Elves
written by: R.D. Henry
Behind a frigid windowpane, an elf winks and then pleads, “Help.” A quick glance at the other three elves and the one in an adjacent Christmas window confirms they look animatronic. For certain. Still, I falter, even though no other frosted gasps occurred. It is a bone-chilling Minnesota night, and the woolly-mammoth crowd’s layers of survival down and cable knit wool make them unreadable. Mom, Gramps, my puberty-twisted brother, Cannon, too. I yell over Harmon’s dorky holiday music, “Did you guys see that? Hear the elf speak?”
Given blank stares, I shrug. Seven years ago, I threw away my Santa hooey along with my Spiderman lunchbox. Collectibles were never my thing. After all, I am thirteen, and zillions brainier than my brother—who’s two years older than me.
Zero temperatures, monster snowflakes, and dark skies with Aurora Borealis streaks fail to deter the Christmas tradition mongers. Every year, people flock to the downtown car-free street decked with holiday cheer and bold graphic banners listing the winners of the store’s holiday window contest. Best of all, my tummy rumbles at the yummy popcorn, caramel, and peppermint scents from a shop next to Harmon’s.
A soft growl shifts my gaze. A humongous black nose sniffs glass. A fluffy tail points, whirls like a propeller. Cassy, our golden retriever, knows something’s amok. I chuckle. Her red snowflake-dotted sweater transforms her power-canine stance into a cartoonish vision.
Cannon bongs my head. “Restrain Cassy, Dork. She’s slimming the OR code.”
My eyes shoot dragon flames back and, cell in hand, I scan “Elves at Work.” Proof he’s an idiot—the screen shows elves working at a crimson conveyor belt workstation. Hologram prices float above them. On sale: red pointed hats, vests, striped stockings, even their candy-cane shoelaces, plus toys, trees, bulbs, holiday cookies, and miniature trains.
“What’d you expect?” Gramps rants, then slips into, “Back in the day…”
An elf-sized robot wheels through a miniature door. It has a chef’s hat, red apron, and balances a cookie tray with claw-like hands. The droid called Hap glides on rubber tires near the glass. Cheers erupt. I check my cell; “Yup, $24,000. Assembly not included.”
Meanwhile, Cassy pants, and my curious soul on edge, I rock. The mysterious elf, half-hidden behind Hap’s carnival act, speaks again. “Taken hostage.” Eyes wide, I whisper, “Mom, can we talk?” Her soft voice says, “Sure, Samuel.” A brow rises. “Sounds serious.”
Gramps as deaf as toast in crowds, and Cannon missing, I tell Mom about the mysterious elf. Do I expect, “It’s okay to imagine these things at Christmas?” Yes. Does it happen? Not really. Instead, she says, “Show me, dear.” We both stare at the conveyor—a sled’s decals spell “LILLY.”
So, an elf of unknown origin is being held hostage, and he knows my mom’s name is Lilly! Heart thumping, I ponder, “What kid can fathom this?”
And Lilly’s grinning like she’s five.
“Samuel, beware of droids,” she whispers.
I tilt my head. Sure thing, Hap emits weird flashes at us. But my attention stays locked on the conveyor’s yellow dump truck’s decals: “WAREHS 501H.”
Mom mouths to the elf, “Will find you.”
I give her a deadpan stare. Winker Elf sends a weak smile. My voice cracks. “I think Cassy hears him. Maybe I just can read lips?”
Her eyes sparkle in the window’s glow. “Elves, dear, have special powers.”
“He’s different because of his green hat and gray hair?” My head jets higher, such extraordinary wisdom.
“Good eye, son. But it’s the no-batteries-needed.”
I brush snow off an eyelash while my mind slugs away. “What’s 501H?”
“Unsure. But I bet it’s related to WAREHS clue.”
An hour later—fifteen minutes of it removing outerwear—the family sips hot chocolate and cozies up to the TV’s evening news. Lost in thought, I only tune-in after I hear the word “elf.”
The newsman rambles, “All five of the elves in Harmon’s Christmas window were stolen last night. Anyone with knowledge of their whereabouts, contact Crime Crushers. Harmon’s has offered a reward.”
Mom glances at me with a hopping mad-expression.
Pivotal moments in life—uptick mine by one. Mom and I huddle in private at the kitchen sink, washing mugs and pans. I pose the first question: “Isn’t Winker worth zillions?”
One mug washed umpteen times, she replies, “Yes.” Her face crinkles. “Fake news Harmon’s created. Either Winker has escaped or is bait for the big enchilada…Santa.” My heart pounds. Her eyes narrow. “Sammy, there’s a chance Hap’s security cam captured Winker’s communications with us. If he’s on the run, they may come here.”
A pot slips from my grasp, clangs, and I stutter, “A…plan…Mom?”
“Work with your brother,” she says. “You two find WAREHS 501H in case he’s there.”
“No way. I can’t tell Cannon. He’ll call me a zombie butt-head. Or worse.”
“I have a hospital shift tomorrow, sweetie.” She pivots to leave. “Take the EV Buzz Shuttle downtown, figure out Winker’s clues, find 501H. Then text me.”
“Can I go with Gramps instead?” I say coyly…it’s worth a try…
“You’re safer with Cannon.” She whispers, “Gramps’s a grizzly ol’ guy with fishing lures missing from his tackle box.
“You can do this, Sammy.” She pats me, then Cassy. “Stay safe. Now, get some sleep.”
Like I said, pivotal moment. I hug Cassy, who’s sprawled over most of the bed, snoring. Sweat soaks every body part except my elbow; certain men-in-black are outside. Eight AM, I call Mom at Mercy Hospital—she’s an inpatient doctor there—to say forget it. She’s unavailable, so I dawdle into the kitchen to face Cannon. Rod-straight, I lay out the Winker brouhaha. Breathless, I end with, “Mom said you must help me today.”
With my case spent, my brother heaved over in laughter, I pour myself a bowl of comfort frosted flakes. The do-not-eat cereal. Again, I ask myself, so why’s it here?
“Oh, yeah?” Cannon says, and dribbles on with each sentence ending with Duffus, Slime-butt, Dumb-head, Vomit-brain until his red tint subsides. “Did Mom figure out what WAREH 501H means?”
“No.” I glower. “That’s what she wants us to do.”
He leaves. After five minutes, he’s back, wearing a smug face. “Let’s go, Dork. Buzz Shuttle here in two.”
***
Our home is a Tudor-style historical spectacle overlooking Lake of the Isles and what Mom calls, “The cityscape of downtown Minneapolis.” We could’ve walked to Nicollet Street, but followed Mom’s instructions. On Buzz Shuttle, blue light reflects across Cannon’s face, while I sulk in a ball of perpetual fear, cursing Cassy is home babysitting Gramps.
Buzz drops us at the main library, two blocks from Harmon’s. Voice cranky, I pound Cannon. “What’s here?”
“Research librarians, dough-brain. WAREHS may mean warehouse.”
Huh, my brother can think?
We hustle to a warehouse at 501 Hennepin Ave. To Cannon’s back, I roar, “You’re supposed to help, not take over. Wise guy…how do we get in?”
His face the color of ripe tomatoes, he answers, “You got a plan, Duffus?”
“Yeah.” Okay, I don’t. But I want to annihilate my brother. So, I blurt out, “Let me handle it.”
In the one-man lobby, a guard with squinty eyes greets us. Below his bulbous head, he wears a drab uniform that says, ‘Harmon’s Security.’
My voice squeaks out, “My uncle said we could help out with some window display stuff today.”
Mr. Security barks, “Holiday junk on three,” and he redirects his gaze to a screen of naked women gyrating. Cannon slows, watches. Pathetic. I whack his arm.
The third floor stretches the length of a football field crowded with chain-link fence pods. A robot whirls past us. We flinch. Ahead, bright halogen bulbs spotlight ten robots moving boxes, merchandise. No humans. Cannon studies scribbled papers tacked to a wall, says, “Elves are four enclosures that-a-way.” Hunchbacks, hoods up, we dart to the site. The overcrowded cage has twenty elves inside.
Not one elf waves.
EV-like sounds whiz past. Droid paranoia drives us to open/shut the cage door in record time. Elves stare back without seeing. Bile coats my throat. They’re stacked inches apart like a bag of upright pretzel sticks. One-elf-at-a-time, we search for Winker. Cannon grimaces and types on his cell, a frowning emoji, and “All alike. Now what?”
I offer a cocky grin, type, “Winker’s unique. You photograph these guys, text Mom where we are, and I’ll find one with a green hat, gray hair, and no-batteries-needed.” Five elves later, my heart jumps when a stoic elf blinks. Its tiny hand pats a vest pocket where I discover a note: “I escaped. Eddy White Nose left behind. Save him. Danger all around.”
Yup, this elf had a white nose. Cannon reads the note, scrolls his photos, and types, “Only one white-nosed elf here.”
About to leave, our breaths halt—overhead lights blast red strobe flashes. Rhythmic beeps echo in the cemetery-like air. The sound of robot rubber wheels announces they’re mobilizing, approaching. I whisper, “You texted Mom?” He shakes, “No.” His gait outpaces mine, but a few steps later, he halts. Eddy has lagged behind. Cannon slides off his backpack, tilts it, motions it’s empty.
Huh, my brother can think?
I lift Eddy. He crunches inside the pack, bent-kneed, forehead visible. I toss my scarf over his head. We hightail it to the elevator. There, Canyon points to a staircase sign. Two cages over, a human voice wails. Bozo guard has left his porno? Jelly legs, I stumble. Cannon slips his hand into mine, squeezes, and sends a got-your-back-Sammy-half-grin. Oh, it fortifies me a few steps, but flashes of villains ripping my limbs, destroys my gut like hot tamales.
Stairs taken two-at-a-time, we burst into the empty lobby—a wannabe Godzilla on our tails. In the distance, The Buzz Shuttle is still parked at the library, and once inside the bus, we slouch in separate seats, heads hunkered down.
From the Lake of the Isles stop, we pound pavement home. Eddy wanders the living room like a curious traveler. Meanwhile, Cassy barks her canine objections outside, and Gramps explodes, “So you two idiots stole the elves! I’m calling Crime Crushers.” He heads for the landline phone—the only one he’ll use. Cannon beats him there, unplugs it from the wall jack. I signal a thumbs-up. He returns a toothy grin. Permanent teeth. Such a showoff.
Something has just changed between us.
Gramps cries, “Not again. Blasted phone’s dead.”
Sunset, Mom storms in like a first responder. “Oh my God. You guys did it. Are you okay?”
Cannon responds, “Yeah, Mom. Sam and I figured it out. Winker’s code was a warehouse at 501 Hennepin. Sammy got us inside. I got us out.”
“Good job, guys.” She kneels before the elf. “Winker?”
I step forward. Cannon stays back. My tummy flutters. He wants me to take the glory? I explain, “Not exactly. Winker escaped. This elf got caught. His name is Eddy White Nose. He’s mute.” I hand Mom Winker’s note I found in Eddy’s pocket. Her forehead lines sink into deep craters. She asks Eddy, “Your friend knew about Harmon’s stolen elves cover story?”
Eddy White Nose nods.
Mom paces. “When he winked and communicated with us, it may’ve spooked your kidnapper.”
Again, Eddy nods.
Eyelids heavy, I touch Mom’s hand. “Harmons’ warehouse had twenty elves stacked, locked in a small cage. Eddy and Winker…the live ones…were they fed? Doubtful. We should call Crime Crushers. Let them figure this out. Someone out there is ruthless.”
Cannon waves his cell. “I have proof. Photos.”
I add, “Still, who’d believe us? Elves don’t exist, remember?”
Cannon’s arms flail. “Right.” Since when has he agreed with me? “Police might call Eddy an advanced robot.”
“Stop it, guys.” Mom’s forceful voice silences us cold. “Eddy’s going home.” Brows pointed together, she asks Eddy, “Your friend escaped. Do you know where he is?”
Eddy’s head droops. Mom hands him her cell. He types, “No. But he said find Lilly…she’ll take me to him.”
“I am Lilly. And yes, I know where he is.” Mom rockets upward, grinning. She rubs the tiny elf’s hand. “Though, I only know where he’ll be on Christmas Eve.” Cassy licks Eddy’s hand. “Until then, you’re safe here with us.”
She glances at me, a finger touches her lips…her don’t ask symbol.
***
Three days later, Christmas Eve Day arrives.
As the sun sets, her voice firm, mouth tight, Mom says, “Winker has only seen Sammy, Cassy, and me. He’s in hiding, so let’s avoid frightening him. Cannon, you and Gramps mind the fort. Cassy, Samuel, Eddy, come with me.”
Grumbles. Cannon cries out, “Mom, this isn’t fair. I helped rescue the elf.”
“Again, Winker only saw Sammy, not you.” She rubs his shoulder. With that, we pile into the SUV, and Canyon lurks in the doorway. “Son, we’ll be back by morning. Pray we can save the precious elves.” She slips a sled into the trunk. Under my mittens and hat, sweat moistens my skin. Cassy lies snug by my side, and I peek out the rear window often for suspicious vehicles. Miles tick off. Where are we going? Canada?
Close to the St. Croix River, we take a narrow road into a forest. In a clearing, footpaths circle a pond that shimmers under the Borealis lights. Old-fashioned streetlamps add minimal illumination for four or five skaters, and in the distance, tobogganers. Eddy, in my old jacket, rides on the sled, Mom pulling. She slows at a sign, Toboggan Hill – Reindeer Park. “Sammy, watch for moose.”
My feet misstep. Just great…elf-ramming moose.
Near a grove of snow-crusted birch trees, snorts and neighs filter through the winter silence. “Stay here,” she says, peeling apart thick branches. My heart patters so loud, Cassy licks my hand, her hindquarters down, closer to Eddy than me.
Time ticks backwards.
Mom and Winker wiggle through the thicket. Winker extends a gloved hand. “Good to meet you, Sammy. Such a brave young man.”
My voice catches. “It’s you…” Chin up, tone prideful, I boast, “I found your note…uh…and Eddy.”
Winker casts a magnificent grin. “Thank you. I trusted you would.”
“Well, my brother saved us all.”
“Yes, you’re a remarkable team against some dangerous men.” He rubs my back and Cassy’s flattened ears.
“How’d you escape?” I ask.
“Tricked a dumb robot.” My head shakes in agreement. Stupid droids. “But, Sammy, alarms went off, and Eddy froze. The note I wrote was a precaution.” He chuckles. “As Santa’s lead elf, I’m a manic planner.”
Branches crunch. Mom peels back branches again, exposing a secret clearing. “Best we get them home.”
Reddish hues of light sparkle behind the trees, and a reindeer stomps its hooves. Mom rests her head on the buck’s massive neck.
I stagger to save her. “Mom, please…”
She laughs. “Sammy, meet Rudolf. We go way back.” The reindeer snorts, shakes its snout. Snowbanks cushion my pile of bones as I crash downward. Geez, another Mom shocker. Revelation aside, her wet moose hair scent teases my nostrils as she lifts me. “Dear, help me get the elves on Rudolf.”
I hike Eddy under his arms, and Mom aids Winker. Both settled, she pats the enormous buck’s muscular shoulder. “So wonderful to see you again, Rudolf. You changed my life…but then, heck, you know that.”
Rudolf nuzzles her. Winker grabs a box from a saddlebag and hands it to me. “For Lilly’s son…May the legend continue. Thank you, Sammy.”
With that, the massive reindeer rises, vanishes over the trees. From afar, jingle sounds and faint neighs echo.
I shuffle along speechless. Cassy trots at my heels without treats. A miracle.
“Mom, did Winker say how Harmon’s took them hostage?”
“He did.” I tilt my head. “Santa sends elves inside stores to monitor the Santa helper scene. Disguised, of course. But someone became suspicious of their pointed ears and captured them, a monetary motive.”
All I can muster is, “Oh…”
Back in the car, I pet Cassy as she chews a bone. Where’d she get that?
“Mom, how did you meet Rudolf?”
“In Reindeer Park…a long story, I’ll tell it tomorrow…”
Inside Eddy’s gift box, I find a snow globe. The keyring-sized wonder has replicas of me and Cassy. Nearby, Winker and Eddy pound toys.
Mom grins. “Yah, Samuel, you are the legend now. My snow globe has me skating, a humongous reindeer nearby.
My smile widens. “If Rudolf knows you, how is it Winker does too?”
Quite simply, she giggles. “Magic, my dear. It finds you…You saw a wink no one else saw.”
READ THE PREQUEL HERE
- Elves - December 14, 2025
- Reindeer Park - December 22, 2024
- Mrs. Claus - December 15, 2023
