1

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the North Pole's management offices, mid- and upper-level elves were getting tight on eggnog. The annual Christmas party was the social event of the season, and most of the elves had quit putting in long days and hard work sometime in mid-November to be prepared. Now all the heavy lifting, both literal and figurative, was being handled in the toy shop by the hourly elves working mandatory overtime to complement their meager wages.

The elves in management – the accountants, the administrators, the analysts, the executives – didn't see any problem with this system. Management didn't like to give a whole lot of thought to the elves working in the toy shop. In fact, they would have preferred it if they never had to think about the worker elves at all, and they wouldn't if it weren't for those pesky Christmas necessities of actual physical toys for all the good girls and boys. The worker elves were the hands that built the gingerbread house; the house was delicious and beautiful until you started thinking about the cleanliness of the the hands that made it.

Elvie was a middle-management elf accountant with seven stripes on his candy cane badge to match his seven years of experience. Just last Christmas he'd been awarded golden toe-bells for his deft and uncompromising cuts to the budget of the toy manufacturing division. Elvie's dedication to streamlining budgets, cutting costs, and refusing any exceptions had gained him no small amount of respect from his peers, who admired his dedication to ever-narrowing margins. Elvie was sure that if he were a civilian instead of an elf, he would be squarely on Santa's “good” list. Like the other elves in management who had never been workers, he took a great amount of pride in his position, and he was absolutely convinced that everyone at the North Pole ended up exactly where they should be.

Elvie felt that the universe was giving him more evidence that it put things exactly where they belonged when it placed him next to his secretary Roz at the nog bowl. She was dressed in the regulation elf uniform that all elves had to wear, but there was something that made her stand out to Elvie. He couldn't tell half of his co-workers in the offices apart, and he imagined that all worker elves below had some homogeneous Neanderthal figure, but he picked out Roz the moment he saw her. Her candycane-striped leggings were different from all the other candycane-striped leggings; her green cap, spilling blonde hair in a long cascade, was different from all the other green caps; and from her profile, he could see that just under her green tunic she was extraordinary in a couple of far more obvious ways.

Roz and Elvie had always enjoyed a flirtatious but wholly professional relationship. She was a good secretary, quick with phone messages and accurate with dictation, and despite her forays into Elvie's active imagination he couldn't comprehend doing anything that would upset their day-to-day interactions. Santa knew if they'd been bad or good, and Elvie had seen elves dismissed for far less.

Pouring his third cup of eggnog, Roz's hand on his shoulder, he started to wonder how much Santa really could find out.

“I shouldn't,” she was saying. “but maybe just a half a drink more.” Her cheeks were red, either from the nog or her proximity to Elvie, and she looked down when he lifted his eyes to hers. He ladled a bit more nog into her glass.

“'Put some records on while I pour...'” sang Elvie.

“What?” said Roz. She looked back up at him. “You don't like 'Jingle Bells?' Elvie, I never knew--”

“No, it's from a song,” said Elvie. “'Baby, it's cold outside.'”

“Oh,” said Roz. She took a sip of her drink. “You're so smart,” she said. “You must think I'm such a bore.”

“Not at all,” said Elvie, and then he did something that he wasn't expecting. He put down the nog ladle, raised his hand, and touched Roz's cheek. Her eyes were so green that they made her dress look pale. “I think you're terribly interesting.”

“Really?” she asked.

He looked into her eyes and thought of how good it was to have the job he had, and how much he liked having a reliable secretary. He ignored, however, the amount of nog that he had consumed, and how many times he's almost been caught staring at Roz. And then these words came out of his mouth:

“You know I've always been fascinated by figures.”

For a moment they both stared at each other, unable to move. As soon as Elvie realized what he'd said, he braced himself for a slap. The nog had loosened his tongue. For some reason, the harassment video he'd been forced to watch when he was hired seven years earlier popped into his head, clear as a bell. He could even see the stripes on the leggings of the actors in the video, it was so vivid. It had seemed to ludicrous at the time, so obvious. Of course you don't make double entendres and lewd comments to coworkers. How could anybody be stupid enough to do that? You could end up suspended, or worse--

Roz leaned forward and put her cheek against his. Her breath was like warm gingerbread on his ear. “I think I've got a figure you should go over in your office,” she said.

She leaned back and sipped her nog. Elvie couldn't move. He looked at her eyes, her red cheeks, her blonde hair. The Christmas lights on the ceiling reflected off her hair and made it look as if it was filled with sparkles. She smiled.

He knew he had to say something, and finally he did. “How soon can you have it on my desk?” he asked.

2

Elvie had always seen people in movies clear their desks with one swift motion, throwing everything to the floor in a fit of passion, but since he had time he cleared things carefully and put them on the floor one by one. Roz would be in his office in a few minutes, and as much as he wanted to have the prime real estate on his desk wide open, he was still self-aware enough to know that any broken company equipment would be an open invitation for an investigation. Prying eyes he could avoid – his door had a lock, after all – but inquiries and paperwork about any evidence into his (let's say) “misuse of company property” would gain the attention of the Man in Red.

Cleaning his desk, combined with his exhilaration and inebriation, left Elvie slightly winded. He sat in his chair and put his feet up on the newly-opened space, something he would never do were it not the night before Christmas. Yes, he thought, tonight caution was being thrown to the wind. He deserved this. He'd worked hard to keep budgets low, costs lower, and productivity high. So what if it had cost a few worker elves their health, homes, and youth? He was a bottom line kind of guy, and the bottom line was that he was up here and they were in the toy shop. He closed his eyes and smiled. Finally, after seven years of sitting behind a comfortable desk, everything was coming up Elvie.

There was a knock on the door. Elvie opened his eyes and knew instantly that something was wrong.

All the noise from outside his office was gone. The fluorescent lights, which had been casting a gentle glow through his shades, were dark. The hands on his wall clock were approaching midnight. The nog had knocked him out, and now the party was over and it was almost Christmas.

“Roz?” he said.

His door opened to reveal not Roz, but Freddie, a pudgy and jolly elf whose tunic was stretched, unlike Roz's, in all the wrong places. He had on his scarf and coat, and had a thick brown envelope under his arm. “Sorry, Elvie,” said Freddie, “just me.” He reached for the light switch but stopped short. “Did I wake you up?”

“Yes,” said Elvie. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “But I shouldn't have been sleeping. I must have nodded off. Eggnog.” He adjusted the brim of his green cap and for a moment he swore he could still feel Roz's breath on his ear. “Is Roz still here?”

“I'm not sure,” said Freddie, taking measured steps towards Elvie. The envelope was sliding slowly down his arm and towards his hand. “I think her coat's still here.” He swallowed. “Listen, I need you to do something for me.”

Elvie raised his eyebrows. “Business?” he said. “On Christmas Eve?”

“Nothing too involved,” said Freddie. As he reached Elvie's desk the envelope fell into his palm, and he smoothly lifted it and held it before him. “I need you to take this down to the Toy Shop and give it to the foreman.”

“The Toy Shop?” echoed Elvie. “I've never even been down there.”

“Never?” said Freddie. “How long have you been here?”

Elvie ignored the condescension in his tone. “Can't you take it?” he said.

Freddie shook his head and turned his wrist, pointing to his watch. “The wife and kids are waiting up for me. I'm probably in the doghouse for staying as long as I did. You know the presents won't come until we're all asleep.”

Elvie sighed. “Can't it wait until after the weekend?” said Elvie. The nog was hanging over his brain in a creamy cloud. He wanted to go back to sleep – or better yet, back in time.

“Nope,” said Freddie, “it's gotta get there tonight.” He held up the envelope. It was stamped with big red letters that read, “DO NOT OPEN 'TIL X-MAS.”

Elvie put his elbows on his desk and pressed his forehead to his palms. “How long will this take?” he asked.

Freddie shrugged. “Fifteen minutes, tops,” he said.

Five minutes down to the Toy Shop, thought Elvie, and five minutes back. Time enough to hand off the envelope, sober up, and find out if Roz was still here. Freddie wasn't cruel enough to make up that bit about her coat still being on the rack. If she hadn't left, it had to be because she was waiting for him.

He grabbed the envelope. “I have plans too, you know,” he said, already waking up at the thought of coming back and finding Roz on his desk, waiting for him. The clock inched towards midnight. Perfect timing for opening a gift.

“You're a lifesaver, Elvie,” said Freddie. He clasped his hands together and bowed slightly as he backed away. “A real credit to the North Pole.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Elvie. “Merry Christmas to you too.”

3

It would have been easy enough, over the past seven years, for Elvie to take a quick constitutional down to the Toy Shop. All of the North Pole's toy-making work, from the molding of dolls to the stringing of kites to the cutting of candycanes, took place underground, just five stories below management. The worker elves and the mid- and upper-level elves all used the same entrance, in fact, and Elvie would have crossed paths with the worker elves at some point or another if his days didn't start some time around ten in the morning. His casual indifference towards the actual, physical toy-making side of the Christmas business had kept him blissfully unaware of anything that actually went on here. To him it was not made up of elves and toys, but profits and expenses – numbers and decimals that he was constantly wrangling with in a never-ending battle to cut costs without cutting profits or corporate bonuses.

As the elevator descended he could hear the rumbling of machinery and the din of voices, and Elvie felt certain that he was entering an uncharted, if festive, circle of Hell. He imagined candycane pitchforks and massive machines of torture, and all the bad boys and girls being dealt with once and for all. And though he was sure it couldn't be from anything like guilt, he started to sweat.

The doors opened and Elvie was so surprised that he stepped back, almost like he'd been pushed by an invisible force. He was surprised by how benign the Toy Shop really looked. Parts of it were how he imagined – grimy, noisy, and utilitarian – but on the whole it looked safe and clean, built with a clear and intelligent plan in mind. Never-ending candycane-striped conveyor belts threaded through the walls like a giant metallic game of Cat's Cradle. Piles of toys and toy boxes stretched ceilingward. Toys traversed the belts and sorting machines seemingly by their own volition.

But more, Elvie was surprised by the elves he saw working in the Toy Shop. For a second he was surprised that there were elves there at all, working through Christmas Eve, but he knew on some intellectual level that he'd already been aware of that. After all, he had done some of the budget planned that required elves to work such long hours, and there wouldn't be any point in him bringing the envelope down if there were nobody here, but the Christmas party revelry and nog-induced visions of a certain secretary's sugarplums dancing in his head had put him in a leisurely sort of mind. His stomach turned at the idea of working on Christmas Eve, which was precisely why he made sure he didn't have to.

Even more surprising was the fact that the elves actually looked kind of happy.

They weren't the stunted and beastly elves he had imagined, but elves of all age, shape, and size. He saw a kindly old elf with glasses putting touches of paint on a doll, whistling to a Christmas tune in her head; he saw a young elf with long hair and headphones poking out under his cap carrying a stack of boxes from one conveyor to another; he saw a rotund elf with red cheeks slapping bows atop freshly wrapped presents that passed by. To Elvie the noise of the machinery was almost deafening, but he could see elves talking to each other, smiling and laughing, somehow immune to the cacophony. He stepped out of the elevator carefully, clutching the envelope to his chest.

“Merry Christmas!” said a voice. Elvie turned to see a frail old elf with a long beard standing at the bottom of what looked like a long slide. There was a pyramid of enormous boxes with words like “toboggan” and “bicycle” etched on them next to him. “Welcome to the Toy Shop!”

“Er, thanks,” said Elvie. “Hard to believe it's Christmas already. Must be almost quitting time.”

“Not quite,” said the elf. He shook his head. “Time zones and all that. It's not officially Christmas around the entire world for a long time yet. And somebody decided we have to work right up until the wire.”

Elvie pulled at his collar. “That so?” he said. He vaguely remembered making a determination like that months ago, but it wasn't because it was absolutely necessary. All the toys for this year had been finished days earlier. But working up through Christmas meant that the worker elves would be getting next year's toys ready on company time instead of getting the day off with holiday pay.

The elf shrugged. “It's not so bad. If this is what the number-crunchers upstairs think we need to do to get things out on time, I won't be happy anyway until I know every good little girl and boy has a present under their--”

“Look out!” said Elvie. A giant box came careening down the slide towards the diminutive elf. It was big enough to surprise and delight a child's wildest imagination, or crush and kill a small old elf, depending on the context.

“Hup!” said the old elf. He caught the box as it reached him, lifting it over his head and placing it gently on the pile. Elvie was amazed by his strength, and reminded of the chasm of months since he'd been to the gym himself.

“Do you do that all day long?” said Elvie.

“And all night,” said the worker elf. “It's not great on the ol' lumbar, but it beats digging ditches.” He paused. “Haven't you ever been in the Toy Shop before?”

“No, actually,” muttered Elvie. He didn't want to make a habit of it, either. “Where can I find the foreman?” he asked.

The elf pointed towards an office door a few dozen yards away. “He's in his office,” he said, “trying to figure out how to get us out of here on time.”

“Thanks,” said Elvie, turning on his heel. He looked at his watch. Five minutes in. Plenty of time to hand off the envelope and get back upstairs. His chair might still be warm – and even warmer if somebody was waiting in it.

“Merry Christmas!” called the old elf. “Hup!” he said, and Elvie pictured him lifting another box and placing it on the pile, looking more and more like another machine or number in his mind with every step.

4

The foreman, whose door identified him simply as “Bruno,” was sitting behind his desk and running his finger over a page of figures, head down. A mug of hot chocolate with a candycane sticking out of it sat a few inches from his hand other hand. He looked up when Elvie entered his office.

“Mr. Bruno?” said Elvie. He felt very small, like a child in the principal's office, even though he could tell that Bruno was a good six inches shorter than him.

“Just Bruno,” said the foreman. He stood slightly and held out his hand, which Elvie took. It enveloped his fingers, making him feel even more like a child. Bruno's hands were rough and strong. Elvie's felt like spaghetti.

“Elvie,” he gulped.

Bruno leaned back and took a long sip of his cocoa. “What can I do for you, Elvie?” he asked. He motioned to the chair in front of his desk but Elvie declined. Instead of sitting he took a step forward and held out the envelope.

“Delivery,” said Elvie.

“From upstairs?” asked Bruno. He took it from Elvie and looked at the stamps. “Nothing good ever came down from up there.”

Elvie pressed his lips together into a thin line. He looked at the wall behind Bruno's desk and saw more than a dozen photographs and commendations hanging there. The clock had passed midnight. For the first time in his career, he was officially working on Christmas.

“How long have you been in the Toy Shop?” asked Elvie.

“Hm?” said Bruno. He had torn open the envelope and was scanning the first few lines of the paper inside. “My whole career,” he said. “Twenty years. Got my silver bells last year.”

“I got gold bells,” said Elvie. Something in his voice surprised him. He was sure it couldn't be anything like guilt, but a feeling not unlike nausea turned his stomach. The room seemed much too big and much too small at the same time. He longed to be sitting behind his own desk upstairs.

“Well,” Elvie said, “Merry Christmas.” He turned to go.

“Elvie,” said Bruno. Elvie stopped. Something about this place had a physical effect on him. The noises pushed him into the elevator, the presence of the worker elves made him sweat, and Bruno's voice arrested his movements.

“Yes?” said Elvie. Bruno was standing up behind his desk, letter in hand. While he was shorter than Elvie, he was broad and muscular in a way that made him seem many feet wider.

“Siddown,” said Bruno. “Have a cup of cocoa with me.”

“I really can't,” said Elvie. “Somebody is waiting for me upstairs.”

“I insist,” said Bruno. The letter crinkled as Bruno he tensed his fingers.

Elvie sat. He watched Bruno walk to his hotplate and pour a cup of steaming hot cocoa. “How many marshmallows?”

“Two?” asked Elvie. Something was wrong. Bruno's back was tense as he plopped the marshmallows in. “I really don't need much, I have to--”

“What the Hell is this?” said Bruno.

“Excuse me?” said Elvie.

Bruno spun around and thrust the letter in front of him. “On Christmas Day? You bring this down here on Christmas Day? Are you some kind of sadist?”

Again Elvie couldn't move. He felt all the water in his body moving from his mouth to the surface of his skin. “What are you talking about?” he said. “I don't even know what's in that letter.”

“'Effective December 26^th,'” read Bruno, “all employees of the Toy Shop will end their term of employment at the North Pole. While we are grateful for their dedication to the job, it is no longer fiscally possible to keep the worker elves employed at their current pay rates. Next season they will be replaced by machined and fresh, unskilled elves to keep company costs to a minimum.'” He clenched his fist and threw the paper aside. “You missed April first by almost four months,” he said, “and I still don't think it's very funny.”

“Ah, that, um,” stammered Elvie. “These are tough decisions,” he said. “Nobody wanted this to happen,” he lied. In truth, the fact that the entire work force was being liquidated and replaced had probably been little more than a movement of numbers from one column to another in somebody's office.

“That's not true,” said Bruno. “I've been around here long enough to see how these things work. All of those elves out there,” he said, pointing, “are being replaced, and I doubt one of you lost your corporate bonus this year.”

“I can definitely look into that,” said Elvie. He would gladly give up anybody's bonus, even his own, to be somewhere else right now. On the other hand, though, he knew that wouldn't have to happen. After the 26^th, thanks to whoever wrote this poorly-worded and worse-timed letter, he'd never have to see any of these elves again.

“'Sincerely and with regret,'” read Bruno, “'Elvie.'”

Elvie closed his eyes. Something had sounded familiar about that letter. Just another memo that had crossed his desk in the flood of work he'd rushed through two months ago. Just numbers in columns upstairs, but numbers big enough that he could save the North Pole loads of money and keep corporate bonuses intact. A golden bell for his hat for sure.

“I'm not going to say it isn't tragic,” started Elvie, slowly, “but you can't stop progress.” He opened his eyes.

Bruno was staring at him. When he crossed his arms and stared he seemed to make up their difference in height, and then some. The number of years that Bruno had spent tossing around boxes the size of a mid-level accountant crossed Elvie's mind.

“Oh yeah?” said Bruno. “You know what else you can't stop?”

“What?” said Elvie.

In the blink of an eye, Bruno was on top of him. Elvie flew back in his chair. Before the breath was out of his lungs, Bruno was standing on his chest.

Elvie tried to speak, but there was no sound. His arms were tingling, and for the first time in the evening his head was ringing from something besides hormones and eggnog.

Bruno cupped his hand around his mouth. “Toy Shop!” he shouted. “Call the Big Man!” He looked down at Elvie. “Somebody's been very naughty.”

He brought one silver-belled boot down on Elvie's head and everything went black.

5

Elvie couldn't move, but this time the restraints were far from psychological. He was lying on his back with his legs tied together and his arms lashed to his sides. He twisted his head, which was throbbing like a tree of blinking lights, and made several snake-like attempts to free himself. It was no use. He was stuck.

“Oh good,” said Bruno from somewhere above him. “You're awake.”

Elvie craned his neck and saw Bruno on a catwalk high above him. He had a large metal control with two buttons, red and green, in his hand. He pressed the green one and Elvie started to move, but not in any direction he was expecting.

The conveyor belt turned slowly, taking Elvie feet-first with it. He lifted his head as high as he could and saw that he was lying on a long gooey sheet of something that looked like cookie dough. Past his feet, somewhere he couldn't see, he heard a loud “BOOM.”

“What are you doing?” shouted Elvie.

“You shouldn't have written that letter, Elvie,” called back Bruno. “Some of us have worked here our whole lives.” A chorus of cheers rose up over the sound of the machinery. As Elvie writhed back and forth he could see other green boots on other catwalks. The toy-makers were all around him, spectators in this impromptu culinary arena.

“I'm sorry!” said Elvie. “I can change it!”

“Sure,” said Bruno, “now you can change it. But only because you're down there, tied up. Why couldn't you change it upstairs, when you were crunching your numbers? Don't you have any humanity?”

Another “BOOM” echoed above the noise. Elvie looked forward but he still couldn't see a thing.

“I was trying to do my job!” said Elvie.

“Your job,” said Bruno, “is to make sure good little boys and girls get toys. It is not to line your own pockets.”

The elves cheered again, and another “BOOM” made them cheer louder. As Elvie moved forward he got a glimpse at where he was headed. The conveyor belt went through a big metal box. On the other side, he could see that the sheets of cookie dough were cut into snowflakes, candycanes, and Christmas trees. He crept forward, and a giant piston slammed down in the machine, “BOOM!” The cookie cutters on the bottom of the pistol shaped the cookie dough with such ease and precision that Elvie was sure they could cut through metal just as quickly – or through the body of an elf.

“That's not fair!” said Elvie. “I was just doing what Santa wanted!”

“Stop,” said another voice. It was deep and powerful, and so calm that it could have been a whisper and cut through all the sound. The belt stopped and Elvie heard several steps clank on the catwalk. He strained upward.

He was dressed all in red, from head to foot, and his clothes were tarnished with ashes and foot. Fur poked out from his cuffs and his cap, and a long white beard covered his face. His nose and cheeks were red as cherries, and the grimace around the pipe in his mouth said he was not one bit happy to be there.

“Santa!” shouted Elvie. “Thank God you're here!” Sensing that his savior might have arrived, Elvie doubled his struggle, the restraints cutting into him. He practically bounced on the conveyor belt. “They're trying to kill me!”

“Ho, ho, hold him down!” bellowed Santa. Elves rushed in from both sides and grabbed Elvie by his arms and legs. They pressed him to the belt. “This is an busy night for me, Elvie, and I have much to do, but you've been a very bad boy.”

“No I haven't!” said Elvie. “I was just trying to do my job right! I saved us money! Sure, a few people aren't going to like the way I got there, but--”

Santa “tsk”-ed so loud it echoed off the walls. “Do you know why we celebrate Christmas, Elvie?”

Elvie stopped struggling. He stopped breathing. He stopped doing everything and, instead of scheming or subtracting or trying to take advantage of his secretary, he just thought. He'd done everything he could, for seven years, to make Christmas as efficient as possible. He was a fantastic middleman. But he'd been so focused on the means, he'd never stopped to think about the ends.

“That's not my job,” he said, finally. “My job is to make sure you can take care of that.”

“Christmas,” said Santa, “is about giving. That's all of our job. That's why we do everything. To give.”

“Right!” said Elvie. “And the more efficient I make things, the more you can give, so--”

“No!” shouted Bruno. “You don't give at all! You just take!”

Santa put a massive gloved hand on Bruno's shoulder. “It's useless, Bruno,” he said. He reached into his pocket and tossed something off of the catwalk. It tumbled through the air and landed on Elvie's chest. A candycane. His last cigarette, as it were. “Turn it on,” said Santa. He shook his head, sadly. “And to all, a good-night.”

“Santa, no!” shouted Elvie. But Santa had already turned and taken a step away, out of his view. Bruno pressed the green button.

The conveyor rumbled to life. Elvie heard another “BOOM,” frightfully close. The elves were all cheering. He couldn't think. He couldn't feel his arms and legs. He picked the wrong night to finally go to the Toy Shop.

“I can change!” he shouted. “I can give! Just give me the chance! I see it now! I can give!” The next “BOOM” was so close that he felt the wind rush by his feet. The metal box rose up around him.

“It's too late!” Bruno shouted.

“It's not too late!” shouted Elvie. “I want to give!”

Elvie was ready to give, to keep all the worker elves in the Toy Shop, to let them all take sick days and vacation days and come in to work every day feeling like it was Christmas morning.

But it was too late. The cookie cutters came down on Elvie the elf from accounting to turn him into stars, trees, and candycanes.

6

Elvie woke with a start. His feet were up on his desk and his head was lolled back in his chair, and somebody was opening his door.

He snorted, coughed, and fell backwards.

Time seemed to slow down, and before he hit the floor he'd thought of Freddie, the envelope, the old elf, Bruno, Santa, and the cookie cutters. He felt the sweat on his brow and he heard the clang of the machines. He wanted to give. He needed to give.

He hit the floor.

“Elvie!” said Roz. He shook his head and cleared the nog haze from his eyes in time to see Roz round his desk. “Are you okay?”

“I'm alive?” he said.

She screwed up her face and looked at him like he had just walked into the North Pole Christmas party wearing a yarmulke. “Of course you are, silly,” she said. She stepped over him, one green boot on each side, and looked down. “If you call everything before this moment 'living.'”

A wave of relief passed over Elvie. It wasn't Christmas yet.

Roz lowered herself down, pressing her body to Elvie's, until her lips were next to his.

“Is that a candycane in your pocket,” she whispered, “or are you just happy to see me?”

Elvie sat up with such a jolt that Roz was thrown to the side. He reached into his pocket. A candycane. The candycane.

“I have to go,” he said.

“Elvie!” said Roz, but he was already out the door.

The mid- and upper-level elves were spread across the office like lush green vegetation, all dancing, caroling, and sipping eggnog. Elvie leapt onto Roz's desk and scanned the crowd until he saw Freddie, standing near the stereo and chatting with another accountant. He ran over.

“Elvie,” said Freddie, “are you alright?”

“Where's that envelope?” said Elvie.

“What envelope?” said Freddie.

“The one for the foreman,” said Elvie. “Brown envelope, 'DO NOT OPEN 'TIL X-MAS.'”

Freddie snapped his fingers. “Right!” he said. “I forgot all about that! It's on my secretary's desk, why?”

Elvie dashed away, making a quick detour around Freddie's desk to grab the envelope before he skidded to a stop in the elevator.

“Merry Christmas, Freddie!” he shouted from the closing doors.

“Er, Merry Christmas, Elvie!” he called back. “Don't drive anywhere!”

Elvie tore the envelope once from top to bottom, again from side to side, and then tore and crumpled the pieces into confetti. He dropped them to the floor of the elevator and wiped his hands on his tunic. He was disgusted that he'd ever written such a thing. The words didn't even sound like his anymore. “No longer fiscally possible?” What did money matter? What was the point of pinching pennies if you could be gone faster than you can eat a sugar cookie?

The elevator doors opened, and this time nothing held him back. He dashed into the Toy Shop and straight to the old worker elf stacking toys.

“Merry Christmas!” said Elvie.

“And you too!” said the worker. “Er, who are you?”

“I'm here to wish you a Merry Christmas,” said Elvie, “by telling you to go home early! With pay!”

“What?” said the old elf.

A giant box slid down the slide, and Elvie stepped in to catch it. The weight of it surprised him, straining his back, but he didn't care. He placed it on the pile as gently as he could and braced himself for another.

“Go ahead,” he said. “It's Christmas Eve!”

“Who are you?” he heard someone say. He recognized the voice.

“Bruno!” shouted Elvie. The foreman was walking across the floor from his office. “I'm Elvie!”

“Okay, Elvie,” said Bruno, “who are you?”

“I'm from upstairs,” said Elvie.

“What happened?” asked Bruno. “Nothing good ever came down from up there.”

Another box came down, which Elvie lifted over his head before placing on the pile. “Tell all your toy-makers they have the night off,” said Elvie. “All the worker elves can go home.” He paused. “Or better yet, there's a big bowl of free eggnog upstairs.”

Bruno shook his head. “I wish we could, but all of this has to get out tonight or we go over budget.”

“Forget the budget,” said Elvie. “I make the budget, and it's been taken care of. We'll get the money out of the bonuses. Starting with mine.”

“You're kidding, right?” said Bruno.

“April first isn't for another four months,” said Elvie with a grin. “Besides, Christmas isn't about money, is it?”

“I suppose not,” said Bruno. He shook his head. “I can't believe this. I'm going to have to talk to Santa.”

“Go ahead,” said Elvie, placing another toy on the pile for another good little girl or boy. “I think this is just what he had in mind.”