Polterheist(3)

"Who cares? Let go!"

Twinkle threw his whole body weight into trying to break my hold on his arm. I released him, and he flew straight backwards and then hit the floor in an ungainly sprawl. I winced as shrieking children trampled him without hesitation or mercy.

I leaped out of the path of the stampeding crowd and climbed onto Santa's throne for safety-which was when I realized that they weren't rushing it. Or me. They were fleeing from something that was coming in this direction.

"Twinkle! Get up!" I shouted.

"I'm . . . trying!"

While the elf fought his way out from beneath the squealing children who were scrambling over his prone form, I rose to my feet, stood on the throne, and peered over the heads of the chaotic crowd, trying to see what had incited the mob to this hysteria.

Whatever I had expected to see (a raging fire? armed robbers? a pack of wild hunting poodles?), I was unprepared for the alarming spectacle that met my gaze. "Good God!"

My friend Satsy (aka Saturated Fats, a cabaret performer), known at Fenster's as Drag Queen Santa, was racing toward this spot as if his life depended on it, arms outspread, screaming in terror, his Santa costume torn, singed, and smoking sinisterly. Although Satsy's ultra-long, glittery purple eyelashes were still in place, his usually glamorous eye makeup was smeared and running, making him look like some sort of goth monster-especially with his white Santa beard sticking out sideways from his head and flapping madly as he ran. Given that Satsy was a large man-tall and heavyset-his overall appearance was terrifying, at the moment, as was his screaming sprint straight in this direction.

No wonder kids at the back of the crowd had gone berserk and started the stampede. If I were six years old, I'd be fleeing in terror now, too.

I supposed the adults could also be forgiven their reaction, considering the stress already inflicted on them by the season of joy. The sudden screeching arrival of Lunatic Monster Santa had probably just been the tipping point for them.

I jumped up and down on the throne as I shouted, "Satsy! Satsy!"

Much of the shrieking crowd had vacated the area by the time my friend reached this spot. I saw that he was soaked with sweat, which probably explained why his makeup was running and his Santa beard had come unglued. He was panting so heavily he couldn't speak-but also, thank goodness, couldn't keep screaming. As I stood on the throne, staring at him in dumbfounded alarm, he sank to his knees before me, his head bowed as he wheezed and gulped in air.

"What's going on here?" Miles demanded, pushing his way past the last of the stampeding throng. "And why is Santa worshipping that elf?"

I glanced at Miles and realized he meant me.

Twinkle pulled himself together and started crawling toward me and Satsy, his glasses crazily askew, his pointed elf ears and stocking cap lying trampled on the floor behind him. "That was the second scariest experience of my life," he said in a shaky voice. "My entire life!"

I hopped off the throne and knelt beside Satsy, helping him turn around and slump into a sitting position with his back supported by the chair. I patted his smoking red costume, making sure no part of it was on fire. There were singed bits and scorch marks, but Satsy didn't seem to be burned. Meanwhile, Miles shrilly demanded explanations, which none of us were in any condition to provide. And Twinkle, babbling nervously in the aftermath of mortal terror, was recounting the scariest experience of his life, which seemed to involve a fantasy role-playing game and an angry alpaca farmer-but I wasn't really paying attention.

Satsy was still sweating and hyperventilating, Miles still demanding explanations, and Twinkle still babbling when Candycane joined us. She saw Satsy and gave a startled shriek, then realized he wasn't a grotesque monster, but just a very disheveled Drag Queen Santa.

"What the fuck?" said the dainty elf.

"That is a warning offense," Miles snapped, pointing an accusing finger at her. Profanity was strictly forbidden on the floor. "This is going on your record, Candycane."

Candycane looked worried, since this was her second warning. Official warnings could go on your record at Fenster's for a myriad of petty offenses, and store policy was that the third warning led to automatic termination of employment.

"Oh, lay off her, Miles," I said as I patted Satsy's back soothingly. Twinkle and Satsy were both still semi-hysterical, and we could hear terrified children wailing and parents shouting all over the fourth floor in the wake of the stampede. "These are exceptional circumstances."

"There are no circumstances under which an elf can use that kind of language with impunity!" Miles said shrilly.

"Oh, for God's sake," I muttered.

"You are dangerously close to receiving a warning yourself," he said.

"Hiring and training an elf takes at least two days, and Christmas Eve is only three days away, Miles," I pointed out. Our holiday employment would end when the store closed on the evening of December 24th. "So it's too late to replace any of us, and we're already so understaffed that most of us are working overtime. Do you really want to lose more elves now?"

"Hmph."

I turned to my traumatized friend and asked, "Satsy? Are you all right? What going on?"

"As for me, I like alpacas," Twinkle was saying. "I guess. I mean, I don't dislike them. Anyway, I meant no harm, and I tried to explain that . . . But you can't really reason with an enraged farmer who's waving around a cat-o'-nine-tails."

"Huh?" said Candycane.

"Jonathan? Jonathan!" a mother was calling-and I realized whose mother it must be. The frightened little boy had fled the scene well ahead of his parent, and she evidently hadn't found him yet.

"Oh, my God," panted Satsy. "Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod!"

"What happened?" I prodded.

"I thought I would die!" Satsy wiped his sweating face with his sleeve-thus smearing his makeup even more and ruining his furry white cuff. "I thought I'd die in there!"

"I thought I'd lose an eye," said Twinkle. "Or a very valued appendage."

"Where?" I asked.

"The field where we were jousting on the alpacas we'd liberated," said Twinkle. "Well, trying to joust."

"You should stop talking," I told him. "Satsy, where did this happen? And what happened?"

"I was trapped in the freight elevator," Satsy panted. "Esther, there is something evil in there!"

"Evil?" I said alertly.

"Evil," he repeated significantly, his spookily smeared, long-lashed eyes meeting my gaze.

"I see . . ."

Satsy and I had a mutual friend who specialized in confronting Evil.

"Jonathan!" I heard a worried mother calling out again from elsewhere on this floor. "Jonathan, where are you?"

"Wait, why were you in the freight elevator?" Twinkle asked Satsy, finally distracted from his jousting-alpaca tale. "You're not that fat."

"Really," I said to him, "just stop talking."

"There was growling and laughing and flames . . ." Satsy shuddered and made a terrified sound. "I thought I'd die in there!"

Since he started hyperventilating again, I decided not to press him for clarifying details at that moment.

Miles looked at his watch. "We've got to get things back on track."

I looked away from Satsy long enough to realize that the manager was right. Despite what had just happened (and despite the fact that security guards ought to be flooding this floor now in response to the noise and chaos, but were nowhere in sight), I could already see many people lining up nearby to visit Santa-presumably not the exact same people who had just fled in panic.

Miles said in exasperation to Satsy, "And you obviously can't work until you've cleaned yourself up. Go to the break room and compose yourself."

It would clearly take more than a little composure to make Drag Queen Santa presentable again. He was a sweaty, smeared wreck, and his costume was badly damaged. But Satsy nodded and, with help from me and Candycane, rose shakily to his feet.

"Where is Santa?" Miles demanded of Candycane. "The other shift Santa, I mean."

The elf said, "He didn't show up for work."

"What?" Miles snapped.

"I couldn't find Moody Santa anywhere. Then I found out that he never clocked in," said Candycane. "He's not here."

"What?" Miles repeated.

"I gather he didn't call in sick?" I asked.

"No," the manager said darkly.

"Ah," I said.

This was by now a familiar problem. My old boyfriend, Jeff, and I had both been hired to replace AWOL employees, and more staffers had disappeared from our ranks since then.

"Oh, well," I said to Miles. "I had the impression that Moody Santa felt his role didn't really challenge him artistically. I guess this was bound to happen."

"We need a Santa, not levity! And we need one right now!" Miles gave Satsy a ruthless appraisal, then said sternly, "You've got exactly five minutes to get cleaned up and get seated on that throne, mister."

Satsy shook his head weakly. "I can't."

"That's an order!" Miles said.

I argued, "Can't you see he's in no condition to greet children and defend himself from crazy parents?"

"I insist you get to work in five minutes!"