Gumdrop

By Jason Funk

Noah stared at the Christmas elf and the elf stared back. His painted pale blue eyes seemed to follow Noah as he shuffled toward Santa Clause. The elf sat with its legs pulled to its chest, its arms folded around its knees. It reminded Noah of the Elf on the Shelf dolls displayed in red and green boxes scattered around the store.

The elf wore a velvety green jacket with long tails tucked beneath red and white candy-striped leggings. The face was meticulously painted with a mischievous knowing grin and button nose. Big round eyes sat atop rosy cheeks. A tuft of black hair jutted out from under his festive hat, which sat jauntily on his head. The hat itself was spectacular, a patchwork of reds and greens weaved together with glittering silver and gold thread, sewn into intricate patterns. A single red feather sprouted from the brim. Gumdrop, the doll’s namesake, was derived from the coat’s painted buttons, which were brightly pained and frosted white to look like gumdrops.

Noah didn’t believe in Santa or Christmas elves. Noah was twelve, almost a teenager, and that was kid stuff. He stopped believing officially after discovering his parent’s placing presents under the tree, drunk and giggling. Even before that, his analytical brain questioned the silly Christmas folklore. No, Noah Andrew Stockton didn’t believe in Santa and was only standing in Santa’s line because baby Christopher still did.

Noah still thought of his little brother as baby Christopher, even though Christopher was six years old and hardly a baby. Noah was a skinny kid that preferred sitting in his room sketching in a notebook or reading science fiction books. Baby Christopher was the exact opposite. Already thicker and more athletic than Noah ever would be, Baby Christopher was a whirlwind of unbridled energy. Christopher’s enormous head was crowned with golden curls, while Noah’s own plain brown hair hung limp against his head. On more than one occasion, Noah caught Father squinting at baby Christopher, the way he did when analyzing the X-rays of his patients. Noah suspected baby Christopher’s similarities to Mother’s personal yoga coach, a short stocky guy with blonde curly hair, aroused Father’s suspicions.  

“I want to see Santa,” baby Christopher demanded.

“Topher, honey, Mommy doesn’t have time.”

“I want to see Santa, now,” Christopher said, stomping his foot and balling his fists.

“I promise you’ll get to see Santa another day, Mommy just can’t today.”

“Santa, now,” his cheeks went rosy, like the elf’s. He swung his arms out and knocked over a display of plastic lip balms, perfect for stocking stuffers. They crashed onto the department store linoleum, exploding like a clattering of insects, attracting frowns from the crowd. Mother blushed and shot the clerk an apologetic glance.

“Noah,” Mother said, her tone dripping with desperation.

“Let’s go, Topher,” Noah said with a sigh. “Let’s find Santa.” He snatched up his brother’s hand and led him toward the escalators. As the boys moved away, all the tension left Mother’s face. She seemed to become younger, more vibrant. Noah thought, not for the first time, that Mother aged faster because of her family.

Crooked wooden signs pointed out the route to the North Pole. The boys weaved through the sparkling tinsel, twinkling lights, and random piles of colorful Christmas presents that decorated the New York department store. Manhattan during Christmas transformed into a sparkling colorful holiday wonderland. Sweet aromas of cinnamon and nutmeg wafted through the air. The resonating twinkle of bells set in Christmas carols rendered a magical season. Noah tried to appreciate the splendor, to feel the holiday spirit. Instead, he felt people corrupted the beauty of the season. With their lurid demanding voices, they undercut the music like a discordant key. Their repugnant behavior masked by gaudy and cheap perfumes.

Now the boys were close, just ten kids ahead of them.  They waited on a worn red carpet, between golden banisters linked with plush red padding. Baby Christopher rocked a banister back and forth while a store employee dressed as a Santa helper frowned at him. The employee, a pimply kid in his late teens, turned an annoyed look toward Noah. Baby Christopher tipped the banister, and it nearly toppled over. The employee caught it, forcing it back into its original position. He raised a warning finger toward Christopher.

“Santa will be back in thirty minutes,” One of Santa’s elves announced. This one must have been important, he wore a bigger hat and held a clipboard. Noah glanced up just in time to see the big red suit slip behind a velvety curtain. He sighed, exasperated.

“I gotta go,” Christopher said.

“Which one?”

“Number one.”

“Can you hold it?”

“No.”

“Excuse me,” Noah said to Santa’s pimply helper, “Where’s the closest bathroom?”

“Front of the store, kid.”

“Can you hold our place while I take my brother?”

“Nope,” he said, a malicious smirk on his face. “You step out of line; you lose your spot.”

“Noah, I really gotta go.” Christopher said, starting to hop from foot to foot.

“Is there anywhere closer?” Noah asked. “I don’t think he can hold it that long.”

“Front of the store.” Santa's helper said, absently rubbing an angry red zit forming on the tip of his nose.

“Can you hold it a little longer?” Noah asked.

Instead of answering him, baby Christopher began squeezing his crotch and jumping faster. Clearly, he couldn’t hold it. Noah felt the color rise in his cheeks, understanding Mother’s shame earlier. He looked back at the line that had formed behind them and sighed again. He’d have to take Christopher to the front and then wait in line all over again.

“Don’t be a dick, Jonah,” A pale girl said stepping next to Santa’s pimply helper. She was around the same age as the pimply boy. She was dressed like an elf too, but her outfit was black and white, instead of red or green. She wore black lipstick and black mascara. “You can use the employee bathroom over there.” She pointed toward a metal door tucked behind the corner of the velvet curtain. She unclipped the plush railing with delicate slender fingers, their tips also painted black. “I’ll hold your spot.” She winked, her pale blue eyes seemed to twinkly like icy mist.

“Hey,” Jonah, the pimply helper, began but the new girl shot a glance his way that silenced him.

“Thanks,” Noah said, grabbing Christopher’s hand.

Noah led Christopher into a massive storeroom. Piles of merchandise rose to the ceiling, blocking out the lights, and creating a maze of shadows. Noah found the restroom and sent Christopher inside. Noah loved being in back rooms like this, seeing behind the curtain. He walked along a wall built from boxes of blenders and turned to find another pile of Elf on a Shelf boxes. A replica of the Gumdrop doll from the display sat propped next to the pile. Noah picked it up and examined it closer.

Gumdrop was heavier than Noah expected. To his delight, he discovered the doll was carved wood, instead of plastic. Gumdrop’s pale blue eyes seemed to sparkle, reminding Noah of frosted ice. Goosebumps prickled up Noah’s chilled flesh as he peered into them. Noah lifted the tip of Gumdrop’s hat, examining the intricate stitching. He smiled, impressed by the skillfully rendered designs.

“Don’t fuck with me, Frank,” Noah heard someone say from the other side of the boxes. He sucked in his breath and listened. Someone muttered a response too low for Noah to discern. Curious, he slipped closer, squatting between two trees covered in flickering lights. He spied two men. One was Santa Clause, red suit, white beard, and the other was a large man wearing a gray pinstripe suit, black hair slicked back and shiny.

“I’m not, I told you, they won’t find her.” Santa said. The big man bent over a small desk, meticulously working on something in the low light.

“It’s not the whore I’m worried about, or where you stuffed her body,” the suit said. “It’s the way you look at that little goth girl.”

“What do you mean, Leo?”

“Tanya, or Tiffany, fuck I don’t know her name,” Leo, the suit, said. He looked at his reflection in a mirror and ran a comb through his greasy hair. “The little gothic girl. You know skinny waist, tight little ass, face painted like Halloween. She’s one of Santa’s helpers. You don’t think I haven’t seen you eyeing her? She’s jailbait, Frank.”

“Titanya,” Santa said, pronouncing it like Tee-Tanya.

“What?”

“The goth girl, her name’s Titanya.”

“I don’t care if her name is Tina fucking Turner, I don’t want you near her. I swear if you fuck this gig up for me.”

“Come on, Leo,” Frank said, pouting a little. “I’m taking my meds, I’m not like that anymore. I don’t touch the little girls, even when they give me the look.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Leo said. “How did we ever share a womb? Momma, rest in peace, have mercy on my soul.”

Santa bent down and made a deep snorting sound. Immediately Noah thought of old cop shows where the bad guys were snorted drugs. There was something heartbreaking about watching Santa Clause sniffing lines, even if Noah didn’t believe in him.

“Here,” Santa said, moving away from the table.

“Thanks,” Leo said, bending down and snorting his own line. He pointed a thick meaty finger at Santa. “Forget about the whore. Forget about the little goth girl. Take your meds and get through Christmas. You’re lucky Val’s dad is willing to let you work here.”

“Yeah, ok, Leo.”

“What did you do with the body anyway?” Leo said, sounding more serious.

“I stashed her in a subway bathroom, left a hit in her arm. Made it look like an overdose.” Santa grinned.

Pain shot through Noah’s finger, and he gasped. Noah had forgotten about the doll in his hands. He’d been nervously running his thumb along the smooth surface of its face. A splinter had worn free and stabbed his finger, drawing blood. Noah smeared blood down Gumdrop’s left temple. He only had a moment to consider the doll, however. The men had stopped talking and were looking in Noah’s direction. They must have heard him gasp.

Noah slipped back into the shadows and dropped the doll. The men wouldn’t be able to squeeze after him, instead they’d have to go around the wall of blenders. He walked quickly, not wanting to bring more attention his way. He headed toward the bathroom and slipped inside. Halogen lights blanketed the white tile with a washed-out brightness. They hummed like a swarm of angry bees. Light glinted off the steel sinks, almost twinkling.

Noah heard a sound outside and slipped into a stall, closing and locking the door. Someone stepped into the bathroom, their boots echoing off the tile floor. Noah slowly and painfully lifted his feet up onto the toilet.

“Hey, kid you in here?” It was Santa’s voice. No, Not Santa, Frank.

Noah sucked in his breath. His heart pounded, first in his chest, then in his ears. Frank would totally be able to hear it. Then, Noah thought about baby Christopher. What if they found him, and thought he was the eavesdropper? Noah’s stomach flipped and he wanted to puke up his dinner. Why had he insisted on sushi?

“It’s Santa, kid,” Frank said. “You’re not in trouble. I just want to talk to you, find out what you want for Christmas. Don’t you want to tell Santa?”  

You’re not Santa, Noah thought, you’re Frank the drug addict that killed a prostitute.

“Come on, Frank,” Frank said, turning on a faucet. “Keep it together. You’ve got to find that kid. Leo’s going to kill you if you don’t.”  He splashed water onto his face, wiping it into his thick white beard. Noah peeked through the crack in the stall door, catching a glimpse of the red suit, trimmed with white fur. He was going to be murdered by Santa Clause.

Then he heard the light musical tinkling of Christmas bells, far away at first, then coming closer, growing louder. They chimed to the tune of Jingle Bells. Frank must have heard them too. He paused with the water still running. He slowly reached down and shut it off with a squeal from the pipes.

Noah inhaled a slow breath. All his muscles tensed. His mind was barely capable of holding him in place. He could make a break for it, maybe out run the fat man. Frank stood frozen; his head cocked listening to the tinkling bells, as if mesmerized by the sound. Then he farted and laughed. He slammed open the stall next to Noah’s. He dropped his zipper, and Noah heard the loud continuous flow as Santa pissing into the toilet. A rancid painful stench exploded in the room and Noah silently gagged.

“Woah,” Frank said and slammed his hand against the stall, shaking the whole row. A series of new sounds erupted from Frank’s stall. Something clinked against porcelain, a sound like a rustling plastic bag, and finally Frank snorting again. Noah’s mind filled with the absurd image of Santa Clause, bent over in his jolly red suit, snorting lines from a toilet bowl. And then the tinkling bells rang again, louder. The aroma of warm cinnamon apples replaced the stench of piss, and Jingle Bells replaced Frank’s grunting and snorting.

“Happy Holidays,” A bright voice called out. “Have you been a good boy, or a bad boy, Francis?”

“It’s Merry Christmas, you blasphemer little fuck?” Frank said, stumbling out of the stall. Noah peeked through the crack in the stall, trying to see the new comer. Frank was looking into the far corner opposite the entrance. Noah craned for a better look but couldn’t see anything or anyone.

“That language just won’t do, Francis,” said the bright voice, almost in a sing song tone. “I don’t think you make a very good Santa, Francis. I should know, I’ve met the jolly old elf. And you know what, Francis? He’s nothing like a dirty old child rapists and murderer like you.”

“What the fuck,” Frank said, sounding almost drunk. “Are you real?”

“Oh, I’m real, Francis,” said the musical sing song voice. “I’m Gumdrop, the Christmas elf. I deal with the children on Santa’s naughty list. Are you on the naughty list, Francis? I think you are.”

The tinkling bells grew louder. Frank growled, then yelled, and finally screamed. Over the next few minutes, Noah listened to a strange cacophony of sounds that seemed to run in time with the tune. Gumdrop started singing.

“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way.”

Glass breaking, smashing down, crashing to the floor.  

Something hard rang against metal. Frank’s black boots scraped on the linoleum. Frank fell to his knees and scrambled into the stall next door. Water sprayed, pooling around Frank’s knees, soaking into the soft red velvet suit.

“Please, god, no,” Frank said, followed by a splash. His hands slapped against the stall, and the toes of his black boots clicked on the floor. Noah tightened into a frightened ball atop his toilet. Water crept from Frank’s stall into Noah’s.

“How does that taste?” Gumdrop’s sing-song voice said. “Seasoned with the urine of all your regrets.”

“Please,” Frank said, weeping and gasping between splashes. “I don’t want to die.”

“But you’ve been so very naughty, Francis. And let’s be honest, did you ever listen to any of your victims when they said the same thing?”

“I can be good,” Frank said. “I promise, I can change.”

“I just don’t know,” Gumdrop said. “That’s what an abusive person would say. What do you think, Noah? Do you think Frank can change?”

Noah froze. Every nerve in his body electrified. His heartbeat tripled its pace. His lungs forgot how to breathe. All the sounds in the rooms seem to deafen, except for Frank’s gurgling and splashing.

“I absolutely agree,” Gumdrop said, after a lifetime of seconds. Jingle Bells exploded back in. The sound of hard porcelain crashing erupted from Frank’s stall. It rattled every stall. The crash came again, and again. Frank started to protest but was cut off by another splash. The Santa imposter mumbled and gurgled, but never spoke another coherent word. Thick red liquid swelled in the water pooling around the drain on the floor. The door to Noah’s stall flew open, and the jingling bells rang out in a final righteous melody. They finished, leaving Noah with the quiet constant hum of flickering lights and the quiet splashing of running water.

Noah crept out of the stall. He couldn’t believe the scene he stepped into. One mirror was smashed, blood and chunks of hair clung to the pointed shards. The stainless-steel sink hung limp from the pipe in the wall. Water sprayed into the far corner, puddling around a drain there. Frank’s black boots sprawled out from the neighboring stall. He didn’t want to see what had happened to Frank.

“I wouldn’t look,” Gumdrop said, his voice a cheery warning. “It’s not pretty.”

Noah stepped carefully around the boots and turned toward the door. He squeezed his eyelids shut but couldn’t restrain his curiosity. He had to look. Noah opened his eyes and gasped. Immediately, the smell of cinnamon apples was replaced with a rancid sewage reek that stung Noah’s nostrils.

Frank was bent over the toilet, face down in the water. Bloody chunks of flesh and hair clung to the toilet bowl’s metal piping. Streams of blood flowed with the running water. Frank’s ass crack stuck out from the back of his red velvet pants. Disgusted, Noah flinched, wanting to turn his head but unable to look away from the morbid scene. Then he caught sight of the worst element and he felt his arms prick in fear.

Gumdrop, Santa’s favorite elf, sat grinning atop Frank’s bobbing head. His rosy cheeks glowed with a lurid bright red. He watched Noah with those unnerving pale eyes that seemed to follow the boy. His hat sat jaunty on his head, revealing the newest detail, a small smear of red blood on the left cheek. Noah shivered and ran from the room. He burst from the storage room and into the bright twinkling lights of the department store.

“There you are,” Mother said.

Mother stood holding baby Christopher’s hand. The goth girl who’d let them into the back stood next to Christopher. Hearing Leo’s voice calling her the little goth girl sent another chill through Noah.

“You ok?” She said, her pale eyes sparkling in a sea of black eyeliner. But Mother was already speaking over her.

“I can’t trust you to do the simplest things,” Mother said, scowling.

“I found this little guy wandering around Santa’s chair,” The girl interrupted. “He must have escaped when you went to use the restroom.” She gave Noah a strange half smile.

“Thank you,” Mother said, though Noah didn’t believe she sounded grateful. “Let’s go, the car is waiting.”

Noah glanced at the spot where he first saw Gumdrop. The elf doll was gone. Again, he felt his nerves light up and an uneasy feeling creep across his skin.

Leo came from behind the velvet curtain, his gray pinstriped suit disheveled, his brow sweaty. Noah’s heart leapt into his throat. Leo grabbed the first kid dressed like one of Santa’s elves and barked something into his ear. A moment later, all the kids waiting for Santa, along with Noah’s family, were being escorted out of the room. Santa was done for the day.

“Look at what I found for your father,” Mother said, handing Noah a paper bag as they stepped outside. The December air nibbled hungry bitter bites at Noah’s skin. The discorded melody of last-minute shoppers, car horns and Christmas bells assaulted Noah’s ears. He caught the faintest scent of pine tree, mixed with exhaust and heavily fried funnel cake. Noah opened the bag and looked in. He jumped, nearly dropping the bag as if it were a feral rat that bit him. Gumdrop’s icy blue eyes stared up at him.

“Let me see,” Christopher said, putting his meaty hand on the bag. It ripped and Gumdrop landed in the snow with a quiet thump.

“Noah,” Mother exclaimed. “Pick it up before it gets ruined.”

Noah reached down, scooping the doll up by its waist. Gumdrop’s wooden head flopped forward, and Noah saw the small bloody thumbprint. This couldn’t be the same doll he cut his thumb on. And yet, there was the tiny red smear. A Lincoln town car pulled up to the curb. Noah and baby Christopher climbed into the backseat; Mother sat up front. Noah sat Gumdrop on the seat between himself and his brother. Noah felt Gumdrop’s sideways gaze on him, as if the doll and he shared a dark secret, which they did.

“Take your brother upstairs and put him in the bath,” Mother said, when the car stopped outside their building. She didn’t look back, just spoke her commands. “Your father’s working late, holiday board meeting at the hospital. I have some last-minute shopping to do.”

The doorman wore a red Christmas hat. Noah remembered how Father clucked his tongue when he saw it. The doorman just smiled wider, revealing one shiny gold tooth. He rolled a luggage cart over to the car and helped the driver unload the packages from the trunk. Noah and Christopher watched as the car carrying Mother drove away. Noah handed Christopher the Gumdrop doll, wanting to be unburdened of it.

      Noah watched the lights as the elevator shot to the fourteenth floor. All he wanted to do was climb into bed and sleep. He was finished with the holidays. The cart rolled along the marble floor, one wheel squeaking as it went. Noah fumbled with his keys outside their front door. Exhaustion infiltrated Noah’s mind and body. As their front door finally opened, Noah heard a click from behind their neighbor’s door, Mr. Holzer’s door.

Mr. Holzer, or Herr Holzer, as he preferred to be called, was the only other resident on the fourteenth floor. The old man liked to eavesdrop at the door. He’d once opened the door on Noah while the boy sat in the hall and drew in his sketchbook. The old man ranted about Noah’s Jew father and the Jews taking over the government. He went off for twenty minutes before Father appeared and sent Noah to his room. He’d never understood why he’d gotten in trouble for just sitting there.

Noah closed the front door and turned to find baby Christopher with empty hands.

“What did you do with the elf doll?” Noah asked.

Christopher shrugged. He yawned and blinked sleepy eyes. He climbed onto the love seat next to the fireplace, laid down, and closed his eyes. Noah sighed, walked over, and shook Christopher’s shoulder.

“Where’s the doll, Topher?” he said, raising his voice.

“Levator,” Topher said.

“I can’t trust you to do the simplest things,” Noah said, frustrated.

Christopher ignored him and closed his eyes. Once Christopher decided it was bedtime, no one could keep him up, not even Father.

Noah thought about Father as he made his way back to the elevator. He considered the way Father squinted at Christopher sometimes. It must drive Father nuts raising and supporting such a stubborn child who likely wasn’t even his. Noah shook his head, not willing to think about it. He rubbed at his wrist, remembering the way Father twisted it the one time Noah suggested Baby Christopher wasn’t Father’s son.

Father could be cruel, but he was also fair. He just had high expectations for his family. Noah learned quickly to bring home high marks from school. He dressed like Father, adopting the mantra that if he looked the part of the good son, Father would see him as a good son. Noah didn’t blame Mother either. Pleasing Father could be difficult. The most stoic of women needed a break from time to time. Even baby Christopher wasn’t a surprise, the consequence of a few hours of freedom. Noah’s mind often circled like this when he was agitated, Father to Mother to Topher.

The elevator door opened and revealed Gumdrop. He sat like he had on display back at the department store, back propped against the elevator wall. Noah shivered looking into his eyes. Was the doll constantly peering into his soul, scouring him for any shred of naughty behavior? That was ridiculous, of course, Gumdrop was just a doll. Then again, there was the whole incident with Frank. How did the doll get from the top of Frank’s head to the bag Mother had? How’d it get to the top of Frank’s head in the first place? Noah felt like he was going crazy.

Noah snatched up the Christmas elf, and tucked it under his arm. He marched back to his apartment. An iron claw gripped his shoulder and pulled him backwards as he reached for his door knob. He stumbled into the dark interior of Herr Holzer’s apartment. Noah’s heart jumped into his throat and for the third time that night, he felt his nerves electrify with fear. For a moment, he thought it was a life-size Gumdrop that had snatched him. Noah let out a startled squeal.

The first thing Noah noticed was the heavy smell of Bengay, followed by a stale scent he associated with old people, underlined by a faint scent of urine. A light came on and Herr Holzer’s ancient face scowled down at Noah. He looked absurd. His hair was a white nest of chaos. He wore a dark house coat, bright green flannel shorts, black socks, and fuzzy gray slippers. Then Noah saw the gun in the old man’s hand. It was one of those old square guns with a skinny barrel. The kind of gun villains always used in old war movies.

“Where’s your father?” Holzer said, his breath stank of scotch and vinegar. He squeezed Noah’s shoulder with his free hand. Pain erupted where those old talons pressed. Noah always imagined Mr. Holzer as frail. As it were, the old German was surprisingly strong.

“He’s working late,” Noah said, hoping if he answered the old man’s questions he wouldn’t get shot.

“Ah, he doesn’t know then,” Holzer said, letting go of Noah’s shoulder and turning away. Noah shot a quick glance at the front door and felt hope drain away. The old Austrian had closed it and locked it. Noah wouldn’t be able to bolt out. Holzer mumbled, a mixture of German and English, that Noah didn’t understand. He only managed to make out two words, idiots and Italians.

“Doesn’t know what?”

“Eh,” Holzer said, turning back and peering down at Noah over his hawkish nose. “What did you say?”

“Father doesn’t know what?” Noah asked just as his eyes fell on a giant picture at the far end of Herr Holzer’s hallway. The frame glittered gold, an intricate pattern climbing to the eagle perched on top. It held a swastika in its talons. Adolf Hitler’s perpetually frowning face glared down the hallway at Noah. In that moment, Noah wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

Herr Holzer rattled off more German and then something about that Jew doctor across the hall. “The boy knows nothing, he is imbecile, or maybe he knows and he’s lying,” The old man said to no one. Then he grabbed Noah’s shoulder again, shaking him violently.

“What do you know, boy,” he said in his heavy German accent, spittle at the corners of his cracked lips. Gumdrop fell from under Noah’s arm, landing with a heavy thud on the floor. They both stared down at the Christmas doll, and Gumdrop stared back, grinning.

Herr Holzer cursed in German and Noah felt a bolt of terror run through him. For a moment, he thought the thud was the gun in Holzer’s hand firing at him. Once he knew it wasn’t, Noah reached for Gumdrop. Herr Holzer snatched him up first. The crazy old German inspected the doll. Noah tried to stay calm as Holzer absently pointed the gun at him.

“This is from the homeland.” He mused. He took the doll down the hall toward Hitler’s picture.

Noah considered making a break for the door. He thought of the disappointed look on Mother’s face when he’d tell her what happened.

“The crazy Nazi that lives across the hall, stole the Christmas elf doll you bought for Father.” It sounded ridiculous. Noah exhaled exasperated, then followed Holzer down the hall. Holzer turned at the picture of Hitler and set the doll on his fireplace mantle. He turned his attention to the television. Holzer mumbled in German and flung his arms around, the barrel of the gun waiving wildly about. Noah wished he’d put the gun away. He just wanted to get the doll and leave. He took a step into the living room when he heard the bells chime in the distance.

Noah looked at Gumdrop sitting on the mantle. For the first time that night, he didn’t feel the elf was looking at him. Instead, it seemed like those icy blue eyes were focused on Herr Holzer. His mischievous grin now seemed malicious and hungry. The atmosphere electrified with a new frantic energy. The lights throughout the apartment flickered in and out. The volume of the bell’s chiming rose. This time the tune was Carol of the Bells.

The lights went out, plunging Noah into darkness.

  “Schöne Feiertage,” Gumdrop’s sing-song voice cried out. Noah heard the meaning in his mind, both in German and English: Happy Holidays.

Holzer yelled in German and fired three shots. Each bang was accompanied by flashes of light. During the first flash, Noah found cover beside a recliner that smelled like old leather, dirty socks, and a stronger urine aroma. In the second flash, Noah saw Herr Holzer’s pale terrified face, his ancient pale skin pulled taught, making him look like an animated corpse. But it was the impossible vision he saw during the third shot that nearly caused him to wet his pants and run away screaming in terror.

In that brief second, Noah saw a giant version of Gumdrop, dressed the same, down to the frosted gumdrop buttons on his tuxedo jacket. Only his rosy cheeks glowed with a malicious rouge and his mischievous grin was full of razor teeth. His big pale blue eyes glowed and swirled like a fog thrust across a frozen lake by a bitter wind.

“Die you demonic Jew fucker.” Holzer cried, firing another shot.

“Such language, Herr Holzer,” Gumdrop said. “That’s definitely putting you on the naughty list.” Gumdrop paused. “Come to think of it, I’m sure you’re already there.”

Holzer cursed in German again.

“Noah,” Gumdrop said, addressing the crouching boy. “Did you know your neighbor was one of Hitler’s bootlickers? What do you think of that?”

“This is trick,” Holzer said, his accent getting worse as he became agitated. “Little Jew boy, you do this? I’ll kill you.”

Noah crept back around the corner, putting the wall between himself and the chaos unfolding in Holzer’s living room.  

“Herr Holzer, you can’t blame anyone but yourself.” Gumdrop said, his voice changing to sound like Noah’s history teacher. “Don’t run off, Noah, we have a history lesson. Do you know what they called Herr Holzer back in the third Reich?”

Carol of the Bells climbed in volume.

“Der Wolf. Because of how savage he was when he took the little boys.”

“Lier,” the old German cried.

“It’s just us here, old wolf. Time to atone.”

“I am superior race, chosen to lead humanity into future. I atone for nothing.” The last word came out more like a growl than a word. Noah pictured a dark gray wolf dressed in a Nazi SS uniform. All these years, He’d been living next door to a Nazi war criminal. “I’ll kill you and the Jew boy.”

“We’re not Jewish,” Noah yelled, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them.

The gun fired again, a bullet grazing the wall just above Noah’s head. That’s it, Noah thought, Get out now.  

The Chorus of Bells reached the crescendo, an echo of majestic ringing. Noah felt them vibrating though his being, deep into his soul. Furniture crashed and glass shattered. The hot smell of fresh urine mingled with the stale urine. Soon it was replaced with the coppery smell of blood. Holzer whimpered and moaned. Gumdrop’s cheerful sing-song laughter echoing the whole time. Noah was torn between dashing for the door, running for safety, and feeding his morbid curiosity. A part of him wanted to see what Gumdrop had in store for the old Nazi. Noah felt a deep pleasure in the idea of the old man’s suffering, a monster getting what he deserved. Did that make him a bad person? Had exposure to Gumdrop’s violence corrupted him? The thought made his stomach turn.

At the final moment of the climax there was one last gunshot. The bells faded and Noah was left in complete silence and darkness. He considered his options. He could go, walk away, return home, and pretend he didn’t want to see what happened. But he wasn’t going to. Just like with Frank, he had to look. Noah wasn’t old enough to really understand why he had to look, only that his morbid curiosity was somehow tied to his understanding of his own mortality. He stepped back around the corner into the living room and clicked the light on.

Holzer sat propped against the glass in front of his fireplace, much the same way Gumdrop had been sitting in the elevator. His head rolled backwards, a perfect black hole in the center of his forehead. The gun lay next to his twitching pale leg, smoke rising from the barrel. Blood and brains painted the wall and fireplace mantle directly above Herr Holzer. Noah focused on one spot void of Nazi splatter, a perfect outline of Gumdrop. The doll, however, was nowhere to be found.

The television flicked back on suddenly. A red and white banner, fashioned like a Christmas ribbon and outlined with blinking Christmas lights, flashed the words Breaking news. The image of the giant golden doors of Midtown department store filled the screen.

“This bizarre Christmas eve tragedy,” said an all too familiar sing-song voice, “Began at Midtown department store.” The footage of Midtown cut to a helicopter view of a skyrise condominium’s balcony. “Twin brothers, Francis and Leonardo Mancini, have both died. The brothers made headlines a few years ago by testifying for the state to avoid prosecution in a massive mob takedown. Though not confirmed, many are saying the notorious brothers finally got their justice. Frank Mancini, a pedophile rapist, was found in an employee restroom at Midtown. Frank was dressed as Santa, evidence of drugs and a possible overdose were found with him. Leo Mancini, a mob goon and hitman, was suffering from depression and overwhelmed with grief about his brother’s death. He leapt from his twentieth-floor apartment.”

Noah remembered the look on Leo’s face after Frank died. That wasn’t grief, that was rage. He backed away from the television and ran down the hallway. He ran across to his own apartment and closed the door. He locked every lock, including the chain. He went to the kitchen and poured a glass of milk. He needed to drink something to calm his rioting stomach. He shook uncontrollably. He wanted to scream. He took several deep breaths. Just as his nerves began to settle, the kitchen phone rang.

“Hello, Stockton residence,” Noah said, answering the phone trying to hide the tremor in his voice but failing.

“Is your mother home?” Father asked, curt and clearly not hearing the fear that had been in Noah’s voice.  

“She said she had some last-minute shopping.” Noah could hear music in the background, a girl laughing.

His father muttered something, fast and hard. Noah thought he heard bitch. For a moment, Noah felt as if the air had been sucked away and a deep void spread between him and his father. Then a question, seemingly from the ether, popped into Noah’s mind. It was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“How well do you know Mr. Holzer?”

“Adrian, the old man across the hall?” His father sounded distracted, uninterested. “We’ve helped each other out a few times.” His father paused. A girl giggled in the background. “For fuck’s sake, Becky, I’m on the phone with my kid. Give me a minute.”

“Asshole,” the girl said, slurring her speech. The music and background noise faded.

“Needed to go somewhere quiet. The board meeting was a little nuts tonight, Christmas eve and all. Why did you ask about Adrian?”

“I don’t know,” Noah said. He wanted to tell Father about the body across the hall, the crazy violence he’d witnessed. He wanted to tell him about Frank and the bathroom, about Leo, too. Instead that void swallowed his intentions.

“If that crazy old man comes near you,” Father said, his voice had an edge to it.

“He didn’t,” Noah said, quickly, pushing the crazy old man’s pale face out of his mind.

“Look, I know it’s Christmas eve, but I think you’re mature enough to understand. Your mother and I don’t have the best relationship.”

Noah thought about them giggling on Christmas eve last year, Father standing by the tree, Mother on the couch wrapping presents. But the scene was changing. It was going all wrong, Mother wasn’t giggling. She was sobbing, Father wasn’t laughing, he was drinking and sullen.  

“I just want you to know, that no matter what happens between us, I love you.”

“I love you too,” Noah said, an automatic response before he understood what was happening. Was Father telling him that he and Mother were getting a divorce? Then he heard the bells, tiny jingling Christmas bells ringing to the tune of Silver Bells. They came from far away, they come from Father’s side of the phone.

“Noah, I did some things,” Father said, his voice getting quieter, “things I regret.” Noah could only hear the bells. He could see that stupid grinning elf, sitting somewhere in the room with his father, jaunty hat, pale blue eyes, and a hungry grin. Did it have the bloody thumbprint? Of course, it did.

The doorbell rang. Noah jumped. Silver Bells played louder.

“I’m going to try harder for you, Noah.”

The doorbell rang again. Noah ignored it.

“Dad?”

“Happy Holidays,” Noah heard Gumdrop’s sing-song voice behind Father. The line clicked off.

The doorbell rang again. Noah felt dizzy, sick, and numb all at once.

The doorbell rang, again. Noah stumbled dazed to the door and pulled it open.

“Hey, Noah,” The goth girl said, that sly smile playing across her black lips.

“You.”

“Me,” she said, her voice cheerful. “Can I come in?” Noah nodded but said nothing. He turned and walked back to the kitchen. She followed. The air filled with the aroma of fresh baked gingerbread and a tinge of mint.

“Do you want some milk? Cookies?” Noah didn’t know why he was offering her treats, only that it felt required.

"How I would love a bowl of sweet cream. Alas, those days are gone." she said, her eyes twinkling with nostalgia. "A glass of cold milk will have to do.”

Noah poured her a glass and set it down next to his unfinished glass.  

“Who are you,” Noah meant to ask, but he already knew. Instead, the question came out, “What are you?”

“Now, Noah, you know I can’t tell you that,” she said, smiling wryly. She tapped a finger against her black lips. “Why don’t you just think of me as Winter.”  

“My dad?”

“I’m sorry, Noah, it’s too late for him.”

“Why?”

“You know why,” she said, her tone playful. “A doctor had a problem with a young woman. Created a mess.” She cocked her head thoughtfully. “He enlisted the help of an old Nazi.” She took a drink of milk. Noah shivered. He did know.

“And the brothers at the store, they helped get rid of the evidence?” Noah said, but thinking get rid of the body was more accurate.

“Yes,” Winter said. “But it’s not about them anymore. They’re all dead.”

“I don’t understand,” Noah said, but he did. He’d been curious about the violence. He bore witness to the horrors firsthand and done nothing. For a year he witnessed Father’s violence toward mother and done nothing. No, curious wasn’t the right word. He was fascinated by the horrors, and he tried to emulate Father. It was Noah’s turn to atone for his complacency.

The bells began to jingle. The tune this time, The Little Drummer Boy, Pa rum pum pum pum.

“Happy Holidays,” Gumdrop giggled in his sing-song voice.

“Bad elf,” baby Christopher said, tossing the Gumdrop doll into the fireplace.

“Oh no, my queen,” Gumdrop cried. As the fire devoured the flammable paint. Crackling and popping, the flames licked the wooden doll consuming it all. The bells ringing to the tune of The Little Drummer Boy faded.

“Curious,” Winter said, her knowing smile dancing across her lips. “Be good, Noah Andrew Stockton. Winter isn’t known for her forgiving nature.”

Noah turned to look at the burning doll, now just a pile of ash. When he looked back, only a subtle sparkle of drifting frost remained. The milk glass, of course, was empty

End

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