Summit of the Gift Givers | Brick of Fiction

Flash Fiction Story | Slightly absurd take on the Gift-giving beings.

Photo by Jesson Mata on Unsplash

Welcome to the last Christmas tale I’ve cooked up for the jolly season! It is an absolutely absurd and stupid story, but I love it. Not much of a story arc, just vibes. Enjoy! 🎄

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Summit of the Gift Givers

The invitation was short and clear; it read:

The annual meeting of gift-givers will be held from December 6th to December 23rd in North Pole Cabin 1 at the Clauses.

“Fucking North Pole again…” said St. Nicholas as he made his way through piles of snow. One leg in front of the other, pushing through the frost and icy wind. “Couldn’t he build a house somewhere warmer?”

Luckily for him, the warmth was already in his sight; a tiny orange light glowed in the distance, the only source of light on the empty plain of ice and cold besides a green aurora shining bright in the dark sky.

The nebula was nice, but St. Nicholas couldn’t give a damn. His robes were drenched, and his stick got stuck every couple of feet in the snow. “I really should’ve taken the angel and the devil with me to help me get there,” he muttered under his white beard.

The rest of his way was filled with a vocabulary that definitely didn’t suit a saint, but the very creative insults, consisting mainly of Santa’s size, fueled his walk until the warm light bathed him.

Before entering, he stopped in front of a little mailbox. The mail seemed to be packed to a brisk of Christmas letters. Nicholas took one and looked through it.

This kid wanted a new phone and a new skateboard. Probably to do tik-toks.

“Ah… this is bullshit,” Nicholas crushed the letter and threw it into the snow, and banged his frozen knuckles on the wooden door of the cabin.

It took a few minutes for a tiny elf dressed in festive green and red to open.

St. Nicholas didn’t bother to greet him; he just pushed by into the small cabin. The inside was also pretty standard for the house of a gift-giving being, at least to a normal person.

Nicholas, however, didn’t waste time looking around. He strolled to the fireplace and tapped on the stone to the melody of Jingle Bells.

The fireplace slid inside and revealed an elevator; by the numbering, he was at the top floor. The elf was muttering something behind him, but Saint Nicholas didn’t care; he stepped inside the fireplace and pressed a button with the candy cane — the party parlor.

As the elevator plummeted to the ground, his white beard flew up. The elevator didn’t adhere to the safety measures at all. He didn’t even have time to appreciate Santa’s workshop, hidden under the cabin. Elves slaving away, a day before Christmas, making gifts (mostly iPhones) for most of the planet.

The elevator door opened, and St. Nicholas stumbled out, grateful for his cane.

A loud “Eeeey!” of multiple voices greeted him over loud music. He looked up, still a bit dizzy from the elevator. His old eyes ran over the participants.

There was Italian La Befana in the corner, her beloved broomstick sweeping the floor by itself as she enjoyed a full glass of red wine.

Dědo Mráz — Grandpa Frost, sitting in the other corner, seemingly asleep and covered in ice and frost, a bottle of vodka clutched firmly in his hand.

Father Christmas sat at the table enjoying a nice cold beer with Baby Jesus. The little child in sunglasses was clearly having a hard time explaining something, throwing his hands into the air, almost knocking the halo off his head.

Finally, his eyes landed on Santa Claus, in red sweatpants and a hoodie, with dark glasses and a bag of white powder in front of him. Clearly busy stuffing said powder deep into his nostrils.

St. Nicholas shook his head. Did this really come from me?”

“Hey Nikkie, come sit with us!” Father Christmas called out and waved his hands, filling the table with drinks and mountains of food.

St. Nicholas smiled at him and went over. Shaking Father’s hand and fist-bumping Baby Jesus. “Hey there, Lil J, how’s it going?” he asked.

Baby Jesus straightened his halo before he began to rant. “Ah, it sucks… I was trying to change my appearance for this year, hoping to finally transform into my adult form and bring gifts like that. But my PR team stopped me, saying it was too much of a hassle with the brand, plus something of me coming back in adult form could break the Christians’ minds or something. You know how it goes… And I have to begin tomorrow at about two. I swear the Czechs push their dinners earlier and earlier each year…”

Nicholas smiled. He knew that Lil Jesus liked to complain every time, as being imprisoned in a child’s body was probably annoying; especially if your only company is old men with bushy beards and a witch. “What happened to him?” he asked, pointing his bearded chin towards Dědo.

“He was drinking with the Yule Lads before they left. Drank all of the vodka here and accidentally froze himself,” said Father Christmas.

“Good for him…” mumbled Lil’ J, “he has two more weeks before his shift starts…”

“Oh… What a shame that I missed Yule boys; they are always so much fun.”

A loud snort came from the biggest chair in the room, and Santa Claus stood up, shaking down the hit he had just taken. “Oh, this is some good stuff…Hohoho!”

Saint Nicholas rolled his eyes. “You really have to do this?”

Santa ran his thumb over his nose. “Yes. I have a job to do tomorrow night, and it keeps me ready. Besides, what do you care? Your day is already over. Christmas is our thing,” he said, gesturing at Father Christmas and Baby Jesus.

“You are the most famous version of me… being a coke-head throws a lot of shade on me…” said St. Nicholas, raising his voice. They stood face to face now, both dressed in red. Two versions of the same legend.

Father Christmas coughed, bringing the attention to him. Raising his beer glass. “Let’s leave our differences in the snow outside. Tis’ the season for laughter, let’s enjoy it!”

“Cheers!” Befana squeaked, her old crackling witch voice sending a wave of laughter through the gift-givers. Even St. Nicholas laughed and sat back down.

“Cheers!” came from a deep voice that made everybody turn.

“THE G.O.A.T. IS HERE!” multiple givers screamed in unison as Joulupukki walked out of the elevator. The Christmas Goat wearing bright red clothes lined with white fur and a green scarf hidden under a long goatee.

Joulupukki brushed off the snow from his horns before he exchanged blessings with the other gift-givers and sat down. Cracking open a beer.

The other gift-givers cheered. He was a sight for sore eyes—one of the last pagan deities still around—and he always made sure he visited the Summit in his original form.

Santa wheeled Grandpa Frost’s chair to the table and joined in on the fun. “I’ve gotten the weirdest Christmas request this year,” he said, pulling out a long list. “It’s getting wild out there. How are elves supposed to create a perfect replica of the Roman Empire? What does that even mean?”

“Don’t even mention it,” said Lil J, “I’m bringing so many sex toys this year. Some of them are twisted…”

“And don’t get me started on the goddamn cookies,” Santa banged his belly, “The chimneys are harder to get through. I will tell you that there have been so many letters lately. I had to hire twice the number of elves! Luckily, they are not getting paid anything, but, you know.”

“Well, at least you have a banger of a commercial deal,” said Father Christmas, sipping his beer. “My brand fell off completely. I still have to do the giving, but I’m nowhere! No trucks, no drinks, no treats. People forgot about me totally and just put you on everything.”

All of the Gift-givers nodded in union.

A goatish laugh left Joulupukki’s lips, and everyone turned to him. “You guys should be happy; people still believe in you. Asking you for presents, writing letters. My original form has been almost completely transformed into a version of Claus — with only the name staying the same and the fact that my reindeer can’t fly!”

Claus looked around, sniffing constantly. “I’m sorry, guys. I-I don’t mean to harm you, but business is booming. I guess they just push me into people’s faces more and more. To be fair, I can barely finish my rounds on Christmas Eve.”

“You have a magical sleigh and an army of slaves, dude!” Lil J hit the table, “I have a fucking crib and can barely reach your knees!”

His angry delivery made the ice on Dědo Mráz break. Everyone looked at him as he slowly opened his bloodshot eyes. As if in delirium, he bobbed his head from side to side. “Fuck Christmas,” his thick Russian accent made everyone shake with laughter. “Cheers!” he added and finished the rest of his vodka; the bottle fell to the ground, and another layer of ice covered the old man’s body.

“Fuck Christmas!” said the gift-givers in union and laughed together.

The night went on. They exchanged stories and complained about the stupid Christmas season. Yet they knew their work was important; their very nature was to bring happiness, and throughout the night, they all came a little closer to finding it for themselves.

As the first rays of sunlight touched the North Pole, the inevitable coming of Christmas Day stopped all of the fun.

Lil J departed first, his rocket-powered crib taking him back to the heart of Europe. Befana followed right after him on her broom.

St. Nicholas carried out unfrozen Grandpa Frost, ignoring his Russian muttering, and put him on the coach towed by white horses. His assistant, Snow White, came out to help get him inside. “He got drunk a little bit too much, didn’t he?”

“He drank with the Yule Lads,” Nicholas said.

“Ah… Trying to outdrink 13 people again, Grandpa?” she asked, trying to get his response. Shaking her head, she pushed him into the coach, thanked Nicholas, and, with a wave, took off over the frozen plains.

Joulpokkuki let out a goat-like laugh, and his sleigh with reindeer appeared from nowhere. “See you in a year, Nick!” he said, jumping on and sleighing off to the sunrise.

Father Christmas with Santa appeared by his side. “Another year behind us. Time to get to work,” Father Christmas said and, with a whistle, brought a moose from behind the cabin. With a wave, he got on it and went on his own gift-giving adventure.

That left only Saint Nicholas and Santa Claus. They shuffled their feet in the snow for a while before Santa outstretched his hand to him.

Nicholas was weary, but he shook it.

“You know I’m trying to quit… it’s just the pressure before the big day… It keeps me functioning and full of Christmas spirit if you will…”

Nicholas nodded. “I get it. Just don’t crash your sleigh.”

Santa Claus smiled. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” said St. Nicholas and began his walk back the icy path towards home.

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