Greasy Street

By definition, it couldn't be called a road. It was more like a
valley, with piles of dirty ice and snow piled up beside each side, the
result of the plow that scraped through like a glacier. There were
patches of pavement, places that tires could catch just before it
seemed like spinning out seemed inevitable, an oasis of control in the
frozen desert of Fairydale Road.

These patches were being overcome by the wind. The snow and sleet had
mercifully stopped, but the wind was tugging one mound of snow across
the road to meet the other, making for slender white fingers that grew
longer and thicker until the valley would be gone, and hope would be
lost for the unfortunate traveler.

When winter came, Fairydale road became almost as mystical and
unreachable as the name itself suggested. It was a shortcut, a way to
save almost twenty miles, a direct link from highway 55 right into the
backdoor of Trenton, where Jerry was going to spend his Christmas
holiday.

During the winter, the old men in Trenton who liked to piss away their
mornings at the Caf? referred to it as "greasy street." Funnily enough,
there were never any accidents to talk about. Perhaps because only a
precious few travelers would brave it, and those who lived on the road
itself were equipped with heavy duty farming trucks.

Jerry was equipped with a Ford Explorer. A black one. It moved heavily
in the night, bouncing over the swollen fingers of snow, and they
seemed to moan in disagreement, perhaps even pain. But Jerry knew that
it was only the wind making those howling noises. At least he
hoped.

It was a frightening experience to take the shortcut, but it was a
calcuatled risk for him. He knew he had the firepower to get through
with his Explorer. He knew he was late, and he knew the road well
because he used to live in Trenton with his family. Now he had his own
family, but his children were back home in the company of their mother
and a warm fire. Replacing them in the back seat were presents. Bows
carefully tied by his wife, and a d?cor of wrapping paper that looked
decidedly satirical in the darkness of the back seat. It was as if they
were peeking out of the darkness, like those patches that used to peek
from the ice he was now navigating.

The stretch of road wasn't all that long, but it seemed that way as his
top speed could only reach about twenty miles an hour, safely. Now it
was getting harder to see the strips of snow that were beginning to
conquor the vally, the wind was creating swirls of white dust just
above the path. Through the low beams of the headlights, they looked
like a hurricane on a doplar weather map, the only difference was that
the swirls were moving very fast, and their color was even more
grey.

Jerry adjusted his speed accordingly. The radio was off in an effort to
concentrate just a bit more. The wipers were on as a precaution.

The last thing he wanted to do was get in an accident. He wasn't as
worried about walking through sub zero temperatures as he was about
damaging his mother's perfect Christmas. If he were late, she would be
bouncing off of the walls and all holiday cheer would be lost.

Just when it seemed as if the valley would slowly collapse around him
until his tires could proceed no more, the woods approached, and with
it, some relief could come.

Fairydale road carved right through a small wooded section, and Jerry
slowly curved into the haven. The trees stood beside him on either
side, taller than the walls of ice, and more powerful. Here the fingers
could not live, for the wind could not penetrate the trees to stretch
them out. The road was passable, and the air was mostly calm around
him. However, the road itself was still stirring with clouds of fine
ice, and it made it extremely difficult to see the dead deer laying in
the road.

Jerry was concentrating heavily, but by the time he saw it's irregulary
massive carcass, it was too late. He jammed on the brakes, but there
was enough grease to "greasy street" to keep his heavy Explorer rolling
towards the deer, which he struck with considerable force, even at his
safe speed.

Jerry tilted his head back and whispered some rather un-Christmas-y
words, wondering of there was any damage done to his Explorer. After a
moment of deliberation in the rather comfortable climate of his SUV, he
decided to check it out. Besides, the deer would probably need to be
moved in order to continue.

He zipped up, lifted his hood, and slipped into his gloves. The night
greeted him noisily. The howling noises of the wind shook the dead
limbs forty feet above him, and he was shaken by the violence of the
winter weather. He shuffled carefully to the front of his SUV, almost
exhilerated by the cold, and startled by what he saw.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, where the fuck were you during shotgun
season?"

Jerry knelt beside the specimen and examined it a bit more closely.
There was no way this twohundred and fifty pound behemoth could be a
deer. It didn't have a white tail, so he began to examine the rack a
bit. It too was massive.

"This ain't no deer . . ." he whispered. It was something more, perhaps
an Elk. But if there was one thing he knew, it was that there were no
Elk in this area, unless you went to post 557 and observed them
watering themselves on draft beer.

Just when an explanation seemed beyond his realm, when it seemed that
this would become a strange story to relay to his parents when his
journy was completed, he heard something. It was distant, but he could
hear it because it was lower than the tenor of the wind, it was hollow
and hearty, full of bass.

With his ears perked, Jerry concentrated on the sound. It was coming
closer, and it was accompanied by a rustle that could be the snow, or
the limbs being pushed away. Seconds later he could make out the sound.
Three syllables being repeated in rapid succession, a mantra, a chant
of the season.

"Ho ho ho? Hey, is anybody out there?"

He wasn't expecting an answer, but to his utter terror he got
one.

"Ho, ho . . . why yes young man! I'm glad you came along out here, I
though we were stuck for good!"

Jerry couldn't believe what he was seeing. Santa Claus emerged from the
woods, still chuckling from his belly. There was something about the
whole situation that made Jerry afraid.

Here was an icon of holiday cheer and goodness emerging from the
darkness on a night of violent weather. It wasn't like a ray of light
emerging from a black hole, it was like Bugs Bunny in a porno movie, it
just didn't seem kosher.

"Well, where you stuck at sir, I'd be happy to pull you out."

Jerry didn't remember seeing a vehicle stuck anywhere, and there wasn't
one close ahead. Why the hell did this guy come out of the woods like
that?

"I'm not as stuck as I am broken down, my friend."

Santa continued to draw closer. While Jerry was uncomfortable, he
couldn't help but feel like laughing aloud.

"You see . . ." he bellowed, pointing to the dead animal, "that's
Vixen."

It was right then Jerry did begin to laugh out loud, and it was genuine
until he realized that the animal before him was indeed a reindeer,
which is an absolute rarity, they were native to Canada and he'd only
seen them in magazines and books.

They stood there in a matter of fact pose, gazing at the animal.

"Would you mind giving an old man a ride?"

"Well, if you don't mind me asking, how the hell did you get stuck out
here?"

"I just told you, that's Vixen. My crew can't fly without all of them,
and we sure as hell can't get out of the woods just pulling my
sled."

Jerry was gazing with a look of disbelief. "OK, OK, if you want a ride,
you'll have to show me where you got stuck. I'm a bit too old for this
Santa bit, just save it for the kiddies at home. I'll give you a ride
or pull you out if you show me how the hell you got out here, and this
dead reindeer, that's just sick . . . where the hell did you get
it?"

"Sonny, listen. I'm Santa. I swear it. I flew out here and Vixen is
just too damn old, now if you don't give me a ride, that's not very
nice. And you know what I do for nice people, don't you? Have you heard
the song?"

With the holidays came hope and love, but there also came a great deal
of cynicism, and Jerry was brimming with it by now. He didn't know if
he believed his marriage would work, or if he would want his teeth
pulled by the end of another night with his family, but he wasn't
listening to this shit one minute longer.

"Tell you what old man, save your shit for the mall. I'm getting out of
here, and if you want to play this game, you better hope that one,
someone else thinks it's cute, or two, it keeps you warm because I'm
leaving."

Jerry kicked the reindeer and trudged to the door of his car, totally
ignoring the strange old man who was mourning his pet. He opened it up,
and to his surprise and frustration, the passenger door opened up too.
The old bastard was getting in.

"Hey! Don't you get the hint grandpa? I'm leaving WITHOUT you!"

"Ohhh, I'm sorry. I didn't hear you." He continued to get inside, until
he was comfortable seated. Jerry stared at him in disbelief.

"Get the fuck out. That's the last time I'm telling you."

"All right, I'll get out, but I have a present for you."

Before Jerry could even respond, Santa had a knife buried to the hilt
in Jerry's neck. Jerry clutched and grabbed at it, but Santa withdrew
it and stabbed his neck over and over, until Jerry didn't have enough
hands to claw at all of his wounds.

Once dead, Santa continued to slice and stab until he was content. The
inside of the Explorer was as red as his suit, and there was literally
almost a gallon of blood pooling in the seat and the floorboard.

He drove the Explorer up a side road where he could keep an eye on
Vixen. He took Jerry's wallet and his head, and he brought it over to
his small fire. There was no need for it now that he had the heat of
the Explorer.

He pulled out a red sack and dropped Jerry's head into it, and headed
back towards the SUV, tossing the sack in the backseat near the
presents.

It wasn't the presents he was interested in, and it wasn't the money in
the wallet. He took out Jerry's driver's license, and got a good look
at his name.

Then, he removed a pen and a pad from the inside of his jolly, red
coat. At the top, in big bold letters was the inscription "Santa's
List." Underneath the heading "naughty," he scribbled the name Jerry
Leckler. Conspicuous by it's absence was the heading "nice."

In the heat of the Explorer and under the light of the full December
moon, Santa waited. The other vehicles that he had concealed behind the
tree line were out of gas and thusly out of warmth.

He thought about the words you could make with the name Santa, only
coming up with one, over and over again.