I wrote this under the influence of too much co-codamol due to a recurring toothache, so may I apologise in advance for offending your seasonal sensabilities!
In Wonderland it was eight-thirty in the evening, and snowing. In Wonderland it’s always eight-thirty in the evening, and snowing – a perpetual Christmas Eve. Rudolph scratched himself with a hind hoof. “Me and some of the lads aren’t too happy about the current setup. We figured you’re the dude who could help us out.”
Telepathic reindeer? That doesn’t even register on the Weird-o-Meter where Wonderland is concerned. I shrugged, hands deep in my overcoat pockets. “Help you out as in how? I’m not hearing anything specific.”
He pawed at the snow, obviously ill at ease. “You killed Santa Claus before, so you could do it again. Yeah?”
There it was, out in the open. I grinned, my teeth glittering in the gloom. “Yeah I killed him, and his squeeze, and I turned his workshop to matchwood. Fat lot of good it did. The Man decided that Santa wasn’t quite so passé after all and turned everything back the way it was. What makes you think it would be different a second time around?”
“Claus may be back, but he’s not the same. He remembers, right? He remembers how it was Missus Claus brought you in and it doesn’t matter you offed her as well. The two of them been getting into it – harsh language, throwing stuff, the works. Loads of elves off sick with work-related stress and the whole gig has gone sour, man.”
“What, so you figure he’d be no great loss? Well, I can give it a try, but – no offence, Big Red – you guys aren’t exactly made of moola. Who you got lined up to bankroll the hit?”
“That would be me, Jackie boy.”
I spun round towards the effeminate voice, drawing and aiming my Webley revolver. It was the only weapon fired on the Western Front during the Christmas truce, 1914. That kind of provenance gives it real power in a place like Wonderland. There was no one there, but I knew enough to turn my head slightly so as to catch sight of him in the corner of my eye.
The Tooth Fairy.
People persist in thinking of TF as some sparkly sprite, like Tinkerbell, when he’s actually a camp voyeur who likes creeping around kid’s bedrooms. Just talking to him make my skin itch. I cocked the revolver. “You? You’d pay to see Santa take one?”
Toothy simpered. “Small change and low-denomination notes, of course, but you can have as much as you can carry.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Care to tell me why?”
He sniffed. “Santa, this Santa, is a slacker who’s making us all look bad. He can’t deliver and that leaves a lot of parents struggling. Once it becomes obvious to the little ones it’s mum and dad providing the presents then poof, part of the magic of Christmas is gone forever.”
“So what? They all gotta’ learn sometime.”
“But not so young! Once they stop believing in Father Christmas the rest of us get the bum’s rush as well. Me, the Easter Bunny, others I could mention. I represent a consortium who want Santa taken out, no questions asked. Even if death doesn’t stick then the next version has to be better than the grumpy old fart we’ve been landed with.”
I lowered my revolver. “For argument’s sake let’s say I’m interested. What makes you think the Man won’t take it out on yours truly for icing one of the nominal good guys? Last time he sent Gabriel round to make his displeasure known and I’m keen to avoid a repetition.”
The Tooth Fairy slid into view, like a sideways two-dimensional cutout being turned to face. He made a dismissive hand gesture. “Pah! You got off with a warning, a mere slap on the wrist. The Man knew what was coming the first time and turned a blind eye, so he could hardly come on all holier-than-thou after changing his mind.”
To be fair Gabriel had been decidedly embarrassed at laying down the law, or trying to, at any rate. I didn’t hold any hard feelings and we split a bottle of Jack Daniels – on the rocks, of course. I left him in bed with the Snow Queen and facing a whole lot of explaining when he sobered up.
Back in the here and now I had someone to kill. I smiled and scratched my cheek with the gunsight. “OK then, T-F, how you want this done? Just the big man or a clean sweep, like before?”
“No, no, just Santa! That was the problem with last time. It was easier for the Man to resurrect everything at once than come up with new versions of the primary players. Leave it at just Santa and hopefully we’ll get someone with a better temper.”
“One kill? No problem.” My gun arm lashed out and bam, I nailed the Tooth Fairy square in the chest. The large caliber round left a hole the size of your fist, like he was a paper target on the firing range. He faded from three-dimensions into bas-relief into no more than the poster boy for shocked betrayal. The edge of the bullet hole burst into flames which consumed him in an instant, leaving only a smear of grey ash on the pristine snow.
Rudolph skittered away, his part in our little pantomime played to perfection.
Father Christmas stepped from behind a pine tree that couldn’t possible have concealed his bulk. He was another one who was hard to see when he set his mind to it. I gestured with the gun towards the former Fairy. “You got all that?”
He stepped closer, so that I could see the blood-shot eyes and smell the booze on his breath. “Why didn’t you find out who else wants me gone? The Easter Bunny? Don’t make me laugh, he doesn’t have the balls.”
“Whoa there, big guy, you got what you wanted. At least this time it’s not your wife who-”
Claus took a swing at me, surprisingly light on his feet for such a big guy, but all he hit was air. I’m every Jack when it suits me – Jack be nimble, spring-heeled Jack, Jack-o-lantern – not just Jack Frost. Sure, I can creep up on you, soft as anything, but just as easy I can be in your face and looking for trouble.
Santa sprawled full-length in the snow and I pressed the muzzle of my gun against the back of his neck by way of a reality check. “Now listen up, fat boy, we had a deal. I ice who wanted you dead and in return you take my name off the Naughty List. Are we still in agreement or do I let Mister Webley here argue my case during any renegotiation?”
The prone figure gurgled something unintelligible. I stood back and let him raise his face from the snow. “Yes, yes, damn you. We have a deal.”
I turned on my heel and strode off, leaving Father Christmas to get up with as much dignity as he could muster. Bad things happen to those on the Naughty List, but I was safe for another year. My deal was signed and sealed – well, as good as. There had to be at least one child somewhere dreaming of this, an involuntary witness should Santa not keep his word. That’s how Wonderland works, that how we do what we do – we’re the very stuff of dreams.
And nightmares.
In Wonderland it was eight-thirty in the evening, and snowing. In Wonderland it’s always eight-thirty in the evening, and snowing – a perpetual Christmas Eve. Rudolph scratched himself with a hind hoof. “Me and some of the lads aren’t too happy about the current setup. We figured you’re the dude who could help us out.”
Telepathic reindeer? That doesn’t even register on the Weird-o-Meter where Wonderland is concerned. I shrugged, hands deep in my overcoat pockets. “Help you out as in how? I’m not hearing anything specific.”
He pawed at the snow, obviously ill at ease. “You killed Santa Claus before, so you could do it again. Yeah?”
There it was, out in the open. I grinned, my teeth glittering in the gloom. “Yeah I killed him, and his squeeze, and I turned his workshop to matchwood. Fat lot of good it did. The Man decided that Santa wasn’t quite so passé after all and turned everything back the way it was. What makes you think it would be different a second time around?”
“Claus may be back, but he’s not the same. He remembers, right? He remembers how it was Missus Claus brought you in and it doesn’t matter you offed her as well. The two of them been getting into it – harsh language, throwing stuff, the works. Loads of elves off sick with work-related stress and the whole gig has gone sour, man.”
“What, so you figure he’d be no great loss? Well, I can give it a try, but – no offence, Big Red – you guys aren’t exactly made of moola. Who you got lined up to bankroll the hit?”
“That would be me, Jackie boy.”
I spun round towards the effeminate voice, drawing and aiming my Webley revolver. It was the only weapon fired on the Western Front during the Christmas truce, 1914. That kind of provenance gives it real power in a place like Wonderland. There was no one there, but I knew enough to turn my head slightly so as to catch sight of him in the corner of my eye.
The Tooth Fairy.
People persist in thinking of TF as some sparkly sprite, like Tinkerbell, when he’s actually a camp voyeur who likes creeping around kid’s bedrooms. Just talking to him make my skin itch. I cocked the revolver. “You? You’d pay to see Santa take one?”
Toothy simpered. “Small change and low-denomination notes, of course, but you can have as much as you can carry.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Care to tell me why?”
He sniffed. “Santa, this Santa, is a slacker who’s making us all look bad. He can’t deliver and that leaves a lot of parents struggling. Once it becomes obvious to the little ones it’s mum and dad providing the presents then poof, part of the magic of Christmas is gone forever.”
“So what? They all gotta’ learn sometime.”
“But not so young! Once they stop believing in Father Christmas the rest of us get the bum’s rush as well. Me, the Easter Bunny, others I could mention. I represent a consortium who want Santa taken out, no questions asked. Even if death doesn’t stick then the next version has to be better than the grumpy old fart we’ve been landed with.”
I lowered my revolver. “For argument’s sake let’s say I’m interested. What makes you think the Man won’t take it out on yours truly for icing one of the nominal good guys? Last time he sent Gabriel round to make his displeasure known and I’m keen to avoid a repetition.”
The Tooth Fairy slid into view, like a sideways two-dimensional cutout being turned to face. He made a dismissive hand gesture. “Pah! You got off with a warning, a mere slap on the wrist. The Man knew what was coming the first time and turned a blind eye, so he could hardly come on all holier-than-thou after changing his mind.”
To be fair Gabriel had been decidedly embarrassed at laying down the law, or trying to, at any rate. I didn’t hold any hard feelings and we split a bottle of Jack Daniels – on the rocks, of course. I left him in bed with the Snow Queen and facing a whole lot of explaining when he sobered up.
Back in the here and now I had someone to kill. I smiled and scratched my cheek with the gunsight. “OK then, T-F, how you want this done? Just the big man or a clean sweep, like before?”
“No, no, just Santa! That was the problem with last time. It was easier for the Man to resurrect everything at once than come up with new versions of the primary players. Leave it at just Santa and hopefully we’ll get someone with a better temper.”
“One kill? No problem.” My gun arm lashed out and bam, I nailed the Tooth Fairy square in the chest. The large caliber round left a hole the size of your fist, like he was a paper target on the firing range. He faded from three-dimensions into bas-relief into no more than the poster boy for shocked betrayal. The edge of the bullet hole burst into flames which consumed him in an instant, leaving only a smear of grey ash on the pristine snow.
Rudolph skittered away, his part in our little pantomime played to perfection.
Father Christmas stepped from behind a pine tree that couldn’t possible have concealed his bulk. He was another one who was hard to see when he set his mind to it. I gestured with the gun towards the former Fairy. “You got all that?”
He stepped closer, so that I could see the blood-shot eyes and smell the booze on his breath. “Why didn’t you find out who else wants me gone? The Easter Bunny? Don’t make me laugh, he doesn’t have the balls.”
“Whoa there, big guy, you got what you wanted. At least this time it’s not your wife who-”
Claus took a swing at me, surprisingly light on his feet for such a big guy, but all he hit was air. I’m every Jack when it suits me – Jack be nimble, spring-heeled Jack, Jack-o-lantern – not just Jack Frost. Sure, I can creep up on you, soft as anything, but just as easy I can be in your face and looking for trouble.
Santa sprawled full-length in the snow and I pressed the muzzle of my gun against the back of his neck by way of a reality check. “Now listen up, fat boy, we had a deal. I ice who wanted you dead and in return you take my name off the Naughty List. Are we still in agreement or do I let Mister Webley here argue my case during any renegotiation?”
The prone figure gurgled something unintelligible. I stood back and let him raise his face from the snow. “Yes, yes, damn you. We have a deal.”
I turned on my heel and strode off, leaving Father Christmas to get up with as much dignity as he could muster. Bad things happen to those on the Naughty List, but I was safe for another year. My deal was signed and sealed – well, as good as. There had to be at least one child somewhere dreaming of this, an involuntary witness should Santa not keep his word. That’s how Wonderland works, that how we do what we do – we’re the very stuff of dreams.
And nightmares.
