Let's Enjoy the Party!

It was Christmas Eve, and Stacy was in a random man’s apartment, hooked up to what looked like an electric chair while her cousin Genie waited down the street. 

“Santa!” Stacy cried as the machine flared to life, a halo of sparks around her and the ceiling lights flickering, while her maddened, wide eyes stared at a can of Coke on the table. 

“Yes! Yes!” a man in a lab coat shouted excitedly, jumping up and down. 

The dingy, ancient apartment had peeling, faded, ornate wallpaper from the 1920s and was so small that even Stuart Little would’ve called it a hovel. It could only fit a mini-coffee table and the massive machine—a rusted chair with torn leather cushions, wreathed in countless cables and surrounded by computer boxes covered in anime bikini girl stickers.

Suddenly, the man pulled a lever, and the machine shut off with a low hum, leaving them in darkness. 

“Did it work?” Stacy whispered, her voice trembling.

“I don’t hear screams down the street, so I think so.”

The man’s name was Jeremy. He worked in advertising for a big tech company, tracking search history and spying on people through their webcams to see their preferred brands. With the savings he had accrued, he bought a cheap apartment in a developing neighborhood in the city for his experiments. Six months ago, Jeremy created what he simply titled The Machine—his goal to use A.I. to bring thoughts to life, tangible enough to touch. Using The Machine, you could summon anyone, living or dead, real or fictional, into your living room (provided it is fire or explosion-proof, in case the need arises) for any reason—entertainment, intellectual, and more. The possibilities—and the money—were endless. He could taste dollars in his morning cereal. Jeremy, however, hadn’t used it yet for fear of what could go wrong. 

Then, earlier, Stacy was shouting with Genie in the street outside Jeremy’s apartment. Their hired Santa actor couldn’t make it, and Genie’s young daughter’s Christmas party had already started. Geni was incredibly wealthy, unlike Stacy, but also stingy, and her daughter was extraordinarily demanding. The place she lived in was similar to those around it and not quite lavish, despite her penthouse attitude. 

“Just hire another one!” Stacy had argued, yelling in the middle of the sidewalk at Genie, who stood by the open door. 

“I’m not spending another dime for your mistakes!”

Stacy threw up her arms. “How is this my fault?”

“You’re the one who hired him—with my money, might I add!”

“It’s not my fault Santa is sick! Did you even read the email he sent? He has Herpes! Santa can’t have Herpes!” 

Genie’s daughter, who had appeared behind her, tugged her mother’s pant leg. “What’s Herpes, Mama?”

Genie pushed her back inside and turned to Stacy. “Herpes or not, we need another Santa. You owe me, Stacy. I’m always paying for your shit. I know your last girlfriend didn’t turn out to be Princess Charming, and you’re searching for a replacement, but you haven’t paid your bills in months. That’s not sexy. Find yourself a sugar mama, Mama.”

Then, Jeremy appeared, crossing the street and tentatively raising his hand. “If I may interject, I believe I have a solution.”

“Or get you a sugar daddy,” Genie said to Stacy, clicking her teeth and shutting the door.

Stacy had seen Jeremy around before. He was rail-skinny with a prepubescent-like pencil mustache. Spots of acne colored his cheeks. Twenty-two years old seemed like a bad joke, but she thought he was charming. With her short blue haircut, patchwork tattoos, leather skirts, and graffitied boots, Stacy was just as much an outsider as him. Besides, she was deeply in debt to her cousin and would’ve gone to Jeremy’s apartment to solve the Santa problem anyway, no matter what kind of man he was.

“So, how does it work?” Stacy asked, arms crossed, looking at the machine.

“All you need to do is sit down and put this headset on-” Jeremy said, handing her a steel skullcap attached to cables, “and picture in your head for a few seconds what you need—Santa, in this case—and where he should be. Then, I turn on the machine and wait as the company database processes your thoughts. Finally—I’m not totally sure how—your thought appears in the real world, roughly how and where you imagined.”

“What do you mean ‘roughly?’ Has there been issues?”

Jeremy shrugged. “We’ll see. It should be fine—A.I. rarely makes significant mistakes.”

“How do we get rid of the thing we summoned?”

“We’ll have to see about that, too. I’ll explain later.”

His coffee table was more like a wooden doormat, thin and low to the ground, littered with empty beer bottles. Clearing them off, they bounced on the stained carpet as Jeremy grabbed a can of Coke from the kitchen. A print of Santa drinking the beverage was on the side. 

“Here, concentrate on that,” Jeremy said, pointing to the can and going over to a lever on the wall as Stacy prepared.

After they used the machine, she heard a slight buzzing and shakily rose, removing the headset. “Let’s go see what happened.”

Frozen puddles and sleet greeted them as they stepped into the icy air. “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” boomed from a house a few blocks away, near Genie’s. Thick snow fell, and salt crunched under their feet as Stacy and Jeremy stayed close, slinking through the inky darkness between the dim streetlights. Genie answered the door angrily.

“Can you believe those hooligans?” she asked, pointing to the music-blaring house down the street. “You know, I’ve seen them before. They’re a gay couple—two men—on food stamps.”

“Genie-”

“Hold on. Every weekend, I see those guys bring their groceries from Aldi,” (Genie practically spat when saying Aldi) “trying to carry a thousand bags on each arm. Sometimes, they fall over, and I just look at them, knowing they’re just trying to make a scene about how difficult their lives are. Now this damn music. Everything is about attention. I’m sick of it.”

“Okay, Genie,” Stacy said, shivering and clinging to Jeremy, “but what about Santa? Is he here?”

Genie smirked. “You two have clearly gotten along.”

“Genie.”

“Yeah, Santa made it. Jesus, you can stop now.”

“Thank god,” Stacy sighed. “I don’t even have the energy to fight your attitude anymore. I’m exhausted.”

“Why? Was a phone call really that difficult?” Genie asked. “Herpes isn’t a huge deal unless Santa kissed people, but this is a children’s party, so that would be a whole different issue.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“What? He’s in there.”

Stacy pushed past Genie and ran inside. She saw Santa sitting in the dining room, surrounded by a crowd of kids, milk and cookies in hand. There were sores around his lips.

“Oh, lord,” she muttered, turning and running into Jeremy.  “Where the hell is our Santa?”

“I don’t know, but listen,” Jeremy said, grabbing her shoulders and looking her in the eyes, “who cares, Stacy? Let’s enjoy our Christmas.”

“I just met you! And what’re you talking about? You and my cousin are both lunatics! And Santa, too, apparently!”

Stacy dashed back outside. The music had died. Some sort of commotion was happening at the other house. Genie cheered, and Stacy walked up to see what was going on. Instantly, she was horrified. Through the window was the Santa she had summoned—his face warped, and his skin discolored and yellow. He stood over a man he had just knocked out, his knuckles bloody, and a beer in his other hand—the same one from Jeremy’s apartment. The two neighbors and the other party-goers clutched grocery bags and hit him with them to no effect.

“My god,” Stacy said hushedly, her hand over her mouth.

Realizing they wouldn’t win, the men ran out screaming, and Santa sat back, sipping his beer and laughing heartily.

“I guess you looked at the wrong can,” Jeremy chuckled behind her. 

“I thought you said A.I. didn’t make mistakes?”

“No significant mistakes.”

“That’s a massive difference!”

“What does it matter? Would you prefer Santa to be in our house, beating up kids?”

“I’d prefer if he didn’t beat up anyone!”

“Kick their ass, Santa!” Genie joyfully yelled in the distance, walking back to the house, her fist in the air. “Stacy, Jeremy, come on back inside!”

Stacy grabbed Jeremy. “Get rid of that Santa immediately.”

“About that,” he chuckled, “I can’t.”

Stacy leaned forward, stunned. “What?”

“Come on, guys!” Genie called again, her voice echoing. “Let’s enjoy the party!”