A Fantastic Holiday Season: The Gift of Stories Read Free

nervous—put your mind to it, see what you come up with. You’ve got a lot of space in that big empty head of yours.”
    I tapped the bullet hole in the middle of my forehead. “A little extra space maybe, but it’s not empty.” I tipped my fedora at him and left.
    My first order of business was to figure out who would want to steal the Naughty and Nice list, and what anybody would use it for. In order to brainstorm, I invited Sheyenne to lunch.
    3
    Being a ghost, Sheyenne doesn’t eat, not even their special “ephemeral” plate, and I don’t need much sustenance. (I’ve avoided brains, because I don’t want to turn into one of those zombies who are an embarrassment to the rest of us.)
    The Ghoul’s Diner, though, was a place to hang out, and Sheyenne likes it when we go out on lunch dates. Strolling down the sidewalk toward the Diner, we free-associated. Sheyenne wore a bright smile as always, and those blue eyes could make a man’s heart stop beating, or start beating, depending on which condition he started from.
    I wondered aloud that maybe the Big Uneasy had made the Grinch manifest as well, but Sheyenne doubted he’d reached a worldwide cultural status similar to vampires or St. Nick. I disagreed, because I had grown up on the Grinch; still, I conceded that he seemed too obvious a cartoon villain.
    I then postulated that the perpetrator could be a Lorax with self-esteem issues, upset that Arbor Day didn’t have the stature of Christmas, Hanukkah, Thanksgiving, New Years … or even Kwanzaa, for that matter. I didn’t know if Loraxes were real, either. I seemed to be in a Seussian rut.
    A light dusting of snow came down, reminding me that I had to find Santa’s list before Christmas Eve, or he would suffer a worldwide toy-distribution crisis. Festive decorations were already strung up in the streets of the Quarter: barbed-wire tinsel looped along windowpanes and awnings, colorful wreaths hung from nooses on gallows lampposts.
    Before we reached the Diner, Sheyenne and I stopped on the street where crowds had gathered and traffic halted for an early holiday parade. And it sure wasn’t the type hosted by Macy’s.
    Elves capered and danced at the front of the parade, diminutive creatures dressed in pointed floppy caps and bright red outfits trimmed with white flocking. The costumes resembled a traditional Santa’s elf suit, but these were cheap knockoffs that fit poorly with seams showing and with some of the white trim missing.
    These elves were not the cute, smiling, industrious workers who stocked Santa’s shelves and made the North Pole a cheery, if formerly imaginary, place. No, these elves came from the G-side of the family, having more in common with gremlins, goblins, and gnomes—pointy, stretched-out features, gray skin, and long ears that looked as if they had gotten caught in industrial picking machinery. When they smiled like good elves should, they showed alarmingly pointed teeth.
    Behind the prancing elves came a bizarre motorized sleigh crawling along at pedestrian speed so everyone on the sidewalk had an appropriate opportunity to wave. Palm trees adorned the back of the sleigh. On a big wicker chair sat an elf with all the usual elf features (from the G-side of the family), but he wore a white rhinestone-studded jacket, trimmed in Christmasy green and red. He had slicked-back black hair, sideburns that extended halfway down his pointed chin, big garish sunglasses, and oddly out-of-place blue suede shoes.
    “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said to Sheyenne.
    “He’s for real, Beaux. That’s Elfis—I’ve seen his ads. You know, ‘Santa Claus is coming to town, but Elfis will get there faster?’ He’s a celebrity on the cable-access channels.”
    I’m a decent enough detective, but I can be clueless about pop culture.
    Elfis waved at the crowd and picked up a handheld Vegas-style silver microphone. “Thank ya very much. Santa’s got competition this year, boys and girls,