A Trip with Father Christmas

I was coming back from the library and found a notebook on my bed with a sticky note on top that read, "Hope you enjoy this." The writing looked familiar. At the bottom with messy handwriting is a signature: Dobby. I flipped it open at once and started reading.  

To make things clear, I, Dobby, had never stuck Father Christmas in a chimney. But everyone is holding me responsible. And by everyone, I mean every elf that works for Santa. I was never one of them, rather I preferred to read. The elves all despised me, so therefore they blame me for every misfortune.

It all started with Mrs. Claus baking a batch of the most pleasant-smelling cookies the fortnight before. Boss (Father Christmas makes me call him this) loves them and has been eating them every day since then.

There he is, sitting on the sofa right in front of the telly, an empty plate on his lap and cookie crumbs all over his face, grinning.

"Honey, can l have two more plates of cookies?" Said the rather large-looking lump that is supposed to be our most-beloved toy-giver.

"But we've run out of ingredients!" Answered the similarly plump and highly annoyed Mrs. Claus.

"Dobby, take the sleigh into town and buy all the supplies!" Boss said half-heartedly, his eyes glued on the telly.

"Make another elf do it! I still have a book to finish here!" I protested, quickly grabbing a book and pretended to read it.

I was never good at feigning, so of course, the plans I have would always have a flaw. This time l held the book upside down.

"You don't want to help make the toys, you don't want to help clean the house, and you don't want to get the supplies. Dobby, you must do something. Look at all the other elves, they are all either in the workshop, cleaning the house, or preparing the sleigh for tonight!" Boss reprimanded.

"He could go with you on the ride, right?" Asked Mrs. Claus innocently, "you always bring an elf with you, right?"

"Wait!" I shouted, standing up quickly, "I'll get the supplies!" My book flew out of my hands and landed on the floor.

Apparently, Boss hadn't heard me.

"Great! This brat has never been outside before! This is an ingenious idea!" Boss clapped his hands, "It's set!"

"Please, no!" I beseeched, throwing myself in front of him.

"No complaining," replied Boss, "now get some sleep and make yourself useful here. Winky! Please do the job that your indolent brother refused to do!"

I woke up at Boss yelling at me to "WAKE UP AND GET GOING!" What a brilliant way to start the night.

I quickly dressed and headed downstairs to find him with another plate of cookies on his lap, grinning as merrily as ever. I looked at the clock: 23:03. Fifty-seven minutes until I have to go out in the blizzard.

I plopped down onto the sofa beside Boss (carefully avoiding the cookie crumbs) and opened my favourite Christmas book: Letters from Father Christmas. In the book, Father Christmas was nice and caring. Well, true, the letters were all written by Tolkien to his children, so they're therefore fake. But still. I looked up at Father Christmas in front of me. How ironic.

I was so immersed in the fictitious world where Father Christmas was nice that I forgot the world in which he wasn't. So naturally, I jumped at the yell of Boss, informing me that "IT'S 22:55 AND IT'S TIME TO GET ON THE SLEIGH!"

Outside, the reindeers shimmered, blinding my eyes momentarily. Bags were piled dangerously atop the sleigh as if it would topple over at any second.