Tales Of The Gurrier

“It’s just through here sir.” The neatly turned out security guard held the door open, gesturing inside.

“Really? Through there, are you sure?” said Albert, the door appeared nondescript and unremarkable.

“Oh yes sir, just through there. Down to the end of the corridor and turn left. Through the door marked ‘interviews’.”

“Thank you,” said Albert.

Albert found himself in a drab grey corridor lined with drab grey concrete slabs and more plain, nondescript doors. He reached the end of the corridor and was about to give up and turn back when he saw the sign. Sign was perhaps too flamboyant a description. It was little more than a ragged piece of notepaper with the word ‘inteЯveiws’ written, no scrawled, in ballpoint pen. This did not bode well.

Seven years Albert had spent as an Elf at Dancy’s Department store. Seven years of seasonal hell. Seven years of kow-towing to that pompous ass Mycroft. Mycroft, his yuletide nemesis, who wouldn’t know a belly laugh from a belly ache. Mycroft, who ruled ‘Santa’s Seasonal Grotto of Holiday Cheer’ with an iron fist and a towering, insufferable arrogance. Why Dancy’s had him back every year Albert would never understand. The man simply hated Christmas. Hated it with a passion. He never shook his belly like a bowlful of jelly. He never smiled like a jolly old elf, nor danced a jig, nor entertained a kind and christian thought in all his life. Why the man was nothing but a charlatan. A cheap plastic santa, fit for nothing but the strip mall or a mangy second rate charity do.

Albert however was an artist. He lived for Christmas. He loved Christmas with all his heart. Each December for seven years he had lain aside Albert the man. Lain aside the humdrum fears and petty rivalries of the everyday and become Bert The Elf, Santa’s Special helper. To all the children of Dancy’s he was known as the happiest Christmas Elf in all of Christendom. For nothing could please Albert more than to watch the joy that spread across a child’s face when they saw Santa Claus himself, large as life sitting on his Santa Chair doling out presents and candy to all the little children who had been good little girls and boys. That is, until he would look into the eyes of Santa and see not the benevolent, smiling face of St. Nick, but that miserable wretch Mycroft staring out at him from behind his cheap imitation eyebrows.

Albert had to admit, it burned him up inside. But there was no removing Mycroft from his throne. Whatever dark deal had been struck in the mists of time Mycroft Beanstreener III remained Santa in perpetuity of Dancy’s Old TIme Department store. As much a part of the furniture as, well the furniture, which everyone agreed was very old indeed. And that was how things proceeded, as they always had done, without much fuss, without much to do, until the Big Mall came to town.

The Big Mall arrived, or rather, it appeared, almost overnight. One day there was a vast stretch of wasteland at the edge of the town where the old iron works used to be. Nothing but rusting hulks of machinery and derelict warehouses, where the teenage population went to cause themselves mischief and pigeons bred in ragged flocks. The next it was a hive of activity. Bustling with shiny diggers and earthmovers. Cranes and Megacranes, workmen, scaffolding, cement trucks, clouds of dust and debris and then as quickly as they arrived, they were gone.

In it’s place stood BigMall. BigMall was big. Not large, nor enormous, but big. Really, really Big. From the vast glass doors and doric columns of it’s mock Grecian entrance to it’s multiple tiers of shopping floors piled high upon one another like a many layered wedding cake. BigMall was big alright and it knew it. BigMall did not need to advertise it’s opening, it merely opened and the people came. They had been queuing for days. The tail lights of their sports utility vehicles stretched far out into the night, down off the freeway exit ramp, down past McTurkels woodmill and Jack Stawkes Auto-Bodyshop, down past mainstreet and Ms. Durleys Beauty & Nails Parlour and old Ben Simmon’s bakery and finally all the way past Dancy’s Old Time Department store.

Albert had looked out through the yellow plastic window of the Elf Toyhouse of Joy, out into the street beyond, at the steady stream of cars, each filled with the excited, expectant faces of children headed to the BigMall and the promise of a ride in ‘The Magical Santa Claus Sleigh Ride Experience’ with real reindeer and real snow flown in from Lapland. The reindeer, not the snow, the snow was flown in from Aspen. Albert had seen in those happy faces the slow death of Dancy’s ‘Seasonal Grotto of Holiday Cheer’. It saddened him deeply but Albert was a eminently practical elf, he was after all and elf with a dream. A elf who dreamed of being a Claus. It was clear BigMall was the future, and so BigMall was where he must go. Come hell or high water there would be room for one more Christmas Elf in BigMall’s holiday pageant.

A little asking around the other elves and Albert found he was in good company. It appeared almost half the elves, two of the poor devils who dressed up as the Dancer and Blitzen and Mrs. Claus were all ready to walk. Blitzen produced a rather ragged flyer from beneath his foam antlers.

“Here, take a look at this,” he said, glancing about to ensure Mycroft and his cronies were not in earshot, “open interviews, this Saturday seven o’clock.”

Albert grabbed the greasy paper and held it up to the light.

“Elf places still available,” he read, and his heart skipped a beat as he read the next line, “Auditions for the role of Santa Claus will be considered from qualified parties,”

“Oh my,” said Albert, “oh my deary me.”

—
And now here he was, facing perhaps the greatest test of his mettle since Daisy Roebuck ripped her her costume at the Dancy’s Christmas Ho’ down and spent the rest of the night weeping onto his second best jerkin.

He braced himself and walked through the door.

The coruscating orb of red plasma shot past Albert at a four hundred feet per second. The sudden inrush of electrified air caused by it’s passing sucked him off his feet dragging him bodily him through the doorway. Falling forward he stretched out, grasping at the thin metal rods of the gantry in a blind panic and tottering precariously at the brink of the metal precipice. Behind him the nondescript grey door slammed shut and he found himself standing on a tiny metal walkway encircling the centre of a massive central chamber. Around him, the air hummed with latent electric power. Where he gripped the metal superstructure it sent fingers of static creeping over his skin, tugging the tiny hairs on his hands and neck upwards to the dark triangle of space far above.

“Careful there, can’t have you being evaporised on your first day,” said a voice by his ear.

Albert blinked rapidly and turned to see a short man dressed in a rather dirty looking Santa outfit. The man had large wet eyes and his face was obscured by the largest, dirtiest beard Albert had ever seen. It was a mass of curly hair, stained yellow in places and a dirty grey in others. Static electricity snapped and crackled about them causing the beard to move with a life of its own, curling and twisting back on itself with blind hairy fingers.

“Mustn’t dawdle n’Albert. Got’s lots to do. Only ten shopping days left. Parumpy pum pum. A doll a drum a kick in the bum and a chase around the table.” The little man gripped Albert’s sleeve in a rubbery hand and dragged him after.

“Wait,” cried Albert, “where do the giant red balls go?” as another huge sparkling orb burst past them on a superheated cushion of gas, disappearing many floors above.

“Go? Go!,” said the filthy Santa, incredulous. “Why ambassador with these red balls you are spoiling us.”

“What?”

“Six geese a laying, FIVE GOOOOLLLD RINGS!”

Santa turned, fixing Albert with the a dark wet stare. “Mustn’t dawdle n’Albert. Not long now. Lights it up for the Crispy Mast.”

“Wait, I don’t understand. The advertisement mentioned seasonal work. I have played an elf in Dancys Department store, seven years running.”

“Oooh Dancy Nancy’s. Lubberly. Still mustn’t keep them waiting, Crispy Mast is coming young master Luke.”

“It’s Albert.”

“Oh yes, n’Albert, loves the Crispy Mast, Star Wars on the telly, mum cooking dinner, Dad’s by the fire eating crispy pud, little Johnny has a fire engine, vroom, vroom, eek, Nan’s lost her teeth again. Oh no Grandad’s on about the war. Not the Germans again Dad. Quick, quick, this is the best bit. ‘Luke, I am your father. Nooooooooo!’ That’s Empire Dad. Quick, quick, Mum’s burnt the sprouts, vroom, vroom, eek Nan’s lost her marbles, Grandad’s on the sherry, bloody Germans!, Luke I am your father, nOoooooOOOOoo, Turkeys nice this, year, lots of lovely stuffing, shove it in your gobby, lubberly,” the filthy Santa cackled and dragged Albert up another flight of metal steps.

“For God’s sake man what is going on here,” said Albert, thoroughly peeved. “I expected something a little more professional than this, this, special effects show,” he indicated the plumes of steam from the vapour trail of the orb.

“Ah likes the Santyride, does we?” said the filthy Santa, slyly cocking his head, “Mycroft said you would.” And he scampered away up a service tube.

“Who! Mycroft? Wait come back.” Albert chased after the filthy Santa who fled onwards through the warren of tunnels and service corridors. Albert followed, grimly determined to get to the bottom of this. Someone was trying to pull the wool over his eyes here. Finally rounding another corner he saw the filthy Santa up ahead.

“Now look here, I know my rights, I’m entitled to a fair interview process and oh, oh my deary me.” They were poised above the tallest point of what Albert had assumed to be the central chamber of BigMall’s airconditioning plant. Below then the nightmare of walkways and twisting steam pipes spread like an industrial rat warren, but before him, on a little platform stood the filthy Santa and a glowing red orb. Albert could clearly see the orb contained a door, and it was open.

“Where does it go?” said Albert, licking his lips.

“Special places,” said the Filthy Santa.

In that moment Albert knew he must find out where that giant Christmas orb went, he must.

“Let me on,” he said, his voice sounded thin and reedy.

“Well,” said the Filthy Santa grinning from ear to ear, “has you been naughty, or nice?”

“What? Oh nice, I’m always nice,” said Albert rushing forward, eager to see what secrets the scarlet sphere contained.

“Yes Mycroft said that too,” and the Filthy Santa gave Albert’s backside a shove, tumbling him headfirst into the sphere.

It was dark and warm inside. Albert heard the door close behind him with a snick.

“Mycroft, that bastard,” he said aloud.

“Yes,” came a timid voice from the darkness.

“Mycroft is that you?”

“Albert? Oh Albert what are you doing here,” wailed Mycroft.

There was a deep rumbling sound from far below. Albert felt the orb shudder slightly beneath them.

“Mycroft where does this go?” said Albert to the dark.

“Special places.”

————–
Flickr Fiction is back this week, Nano is a distant memory and Christmas looms large. This weeks seasonal offering was a hybrid of two ideas, neither of which I could think of an ending for. Hence the rather abrupt finish. I really don’t know where the red orbs go. Perhaps BigMall were removing their competition by using them as human fireworks but my original idea was that it was a giant human/turkey delivery system built by Aliens to fire humans into space for devouring. Hey, Aliens have Christmas too you know and they gotta eat.

This weeks Flickr fiction was brought to you using this picture taken by Flickr user Madeira. Other participants this week are Elimare, Teaandcakes, Tadamack, Aquafortis and Neil.

This entry was posted on Saturday, December 9th, 2006 at 2:23 pm and is filed under Flickr Fiction. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.