Who Is Jacob S.C. Smith? by Wayne Greenough

Author:Wayne Greenough
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Christmas, Fantasy, Adventure, Adult
ISBN: 9781487414238
Publisher: eXtasy Books
Published: 2017-12-19T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Three

One could declare that Santa, Marion, Thomas, and little Thelma accomplished the impossible. Yes, they did and here’s how. To begin with, when the amnesia fog lifted from Jacob S.C. Smith’s mind to where he positively knew without any doubt whatsoever that he was indeed Santa Claus he was overjoyed. Awareness electrified him as he realized he was now a caring scientific genius and gone forever was that horrible mad one that had possessed him for so many dark, dreadful years. And hooray, hooray, money, money, money, he still remained the richest human alive.

Much in Jacob’s asteroid home was now no longer needed. It was worthless stuff he immediately dissolved into a dry puddle of nothing. Next, something had to be done about all of the outer signs telling people to stay away. Smith smiled at his servants. Remember that they were not allowed to be seen. Well, now he increased their salaries, permitted them to be seen and babble happily away not only to him but to one another. Their first duty was to don space suits and go forth to pull up all of the stay away signs. When that had been accomplished the signs were then to be stacked into one huge pile, attached to a dozen small rockets and fired at the sun. Everyone cheered as the signs lifted off, gone forever.

Next, with the help of Marion, Thomas, and little Thelma the asteroid home lost its dome and was no longer needed for oxygen now covered the asteroid. It was quite breathable, stable, and would always remain so.

Night and day, the four worked hard at creating the North Pole. They laughed and cheered as the first snowflakes fell on brightly painted houses lighted inside with hundreds of flickering candles that would never need replacement. On the roof of each house was a fat chimney connected to a blazing fireplace that would not be lit on Christmas Eve.

Of course work for the four always stopped when mammoth platters of delicious cookies and gallons of fresh milk suddenly appeared before their hungry eyes.

The elves caused trouble. They woke up yawning, rubbing sleep from their eyes, grouchy, and demanding.

“We want retroactive pay,” shouted an elf. The decibels of his booming voice approached the eardrum shattering point. He stomped toward Santa with a face covered with determined frowns, a self-made little man who decided to be the leader of the five hundred elves.

Santa laughed at him. “You have all slept for many years without making a single toy. Retroactive pay can be granted only if you’ve earned it. Have you?”

That stopped the little elf. He sputtered for several seconds before thundering out, “Then how about giving us a raise? We all need more than cookies and milk in our bellies.”

There was much palaver over that, with heads bumping together, agreeing and disagreeing until everybody hollered yes. Machinery was dusted off and started as the elves sang a happy song and began making toys.

The human race created time to never stop, to constantly move on.

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