Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a good idea to drink quite so much. And maybe he could have behaved just a bit better at dinner. It probably wasn’t a great idea to tell the kids the truth about Santa, either. Still, is that any reason to be kicked out of the house and dis-invited to the Christmas morning festivities?

So Rob sat in his living room mulling over the evening debacle, nursing his whiskey on the rocks in front of the fire. All alone on Christmas Eve and thinking about the Christmas Day he would spend equally alone.

It just wasn’t fair! They were his nephews and he was just looking out for their own best interests. His parents had played the Santa game with him until he was ten years old. That was when he discovered the truth in humiliating style in front of what seemed at the time like the entirety of his school class. He just didn’t want his nephews to go through that painful ordeal. Was it so very wrong to try to protect them?

Apparently it was, at least to his sister. She had gone ballistic when little Spence ran up to her crying and bawling about how Santa wasn’t real, Uncle Rob said so. She’d tried to reassure the little fellow but to no avail. She’d dragged Robert into the parlor and tore strips off his hide but he had refused to recant and tell the kids that there really was a Santa Claus. So she had called him a cab and thrown him out on the front porch to wait for it, after making it oh so perfectly clear that he was not to return the next day.

That porch had been bitterly cold and quite sobering. He’d tried to reason with his sister but she was beyond furious. She had even threatened to call the police if he kept knocking on the door. The cab ride home hadn’t been a treat either. When he related his story to the cabby the man had looked at him like he was some sort of leper. And after he paid the fare the man had the effrontery to throw the tip back at him and tell him to go buy some Christmas spirit. The nerve!

The whiskey and the fire and the big soft blanket were doing their job and Robert felt smooth warmth start flowing through his body, finally pushing out the terrible chill he’d caught out on that lonely porch. He had the warmth of his apartment now but it was still lonely.

He absolutely dreaded the next day. He hadn’t been alone on Christmas ever in his life. All of his family would be at his sister’s house. His friends were all with their families. He sank into his morose and lonely thoughts, wrapping them as tightly around him as his blanket, and slowly faded off to sleep.

He was awoken by a loud “Harrumph!” and sat up sharply. The fire had gone out and the room was very chilly. He looked around quickly and instantly regretted it as his head swam in boozy disorientation. The “Harrumph!” was repeated right next to his side and he whipped back around that way with predictable results to his alcohol befuddled head. When the room stopped spinning he focused where he had heard the voice but saw nothing.

“You’ve certainly made a muss of it, haven’t you Robert?” the voice said, once again from the side of his chair but seemingly at ground level. He leaned over the chair arm and looked down. It was a mistake for as soon as he caught a look at the speaker he jumped up out of the chair, stumbling backwards as his blanket tangled about his legs. He managed to free himself from the blanket and back up to the fireplace. He grabbed the poker, holding it protectively in front of him as the tiny home invader walked around the chair and into view.

It was hideous. Perhaps a foot tall, grey and scaly with burning red eyes and a mouthful of teeth like a piranha. And he could count every one of those teeth as the little demon smiled and walked slowly towards him.

“What the hell are you? Get out of my house! Get out! I swear I’ll knock your head off!” he yelled, brandishing his poker. The creature stopped its advance and crossed its arms, resting its chin on an upraised hand. A hand that Robert noted had six fingers, each ending in an inch long talon.

The creature contemplated for a moment then spoke. “Let me take those from back to front. You’ll not be knocking anything off with that poker. It’s brass. Won’t trouble me a lick. As far as getting out of your house, no. Not until I’m done. When I am done I’ll be happy to leave. Don’t take this the wrong way, Robert, but you’re not exactly the finest company I can imagine for spending Christmas Eve with. What am I? Can’t you guess, Robert? Think back a bit. How old were you? Ten? Eleven? Have you killed so many brain cells that you can’t remember that far back or was I not important enough to even make it into long term memory? Me and the fat man seemed to be pretty important to you at the time, I’ll say that.”

Robert was stunned. The creature was familiar. Ten years old? Eleven? His age when he found out the truth about Santa. The age that he had been when he made up his anti-Santa to try to impress the same kids that had embarrassed him so badly when they found out he still believed. His anti-Santa. What was the name he gave it? Satan Claws! Right, that was it. And that would make this creature…

“Evle! You’re Evle, the anti-elf!” He declared. The smile returned to the anti-elf’s face. “Quite right, Robert. And by the way, let me thank you now for not naming me ‘Fle’. That might be okay for a rock star but as a common name it would have really stunk.”

“What are you doing here? You’re not real. I made you up!” Robert was feeling increasingly lost. This wasn’t happening, couldn’t be happening, but Evle was right there as solid as you please standing in the middle of the living room.

“What I’m doing here is trying to help your sorry ass. And what do you mean I’m not real? I’m as real as you are. You made me, as you so poignantly stated. You made that table over there, are you going to tell me that it’s not real?”

“Well, no, but that’s a table. I built it with wood and nails. It’s real.”

“And you built me with thought and imagination. On a night like tonight those are far more powerful than wood and nails. You did know that tonight was a night of power well before the church made it the celebration of Christ’s birth, didn’t you? Well, on a night like that many things are possible, including me! It’s either that or the booze. You are shit drunk, you know.”

“Yeah” said Robert, “I’m shit drunk and you’re a figment of my imagination. That’s what this is. This is just a drunk nightmare. I’m still asleep in that chair right now and having a freaky dream.”

“Sure. Think of it that way if it will help you cope, Robert. But that’s neither here nor there. Either way, whether I’m a dream or a real creature of fairy conjured by your imagination and emotion on this eternally holy night, it doesn’t change the reason why I’m here. You seriously screwed the pooch, bubs. It’s bad enough that you were a jackass at dinner tonight but you went ahead and assaulted the imagination and faith of your nephews. That has to be fixed for your sake and theirs.”

“I did not! I told them the truth. Would you rather have them be embarrassed in front of their friends like I was? They’re old enough to know the way the world works and they’re definitely old enough to handle the truth about things. There is no Santa Claus. He’s a marketing gimmick. A parental ploy to coerce good behavior from children for one season each year. Santa Claus is as fake as you are, a figment of the imagination, a demented dream!”

Faster than Robert could react, Evle rushed up to him and bit him on the knee. It was a light nip fortunately and barely broke the skin but it was still excruciatingly painful. He collapsed to the floor as he swung the poker at his attacker. The brass rod smacked into the anti-elf’s head with a meaty thunk, the side point lodged firmly in the little creature’s skull. Evle yanked it from his head nonchalantly and with a little flip of his wrist he wrested the poker from Robert’s hand. As he turned and placed it back in its holder Robert saw the hole in Evle’s skull fill in and heal before his eyes.

“I told you that brass wasn’t going to do the trick, Robert. Remember your fairy tales? Iron is called for here. How’s your knee? I didn’t want to have to hurt you, Robert, but you’re leaving me very little alternative. Now, are you ready to listen?” Robert gritted his teeth against the pain in his knee and nodded.

“Good. Now here is what you are going to do. All of those fancy presents that you bought for the boys are upstairs with big elegant tags saying they are from Uncle Rob. You are going to take those tags off and put new ones on saying that they are from Santa.”

Robert started to object and Evle held up a warning finger and snapped his deadly teeth at him. Robert settled back down, a look of contrition on his face.

“I know that you take great pride in getting them presents that are way too expensive and fantastic and wonderful. That’s why this is a good penance for you and why they’ll believe in Santa again when they open them. When they see that their parents are as confused as they are they’ll know beyond a doubt that the presents are really from Santa Claus. Get upstairs now and get those tags changed while I call a cab. We’ve got to cart them all over to your sister’s house while everybody’s still sleeping.”

As Evle walked over to the phone, Robert hobbled upstairs. Evle made the call to the taxi company and sat down in Robert’s chair to wait for him. A few minutes later Robert hobbled down the stairs with an armload of presents. Evle helped him lower them to the floor.

“Hold on a second, Robert. This one still says ‘Love Uncle Robert’. Hey, so does this one! They all do. What’s going on here, bubs?”

“Well” said Robert, “I was up there and I got new tags out and I wrote ‘From Santa’ on a bunch of them. I pulled the first label off of the first present and was about to affix the new one but I just couldn’t do it. These presents are from me. I scrape and save and then splurge to get these kids their heart’s desire and I want them to know, I need them to know, that they are coming from me. Now hold on Evle, no biting! I understand your point and I’ve come up with a way to restore their faith in Santa with the presents still coming from me.”

“Oh, really? And just how do you plan on doing that?” Evle’s voice positively dripped with sarcasm.

“Like this” said Robert, and he pulled another poker out from underneath the pile of presents and bashed Evle across the noggin. He was careful to use the blunt side this time and was rewarded as the anti-elf collapsed to the ground, breathing faintly but most definitely unconcious. Robert quickly tied up the little creature and fitted a muzzle to him. The whole idea had struck him as he sat next to the pile of presents upstairs. His eyes had roamed about the room as his thoughts wandered until they came to rest on his old fireplace set. His old cast iron fireplace set.

As he finished trussing up the anti-elf he whistled a jaunty tune. He realized that it was “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” and laughed at himself. Tomorrow was going to be a fine Christmas day. He would show up at his sister’s house in his pajamas and bath robe just like he did every year. He would let her know how sorry he was for tonight’s foolishness and that tell her that he would tell the kids the truth about Santa. After all, if there was an anti-elf then there certainly must be a Santa out there somewhere. He was a believer again and he'd convince the kids of the same.

And if he couldn’t convince the kids by himself, the last present they opened certainly would.