Christmas in the Multiverse by R E McLean

Author:R E McLean [McLean, R E]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Catawampus Press
Published: 2018-12-10T22:00:00+00:00

Eleven

Click

The room was quiet. Alex put out her hands, groping in the darkness.

“Mike?”

No reply.

Alex stepped forwards, bracing herself for the thwack of an elf’s face into her chest.

“Mike?”

“Alex?”

It wasn’t Mike’s voice; it was her dad’s.

“Dad! Say my name again, so I can find you.”

“Alex. I’m over here, lass.”

She stumbled towards the sound of his voice. “Again,” she urged him.

“Right here. You’re getting closer.”

She took another tentative step, holding her arms out, feeling for his hands. Her palm hit something cold, and solid. The cage.

“I’m touching the cage, Dad. Which way are you?”

“I’m right here.”

She felt something brush her wrist. She fumbled in the gloom. At last they were grasping each other’s hands.

“It’s good to see you, Dad.”

“You too. Although maybe not like this, eh?”

“What happened to you?”

“He was snatched from the grotto,” said a deep voice, English-sounding.

“Ignore him,” said Duncan. “He’s always interrupting.”

“No, I’m not.”

“See what I mean. Shut up, Santa, alright?”

“Same to you, Santa.”

“Please, let me talk to my dad,” Alex said. The English Santa muttered under his breath.

“What happened?” she asked.

“One minute I was sitting in the grotto. They made it out of discarded Tunnocks wrappers. Very impressive. Sparkly.”

Alex could well imagine a grotto fabricated from the wrappers of Scotland’s favorite chocolate cake (or biscuit, depending which side of the Tunnocks divide you were on).

“But how did you get here?”

“Hear me out, lass.”

“Sorry.”

“Like I said. One minute I was sitting there. Trying to stretch my legs after having an eighty-three-pound fifteen-year-old sitting on my lap and asking for an annual subscription to Playboy magazine. Cheeky wee bugger. Anyway. When I straightened up, I wasn’t there anymore. I was here, surrounded by the most argumentative tribe of Santas I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Seen lots of tribes of Santas, have you Dad?”

“You know what I mean. So how did you get here?”

“Long story. But I’m here to take you home. You and all the other Santas.”

“All of us?” The English Santa again.

Alex turned towards the patch of darkness where his voice had come from. “If I can, yes.”

She knew she was here for the Macy’s Santa, the Ur-Santa. But after what Horace had said, maybe each and every Santa here was a little fraction of the Ur-Santa. Even the one in the mankini.

“So how are you going to get us out then?” Another voice. Deeper, more Santa-like.

“I don’t know.” She considered. “Is Mike in there?”

“Who’s Mike?”

“My colleague. The one they snatched just before the lights went out.”

She looked upwards. It was as dark overhead as it was in front. She couldn’t remember which way the staircase was.

She tried clicking her fingers. One fairy light came on, right above her head.

She stood on tiptoe to look at it. It was in a deeply tasteless shade of magenta.

She clicked her fingers again. Another light, green this time, fizzed and popped. She held her breath but it went out again.

She lowered her heels and looked towards the Santas. “Can you all give me a hand?”

“What with?” asked Duncan.

“Maybe if we all click our fingers, then a light will come on for each of us.

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