the sky. The weather would not play tricks on them tonight. The snow had stopped and, apart from the stars and the moon, the sky was clear and dark.
A garden gate squeaked, and Niklas saw Ben trudging across the street. Farther down, Charlotte was walking toward them with Mutt. The children’s breath hung white and wet in the air. Both of them sat down on the steps next to Niklas.
“Well, you two? How did Santa Niklas do?” he asked.
“He did wonderfully!” Charlotte said and gave him a big kiss.
“Hey, who’s kissing who out there?” Matilda asked, poking her head sleepily from Niklas’s hood.
“And next year?” Ben asked. “I mean, will you be back next year?”
Niklas shrugged. “Maybe. Now that Goblynch has turned into chocolate I must look for new recruits. Maybe we can find a few real Santas. I can’t do all the work myself, after all.”
“Please, come back,” Charlotte said.
Niklas gave her a wink. “All right. I promise.” He yawned, and Emmanuel rolled out of his hood. Niklas caught him just in time.
“Sorry,” Emmanuel mumbled. Then he curled up and we back to sleep in Niklas’s hand.
“As you can see, we’re all quite tired,” Niklas said. Very carefully he slipped the angel into his coat pocket.
Matilda fluttered onto his shoulder and rubbed her eyes. “About time we found ourselves a nice, quiet cloud,” she said. “I need to sleep for at least four weeks.”
“Angels, elves, and Santas usually hibernate after Christmas Day,” Niklas whispered to the children. He looked up at the sky and stood up. “Time to leave. Take care, you two. I hope you have a wonderful holiday!”
Ben and Charlotte got up, and Niklas hugged them tight. “I’ll miss you,” he said quietly. “You saved the last Santa, and who knows? Now perhaps Christmas will become magical again after all. Maybe you’d like to become my apprentice Santas in a few years’ time?”
“Will I have to stick a beard on my face?” Charlotte asked.
Niklas laughed and checked Twinklestar’s harness one last time. “I think so. You know, I also wanted to get rid of the beard. It itches and tickles terribly. But what can you do? A Santa without a beard
would be even worse. I think it would confuse people too much.”
They all stood together next to the caravan.
“Well, see you next year.” Niklas Goodfellow climbed the steps. “See you again when the days are as short as socks and the nights as long as sleeves.”
“See you!” Matilda called. She wiped a few tears from her cheeks.
“Bye,” murmured Ben sadly.
“Remember your promise!” cried Charlotte.
Niklas waved at them once more and disappeared into the caravan. The old vehicle rumbled down the empty street, faster and faster, until it finally took off into the air.
“Until next year!” Charlotte whispered.
Mutt howled at the moon. And Ben knew he would be spending a whole year just waiting for Christmas.
Also by
CORNELIA FUNKE
DRAGON RIDER
THE THIEF LORD
INKHEART
INKSPELL
INKDEATH
IGRAINE THE BRAVE
The GHOSTHUNTERS Series
About the Author
CORNELIA FUNKE has become one of today’s most beloved writers of magical stories for children. She lives in Los Angeles, California. Visit her at www.CorneliaFunkeFans.com.
Copyright
First publishaed in Germany as Als der Weihnachtsmann vom Himmel fiel by Cecilie Dressler Verlag
Original text copyright © 1994 by Cecilie Dressler Verlag
English translation copyright © 2006 by Oliver Georg Latsch
Illustrations copyright © 2006 by Paul Howard
Cover art © by Paul Howard
Cover design by Steve Scott
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. Originally published in hardcover in 2006 by Chicken House, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. CHICKEN HOUSE, SCHOLASTIC, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc. www.scholastic.com