A Winter's Tale

Kenneth Walton stopped in the lobby to adjust his scarf, while outside the glass doors giant snowflakes swirled in an updraft. A doorman opened the door for him as he gathered his briefcase and left. He ducked his head in the direction of the wind. Snowflakes slipped down the back of his neck, as he trenched on towards a line of cabs. Entering the nearest one, Ken slid in, setting his briefcase on the seat.

“97th street,” he said, brushing snow from his shoulders.

“You got it,” answered the cabbie in a think Arabic voice.

The cab slithered out of line and down the road. A thick smell of incense filled the cab and Kenneth traced the thin trail of smoke to a small looking Egyptian idol, a woman in robes holding the burning incense.

" Are you working late tonight?” asked the driver.

“Just concentrate on the road,” retorted Ken, looking out the windows and noticed that they were tinted so dark, he couldn't see through them. “What’s up with these windows?”

“I can’t answer that Mr. Walton. I’m Driving.”

Kenneth’s hands grasped his cell phone inside his jacket pocket.

“How do you know my name?” he questioned. Looking down at his phone, he noticed that it showed no signal. He tried to open the door handle but it was locked and there was nothing there to unlock it. “Unlock this door now!”

“Relax Mr. Walton. We’re just going to take a little ride.”

“I don’t care who you’re working for. I’m going to make your life a living hell. I’m going to deport you’re a**.”

“Perhaps this will help,” said the cabbie, holding a business card in his hand.

Kenneth snatched the card. It was all red except a giant K.K on it.

“No. It can’t be,” he blurted.

The cab pulled to a stop. The doors clicked, then opened.

“You can get out now,” said the cabbie.

Ken reluctantly opened the door and got out, looking around. This was his garage. He walked up to the door leading inside and turned the knob, getting one good look at the driver before entering. The kitchen lights were off and he turned them on, scanning the room. Down the hall a flickering light told him that a fire had been stoked. He approached the living room. There on his large leather couch was an overweight old man, his white beard spreading over his bright red suit. He held a glass of milk to his lips, eyeing Ken as he entered.

“Sit down Ken,” he said, gesturing to the sofa. “We need to talk.”

Ken sat, watching the light cascade off the old man’s face as he leaned forward. “Now Ken, you do know why I’m here don’t you?”

“Um, no idea.”

“But you do know who I am right?”

“Yes. But I don’t know why you're here."

“Oh because you and Sam have been on my naughty list for some time now. You’re costing my elves jobs and shutting down Ma and Pa workshops throughout the Poles.”

“It’s a free market and the consumer controls the market. We have no power over it and there’s nothing you or I can do.”

“Listen young man. Your chump change compared to what I had to do to take Christmas from Jesus. Now listen, we’re both on the same team. Give my elves a break or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else your wife gets a picture of your Aruba trip.” Kris laughed, holding his belly. “You don’t think I’m up north all year round.”

Ken flipped open his phone and hit speed dial.

“Hello Susie this is Ken. I need you to pull all the Tickle Me Elmos off the shelves. Just do it!” he yelled and hung up. “Are we good here?”

“Yes,” said Santa, rising. “Oh and Ken have a merry Xmas.”