Christmas Closet

               It's literally impossible to live at the North Pole. He's seen reindeer hunted and killed. They don't fly away in escape. If Santa knew which children where naughty or nice, he should be arrested for peeping.

               However, there is one legend of the Christmas Saint that is true. All letters addressed "To: Santa" went to him, Ni'cko Hill of Wainwright. Alaska. He lived in a hand-built cabin on the outskirts of one of the Northernmost villages. Population: 500. It may not be the North Pole, but everyone got their Christmas Wishes read from here. In his mind, he thought of himself as a real life Santa.

               Ni'cko gave children puppies, kittens, ducks, fish, bunnies, ponies, hippopotami, and even giraffes. He shipped them in small baseball sized boxes that were decorated in white paper and red ribbon. Mishka, who worked in the post office, wrapped them for him. He called her Santa's Little Elf, hoping it was flattering. The majority of the town was built by his hands, including the post office. The homes, the stores, all were his design. He was paid to extend the town and build a dock, except in the frozen Arctic winter.

              Frozen doesn't describe just the weather. The roads seemed to be made of solid ice. The snow came drifting down in huge clusters of snowflakes and coated the ground in a knee-thick blanket. Usually winters were bad, but this one seemed especially worse. He would have to knock the snow off roofs to prevent collapse, and the snow just kept coming.

             Ni'cko heaved a sigh and leaned his chair back, propping his feet on the edge of the table, and the back legs snapped and he promptly hit the floor flat. His pocket knife, sandpaper, and the wooden carving he had in his hand skittered about the floor. That wood block was how he granted Christmas Wishes. He whittled them out of wood and never painted or polished them. He only sanded the edges then handed them over in a purple cloth sack to Mishka, and she took care of the rest. This monkey was going all the way to Alabama, into the hands of six year old Meredith.

            He sat up and turned the figure over in his fingers. Calmly, he plucked the sand paper off the floor and rounded the monkey's hand. Solemn thoughts crept through his mind, He was turning 25 next week, but how far in life had he actually gotten? It felt like nowhere, but he always had been a late bloomer.

           With a heave and a huff he shook off those thoughts and brought himself to his feet. Making a mental note to fix it later, he kicked the severed wooden chair from his path. December first was the beginning of his dedication.

           Ni'cko tapped the card from Meredith and her address into the monkey and tossed it into the purple cloth sack with the other animals. They took about an hour and a half each to make. He had sixteen new ones for Mishka today. Strapping on his boots and tying his parka until it hurt, he flung the sack over his shoulder and out of his closet workshop. He exited the whole cabin just to be stopped in his first steps in the snow.

           Town was only half a mile away, yet the walk this time would take an hour to get through the heaps of snow buildup. He trudged and plowed with his legs then, unsurprisingly, he was greeted by a horrendous animal noise followed by a snort. Ni'cko grinned and chuckled, face stinging from frost nipped. He turned to see Coby, a fully grown moose, trotting to meet him. His long legs wisped through the snow with ease.

           When Coby reached Ni'cko, he pushed his long face in Ni'cko's side then slid it against his hip, secretly sniffing for treats in his pocket. Awarding, the carrots appeared and Coby plucked them gingerly out of Ni'cko's gloved hand. He stroked the moose's back as he ate one by one. When Coby was just a baby moose, Ni'cko found him wandering around the perimeter of his cabin. He had left out a stack of carrots on his door mat and Coby had come back every day since.

           The moose took the last carrot in his teeth while Ni'cko moved to the side of him. Coby grunted, knowing what was coming next. Ni'cko patted his back then with a heave, jumped and pulled himself onto Coby's back, belly side down. The moose started walking off the minute Ni'cko's feet left the ground, making him shout and complain as he situated himself into a sitting position. He imagined if moose could laugh, Coby would be doing so.

            They made it into town in half the time it would've taken Ni'cko alone. He gave Coby a few more carrots as a reward before the moose headed off back to his family. On the walk toward the post office he was greeted several times. "Evening Ni'cko.", "How's Coby doing? Still coming around?", and by the children "Uncle Ni'ni!"

            The post office was warm. He had built a fire place in request of Mishka last year. The payment had been to spend Christmas afternoon with him. He waited to open his presents from the town until she came over. That evening he learned she was widowed.

            He slung the sack onto the tiled counter and leaned close. Mishka's head was down, reviewing a few papers. She only glanced up at him but he could see the smirk on the corners of her lips and the flush in her cheeks.

He decided to break the silence. "Santa's little helper has a few new gifts to wrap."

She snorted at the nickname and finally faced him. "How many this time, Saint Nick?"

"Sixteen." He grinned proudly.

            Mishka opened her mouth to reply just as Kamik, the village grocer, barged through the wooden doors. He was completely winded and staggered toward Ni'cko. He said, "The-the store... the store... fire." Their eyes widened and Ni'cko hasted past the grocer, stopping in the doorway. The flames of the fire reached high and smoke towered over the flames, seeming extremely ironic as snowflakes flurried heavily all around. People from the town were either running to or away from the grocery store. The ones fighting the fire had the manual hose set up, the one that pumps water from the Arctic Ocean. Even as the freezing ice water dulled the flames, they were going out much too slowly. All of the town's food inside was being burnt to different degrees of toast.

             Ni'cko sprinted past the fire to Town Hall. He ran through the halls and rooms until he got to the last door, the mayor's office. He wasn't inside. Ni'cko tugged on his hair frustrated, then dove into the mayor's chair and went through the sea of documents on his desk. Underneath pages of a petition, he found it. The Emergency Hotline was a bright red phone. He picked up the receiver, dialing the neighboring town's line. He didn't expect them to drive a fire truck through the worsening weather. The food was his prime concern.

The phone rang. It rang and rang and rang then suddenly POPPED and fizzled out. It took several moments for his silent panic to settle.

The storm was becoming worse.

              Ni'cko walked out of the Hall slowly. Step by step he went back down the street. The towns people put the fire out, but the policemen wouldn't let anyone in to scavenge in fear of it collapsing. Kamik trotted up to him. "They're bringing supplies, yeah?"

Ni'cko shook his head.

Kamik's face twisted with confusion. "We only have the food people have stored at home."

"I think the snow storm knocked out the phone line. Or froze it up. Dunno how it's wired."

"Should be satellite." Kamik pulled out his cell phone. His face dropped, telling Ni'cko there was too much interference.

Snowflakes fell around them.

"I'll tell the town," Kamik spoke up.

"Sugar-coat it."

The grocer nodded and they headed different ways.

              December 8th was Ni'cko's birthday. The town gave him gifts of bread and cheese.

              By December 20th, they were out of food. Stashed supplies didn't last long. They were a tight community, but no one felt close enough to spare a meal. No one had the heart to threaten for food either. The snow was built up to the windows everywhere, except the road. it was matted down from people walking back and forth. The day after, when Mishka heard the news that all the food was gone, Ni'cko and her became betrothed. Ni'cko even carved a bride and groom cake topped, with hopes and promises to Mishka.

              On December 24th, he was awakened by Mishka violently shaking him, Half-dazed, he looked at her confused. Then he heard a horrendous animal noise. Ni'cko practically levitated off his cot. He bounded out the post office door, his gut falling when he witnessed the scene taking place. Ropes were being tossed over Coby. The moose kicked and bucked but he couldn't shake the townsmen off. He let out another awful call. Ni'cko jumped outside and charged. In a frenzy, he knocked down several men. The ropes flew around freely. He shouted with an uproar to let Coby escape. The moose was bucking from the excitement now. A man came up to Ni'cko's left and received a bloodied nose accordingly. The man staggered back, and Ni'cko turned to look at him. It was Kamik. Holding up his sleeve to his nostrils, he looked up at Ni'cko with a betrayed look in his face. Ni'cko lost all of his fury with that gaze, and only looked back with "sorry" written all over his. Coby dashed away into the forest. The heavy snowfall covered his tracks. He doubted he'd ever see his buddy again.

             Unsuspectingly, he was shoved roughly. "What the hell, man! The only supper we've seen in days and you let him the flip go?!"

Ni'cko shoved back just as hard. "Yeah, I did. Coby is mine. If you're pansy enough to start eating pets, why don't you go start a fire for your Husky?"

As he stomped back into the post office, the man yelled, "Iluq was trampled by your pet! His ribs are broken because of you!"

             The rest of the day he remained inside. Mishka was running in and out all day. He felt sorry for her. She was trying to comfort his guilt, but at the same time she had to visit family and friends on Christmas Eve. Presents were stuffed in the far corner, waiting while the clock ticked. He couldn't sleep. Ni'cko sighed heavily and lifted off his cot. Sludging over to the counter, he pulled open a drawer and picked out an empty envelope. He also pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen. What am I doing... he mentally slapped himself. It won't hurt to try...

               

Dear Santa,

       He had a dream about the letter. It fluttered about in the wind, looping and twisting. It went over mountain tops and never came close to touching the Arctic Ocean once in its flight. It raced over the waves and through the snow. That's all the dream was, the letter flying about.

                Christmas morning he was awakened by the roar of a helicopter. Mishka pulled him up by his shirt and the two walked out the door together, hands clasped. The clouds were clear and the army helicopter hovered over the road. It slowly lowered an enormous crate sporting a sizeable red bow and card. Even from a distance he could read the giant white text. Merry Christmas! Sincerely, Santa.

                Telling people how he couldn't get through to anyone up here and panicking when the government said they had to wait until the storm cleared to fly in, was the mayor. He stood in front of Town hall, stroking his white beard.