The northern lights threw pinks and
greens about the stratosphere. A dazzling white frosting of new snow hugged the
world’s northern most point, surrounding Santa’s workshop in wintry serenity.
It was well after midnight but some work lights still glowed on the factory
floor. Bumbletoss and Greep, two of Santa’s top elves, were trying to catch up
on the back load of work that threatened to shut Christmas down.
The strange accidents over the last
two months had cost the elves six good workers and eventually two-thirds of the
elves declared a walkout, nearly shutting the plant down. Bumbletoss and Greep
had put in thirty hours of overtime , that week alone. The extra hours were
taking their toll but Christmas was a thing that they both believed in. So,
they worked, they whistled and they wished that Christmas would come early this
year so they could spend January with their families. The silence stood to
testify that their minds were elsewhere. Even in the quiet of the factory floor
they never heard the footfall behind them.
They never heard the gloved hands
fix the silencer to the end of a powerful handgun. They never heard the safety
switch give. There was nothing but their breathing until the bullets plunged
into their backs. The bullets cut like
a hot razor into them, shattering vertebrae, detonating every organ in their
path and spattering the tinsel-dressed factory walls with green, elven blood.
The black clothed assassin pumped
another bullet into each head and left. Green blood oozed over wood shavings
and splinters of candy cane as Bumbletoss and Greep’s thoughts of Christmas and
family leaked away into the cold shadows that were now abundant in the happiest
place in the world.