Twenty-four days of tyranny ends tonight.
On December first, Mom brought home the cause of all my woes. It was small, but a direct line to the man upstairs. Not God, the other one, Santa. All striped tights, and jingle bells.
Mom told me his name was Sprinkles. Then she set him on the shelf, and gently patted his head.
“Sprinkles is here until Christmas. He’s going to be helping Santa and I keep an eye on you.”
I looked into his cold, staring eyes. There was a smile on his face, but it didn’t quite light them up the way a real smile does. Mom explained that Sprinkles couldn’t move or talk. He only had a limited amount of Christmas Magic, and as long as I was awake, he had to stay still. I was absolutely not allowed to touch him. Christmas Magic was powerful, and for elves only.
Little did I know, that even though Sprinkles was basically just a useless blob during the day, he could get away with just about anything after I’d gone to bed.
One morning I caught him covered in powdered sugar in the pantry. One night he had drawn on the refrigerator with crayons. I caught him leading some sort of cult meeting with a bunch of my stuffed animals, and getting into Mom’s makeup. Sprinkles was out of control.
Things that I would be sent to my room for, things that would definitely put me on the naughty list, would make Mom laugh. She’d say, “That Sprinkles! At it again!” Then she’d make her way out of the room, giggling as she went.
Once, Mom yelled my name from downstairs, and put me in time out for leaving legos on the floor. “It was Sprinkles!” I cried. She shook her head and told me she knew that wasn’t true. “You always believe him! You love him more than me! Why won’t you believe me?”
She sighed. “Sprinkles told me he saw you do it. Shape up, kiddo. Sprinkles will tell Santa when you lie too.”
As I sat in time out that day, I plotted my revenge.
Christmas Eve was my last chance. Mom had warned me that Santa would pick Sprinkles up when he came by our house. I knew I had to act, and leave Santa a bit of a surprise instead.
Sneaking out of bed, I made my way downstairs. Sprinkles was cleverly disguised, hiding under a bunch of bows and ribbons in a box, as if he’d known I’d be coming for him.
I looked at Sprinkles for a minute, and then grabbed him. “I don’t care about Christmas Magic anymore, Sprinkles. You ruined Christmas.” I took sprinkles into the den and got Mom’s scissors out of the drawer. “Bye, Sprinkles,” I whispered as I removed his head from his body. There was so much stuffing inside of him. It made a pretty big mess.
I took Sprinkles into the kitchen and and grabbed a ziploc bag from the drawer to put him in. Then I took the bag, and put it next to the fireplace. I got out a piece of paper, and I wrote Santa the last letter I ever sent him.
Here’s what’s left of your stupid spy. I don’t believe in Christmas anymore, you can just burn my presents.
Taking one last look at Sprinkles, the elf on the shelf, I smiled. Then I went to bed.