I squirmed uncomfortably beneath the harsh canteen lights, and pulled the cuffs of my coverall sleeves down as far as I could, just covering the bottoms of my palms.

Forty sighed, opposite me, deep and heavy. Slowly slumping forward on his elbows until his face met his palms, obstructing his eyes from view.

“Ugh.” His breath puffed a lone napkin, flittering it across the table as ThirtySix walked away in my periphery, carrying FortyNine’s discarded tray. “What the fuuuck.” He moaned, low and deep.

His voice vibrated from his chest, and into the polished tabletop, rattling out lightly through my elbows.

FortyEight glanced repeatedly between our group, and the doorway, with wide, wild, eyes, his arms crossed against his stomach. Gradually sinking further into his chair with every second that passed.

“Yeah.” The ginger newcomer rubbed at his eyes after a moment. Disdainfully pinching the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger, 41, branded clearly across his wrist. “Bout’ sums it up really.” He wiped one hand roughly down one angular cheek, pulling at and contorting his mouth, his other hand daintily pinching his glasses by the arm. “Fuck.” He whispered, barely audible under his breath.

I swallowed, crossing my arms beneath the table, leaning forward onto my knees. A shiver scuttled up my neck, prickling uneasily through the roots of my hair.

“Should we like, go after her?” I asked after a moment, unable to rescue my eyes from the pull of the door, FortyNine had vanished through.

FortyFive tilted her head and opened her mouth, before one of the newly arrived fourth squad elves cut her off.

“Hah!”

A filthy, pretty faced man with unusually long eyelashes and short, jet black, hair, sat close to FortyOne. He leant low across the polished table. “What fucking for? One of the ones in charge right? Probably a ruse.” His chin hovered inches from his hazy reflection, smattering the blurry mirror finish of the table with spittle. “Hell! Santa’s probably hiding. Waiting for us. Right. Outside. That. Door.” He jabbed an accusatory finger at me, punctuating every word with a jab. 47, blotted dark against his pale skin, his eyes wild.

FortyOne leant his head heavily, propped up by his fingertips on his temple, pushing his rectangular glasses up past his forehead and squeezed his eyes tight shut.

“B-but what’s the point?” The only woman among the newcomers shrugged toward him, with outstretched hands, round of face and round of eyes, and a nose which bore a distinctive kink, as if broken, once before, long ago.

She glanced about the group more generally. “You saw as good as me! He disappeared into thin air! And beside that he doesn’t-” Her voice hitched, like a record suddenly snatched out from under a playing needle. I followed her gaze slowly to the tenth, never occupied, chair.

Fresh metal glinted, beneath stark overhead lights.

She swallowed slowly. “He doesn’t need t-tricks to, t-to.” Her lips quivered, forming silent shapes as she faltered. Disappeared back behind her thick curly black hair, shadowing her face, staring into her hands in her lap. Winding down to a stop.

A single, silent tear, fell from her obscured face, behind her hair.

I looked away, guilt wriggling faintly in my gut.

FortyEight finally ran out of chair to sink into, and put his head, face down, on the table. Fingers interlocked, clasped over the back of his skull. He rocked, slightly, murmuring faintly into the steel. What might have been words, but where possibly just noises.

Forty took a sharp breath and abruptly sat up, haggard purple circles shone beneath his eyes, both hands plonked onto the table before him, formed into a large ball with his interlocked fingers.

“Everyone, just, take a second, right?” He spoke slow, and measured, nodding reassuringly around the group. “Us all. We’ve been together all day.” He twiddled an index finger between himself, and the vague centre of the table. “But I haven’t seen any of you lot since this morning.” His gaze darted carefully to each of the four newcomers in turn.

The last of the, yet to speak, new arrivals, crossed his legs at the knee, settling back into his chair with forced neutrality on his face. FortySeven frowned, studying the table, and shuffled slightly closer to FortyOne. The woman still hid behind her hair. I followed Forty’s gaze, but couldn’t actually work out if I recognised any of the new faces from when I woke up.

A hazy white mist blurred into the shapes and silhouettes of various elves present, inserting them, piecemeal, into my memories of the day.

I crossed my arms tight across my chest in the ensuing silence, before dropping them lower, into my lap, when my front squished unnaturally. Sending the roots of my hair crawling across my scalp.

I suppose at the time I’d been… Preoccupied.

“What happened in the chaos after they dragged from the Snowglobe?” Forty’s deep voice rumbled calmly into my chest, rolling off the table.

“Hah. Chaos. Yeah. Can thank your screamer for that.” FortySeven still hovered between splayed palms, his head low, just above the tabletop. With a glare pointed at me.

“What? I didn’t…” I clutched at my collar, pulling at the coarse, scratchy, fabric anxiously away from the base of my neck where a light sheen of sweat had begun to pool uncomfortably. “Scream…” Pushing, shoving, a crush of people. Cacophony of sound. Santa’s endless, hacking, damning, laugh, rattled. Reverberating my soul.

I don’t, I didn’t, remember, screaming. Just blurs of motion, heat, pain and fear. A muggy haze. Before popping back into existence in a dingy bathroom, surrounded by shaky elves.

Slight pressure on my arm tugged me gently back to reality. Like a boat back to shore.

“And? So what if she did?” FortyFive shot me a concerned glance, her fingers retreated away from my sleeve as I met her eyes.

There was a distinct possibility I’d been a little less put together this morning than I’d previously realised.

The corner of my mouth twitched into a, hopefully, reassuring, smile.

“Besides!” She burst, scowling at FortySeven, after she’d returned me the slightest of nods. “That was only after you hollered up a storm for the big guy in charge!” She threw her arm up in the air, voice stinging with exasperation.

“You mean the fucking kidnapper in charge.” FortySeven narrowed his eyes at her, glancing sideways at FortyOne, and picking at the tattoo on his wrist with his thumb.

She squinted back at him. “Christ!” He suddenly blurted, a few heads turned to glance our direction from tables behind him. “Stop being so god damned calm!” He threw both his hands up either side of his face, snapping bolt upright in his chair. “All of you! We’re the only ones acting normal!”

“Don’t go lump me in with you.” The elf with crossed legs leant an arm over the back of his chair, twirling a finger absently through his curly auburn hair.

“Piss off Four.” FortySeven shot back, with a flap of his hand.

“Just because you have a death wish-”

“At least I’m trying! We can’t just take everything!” FortySeven cut him off, tapping the table forcefully with his index finger. His snarl exposing a canine.

He might even have come across as intimidating, if he hadn’t been quite so tiny. Easily giving FortyFive a run for her money as shortest of the group.

“And you shouldn’t start a fight with everyone you see!” He flicked his wrist in a little flamboyant circle revealing, yes, 44, his finger lay lazily in the air above the table. Stop-”

“Take. This. Fucking. Seriously.” The little FortySeven spat, going steadily red in the face standing up, and leaning in a little closer to FortyFour’s soot smudged face across the table with every word.

“Shhht!” The curly haired woman emerged from behind her hair, cutting both elves off with both her hands, held flat, parallel to their faces. “What if he can hear us?” She hissed, shoving a whisper through gritted teeth.

Both elves balked, crossed their arms, and sat back, glaring at each other across the table.

“We can’t sit and do nothing.” FortySeven turned towards her after a moment, frustration almost robbing him of breath.

“Hmm?” FortyFour raised his eyebrows leaning forward with an almost bored expression. “So we should be shouting?” He hunched forwards in his chair, propping his chin up in his hand, forearm vertical, elbow resting on the table. “Blame everyone we see? Be all angry like you, angry man?” His head bobbed cartoonishly up and down as he talked, lower jaw flat to his palm.

FortySeven stood suddenly, completely out of his chair, face contorted into the snarl of a rabid dog.

“Okay. Okay! Enough!” Forty bellowed, and slammed his open palm on the table with a BANG!

The entire room fell silent, the bubble of conversation from all corners, suddenly stamped out.

FortyFour smirked, beaming a silent, fake, smile at FortySeven. With his eyebrows raised, head still propped like a lamp atop a night-stand on his hand.

There was a single snapshot in time as the round table top wobbled, trays juddering and nobody moved. FortySeven stared at Forty with an expression rather like a fish, caught on a rod, before he slowly lowered himself back into his chair.

My mouth tasted dusty, dry. Prickly stares of other tables sizzled into the back of my head as nearly every set of eyes in the canteen turned to stare at Forty’s quickly flushing face.

A knotted ball of tension, no matter how hard I struggled to unravel, fruitlessly tied tighter and tighter, webbing between my ribs.

Forty for his part coughed awkwardly, and softly massaged his hand with the smooth rasp of his sandpapery skin. Shrinking sheepishly in on himself. As much as a man of his size could.

Gradually, conversation resumed, rising like steam into the air, evaporating from little puddles of Elves dotted about the room. Most tables had already grown sparse.

A little group of three finished, dropping off their trays, before heading off toward the door.

The ball of tension knotted tighter still, my ribs quivered. It felt as though just a tiny bit more pressure might be enough to snap something free of my sternum.

FortyFive stood so abruptly a few strands of hair, fallen loose of my ponytail, flittered in the breeze, and tickled my cheek.

She held her eyes closed, brow set tense, for an entire second, before she leant forward, and balanced her weight precariously through the fingertips of both hands. Delicately supporting herself on the table.

Her eyes snapped open, an emerald blaze, jaw setting her mouth into a single pursed line.

“I’m going to the bathroom.”

She looked between the filthy newcomers carefully, narrowing her eyes at FortySeven, who sneered. “If anyone, civilised, wants a place to go… Get cleaned up.”

“Ah!” FortyFour bounced his head up off his cupped palm with the momentum of his jaw, and stood beside her in a single fluid motion. “You’re diamond dear, diamond.” He was unexpectedly tall when standing, leaning predominantly on one leg, hand on hip.

The woman still hiding behind her grimy curly hair, nodded meekly. FortySeven rolled his eyes.

FortyFive side eyed FortyFour, before pointedly ignoring both of them. Offering a hand to pull the taller woman up.

Her eyes darted around nervously for a second before accepting FortyFive’s outstretched hand with a weak smile.

As the trio headed for the door, FortyFour and FortyFive, separated by a marked gap, I finally glimpsed the last womans number. 42. Proudly proclaimed by the white text on the back of her jumpsuit, marred, by sooty black smudges.

FortyFive shot me a weak smile as she carefully swung the door closed behind her, still trailing FortyTwo by the hand. I couldn’t help flinching as the door slammed shut. Taking myself my surprise.

A slight sickness twinged in my gut, as I glanced towards the tenth vacant chair again.

“So. Think one of you can fill us in on what happened?” Forty looked tired, and suddenly very old, even despite his greying hair, his eyes hadn’t seemed quite so worn before. He leant, heavily, back in his chair, one hand behind his head.

FortSeven looked to FortyOne, similar to how a young child might look to an elder for permission, or guidance.

FortyOne met his eyes, briefly before he sighed.

“I was. We where.” FortyOne he spread his hands heavy on the table, trembling lightly at the wrist. As if without the support he might have toppled over.

Forty leant forward, across the table, and gave him a short a gentle nod.

“We where Scared. Got. Got caught up in the chaos, people where shouting, and,” he glanced at me, “crying.” I felt my cheeks, intensely, burn, and studied the lines of my sore palms, chewing on the inside of my lip. “Demanding answers.” He breathed in sharply, and took off his glasses, scrubbing at them with his sleeve. “We banded in tight together, but the ones with the yellow numbers and the stripes started breaking groups up, pulling people away.”

I glanced over my shoulder, looking for ThirtySix, but the Third squad’s table had already emptied.

FortyOne deferred a glance to FortySeven, and pulled awkwardly at his hair, tugging out a few short strands behind his ear, as if unsure what to say.

FortySeven looked down at the table as he took over.

“Like. A couple of them surround us, right? And Santa, he just, started walking off.” FortySeven tapped nervously on the table as he spoke. “Like. Like none of us mattered.” His gaze slowly morphed, developing into a steady, thousand yard, stare. Intense emerald eyes watching nothing but memories.

FortyEight sat up slowly, but didn’t speak, staring solemnly at FortySeven.

“They grabbed us, tried to separate us.” FortyOne rasped, finding his voice. “As he was leaving FortySix chucked his boot at Santa’s head, and then, I’m not entirely sure what happened.”

“Fucking tackled us is what happened. Kept us alone in this dark room, no lights, for hours.” FortySeven said with a half wave of the hand propped on the table before him. He too looked quite suddenly exhausted. Listless. Like the anger was slowly draining from a punctured balloon.

I glanced at the vacant chair again.

Bit my lip.

Nauseous dread swirled within me thick, and heavy, like the ocean, shaken, in a bottle.

“So.” My voice wavered, high and thin, like violin strings quivering in the air, unrecognisable in my throat, unable to tear my eyes off the chair. “‘FortySix’ is…”

I choked down rising bile at the back of my throat, clutching at wisps of run away emotion, dragging the escaped feelings back to my centre. “Why’s t-there’s only nine of us?”

FortyOne stared into the table, as if somewhere in the swirly polished metal there might be an answer.

FortySeven took a breath, his chest shaking with the motion, visible even through the baggy jumpsuit. He leant his head on one hand. His fingertips disappeared into his short jet black hair.

“This. This group of Elves arrived, all numbers in the ‘80’s’ according to their.” FortyOne taped his wrist twice with two fingers and dipped his head once, letting out a shaky breath. “Wouldn’t really talk to us, just marched us ‘till we where in this, big, gaudy, room. All decorated with tinsel and stuff. Really hot, with this huge fireplace,” her drew a big rectangle in the air with his index fingers, “and Santa behind a desk.” The remaining breath rattled free from his lungs, collecting, barely visible as mist before him.

“He stood us, all in a row, like his fucking tin soldiers or something.” FortySeven mimed, gesturing five miniature, inch tall people standing on the table. “A-and he was all, creepily happy, lecturing about how we’d been so naughty. Then.” FortySeven swallowed, shaking slightly, he wetted his dry lips. “He just, ‘snapped.’”

He, stared intently at his own palms, fingers burst wide open. “Grabbed FortySix. Scooped him, up like-” his breath shuttered, interrupting himself for a moment, “like he was a doll. Up by the neck and just, dropped him into the fire.”

FortySeven gently cast his arm wide, like he might have been throwing a ball, or casually dropping a screwed up packet into the bin.

“A-and FortySix, h-he.” FortySeven’s voice hitched in the back of his throat as he swallowed and kept talking. “He just, wailed, blood-curdling and k-kept, and kept crawling back out, and Santa, he just, k-kept kicking him back in.”

A single bead of sweat ran from FortyOne’s temple as FortySeven spoke beside him, wrestling a path down through the grime, and tiny patches of speckled blood, smattering his cheek, drippingfree of his jaw.

FortySeven’s voice carried on. It rattled, unsteady, like a bridge on rotten timbers listing up and down. “Kicked him back in, again a-and again, until he s-stopped crawling. Stopped screaming.”

FortyOne looked down into his lap, ran a hand through his ginger hair, and clenched his skull, hard, with his hand, turning his knuckles white, eyes shut tight.

FortySeven stopped talking abruptly, chewing his lower lip, apprehensively considering the other man.

I felt too hot in my jumpsuit, and clammy in my boots. Santa had been right next to me, only inches away. Only inches away from all of us. The shiny tabletop seemed to shimmer before my eyes, moving slowly in and out of focus.

Fucking. Christ.

I pushed air in and out of my lungs, manually. In. Out. How the fuck could any this be happening? How could he get away with it? Was my old body still in my flat?

FortyEight looked ill, breathing like a trapped rabbit, rearing to bolt at any second. But where could he, hell, any of us, go?

Could we escape? If someone did escape, how would people out in the world even react to a Christmas elf?

Helplessness consumed me, hollowing my organs from the inside out.

Forty blinked, and swallowed uneasily, staring dead straight ahead, looking at nothing.

FortySeven reached out his hand as if to touch FortyOne’s shoulder. Before he froze.

His hand hung for a millisecond half way between them, before his outstretched fingers curled back in on themselves and he drew his hand back, wearing the gentlest expression I’d yet seen him make.

FortyOne took a deep breath, and opened his eyes, deflating as his muscles relaxed.

“Killed him.” FortyOne shrugged, his face impassive, leaning back in his chair. “Fucking…” He looked up at the ceiling, to the lamps, softly swinging on their cables. “Killed him.”

FortySeven looked down at his hands, thumbing the tattoo on his wrist again.

A shrill klaxon split the room. The entire table ducked our heads, shattering any semblance of group contemplation, as the little cone speakers mounted just above the doorway screamed.

A jolt of surprise stabbed me, ramrod through the length of my spine, and I accidentally slammed my elbow on the table’s steel corner in the process.

“PLEASE PREPARE FOR LIGHTS OUT.” The same robotic voice echoed over the speak system, calm, and indifferent.

Slowly I raised my head, jabbing flares of pain shooting down my forearm from my funny bone.

I glanced around. Nearly every other table was completely empty, those that where left, probably in their second or thirds years of service, walked past us with only calm indifferent bemusement.

We collectively shook with adrenaline.

“THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION.” I was really starting to dislike that voice.

---

I sat awkwardly off the side of my bunk still in my jumpsuit.

Cold from the concrete floor bled through my socks, slowly turning my toes numb. Unease prickled up the back of my neck, like a presence hovering just behind me, and I squeezed the little wooden penguin I’d found in my trunk. Tightly cupped in my lap.

I briefly glanced over my shoulder, the bundle of sheets on the bed by the far wall still marked the outline of FortyNine.

The sad Christmas tree with its single piece of burgundy tinsel, leant, drooping not quite over the foot of her bed as she faced the wall. Only the very tip of her head, and a tell-tale brown braid, dangling half way to the floor where visible past the bundled, balled up sheets.

I faced forwards again, sat slumped, with my elbows propped on my knees, holding the penguin just a little bit tighter. I ran my thumb over the little wooden imperfections left behind by whatever tool the previous, well, the previous ‘me’ had used to carve it. I sighed, breathing slowly, evenly, and picked off a little fleck of splintery wood, watching it tumble slowly, like a fleck of dust, to the floor.

Some of Fifth squad we shared the barracks with had taken to their bunks already, either trying, or already, asleep. A few others talked casually in a little pool, perched atop one of the beds, like kids on a sleepover, while one of them repaired a hole in his jumpsuit with a pocket sewing kit.

I’d found a similar kit in the little tin from my trunk, adorned with little felt daisies, more than a little out of place against the stark concrete and metal construction of the pole, as well as a toothbrush.

“Hey.” Forty smiled down at me with a concerned crinkle between his eyes, perched on the neighbouring bed. His legs crossed. Stretched out in front of him. “You alright?”

“Oh. Y’know.” I stuffed the little penguin in my pocket, whirling my free hand in slow circles beside my head. “It’s…”

I stared past him for a moment, towards the door.

FortyFive hadn’t returned with her two new compatriots yet. And the rest of Fourth squad had mostly kept our distance from the Fifth, sticking to the entrance side of the room.

FortySeven was aggressively whispering something to FortyOne, who for his part seemed to be convinced if he polished his glasses hard enough with a corner of bed sheet, perched cross legged atop the bed, that the shorter man might cease to exist.

FortyEight had collapsed into his bed, beside Forty’s, almost as soon as he’d stepped through the door. “It’s just…” I looked down at myself. My gut coiled like a matted knot of snakes, muscles in my throat tensing, involuntarily pulling at the skin beneath my jaw.

As I glanced up again, my gaze clashed with his. The flecks of light flickered, sparkling calmly in his eyes, drifting lazily across his irises. I sighed, and twirled my hands in half circles, working my mouth. There must have been a way to articulate this into words.

The wrinkles of his square stubbled face flexed as he raised an eyebrow and leant forward, fingers interlocking before him, leaning on his knees with his elbows. By design, he towered over me. Which was strange. As if the dynamic I would previously have had with a near stranger such as him was somehow distinctly… Different. I was probably overthinking this.

I rubbed my ankles awkwardly together and shifted trying to get comfortable. Even the way I sat felt different now. I looked down at myself and chewed my lower lip.

I very much doubt Forty had been a woman, he was way too casual in his burliness. I’d also long discounted FortyFive had ever once been a man. Or really, any of the other elves had found themselves ‘sex-swapped.’ But. Where did that leave me?

Should I just… Tell someone? My insides squirmed. Talking about this to anyone, let alone to another man.

I balked, sitting up straighter, blinking twice. I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat.

The corner of Forty’s mouth twitched up in an encouraging smile with a slight tilt of the head. Right, he needed an answer. “It’s just. Everything. It’s… a lot.” I sighed, rubbing my face with my hands.

“Heh. Yeah.” He laughed, though it didn’t manage to crinkle to crows feet around his eyes.

I smiled weakly as his low rumble rolled gently past my ribs. Soothing the tendrils of emotion writhing there.

I sighed again.

“Just. It’s all so. Unfair.” I chewed my tongue to restrict a quivering mountain of words slowly swelling in the back of my throat. I shrugged.

“Yeah. You ah.” Forty ran one of his massive hands through his greying hair, ruffling it, without meeting my eyes. “Mentioned you was a Mum.” He looked to the side, awkwardly, tone uncertain, not quite meeting my eyes.

Yeah. That’s right. I might have implied that as part of my bathroom outburst. Christ, that felt like an entire month ago. I sat on the bed and found myself silently hoping Forty had already left long before I’d started crying in the showers.

Urgh! I vigorously rubbed my face, hard, with my palms, sending kaleidoscopic splotches of colour swimming across the back of my eyelids.

“No! Kinda. I.” I shrugged again, folding in on myself, wishing I was somehow smaller. “Wasn’t exactly brilliant as a parent is all. I…” Anna and Babs’s disappointed faces as I waved them off, not mad, not upset, just sad. Chloe at her wits end, screaming through tears that she had no support, running on three hours sleep.

And me. Excuse after excuse, after excuse.

Endless, pointless, hours, just lying on the sofa in the dark. Staring into the fabric. Counting threads… Why?

So much time. Wasted.

Without a reason.

For nothing.

I breathed out sharply through my nose. The tip of my pony tail whispered past the base of my neck as I shook my head. “I don’t know.” I murmured, raising my shoulders, before letting my arms fall limply into my lap.

“Everything. It was just so hard, so muted. And I couldn’t. I just didn’t help, with the girls, and, I didn’t-” I breathed a steady sigh, gripped my thighs, hard, with my fingertips.

The adrenaline of… Everything. Had robbed me of that familiar numbness and left an absolute deluge of raw emotion in it’s place. Emotion I had no idea how to even begin to channel. “Eventually me n’ Chlo-”

I coughed and bit down, hard, on the inside of my cheek.

Letting Forty think that I was a Mum was one thing. But having his mistake me for a- a. lesbian?

A swirling hurricane of sand, roared, within me, etching instincts. Warnings. Into the walls of my stomach. Something deep in the very centre of my being, screamed for me to stop. That I’d almost encroached too far.

Trodden ground not mine to tread.

“Cl-Claud. We both, decided, that we sh-should.” I stammered awkwardly miming my hands splitting apart from one another, and shrugged. “Anyway, I ah, I’ve been trying to buck up, get my act together. Be there.” I shrugged. “It’s my day with the girls on Saturday. My first time seeing the three of them in a long old while. But. Well. Now.” I gestured around the barracks. I shrugged. “It just. I know it’s stupid, someone died today. But it’s just all so unfair… Yeah. Sorry…” I mumbled, staring down into my palms.

Forty breathed a soft, heavy sigh, staring at his interlocked fingers. He gently cracked a smile at me as he looked up.

He opened his mouth, but the door slammed open against the concrete wall, cutting him off as FortyFive with her two new, much cleaner, wet haired friends spilled into the room.

“Lights out, means lights out. You don’t want to be stuck in a corridor!” ThirtySix called after them, voice dripping exasperation, rapid footsteps echoing further and further down the hall.

Forty raised his hand in a short stationary wave with a tilt of his head, and FortyFive waved to us in turn. I looked down into my lap, not meeting her eyes.

“Nah, S’not stupid. No need to apologise.” He turned back to meet my gaze again, a lazily smile pricking up half of his mouth. “… My, ah.”

He paused, as his mouth twitched, mulling over his tongue. I was nearing the verge of asking if he was okay, when he finally spoke again.

Slowly. Carefully picking his words. “It was. Very hard on my wife, after our firstborn.” He gestured slowly as he talked, with his right thumb clutched around his left palm. “It was like, something was eating at her from inside. Making everything she did, wanted to do, so hard. Like she’d run out of go. The more she tried to be there, be a good mother for our boy. The harder it was.”

I nodded slightly, staring intently.

He smiled back. “Life’s not meant to be that hard. And a lot of it, especially kids, though heh.” He snorted to himself. “They are a lot of work.” I smiled back at him. “In a situation like that, it’s not the work, the responsibilities that’s the problem, pushing and pushing just made it worse, because, well, what she really needed was to look inside for what was making her so unhappy.”

I nodded again, slower this time.

He spread his hands wide, looking down at them. “It took… A lot… Of introspection. We’d talk for hours trying to track down the problem. But when we did, when her base.” He clutched a fist to his upper chest, lightly tapping against the muscle there. “When you find what hurts here in here, and your base can be happy. The work can still be hard, but it’s not, not quite so… insurmountable.” He smiled at me, warmly. “Once she got there, all those hard things she used to struggle with, well, those just kinda worked out themselves.”

Tension I hadn’t noticed building in my lungs eased slowly as I breathed out.

“I wish I knew.” I sniffed hard. “Ugh, god I can’t be h-here.” I looked up at him, tears burned hot behind my eyes, I was not going to cry in front of this man. I squeezed my eyes shut, and counted down from ten in my head before I opened them again. “I just want to get back to my family.” I said, meekly.

Forty nodded, leaning back.

“Me too, duck. Me too. All… All this.” He gestured slowly around the room. “It’s a lot. Even before everything else on the plate.”

He smiled. “We’ll get there.” His quiet rumble continued, not, confident, but certainly resolute. “We’ll get through it, ‘ey? Besides.” He snorted, and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, and looked at FortyEight, already passed out, dribbling softly into his pillow despite the harsh overhead lights. Both feet poked over the end of the cot. “Holding it together better than this one.”

“Aheh.” I scraped budding tears away with the back of my coarse jumpsuit sleeve, while his back was momentarily turned. “Sleeps pretty peaceful for someone so jittery.”

“Heh. Yeah.” Forty winked at me. “Just a kid really.” His nose twitched as his smile slowly grew grew a little warmer. A little more genuine.

“What, um. What was it in the end?” I asked chewing on my lip. “With you wife?”

“Ah.” Forty smiled wistfully, more to himself than to me. “Sorry Duck, not really my story to tell.”

Suddenly a guttural rumble shook through the walls, vibrating the bed beneath me.

I sat up ramrod straight, and looked around. The Fifth squad members sitting in a group casually got up, clambering into their own beds, shirking off jumpsuits and boots.

The thunder of industrial relays thundered closer and closer, barrelling towards us within the walls.

THONK! … THONK! … THONK!

Quaking, like beats from the heart of the pole, until with a few startled murmurs from the Fourth, everything went black.

Utterly. Pitch. Black.

I took me several seconds to realise I was still blinking. It made no difference, eyes open or closed, I was completely and utterly blind.

“What the fuck!” FortySeven spluttered in the dark. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!”

His words hung in the silence for a moment, slightly too loud and slightly too high pitched.

“FortySeven. Please.” FortyOne’s voice carried after a pause, far quieter, and utterly exhausted. “Shut up, get off my bed and let me sleep.” There where a few more murmurs, awkward stutters from suddenly blinded elves, but nothing I could actually make out.

“Well. Night, I guess.” Forty rumbled, low, somewhere in front of me, accompanied by a rustling sound, then softly creaking metal.

“… Goodnight.” I said into the dark, squishing down building anxiety between my ribs.

The air felt oddly stifled as I lay flat on my back, flipping the sheet over me. Hot.

The chorus of out of sync breaths from beds throughout the room mingled with the ventilation system, whirring away somewhere above me. White noise rolled about my ears in lurching uneven waves.

I dipped my hand into my pocket. Feeling the soft rasp of the little wooden penguin against my fingertips. I drew it out carefully, and clutched it to my stomach.

Slowly, I turned the little penguin in careful, deliberate, somersaults above my belly.

I suddenly felt incredibly small, like I was somehow buried deep, and hidden, somewhere inside my own chest. Pulling on metal pulleys, levers and cables. Moving the very hands that had carved him in the first place.

It was. Weird. Prickly. To think about the person, the human being. I’d unwittingly replaced.

Whoever she’d been.

Why me? Why an Elf? Why a woman?

If I’d been brought here as one of the boys. FortyEight, or FortySeven maybe. Would Forty still have opened up to me like that?

I wriggled out of the jumpsuit, and kicked it out the bed leaving myself in only my t-shirt and shorts. Curled up into little ball on my side. I stroked the head of the penguin softly with a forefinger.

Vellus hairs on my stomach prickled into the ghostly outline of the great bloody smear I’d long since scrubbed clean.

I clutched my sides, and tried my best not to dwell on the dead.

It took me a very. Very. Long time to fall asleep.

---

Blinking blearily against the tunnel lamps, I trailed after FortyNine’s echoing footfalls with the rest of the Fourth. Round twists and turns, following her blurry silhouette.

FortyFive and FortySeven, much to his obvious irritation, occasionally hopped into small half jogs to keep up.

I stifled a yawn. The sudden crash of overhead lamps powering on, and clattering klaxon calls had set my ears ringing vicariously all morning.

I felt even more exhausted than I had the night before, and the klaxons had already started getting old.

Though, thankfully, there had been no robotic voice announcement to follow.

Despite the lack of announcement, FortyNine seemed to know what would be expected of us, dragging us from the room before all of the Fifth had even finished pulling on their boots.

Eventually, just as, the path we’d taken had mangled my mental map to pieces, and was busy stamping the remaining shreds of paper into the mud, the tunnel morphed into an unusually long, unusually wide straight section.

Not quite more tunnel, but not quite a separate room either, like the catalytic converter in the centre of an exhaust pipe, shrinking back down to regular tunnel size, which was still pretty cavernous, at the far end.

Four strange wooden and brass contraptions protruded about half a foot, embedded in the wall to our left spaced out every five feet. Each one was taller than me, though a bit shorter than FortyEight behind me.

A cluster of elves around the third machine started walking back towards us, lead by ThirtySix.

He gave FortyNine a mock salute. She smiled a huge fake smile at him for a second, before immediately going back to frowning.

Otherwise ignoring him entirely as our two groups passed one another.

FortyNine led us past the first three machines, stopping at the fourth and final one along the wall.

It looked a little like an ATM. If someone had commissioned a late 19^th century craftsman, who’d never before seen an ATM, to make them one by vaguely describing it.

The end result was a stunning display of shimmery varnished walnut wood panels, and polished brass trim, decoratively inscribed with intricate patterns.

A complex mesh of cogs, all mashed together in varying sizes, protruded towards us through tiny gaps in the varnished wood, their edged teeth glinted beneath the overhead lighting like so many knives. Sharp metallic barnacles, enveloping almost the entire left side of the machine’s front panel.

Two gilded letter box slits, one on top of the other, about a foot apart bore intricate, decorative, inscriptions of ivy. Stamped in place with tiny rivets.

A large wooden lever protruded vertically, running nearly half the height of the machine from a metal semicircular base. bolted to the right side of the machine. A round shiny ball, adorning the lever at the top, like a gearstick.

At the top of the machine, mounted in the centre, was a little miniature plaque with a spinning wooden backing board, not dissimilar to those bearing the numbers of elves across the walls of the Snowglobe.

‘First of January.’

It read in flowing cursive script.

FortyNine grabbed the top of the lever, and braced her boot against the bottom of the machine. Wrenching it down slowly with a whirring ratcheting sound, twisting her torso with obvious exertion.

With a Ker-chunk! The lever now sticking out towards us at a right angle, the little plaque flipped over.

‘Second of January.’

Suddenly the cogs protruding from the machine whirred alive, gnashing in alternating directions, spinning so fast their teeth disappeared into a blur of razor wind. Sending tiny gusts of air to blow my ponytail, and crinkle my clothes.

Instinctively I took a small, protective, step back.

Bigger, heavier machinery clunked and clicked, puttering away menacingly behind the wood, the lever slowly started to retract, gradually righting itself.

With a scratching, scrabbling, sound, like a rodents feet against parchment, a long piece of paper with neat black black writing scrawled across it slowly rolled free of the top letter slot, like a snake gradually flicking out it’s tongue.

When the cogs finally slammed to a halt, the lever fully reset. A long coiled scroll of paper hung from the slot, like a receipt.

FortyNine yanked it off, with a light snap!

She skimmed the text. Before she calmly folded the paper up, and posted it through the second letter slot in the machine.

“Okay.” She spun, leaning back on her heel, addressing us as a group. “We’re on the Flightbarn.” She whirled her hand, pointing at the ceiling with her index, in circles through the air above her head and stalked off down the hall. “Let’s go people!”

FortyFive caught my eye. I shrugged and she shrugged back, before she set off to followed FortyNine.

---

My stomach crawled with unease, and my hand shook, steadying myself against the guard rail.

Every second spent in the Snowglobe made me distinctly uncomfortable, and the way the stark white paint, reflected the intense beams from ceiling floodlights, did absolutely nothing to help with that.

The rest of the Fourth, continued climbing the stairs, unimpeded, though FortyTwo and FortyEight both lagged behind a little, maybe ten steps in front of me.

I bit back rising uncertainty in the back of my throat as the stairs below me vibrated from my squad mates boot falls, rattling the rusty metal. I hugged the wall. The stairs before me ran away, wrapping all the way around the massive concrete dome, reaching far and high, up to join the catwalk hanging from the centre of the ceiling.

Tentatively I bit my tongue, tensed my stomach, and hugged the bannister studded into the concrete wall, keeping as far from the drop as I could, and forced myself to follow.

The cavernous hall below me was almost entirely vacant. An elf with red stripes up his sides, ‘20’, spelled out in yellow across his back, was pointing at something behind an open panel beneath the massive wall of number placards, built into the concrete. Talking to a small group crowded about him.

I glanced up at the massive grid on display.

FortyOne, FortySeven, FortyFour and FortyTwo where all ‘Naughty.’ According to their spinning plaques.

A few other elves here and there where ‘Naughty’ as well. Santa must have been… Displeased after yesterday.

‘Elf 46 | Naughty | Deceased.’

“Three! Keep up!” FortyNine called over her shoulder, I’m not sure if she was trying to be encouraging or just impatient, but she was decidedly unhelpful.

I swallowed the ball of dread lodged between my molars, and hopped to catch up to the others. The stairs juddered under me, sending my stomach plunging into free-fall, tiny hairs all over my body bristling like the feathers of an angry swan with every step.

I closed my eyes, gripping the railing, hand over hand, dragging myself along. I’d never loved heights, but this. It was different. Something about the Snowglobe. Being dragged here yesterday. I felt like Santa could be hovering just over my shoulder, ready to give me a push, and… Well. It was also very, very high.

My stomach felt like it sank steadily lower and lower with every step I rose. But that was fine.

I could ignore it. Keep my eyes shut. Just keep following the railing.

Yeah.

My fear conquering technique worked flawlessly until it didn’t. My hand suddenly swished, unsupported, in the air, grasping for more, non-existent, bannister.

Shit.

I stood motionless for a second, before I cracked open one eye.

I gulped, and pushed my tongue hard against the roof of my mouth, and deep into the crevices of my gritted teeth.

I was. Very. Very. Fucking. High. Up. Right at the roof.

The rest of Fourth Squad tottered off across the flat section of catwalk. Right across the top of the massive dome, suspended from the ceiling on wires. Only a few inches of railing separated them from the drop either side, and no concrete wall to squish yourself into.

Oh I hoped to god those steel cables where rated, so far, beyond capacity.

Second squad far below me wandered between the little gaps in the grated floor, ants foraging for food.

I shuddered, shutting my eyes again, only realising I’d involuntarily leant as far back from the edge as I could, when I felt my ponytail bunched up against my neck, brushing the concrete wall behind me.

“Three!”

Steady now. Deep breaths. In. Out.

“FortyThree!” The world pitched and swam, shimmering back into focus as my eyes shot wide.

FortyNine stood alone, at the foot of a set of stairs disappearing into the ceiling on the other end of the catwalk. She motioned for me to follow with her hand.

I nodded to her, but I couldn’t force myself to let go of the railing. The trembling nerves in my fingertips had, at some point, stopped responding to inputs.

Okay. I took a deep breath, and steeled my stomach against razor edged butterflies whirling inside me, yet still; I couldn’t stop trembling. The cold concrete at my back captured me, as I unwittingly pushed myself further into the wall.

Oh god. This is it. There’s nothing I can do. The thought of the rest of Fourth seeing me now made me feel even queasier.

“Three?”

I hadn’t realised I’d shut my eyes again at some point. “You okay? You look… pale.”

I opened my eyes.

FortyNine stood a slightly awkward few feet away. As if she might have been worried about drawing too close, but also didn’t want to stand too far away.

Her eyebrows crinkled softly with concern.

“Yeah.” I gasped, head back, scraping the concrete wall. “I’m fine. Heights.” Words tumbled in stops and starts, falling from my mouth in short wooden bursts. “I don’t. Just. It’s not. S-Snowglobe.” I shook. I tried to gesture to the hall below me, but couldn’t let go of the rail. “Never been. This bad before.”

She nodded and looked behind her towards the catwalk for a moment, before drawing closer.

“There’s a spiral staircase.” She turned slightly sideways, with a hand held out slightly behind her, where I could see the base of steps, disappearing through the hole in the middle of the roof “At the end, just this little bit, then there’s no more drop.”

She tilted her head with a warm, gentle smile, her eyes sparkling. “You okay to walk with me?”

“I.” I clutched the tapered end of the bannister behind me even harder, staring past her, the catwalk shrank smaller and smaller and the fall either side grew bigger and bigger the longer I looked. “I don’t.” I shook my head, a tiny, quickly repeating motion.

“Hey, hey, Three, look at me. Three.” Her eyes where deep. The little flickers of light flitted quickly. Whereas my eyes, or even Forty’s, where calm, the sparkles floating idly like a row-boat over a river, hers where different. In FortyNine’s eyes they zipped, like little shooting stars, darting across a clear night sky. Glittering against the deep green of her irises. “You’ll be okay, Three. Breathe with me.”

“Mhm.” I nodded.

It was strange how quickly I’d acclimatised to a number as a name.

Like it was a little block of wood, perfectly shaped, and slotted neatly into the gap left my old name as it had been ripped from my head.

Hearing it said, pulled at the tendrils of my consciousness the same way my old name had, yanking on my attention. But still, something was off about the feeling. Like an itch, tap dancing at the tip of my brain stem.

FortyNine breathed in, slow and exaggerated, raising both her hands gradually in unison.

I breathed with her. Fighting stuttering lungs, full to the brim with whirling smoke. Muscles I didn’t have a name for, quivered in my abdomen.

My hands trembled, grasping the railing behind me like a lifeline, unable to be calmed.

She flipped her palms over, and gradually lowered her hands, breathing out.

I focused hard on the motion, following as close as I could. Allowing everything to fade to the background, just me, and her, embraced by a vignette.

Gradually, the catwalk began to feel more solid beneath my feet.

Eventually I realised that was because my legs had stopped shaking.

“Okay. Think you can walk with me?”

I looked behind her and physically felt my eyes widen. I looked her back in the eye.

She closed her eyes and stepped closer. When she opened her eyes again, a weak smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. She was close enough I could see her irises swirling slowly beneath the flickers of light, like the glimmer of reflected water beneath a low river bridge. “Three.”

My chest felt tight, just beneath the base of my throat, I tried to back away a step, but that’s quite hard to do with your back against concrete.

She held her hands up to her chest, clasping them together gently, like she was unsure what to do with them. “You.” She swallowed. “You need to do this Three.” Her voice was low, and incredibly quiet, scarcely a whisper.

She blinked, looking away momentarily before refocusing on me. “There’s…”

She looked down again, sheepishly through the holes in the grate floor. “You need to be able to work Three. You need to.”

She pursed her mouth, biting down on the insides of her lips looking up again. Her furrowed brow imploring severity with her eyes. “There’s not a place for elves who can’t… You understand?”

I looked away and screwed my eyes shut tight, inside me, my heart counted down like the quick methodical ticks of a clock. I could still feel her in front of me.

I felt something in the metal floor move with an inaudible clink! As FortyNine shifted from one leg to the other, shimmering through the soles of my boots.

I tensed every single muscle in my core. Head still turned away, eyes still screwed tight.

Behind me my hands trembled with nervous energy.

I took a big breath in, before emptying my lungs entirely, letting the emotion blow away on the breeze, leaving only aftershocks, echoing, in their wake.

And let go of the rail.

---

At the top of the spiral stairs the others where waiting. All crowded into a tiny tunnel, walls also painted white, clearly only intended for elves to use.

The ceiling would have only been level with Santa’s belt. If that.

It reminded me a little of one of the Star Wars films, the one with the snow.

I stepped awkwardly away from FortyNine as she made her way to the front of our little congregation, and stood off to the side against the wall.

FortyTwo smiled at me with minor concern when I accidentally made eye contact. Crinkling her crooked nose.

Thinking back, the catwalk to the ceiling would probably be too small for Santa Claus to use as well. Not that that mattered, since he could apparently turn into swirly magical dust.

We walked single file round twists and turns. Thick power cables ran overhead, FortyEight kept having to duck around dim oval amber lamps in wire frames, jutting from the ceiling. Finally, after passing several miniaturised steel doors, otherwise identical to the ones back downstairs, complete with large spinning locks. FortyNine stopped and turned to face us at the end of the tunnel, door to her back.

“Okay people.” She spun the door lock behind her back. Mock theatrically. “Welcome to the Flightbarn.”

The door swung wide, spilling light and warmth into the dim tunnel. As we filed into the room, I heard a few gasps while Forty whistled long and low through his teeth.

The ‘Flightbarn’ was massive, not Snowglobe massive, but an incredibly large hall. The whole room was a giant half cylinder, that looked like a giant wooden barrel split clean in half down the middle by a giant lumberjack, lain on its side, and repurposed into a building. Wooden rafters webbed the curved ceiling, forming triangles. Black cast iron fasteners connected the beams where they met each-other, walls, and ceilings.

Even the floor was wood, it was a strange sensation stepping out onto it, a stark contrast to the concrete and metal floors of the pole I’d seen so far.

Traditional braziers burned with orange fire, the centre of each flame tinged with a light green glow I had to squint to make out, warming and lighting the room.

To our right, next to the little door we’d entered through, where a set of huge double doors.

Towering and arched, like the ancient main entryway you might find outside a church, complete with chunky iron bands, also painted black. A blocky arched door-frame protruded nearly half a foot into the room past the doors, casting them with a slight shadow from the overhead fires. Simply labelled ‘stables’ in large flowing golden font at the tip of the arch. The opposite end of the semi-cylindrical room had an almost modern looking, garage style, folding door. Painted off-white, with little orange speckles of rust peeling through. It looked incredibly out of place.

But what really drew attention where the sleighs.

Five lined up on the left, and five lined up on the right. Pushed back against the curved wooden walls.

FortyNine set off down the cavernous room, her boots clonking against the floor. We followed like a shadow in the waning sun, slowly stretched out behind her. Sleighs either side of us. Each like they’d all been built by a different hand to the same spec.

Some where substantially showier, with more gilded flowing metal. All where a graceful melding of old fashioned piston-engined plane and a traditional horse-drawn carriage, sitting on silvery skis. A few where more plane, while a few where more traditional carriage, all of them had wings, though some where stubby little things, while others where large. Some wings where plain polished wood, others composed of some kind of canvas, stretched across skeletal wood frames.

One we passed was low, and aerodynamic with a single engine in its middle, it’s propeller emerging from the wooden body just below the front seats, with a long tapering tail. Another was far squarer, with a half roofed canopy, curving up over it’s massive rear bench, almost covering it’s front bench too, shaped rather like a brick. Two massive cylindrical engines bolted underneath, not quite scraping the floor, and two additional tiny engines, hung below each wing, like little bats.

Well, maybe not graceful, they would have been, if they weren’t parked like a drunk learner driver had shoved them roughly up against the walls at odd angles. And if they weren’t quite so… Worse for wear.

Black scorch marks overtook their paint and the faint whiff of hot wood and lingering smoke enveloped me as we neared the centre of the room.

Scrapes and holes marred wooden panelled sides, little piles of snapped discarded wood littering the floor. Dents in the skis meant they leant, unstable, at odd angles. A few had rough jagged tears in their wings, others where missing chunks entirely. Engines with open side panels exposed leaking oil and frayed hoses. Rats-nest wiring exploded from various undercarriages, topped with one or two snapped propeller blades.

“Okay squad, meet the Callingbird.” FortyNine spread her hands grandly with a grin, coming to a stop. “Death trap that she is.” She muttered under her breath, possibly louder than she intended.

“Y-You want us to fly in that?” FortyEight moaned in low disbelief, tugging out strands of short hair either side of his head.

The sleigh was relatively traditional, at one point it had been finished in a deep carmine red, though the paintwork was now dull, and faded. With three open topped rows of bench seats, the rear bench slightly wider than the other two, staggered highest at the back and lowest at the front. While some other sleighs had padded, cushiony seats, this one bore simple carved wood. The front row looked out over a flowing gilded bronze guardrail, about chest height if you where to sit in it. The entire thing balanced precariously on the back of one ski and the front of the other, like someone had warped it into a rough pringle shape, the metal bent in opposite directions.

Two great bronze cylindrical engines, only one of which currently had its propeller installed, sat atop each stubby wooden wing, leaving only little triangular wing tips poking out either side. The stench of burnt lacquer and some kind of oil assaulted us as we drew close. The side without a propeller in particular seemed to be partially dismantled, pieces strewn all over the seats.

There where no seatbelts.

“Santa expects each and every one of his elves to fly with him, and deliver bloody retribution.” FortyNine considered the sleigh, tilting her head to the side. “We’ll wanna fix her up a bit first.”

There was silence as we stood and stared at her as one. She slowly walked up to the sleigh and started inspecting the partially assembled engine, which looked suspiciously like it had spent a rather uncomfortably long portion of it’s running life, on fire.

“I don’t know the first thing about fixing a… a…” FortyFive spread her palms, waving her arms up and down towards the dilapidated ‘CallingBird.’ “… that.” I nodded along with a chorus of bobbing heads backing me up.

“Yeah, you’d think that.” FortyNine flicked her braid onto her back, over her shoulder, pulling at a flap of metal engine cover, which snapped off in her hands, with a rather disgruntled Twock!

She tilted her head to the side momentarily, gesturing to herself with her free hand. “But, you’re an elf now, comes with the territory.” She scowled at whatever she saw inside the engine, and dropped the metal panel against a wonky ski with a Clang! “Okay! Divide and conquer, you, you, you.”

She pointed at me, FortyEight and FortyOne. “You’re with me. We’re on surface defence.”

She turned to face the rest of the group, hands on hips. “You lot can get started on the ‘Bird.” She waved vaguely toward the wonky pile of flying machine. “Each sleigh’s got it’s own mini-workshop.” I craned my head past the sleigh, to follow her pointing finger.

A little steel door in the wall was obscured behind the sleigh.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“Oh fuck you. Aren’t you supposed to like, guide us or some shit? No. Fuck. You.” FortySeven’s voice cracked, pitching higher on the last word, as he stepped slightly closer to FortyOne, waving his arms aggressively towards FortyNine.

Which probably wasn’t as powerful a gesture as he hoped as he only came up to the base of her neck, I bit back the corners of my mouth from twitching into a smile, definitely not the time or place. Especially when really he was right.

FortyNine sighed with clear frustration, tapping her boot, light enough to be inaudible against the wooden floor.

“Look I can’t help with this, sleighs come second.” FortyNine pinched the corners of her eyes with a finger and thumb, scrunching her brow. “Fucking, ThirtySix, bastard couldn’t- Look. It’ll come to you. Just. Break it down. What do you do first?” She held her hand out, as if posing for a perspective photo, where the broken sleigh was balanced in the palm of her hand.

“How do I know? Can’t even see, it’s a fucking mess!” FortySeven vibrated in frustration, waving his hands jerkily over the sleigh.

“So…” FortyTwo piped up, coiling one hand anxiously through her dark curls. “We clean the workspace?”

“Seems a good enough start to me. Okay, you three! With me!” I felt my back unconsciously straighten. Even when, it hadn’t quite been meant in the context, it still felt like FortyNine had just called my name.

I peered back back at the others as the four of us walked towards the huge ornate wooden doors back at the other end of the room. FortySeven scowled, shoving his hands in his pockets as Forty said something I could hear, but only as an unintelligible rumble, gesturing with his hands.

Something big and heavy slammed into the other side of the massive doors with a BANG! Rattling them in their frames, as FortyNine led us past the towering arched doorway, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

A piercing inhuman scream pierced through the ancient wood and stabbed down, deep, into my bones, straight to the marrow, where it latched on, like thousands of skittering, feasting, insects with razor sharp feet.

Whatever it was charged the doors again.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The old wood groaned, protesting like it was about to split from it’s iron hinges. Plumes of dust flittered up off the archway in little grey clouds.

The blood curdling scream came again, high, squealing and cold. Harrowing. Like an icicle being steadily hammered up my throat and deep into my brain.

A soft red glow, emerged out from under the door, pitching and waning. Enveloping our feet.

I took a few steps of to the side, instinctively darting back, like I might have from a puddle of unexpected water. Whatever it was continued, thundering over and over against the door. Thumping, heavy, footsteps thundered, muffled and rapid, a blurry cacophony hidden from view by the doors.

I glanced uneasily behind me, to the rest of the fourth crowded, tight together, round the sleigh, even FortyFour, who’d definitely been giving the impression nothing could phase him, stared in abject horror at the door.

Tension squeezed my chest in time with every thundering BANG! Sending my heart flittering.

FortyEight shivered next to me, peering over FortyOne’s head. FortyOne himself stared glassy eyed, otherwise expressionless, flinching once in time with each bash of the doors, red light reflected in his glasses.

FortyNine was closest. Basked in the glow from the door, completely frozen. Surely she had to know what this was, what we where supposed to do. Far more than me.

Was this normal?

I bit my lip.

It didn’t feel normal.

Whatever it was charged again, the red glow grew more intense, spilled out through the tiny gap between the two locked doors, silhouetting FortyNine in its light.

I swallowed the dry ball of apprehension in my throat, and tensed my stomach as hard as I could, moulding it into steel.

“Hey.”

She didn’t answer.

I glanced down, swallowed again. Then stepped towards her.

The red glow bathed over me, like stepping in close to a glowing grill, heat lapped at my face as I stood basked in the light besides her.

“Miss, um, FortyNine?” She still remained silent, staring at the doors.

I looked her up and down from the side, and shuffled on my feet. The side of my face closest to the doors began to feel uncomfortably dry.

I licked my drying lips and tentatively reached out to shake her shoulder, when she whirled to face me.

I snatched my fingers away, holding them in my other hand against my chest.

“Three?” Her voice was high. Hopeful. I squeezed my other hands together hard.

“Are you okay?” I searched her eyes, she seemed confused, before finally she blinked, refocusing on me.

She glanced back to the doorway as whatever it was screamed again, wide eyes settling back to their regular size, and stepped swiftly out of the light, walking off towards a smaller side door, similar to the one we’d arrived through.

I followed.

“What um?” I motioned back behind myself vaguely as FortyNine approached the little door, standard steel, like countless others across the pole.

The red glow slowly dissipated as soon as we moved away from it, burning low like an ember, barely visible. The screaming continued, gradually growing quieter, more muffled.

Each one sent a sharp pang of terror, followed by gentle bitter loneliness, through my soul.

“Nothing. Just the Stables.” She said matter of quietly. “We’re not on them today.”

The little door squealed as she yanked it wide, revealing another tiny, white painted tunnel, FortyEight would need to stoop to enter. “Come on.”

---

In the centre of the room was an enormous floor to ceiling steel tube, about three feet thick, mounted on a square podium.

An array of four massive cog gears, spindly like the wheels of an old fashioned carriage, suspended the base of the tube from the podium, allowed for the tube to tilt in different directions. Point to the roof at different angles.

I craned my neck towards the towering ceiling, easily thirty, forty, feet. The tube carried on going, straight through the centre of a large circle of what looked like heavy duty canvas. Flexible material. Probably to allow the entire contraption to move without tearing down the roof.

A series of large black hoses connected to silver quick release ports on the sides of the square podium. Some linked up the base to the tube, others ran to sockets in the floor, or snaked over to the various different walls.

“It’s… A gun?” FortyOne asked, straightening up, pinching his glasses by the arm. “A really big gun?”

“Not, technically, no. But it’s a similar principle.” FortyNine shrugged. “Three, be a doll and man control.”

“What?”

FortyNine pointed up, at the corner of the room.

An incredibly thin, skinny metal ladder, unsupported against any wall, protruded from the concrete floor, and finished at the towering ceiling. With a little round hatch at the top.

My stomach fell as I whirled back towards FortyNine, slightly too preoccupied to intentionally form facial expressions.

“Oh.” FortyNine stared at me, with one hand behind her head, awkwardly fiddling with her braid. “Oh. I didn’t. I.”

FortyOne glanced between me and her, FortyEight hovering over his head, as she stepped carefully away from them, drawing slightly closer to me. “Is it too high?” She murmured toward me under baited breath, muscles tense in her neck.

I swallowed, and glanced fleetingly towards the other elves curious gazes. FortyOne raised an eyebrow. I looked back at her, eyes pleading like a deer in headlights beneath the confident veneer. With the barest of movements, I shook my head left to right.

She visibly deflated with relief. FortyOne frowned over her shoulder as she backed away towards him.

I shot him a weary smile and a shrug, took a shaky breath and walked over towards the ladder.

Why, me, why. She’d just looked so. I don’t know. Pitiful?

Like the facade of command she’d been trying to put on for us had accidentally slipped, and she wasn’t entirely sure where that had left her.

I gripped the ladder hard, cold steel beneath my shaky fingers, both feet still firmly planted on the concrete floor.

FortyNine acted really weird around me in general, ever since I’d first woken up. It had felt like she was slipping in and out of familiarity.

Ugh. I glanced back over my shoulder, FortyNine was pointing out a series of valves at the base of the large podium to FortyEight. She caught my gaze momentarily with a concerned scrunch of her eyes.

I gulped and looked back up the ladder. Me and my bleeding heart.

I took a deep breath, and held it, tensing up my stomach. The ladder wobbled in time with the flutters of my heart with each rung I climbed, dragging my hands up the sides so I would never have to, at any point, let go.

But it was still just a ladder, nothing at all like the Snowglobe, with none of the paralysing menace.

This didn’t mean that by the time I swung open the hatch at the top, my lungs hadn’t screamed for air, I wriggled my way through several feet of solid concrete tube, as dark spots flickered at the corners of my vision.

With a gasp I collapsed through a second steel hatch at the top, onto a freezing grated floor, finally, letting out my lungs.

As I pushed myself up off the grated floor, shallow breath misting in the air before me, light flowed spindly through the floor hatch behind me, revealing a tiny room, barely bigger than one of the pole’s countless storage cupboards.

A miniature stamped steel armchair was mounted on springs faced away from me. I’d probably need to climb over it, to access the bank of valve handles, taps, levers and pipes it blocked, barely an inch of space either side to prevented its arms from hugging the walls.

The ceiling was an odd, dark, concave dome, as if someone had taken a storage cupboard, cut an exercise ball in half, and plopped it on top. No light, nor even lights which could have provided it, to be seen.

The air felt musty, still and dead. Yet… Strangely nostalgic.

Like I’d disturbed a place I’d once known. The hidden nooks and crannies of a childhood haunt, long since forgotten.

The trap door swung closed with a CLANG! Behind me, making me jump, as I was plunged into nearly complete darkness, save the little lines of bright light peeking from below past the trapdoors little square frame.

I took a single step into the room, and leant towards the control panels, my weight steadied with a hand over the back of the chair.

It felt like…

I ran my hand down a pipe on my left, leaving finger trails in the dust.

Hmm…

A wooden handle concealed a lever in the gloom, parallel to the pipe. I grabbed it and wrenched it down with a solid thonk!

Something hissed in the walls, before fading once more into silence.

“Three! Any luck?” FortyNine’s voice carried, faint and muffled, through the hatch behind me from far below.

“Err.” What was I even supposed to be doing in here? “No?” I called back, opening the hatch again, the stuffy little room flooded with light, just as my eyes had began to adjust to the gloom.

“Oh. Hang on, main spirit’ line’s dead.” She called back up, without looking at me.

I grabbed the frame of the hatch tight as the floor swam far below me, threatening to pull me through the hole, and leant my head as far away from the horrible drop as I could.

FortyNine cracked a heavy hose loose off the base of the huge podium, by kicking at it with her heel, before taking off towards a corner of the room, letting the hose clatter to the ground.

FortyOne shrugged exaggeratedly up at me with both his hands parallel to the ceiling. I motioned a shrug back with my free hand, still clinging to the latch with the other as FortyNine came back, rolling a massive cylindrical metal canister nearly as big as she was, painted black, with a circular turquoise pressure valve stamped into it’s middle, behind a little circle of glass.

“And a ‘Spirit. Line.’ Is?” FortyOne ran a hand back through his short ginger hair, apprehension in his voice, as he nudged the hose FortyNine had left, alone, on the floor with his foot.

“This.” FortyNine propped her foot against the cannister, and pulled back, heaving it upright like she was erecting an old canvas tent. “Is Christmas Spirit.”

She spoke loudly, clearly. Possibly for my benefit, up in my perch.

She cracked the valve at the top of the cannister, twisting it sideways, and pulled out an inbuilt collapsible hose. “Whole place runs on the stuff. There’s a big ol’ mine, full of it, way below the pole.” She knelt down and clipped the cannister up to the hole where she’d disconnected the hose earlier, thwacking it into place with the palm of her hand. “Try not to breathe any in. Makes you go a ‘lil.” She made a face, twiddling both index fingers in circles either side of her head.

FortyEight took a small step back from the cannister with a frown.

Suddenly whirring fans started, somewhere above my head, followed by a heavy thrum.

I felt warmth across the back of my neck, radiating from somewhere above me. I dropped the hatch and turned back around, it bounced once as it swung closed behind me, once more pitching me into darkness.

But, only momentarily.

The black dome above my head began to grow lighter round the middle, turning a lighter and lighter grey, and finally white. I gasped, involuntarily touching my fingertips to my mouth as a tiny pinprick of light appeared at the centre of the dome and I realised what I was peering up at.

The dome was glass, nearly two feet thick, and on the outside.

Snow.

Slowly melting off. Thawing. The tiny hole slowly growing in size.

Which meant the light.

I lurched forwards, scrambling over the back of the chair, and stood atop the metal seat.

I steadied myself against the glass with both hands.

Warm, almost hot, to the touch.

This close I was able to see a little thread of wire in an intricate pattern of snowflakes, embedded in the glass.

I put my right eye right up to the little hole steadily melting through the outside snow cover, and blinked furiously against the light.

It was!

Sunlight!

The sun sat low against a calming sky of the brightest most beautiful blue, surpassing every memory I had. The sun dyed the horizon, bleeding mingled streaks of deep oranges and magentas. Wispy whispers of cloud, like tiny patches of cotton, linked the earth to the heavens, vibrant colour soaking into their fluffy white.

“Hey Three! Anything working? You got power?” FortyNine called from below. Her voice muffled through the closed steel.

“… Yeah!” I shouted back after a moment, not even bothering to move, or open the hatch. Unable to wrench my eyes away.

My tiny little window into the outside world grew. Rivulets of slush beaded, and raced one another down the outsides of the glass.

I could feel a huge stupid smile overtake my face, but I didn’t care.

The spring mounted chair creaked beneath me as I went up onto my tiptoes.

Rolling sheets of stark white snow stretched in every direction I looked. Icy outcroppings and cliffs, rose to one side in the distance, cutting off the horizon. An endless expanse on the other, fields of ice and snow So vast! It made the entirety of the pole seem like a homely little cabin.

Flecks of snowy powder trilled just a few feet off the ground, carried on silent winds, twirling over me behind the glass, as my little dome jutted no more than a foot out above ground level.

I extended a hand directly over my head, and placed it flat against the ceiling, I may have been trapped still. But those few inches of me where out. Above the surface.

I giggled, my voice was unexpectedly high maybe, ‘pretty’ even. I giggled again. But in that moment I just didn’t care, my heart soared with the sky, a giddy, floating feeling, fluttered somewhere just below my ribs, heat rose up inside my chest to the base of my neck.

As the giggling burbled to a stop, warm at the bottom of my belly I gently sighed, and felt the weak warmth of waning light on my cheeks. The sun peeking through my fingers on the glass.

I smiled again. Small, but content.

Silhouetted against the gorgeous blue sky above.