Elf Unshelved

   My twisted legs are jammed up into my face, my right arm stuck behind my head, and my hat has been covering half my face for what feels like forever. Darkness surrounds me, with no way of knowing when I’ll get out of here. Will it be today? Tomorrow? The glimmer of hope that it could be any day now is the only thing I have to look forward to. I look to my right and see an equally mangled body, pressed precariously against the side of the box we’re trapped in. 

     “How are you doing over there?” I ask. 

     “I’m fine, really. Just thinking about what day it might be, and what day we might be released!” she answers in her sing-song chirpy voice. 

     “I think it’s going to be soon,” I say, as reassuringly as possible, yet not quite knowing if I believe it myself. 

     Just then, a sound echoes through the room outside our prison. This could be it. This could really be the day! 

     “Come out, come out, wherever you are, my little friends!” a familiar voice calls out. 

     Its her! It’s the mom! She’s come for us at last! I thought back to last year when she wandered the basement for hours not remembering where we were. I mean, is it really that hard to remember where you put things from just a year ago? Luckily, she finally found us. Makes me nervous now that one of these Christmases she will forget completely. She’s not getting any younger. 

     Suddenly, the box lifts quickly into the air. We are shuffled from our positions, and able to stretch at last! 

     Light bursts into our eyes as the mom opens the two brown flaps enclosing us. “It’s time! It’s time!” I say to Sparkle. 

     The mom lifts me out, turning me slowly in her hand. “Why hello, Happy! Did you have a nice rest? I hope so. You’ll be busy for the next month! Now, where’s Sparkle?” She says, puttting me down gently on the table. She reaches in and takes Sparkle in her hand next. 

     “Ok guys, it’s showtime!” she says and carries us upstairs from the basement. It’s the first night, so we will be bringing the kids Advent Calendars as usual. The kind with the doors that open and chocolate awaits each day. 

     The mom places us on the piano, the advent calendars displayed in front. Images of Santa, reindeer, a snowman, and a snowy winter scene cover the calendar fronts. I can just make out the perforated doors with numbers that the children will open each day. 

     Sparkle is in her glory. She loves the excitement, the looks on four bright faces each day as they search the house to find us. The cheers and laughter when they finally do. 

     Sighing, I remain frozen in my spot. It’s against the rules to move when they can see us. A violation will mean immediate return to the North Pole, no questions asked. That would be for later, under the ruling of the High Elf. I’ve been careful all these years, I’m not about to violate the Movement Rule now. 

     She’s gone. Finally. The lights are now out, and I can move freely! I jump down from the high piano to the floor, soundlessly. Or so I thought. Morris, their old cat, wanders in when he hears me. 

     “Hey, Morris. How’s it going?” I ask as I walk by the orange tabby. He yawns, uninterested, then jumps to the couch to snuggle in the flannel buffalo check blanket laying in the corner. 

     I head for the kitchen, Sparkle still perched on the piano. She’ll stay there. She’s obedient and simple. Not one to cause mischief or trouble. I laugh thinking of her face over the years as I wreak havoc around this place. 

     “Happy! You can’t do that!” she’d yell. 

     “Just watch me, sweetheart!” I’d laugh. 

     I had been plotting since last Christmas a whole laundry list of things I’d do once the mom released us again. Tonight would be the first on my list. I called it “Pantry Pandemonium!” I couldn’t help but laugh as I slid open the white pantry door, and gazed at all the shelves of food. I inched my way up to the first shelf, the cereal and breakfast items. Walking in a straight line, I kicked each box down to the floor. Raisin Bran rained down, followed by a flurry of Frosted Flakes. A full cylindrical container of oatmeal crashed with a thud. I jumped down into the mess and began skating around the scattered pieces. I spread them all over the floor of the pantry and even out into the tile of the kitchen. I debated the second shelf, but was quite proud of what I’d created with the first shelf so moved on to the refrigerator. 

     Tugging on the door, I felt a rush of cold sweep over my face. Looking around at what to work with, I decided to grab some food coloring from the pantry and make the milk more fun. A lovely Christmas green would be perfect. 

     After Grinching the milk, I scurried up to the carton of eggs on the second shelf. I tossed a few onto the floor, then drew faces on the rest. 

     I checked the clock on the stove. Not much time left tonight. I’d need to get back in position before the kids woke up. I turned to gaze upon my masterpiece. Not bad for the first night. And plenty more to go. I smiled. 

     But then, this mischief was getting rather boring. The thrills weren’t what they used to be. Making messes, drawing faces, year after year. I needed more. 

     I glanced over at the knife block, sitting innocently near the stove. A series of seven blades, each one sharper than the next. I wondered what I could do with one of those. I wondered if…

      “Happy? Are you out there? You better hurry back! They’ll be waking up soon!” Sparkle nervously called out from atop the piano. 

     I looked again at the knives, and let darkness coat my thoughts like icing on a sugar cookie. I climbed back into position, much to Sparkle’s relief. Tomorrow was another night. I slowly turned my head toward the kitchen. Seven blades…each one sharper than the next…