Dean Koontz - Santa's Twin

Charlotte says, “I think I’m going to swoon.

No, no,” says Emmy, “we must save Saint Nick.

And I think I might possibly be getting sick.

I’m so woozy, and my head’s spinning around.

Oh, I’ve just got to hold my cookies down.”

Reindeer are flyers of fabulous skill.

Soon turbulence passes and all is still.

Across the deep sea of stars they sail.

And our little Emmy is no longer pale.

Ahead an airliner appears in the sky.

That’s no surprise. Airliners can fly.

The reindeer soar high over the craft.

A passengers sees-thinks himself daft.

Moonshadows of deer slide over the wing,

a breathtaking and a beautiful thing.

That passenger will arrive home tonight

holding in his heart a brand-new light.

The plane is gone, the North Pole looms.

The sleigh arcs down. The reindeer zoom

toward a hard, endless, icy wasteland.

“Emmy,” says Lottie, “give me your hand!”

Straight down, down, and down some more.

“There’s going to be such blood and gore,

squeals Emmy. “Oh, we’re going to crash!”

But one reindeer says, “Don’t be so rash.

“Believe in Santa and look down again.

Believing makes the difference, so then

you’ll see Santa’s village spread below

a wonderland of light and ice and snow.”

“I see it,” says Emmy, “oh, I really do!”

“I see it, I see it!” Charlotte says too.

Cottages, lamplight, and gleaming spires,

colorful lights on invisible wires.

Trees hung with icing, gingerbread shrubs,

bottled root beer in street-corner tubs,

movie theaters where shows play for free,

with popcorn and ice cream. Oh, golly gee!

T he reindeer land on their delicate feet,

racing swiftly along the glittering street

to the golden heart of the village square,

to the house of houses standing there.

No doubt it’s the house of Santa Claus.

The girls recognize it at once, because

Carved over the door in a lintel of wood:

HE KNOWS IF YOU’VE BEEN BAD OR GOOD.

The village seems deserted, eerily quiet.

A dropping pin would sound like a riot.

No sign at all of the toy-making elves.

Where might they have taken themselves?

A reindeer says, “Their good work is done.

Now they’re all on vacation, having fun.

In Tahiti, Jamaica, Pittsburgh, and France.

Some to Texas: They like to square-dance.”

Where’s Mrs. Claus?” Emmy asks with awe.

“Bernice?” says a deer. “She’s at a spa

in California. Somewhere on the coast

bathing in the sun, as brown as toast.

“Santa always joins her on Christmas Day.

It’s their once-a-year chance to get away.

By the middle of January they come back

to start filling next year’s big toy sack.”

Lottie and Emmy spring from the sleigh,

dashing to Santa’s house straightaway.

The door is ajar. Blame the bad twin.

They push it open and dare to go in.

A hallway glows with warm twinkly light,

gilded, coffered, paneled-just right.

No sign of-Santa. But there’s some mud

the bad twin tracked in. Then-a thud!

A thud from the cellar far down below.

No time to waste. The two girls go

to a massively timbered door they spy,

and down the cellar stairs they fly.

Down, down, around, and down some more

in lantern light to a cold stone floor.

A huge burlap bag, spotted with grime:

This is it-the scene of the crime!

Untie the knot! Quick, open the sack!

Santa’s inside! Pull the burlap back!

Off with the blindfold! And the gag!

Off with these ropes! Out of the bag!

He jumps to his feet, almost topples,

steadies himself, pops his ear stopples.

“Dear girls! How well you have behaved!

Without you Christmas couldn’t be saved.”

Oh, this is Santa, no doubt about that.

From his boots to the porn-porn on his hat,

he’s radiant, glorious, a sight to behold,

the elf about whom so many tales are told.

He laughs-ho ho ho! His merry eyes shine.

His sweet, kindly smile is simply divine.

“You’re Emily. And Charlotte. I know you.

You’re two good girls, through and through.

I’ve never had to bring you lumps of coal

on one of my annual trips from the Pole.

Those were magic ropes, blindfold, and gag.

Only good kids could free me from that bag.”

Says Emmy, “The bad Claus is in the sleigh,

tied up tight. Now let’s be on our way.

We must save Christmas-it’s getting late.”

Lottie says, “Hold on a minute. Just wait.

I’m wondering why, at this magical Pole

your cellar is such a deep, dark hole.”

Santa winces, sighs. “Also dismal and dank.

And when we first moved in, it really stank.

We have a problem with ground-water seepage

and really persistent purple fungus creepage.

Girls, everyone has troubles, even Saint Nick.

So smile and be merry. That’s the trick!”

Back in the square in front of the house,

the little stuffed toys unload the louse

who’s wrapped up in jump ropes and Slinkys,

his mustache still secured to his pinkies.

He’s wide awake now and not half so fearful.

The real Santa Claus gives him an earful.

“What in the world were you trying to do?

Surely you’re not bad through and through.

Confused, misguided, no doubt about that.

You wear my suit well-especially the hat.

Always be nice to kids, give ‘em a smile.

They’ll all love you too-after a while.”

Emmy says, “Be nice, as you were taught.

When you’re bad, you’ll always be caught.

What if we told your mom what you’ve done,

then would being bad really be much fun?”

Lottie says, “You even hit me with a pie.

If your mom knew it all, wouldn’t she cry?”

Emmy shakes her finger. “Oh, shame on you.

Don’t you know before everything you do,

you must ask yourself how Mom would feel

to know you’d done it? That’s the seal

of approval and the guidance we all need

to help us be good and to do good deeds.”

The bad Claus’s eyes well up with tears.

He sniffles, then blubbers, when he hears

the girls mention Mother. “Oh, please!

But for the Slinkys,I’d be on my knees,

begging you not to tell dear Mama Claus

all the bad things I’ve done, because

“she’s the sweetest and kindest of souls

you’ll ever find between the two poles.

I’ve been thoughtless, so mean and bad.

But I never wanted to make Mama sad.

I’ve been as bad as a bad boy could be

because I never thought Mama would see.”

Lottie says, “No one can fool his mother

any more than kids can fool your brother.

Sooner or later every mom always knows

if you’ve been bad or good. It shows.

Scary, I know, but that’s how it goes.

Now stop blubbering and wipe your nose.”

Snow begins to fall from the polar skies

as Santa says, “Girls, you are both wise.

I’m giving you two brand-new blue bikes

and to your parents-whatever each likes.

And you will come along to share the joy

as I bring gifts to every girl and boy.”

Un-Slinky’d, with all jump ropes unwound,

Santa’s brother leaps up from the ground.

“Let’s hurry and undo all that I’ve done,

or this year Christmas won’t be much fun.”

A crowded sleigh-two Clauses, two girls-

rockets into the sky as the snow swirls.

“Good reindeer, I’m sorry for all I said.

I had the meanies, shoulda stayed in bed.”