Christmas Crackers

‘–in our hour of need.’ continued Elvis. ‘This call is for Santa Claus to come to the aid of the planet!’

‘Whaaat?!’ Donnie burst out laughing just as alarm bells began to go off. ‘You’re joking!’

Carol jumped forwards and threw her arms around his neck just as the chair dropped out from beneath them both.

Donnie screamed. Carol had kneed him in that tender place.

The chair fell almost uncontrollably down a long shaft, Donnie’s knuckles were white on the armrests while Carol’s arms were tight around his neck.

He felt like a super-marionette on its way to the captain’s chair of a large green flying machine.

Soon, the chair slowed, then emerged in a large cave.

A moment later, it clipped into place directly behind a dozen reindeer and a multicoloured control panel.

‘You right there boss,’ asked a small man wearing more green than seemed humanly possible. At least there was some consistency in the world. He consulted a clipboard, then glanced upwards. ‘Who’s the girl?’

‘What the hell is going on,’ Donnie demanded.

‘Invasion fleet incoming, sir,’ said the little man, matter-of-factly. The little bell atop his pointy hat jingled as he moved.

‘The call’s gone out.’

He pointed a thumb over his shoulder to where a red light strobed on the other side of the cavern.

Carol moved off Donnie, sat in the co-pilots seat and eyed the panel in that special way that children do with all technology.

‘I’ve taken the liberty of fitting fifteen sidewinder missiles and a laser cannon to the sleigh,’ the little man continued, circling the sleigh. ‘That is in addition to the usual firepower.’

‘Oh, that’s nice,’ said Donnie in a tone that indicated otherwise.

‘The reindeer are fully-armed as usual. You launch in ten seconds.’

‘You what,’ said Donnie incredulously ‘Look, who the hell are you?’

‘One of your assistants, sir,’ the man snapped to attention and fired off a salute for good measure. ‘Christmas Elf, first Class, Smith, sah!’

‘And… and… and,’ Donnie stammered, yanking the beard off – it was made of that horrible itchy wool – and continued;

‘What the hell am I doing here? I’m not Santa!’

Smith looked uncomfortable. ‘Um, yes you are, sir.’

‘No I’m not, I’m-’