Subordinate Clauses by Sherry D. Ramsey

Author:Sherry D. Ramsey [Ramsey, Sherry D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction, short stories, mystery, supernatural, Christmas, holidays, Santa Claus
Publisher: Sherry D. Ramsey
Published: 2018-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

McJingles lied.

The transition to the North Pole was not precisely painless—the cold was searing and felt like it penetrated all the way to my bones. Fortunately, it didn’t last—it was like opening the door to a blast of intense winter and then closing it again against the wind.

“We’re here,” McJingles said, and we took off the blindfolds.

We stood in the classic winter wonderland surroundings associated with the North Pole. A snow-coated clearing lay surrounded by deep green forest, branches frosted with a storybook-perfect dusting of white flakes.The snow on the ground held that bright sparkle that glistened like crushed diamonds in the pale sunlight. A fairytale house stood next to a huge, red painted barn-like edifice that must be the workshop. The house’s wraparound porch welcomed visitors, its roof supported by candycane-striped pillars. Beyond the two main buildings, rows of neat duplex and triplex cottages provided cozy housing for the elves. Off to one side was a low-roofed stable for the reindeer.

From the workshop, the busy sounds of production filled the air. Apart from the chime of hammers and the buzz of saws, machinery whirred and electronic chirps added to the general cacophony. Scents of sawdust, cinnamon, and melting plastic mingled, faint and not unpleasant, in the air.

McJingles interrupted our wide-eyed and slack-jawed survey of Santa’s demesne. “Santa’s in the stable,” he said, and stomped away in that direction. We were obviously expected to follow. I felt a little pang at not seeing the inside of the workshop, but took Oliver’s arm and propelled him after the departing elf.

“This is amazing,” Oliver whispered to me. “I never really thought—”

“Me neither,” I said. “But let’s try to focus on the job.”

The door of the stable opened to a dim, muzzy warmth, and we stepped inside. It was much like a regular horse stable, with scents of hay and oats and animal, but when the first reindeer poked his head of out a stall to survey us, all ideas of normalcy fled. His head was topped by an enormous set of branching, velvety antlers, and he regarded us with soft brown eyes as his cow-like muzzle delicately sniffed the air. Down the line of stalls, more antlered heads poked out inquisitively to see who had invaded their space.

My heart thumped in my chest as if I’d been running.

“Ho, visitors!” boomed a deep voice from the end of the stable. I looked into the shadows to see a tall, round form limned with a hazy, sparkling white glow. As he moved toward us, the glow resolved into the classic figure of Santa Claus, although he wore red stable overalls and an open red and black plaid lumberjack shirt instead of his “working” suit. His blue eyes, however, twinkled with just the right amount of humour and good will. His luxuriant beard had been corralled into a thick braid, presumably to cut down on the bits of hay, straw, and reindeer fur that might embed themselves in it.

McJingles hurried forward to meet him. “These are the private investigators I told you about,” he said hurriedly.

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