The Day Santa Got Stuck (Essay)

It was a gloomy day of darkened windows and empty streets. Sleet rained white upon a small village, blotting out the stars in the sky. The constant patter of frosted rain and the clanging of metal could be heard all around. The cobbled pavements were blanketed by a thick layer of slush.

However, it was all broken by a single window flickering with a soft orange glow. A closer inspection would show a young girl, swathed in blankets and candle in hand, peering up the chimney eagerly. Just beside her sat a plate of cookies and a cup of milk. She sat completely still, her rapt posture only broken by the occasional shift. Then, a bright smile.

“Momma, I think Santa’s here,” the little girl whispered eagerly to her mother who was sitting in a rickety rocking chair nearby.

“I’m sure he is, sweetie,” her mother smiled, “But I’m afraid that it’s far past your bed time and we’re down to our last candle for tonight.”

Huffing, the little girl pouted and opened her mouth momentarily, looking as if she would protest. However, she merely slumped in disappointment and said, “Okay, momma.”

With that, the candle was blown out and both retired to bed.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Crunch.

There was a muffled sound of ice being crushed underfoot from the roof. Yet, no one stirred. Not the little girl nor her mother.

Just above the house, a portly man dressed in red stepped off his reindeer. Grunting and heaving, the man hefted a large sack off the lone reindeer. It made an annoyed sound and shifted. Patting its haunch, the portly man stroked his rather bushy moustache and chuckled, “Sorry, old girl. Sky-road taxes with the magical folk are on the rise and there’re now additional charges with us having to pass through the new Ethereal Riders Passage. You’re the only one left that I can afford to keep to do these gift deliveries.”

The reindeer merely snorted, turned its back to him and flopped onto the roof. Sighing, he reached into the sack beside him and fished out a million-paged assessment book. Shaking his head, and muttering about terrible modern day gifts and unreasonable expectations placed on children, he stepped towards the chimney.

Staring down the tiny chimney hole dubiously, the man looked at his giant gut and squeezed his rather large love handles. “Looks like good ol’ Santa Claus still needs to lose some more weight. The Insanity Challenge and Mike Chang YouTube channel weight-loss tips just aren’t cutting it.”

Santa Claus gave a grunt and put a foot into the chimney. He nearly let out a yelp as he lurched forward, the chimney giving way under his sheer weight. He wobbled precariously for a moment, clutching the assessment book with his stubby fingers, before he regained his balance. He scowled at the chimney he now rested his posterior upon, “They don’t quite make chimneys like they used to.”

Sucking his paunch in, he attempted to squeeze into the chimney. A few grunts, wheezes and a sickening crunch of bricks cracking later, Santa Claus gave a triumphant shout. His belly finally fit into the chimney.

It was a perfect fit.

A sickening realisation dawned upon him for he was truly stuck in the hole. Gritting his teeth, he gave a violent heave and slid down further. The sound of broken bricks raining onto the pavement below could be heard throughout the village. If one were to look out their window at this point of time, they would have seen the head of a man with a bushy white moustache looking extremely red in the face, and incredibly pained.

This was truly justified for Santa Claus, as the assessment book was now crushing certain sensitive parts in his nether regions. He was struck with a realisation on the irony that such a parallel, between his gonad-crushing pain and what modern day expectations on children was like, would be formed. That momentary thought was quickly swept away, however, when he heard the house’s young occupant lumbering within, much too close to the chimney he was now in unwilling union with. He tried to wiggle himself out, only to have his shoe fall down the chimney.

The little girl had awoken to the sound of bricks hitting the ground outside. Squinting her eyes, she wondered on what was going on. Perhaps, Santa was here! Now fully awake, she tip-toed around. Unfortunately, she didn’t notice the plate of cookies and stepped right into it. She pouted and resumed her journey towards the cold hearth.

There was a great sound coming from the chimney! Peeking up, the little girl was met with a giant red boot to the face. Shaking her head to clear the stars dancing in her vision, she looked up again. She barely dodged the foot that swung her way.

She grabbed the poker and prodded the foot. It twitched away. “Is that you, Santa?” the little girl shouted up the chimney.

She was met with stony silence.

“Are you stuck? Do you need me to pull you out?”

The foot stopped swinging out. There was a momentary pause before Santa replied with a meek, “Yes.”

Giggling, the girl tossed the poker aside and wrapped her little fingers around Santa’s ankle. With a great tug, she succeeded in pulling Santa down into the hearth. There was a great roar of bricks tumbling down the roof now. Coughing from all the ash that had risen from Santa’s landing, both him and little girl turned to look at the girl’s mother sleeping. All that noise had, miraculously, not woken her up.

Santa gave a sheepish smile and handed her the assessment book. “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!”

The little girl scrutinised Santa’s face sharply. “Are you really Santa? You don’t look like him. You’re fat but you’re missing the beard.”

Affronted by her brash statement, Santa considered stringing the little girl by her ankle to his reindeer and dragging her through the night sky. However, he merely tucked in his tummy and stroked his moustache, “Ho, ho! The ladies these days hate facial hair. I need to keep up with the times. “Movember” is over too.”

Giving a non-committal shrug and looking unconvinced, the little girl looked at the assessment book in her hands and scowled, “Who the heck gives assessment books as Christmas gifts to little children? Where’s my little pony?!”

“Well,” Santa smiled forcefully at the little girl and said, “There is no better thing in this world than a structured education. I must now go!”

Turning towards the now-ruined chimney, he paused and stuttered, “I-I think I’d better use the door this time instead.”

Swiftly unlocking the door, Santa ran out and shut the door with a slam.

“Sweetie, why’re you awake? Also, have you seen my shopping list? I think I might have mixed it up with your wishes for Santa.”

Written for Happy Tutors Learning Centre