Elf Off the Shelf

From the beginning, there had only ever been one rule: Don’t let anyone see you move. But after what I saw tonight, I was afraid I was going to have to break that rule.

The Dunken’s house was full of people. From inside Mrs. Mitchell’s purse, I carefully peeked out through the open zipper and saw dozens of recognizable faces, people who had come over to pick up Oliver and Sklyer’s friends over the years. They were all laughing and eating and drinking merrily. Despite Christmas having already passed – this I knew because Mrs. Mitchell had already put me away for the season, which made it even more exciting when she had come back to retrieve me again so soon – everyone was dressed festively in gold, green, and red. The Christmas tree was still brightly shining, and stockings still hung on the mantle above a lit fireplace. Jingle tunes buzzed across the room, and the smell of spiced cider simmered about.

As I scanned the festive room, delighting in all its magic, I spotted a familiar face. But it was not just any face, no, this face looked quite like mine. So much like mine, in fact, I was certain it was mine! But was it possible? Another one of us had been granted access to such an exclusive event, after Christmas? What were the odds?

It took all my training and discipline – much like the effort I’d put forth when Mr. Mitchell accidently dropped me in the toilet a few years back – not to call out and wave to my North Pole brother. Our mission had always been deemed a solo one; we’d known from the start that once we were sent off, it would be unlikely for us to see another of our kind again. Instead of calling out, I admired my fellow soldier for his composure and his stillness. His Mr. and Mrs. had him out for all to see, not that we weren’t used to being put on display (that was a rather big part of our job). But never had any of us – so I'd thought – been brought to an event like this. I imagined he was as gleeful and giddy about the whole thing as I was, but from where I watched, you’d never be able to tell. The sign of a strong soldier, indeed.

Suddenly, a loud clinking sound echoed through the room. With a tap, tap, tap of his glass, Mr. Dunken had silenced the bustling crowd. 

 “Good evening, everyone! I’m so delighted you’re all here!” He bellowed. “I’m pleased to welcome you to our third annual Elf-Off-the-Shelf ceremony, where we, dedicated and loving parents, get to liberate ourselves from this torturous and time-consuming holiday tradition now that our children have outgrown their childish beliefs in the magic of Christmas!” A loud cheer erupted across the room, but I didn’t understand what they were cheering about. Liberate themselves? What holiday tradition?

“Tonight, we have two families who will be liberated, the Halberrys and the Mitchells. Please, give these lovely couples a congratulatory round of applause for their long years of shelving their elves!” Another roar rose across the room, and it was then that I realized why Mrs. Mitchell had brought me here.

Suddenly, I felt heavy. Heavier than I felt on the days when Mrs. Mitchell unboxed me, having grown stiff after months of storage. Heavier than Mr. Mitchell when he accidentally sat on me. I dropped down below the zipper of the purse, letting the darkness and the realization consume me. They’ve come to liberate themselves from me.

But what did that mean?

I heard Mr. Dunken start talking again, so I lifted my head up out of the zipper.

“Would any either of you like to go first?” Mr. Dunken stared towards Sarah Halberry on the other side of the room, and just as he was about to look in my direction, Sarah cried out.

“I would!” Her hand was raised and flailing. Her enthusiasm stung, and I hoped Mrs. Mitchell would not be so thrilled to part from me. Surely, she wouldn’t be, right? I snuck a peek at her face, but it was unreadable. Her eyes were glued on Sarah, who clutched my twin, Polly, between her fingers. Still, he did not flinch.

What are they going to do with him?

Chuckling at her enthusiasm, Mr. Dunken said, “Well, come on up here, darling. Bring ole Polly with you for everyone to see.”

With Sarah now at Mr. Dunken’s side, he began: “Well, Sarah, I can tell you’re excited to get on with it, but we’ve got a few things to get through before we say goodbye to little Polly. Tell us, you dedicated how many years to this little guy?”

“Seventeen years!” Now, Sarah was holding Polly displayed on the palm of her hand, oscillating her arm from left to right to show the whole room his face.

“Woah! Seventeen years?! You must have started right when these little guys came out, huh?”

Sarah nodded proudly, but her eyes seemed to say something darker, nearly bulging out of her head. “I sure did!”

“Well, that’s just fantastic. Really, really fantastic. So, let’s see here, huh, can you tell me one of your favorite memories with Polly?” Mr. Dunken asked.

“Hmmmm, my favorite memory?” Sarah stopped turning and pulled Polly closer to herself, inspecting him. I noticed her face soften as her memory scanned the past, and I couldn’t help think about my own favorite memory with the Mitchells, remembering the time she moved me into the fridge. It’d been a cold night in there, but when Oliver found me in the morning clutching an empty pickle jar, his childish giggles warmed me right up. And when he and Skyler told Mrs. Mitchell that I’d climbed into the fridge and ate all the pickles, Mrs. Mitchell pretended she knew nothing about it. That was the moment I fell in love with the Mitchell family, and that was why I was having such a hard time understanding why the Mitchells were planning to get rid of me. We were part of their families, didn’t they see that?

“I guess it would have to be the time I wrapped one of his legs with tissue paper and wrote a little sign next to him that said, ‘In recovery! I’ll be healed in three days!’ Ugh, it was such a relief not to have to move him for half a week!” The room exploded with more applause and cheering. I’d remembered when Mrs. Mitchell had done something similar, setting me up on a small towel underneath a houseplant. Her note had said that I was on a vacation, and that I’d be back the next day. I’d appreciated the break – having to hold still in all sorts of poses around the house is not exactly easy – but I’d thought she was doing it to relieve me, a kind reward for all my hard work.

“Very creative, Sarah, and those of us who are still shelving our elves certainly have a lot to learn from your innovative ideas, don't we? Now, care to indulge us in your worst memory with Polly? We like to end on a bad note, as it tends to make the final goodbye a little easier,” Mr. Dunken chuckled. Something about the way he said “final goodbye” made me uncomfortable, and Mrs. Halberry’s sinister smile only made me feel worse.

“The worst memory with Polly?” I watched as she squeezed Polly in her hands, and it felt as if I were the one between her tense grip. “Now, that’s easy.” The pause in her words held the room nearly silent, save for the crackling of the fire. It was not like the magical silence of stockings waiting to be filled by Santa on Christmas Eve, rather, it was full of darkness. I couldn’t take my eyes off of Mrs. Halberry and poor Polly so helpless in her hands.

And then he wasn’t in her hands anymore. I’d barely heard Mrs. Halberry say, “All of it,” before I saw Polly soaring in midair towards the fireplace, his smile brightly intact as he was flung into the flames. I watched, speechless, horrified, trembling, as Polly landed amidst the blazing inferno. The fire popped and bloomed as it devoured him, engulfing his hat and body instantly in vicious heat. My eyes begged me to make it stop, but I couldn't look away. I wanted to scream, “Nooo!”, to leap out of Mrs. Mitchell’s purse and lunge to Polly’s rescue, but I was frozen in my terror. Why was nobody doing anything? Why did nobody stop that wretched Mrs. Halberry? How could they let…

That’s when the sounds of celebration finally registered. They were cheering. They were whooping and hollering. I peeked a glance at Mrs. Mitchell and almost fainted at the sight of her. She was clapping. Smiling, even. What was this party of horror? Who was this woman I had dedicated my existence to? This was certainly not the Mrs. Mitchell I knew! This was…

“Well done!” Mr. Dunken guffawed, patting Mrs. Halberry on the shoulder. “Guess you were too eager to wait for the formalities, huh, Sarah? Feels good, doesn’t it?” She was jumping up and down and clapping next to him, a smile as grand as a child’s on Christmas morning. Monster. She was a monster. “Alright, alright, dear. The whole party thanks you for your contribution – and your entertainment. Why don’t you go join Paul, and we’ll invite the Mitchell’s up here for their liberation, shall we?”

If my heart had been working, it wasn’t anymore. I dropped back into Mrs. Mitchell’s purse, unsure if I had the discipline to conceal my terror. Somewhere inside me I knew the truth, but I couldn’t fight my denial from at least trying: Would the Mitchells really kill me?

Mrs. Mitchell’s hand found me and pulled me from my dark haven. In that moment, time seemed to slow down. Not like how it does on Christmas to assist’s Santa’s impossible task, but like the sensation of fear, where every minute movement and sensation feels important because you’re unsure if it will be your last. I had hoped all of it would be revealed as a dream, but as I rose out from the zipper, I saw the same malevolent faces, all of them staring hungrily in my direction. I’d had no context for such evils – had not even fathomed such perversities could exist around Christmas – and yet, there I was, the target of a ruthless and angry mob of parents.

Mrs. Mitchell was quicker and peppier than I’d expected her to be, scurrying towards the front of the fireplace, eager for her turn at murderous betrayal. I did the only thing I knew how to do, the only thing I’d been trained to do: I remained still, sitting poised and cheerful in her hands as she showed me off to the pack of wolves like a sliced Christmas ham.

“This is Skipper! We got him when our oldest was two and a half, so he’s been a tradition in our home for nearly fourteen years. I was so relieved when Skyler told me she no longer cared for the stupid thing!” Gasp! What an awful thing to say! “Carla told me about this little ceremony she conjured up a few years ago, and since then, I just couldn’t wait for my day to come!”

A murmur was rising in the crowd when Mr. Mitchell made his way to Mrs. Mitchell’s side. He wrapped his arm around her waist and said, “Oh come on, dear. You’re not even a little sad about it? It’s the end of an era.” People snickered, and Mr. Mitchell’s smile grew wide. I recognized his joking tone, but now it felt like pure mockery. It made me wish I’d never forgiven him for leaving me in the bathroom that day.

Mrs. Mitchell tilted her head in consideration and placed a hand on Mr. Mitchell’s face. “Aw, honey. There’s a lot about the kids being little that I’ll miss, but this isn’t one of them. Maybe if you’d been more helpful…” She pinched his cheek, and they both giggled like mischievous beasts plotting their most vile acts.

“I helped!” Mr. Mitchell defended. This time, it was mostly just the men in the room who laughed.

“You moved him twice, in fourteen years!”

“They were great hiding places!”

Mrs. Mitchell scoffed. “The toilet is not what I consider a great place, Sam.”

“Okay, that time didn’t count. I brought him to the bathroom with me and forgot about him.”

“More to my point – you weren’t helpful!” Mrs. Mitchell pecked Mr. Mitchell on the lips. “It’s OK. I still love you. But you’ll forgive me for being a little excited to not have to do this anymore.”

Mr. Dunken slung an arm around Mrs. Mitchell’s shoulder. “Alright, you two, I can see you’re just as eager as Sarah was, so should we get on with it then? We know Skipper’s name, and I’m assuming your worst memory with him was this, uh, toilet incident, is that right, Sam? Are there any good memories with Skipper you care to share before your final goodbye?”

Lifeless in her hands, I willed her to remember all our good times together. They had to have been real to her; they had to have meant something the way I know they meant something not just to me, but to Skyler and Oliver. Remember their little faces, lit up each morning at the surprise of my new location? Remember how happy they were when Thanksgiving ended because they knew I would arrive soon? I’d brought joy to them for fourteen years, how was it possible that they could throw me away?

“Well, there was one thing…” Mrs. Mitchell’s voice trailed off. I felt her grip loosen slightly and a sparkle of hope twinkled in my soft, fluff-filled belly as she turned me in her hands to face her. Lifting me up to her eye level, she stared directly into mine, and I saw a thousand memories swirling around her glistening green eyes. I’d always thought they looked like the most beautiful holiday wreaths in the world. I’d admired them so many times, but this time, I begged her to return the favor. Which moment was she remembering now? The time I “mowed the lawn”? Or the time I “built a gingerbread house and ate part of the roof”? Whatever point in our past it was, I wondered if it would be enough to change her mind about all of this…

“Oh, nevermind! All of it was just silly, and I’m so relieved to be done with it!”

“Yeah!” the crowd cheered, and my heart sank lower than the thermostat at the North Pole. She was really going to go through with it. What was I going to do? I heard Mr. Dunken spouting off more jokes, and I knew I was losing time. If I didn’t do anything soon, I was about to be tossed into the fireplace alongside my now molten friend, Polly. Poor Polly. Had he even an inkling of what his fate had in store for him? Had he loved and trusted the Halberrys as I had loved and trusted the Mitchells? I had not known him well, but I’d like to believe that if he’d had any idea about what they were going to do to him, he would have done something to stop it. Even if it meant breaking the number one rule.

I was still gazing into Mrs. Mitchell’s eyes when I saw her lips beginning to form the words “goodbye.” It was then that I decided I wouldn’t let this happen. It was then that I broke my stillness. I leaned forward and slapped her across the face.

“How dare you!” I huffed, and the sound of my own voice shocked me, for it had been many years since I heard it. “I thought we were family, but families don’t burn other members of their family!”

With my voice being so high-pitched and quiet, it took a moment for everyone to realize what was happening. But once they saw Mrs. Mitchell’s face, frozen in an expression of horror, the room fell deafly silent.

“Skipper?” Mrs. Mitchell breathed.

But by then, I was already out of her hands. I jumped up onto the fireplace mantle and raced across it. I grabbed ahold of some tinsel garland and flew myself across the room towards the Christmas tree, grateful that this one still had its star-shaped tree topper. I remembered long, long ago when Santa had warned us that if we’d ever had an emergency, it was the tree toppers that could quickly transport us to safety. The fear that they might catch me fueled my speed, and quickly, I climbed through the branches, the ornaments, and the string of lights all the way up to the top, feeling every single malicious eye searing through my back.

Once I finally reached the top, I was breathless. I turned to face the room of malevolent demons and realized my fear had been unwarranted. None of them had moved an inch since I’d sprang into action. Every single one of them was frozen, mouth agape, and staring, as petrified as I had been watching from within Mrs. Mitchell’s purse. I even saw Sarah peek towards Polly’s ashen remains in the fireplace. I scanned the faces of them all and when I landed on the Mrs. Mitchell, I narrowed my eyes.

“You owe Skyler and Oliver a jar of pickles,” I said. Then I placed my hand on the glistening star atop the Dunken’s Christmas tree, and like a sudden stroke of magic, it was I who was finally liberated.