TYS: What’s in a Name

I stared at the portrait of my great-great-grandfather, Edward Cyrus Lane. It looked just like the one that hung In my father’s study for my entire childhood. And now, here it was, larger than life, and glowing faintly with a golden shimmer.

The plaque beneath the portrait felt like a punch to the gut: Edward Cyrus Lane, 

1892, Builder of Wonder. 

“What does this mean?” I asked, my voice shaky as I turned to Eve. It didn’t make any sense. All the stories about my great-great-grandfather said that he was this curmudgeonly, bitter old man with a continued joke that he’d been born that way. How could he have possibly been a Santa, let alone one that earned the nickname “Builder of Wonder”.

Eve stepped in beside me, her arms folded, her severe expression unreadable. “It means that your great-great-grandfather was once Santa Claus.”

My laugh came out sharp, almost bitter. “No. See, that’s impossible. He was a carpenter. This doesn’t make any sense. He was an ass hole.”

”It makes perfect sense,” Eve told me coolly. “Edward was chosen, just like you. He was one of the greatest Santas in history - a man who brought joy and innovation to Christmas when the world desperately needed it.”

I shook my head, backing away from the portrait. “You’re telling me that my family has…what? Magic Santa blood or something? Is this why I was picked?

Eve’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “There’s no such thing as “Santa Blood”. Your family’s connection to Christmas ended with Edward. Until now.”

I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, unsure how to react as my heart raced. I couldn’t quite place why I was freaking out, but I was. “So this is just a coincidence?”

”Not exactly,” Eve replied. “The Selection Committee doesn’t choose people randomly. There’s always a reason, even if it’s not immediately clear.”

I turned back to the portrait, my great-great-grandfather’s kind eyes seeming to stare right into my soul. The hum of the room, the buzz of magic in the air, grew louder in my ears. I curled my fingers into fists and fought to steady my breathing. “If my great-great-grandfather was so amazing, why didn’t anyone ever talk about it? Why didn’t my dad tell me?” The thought of him keeping such a secret was really upsetting.

”Edward wasn’t allowed to,” Eve told me matter-of-factly. “The role of Santa comes with certain sacrifices. One of those is secrecy. Even after you step down, the magic fades, and the world moves on as if it never happened. None of the Santas speak of their time here to their families. And some choose not to return to their old lives at all.”

I didn’t even hear the last bit, otherwise I’m sure I would have reacted, but I was still stuck on the fact that Edward had been Santa! “So, he just left? He left Christmas behind and went back to building furniture like nothing happened?”

Eve nodded. “That’s how it works. The world forgets, but the magic remembers.”

”That’s a comforting thought,” I muttered, the sarcasm thick in my tone. 

Eve’s lips twitched, but her expression remained composed. “You’re struggling to understand, and that’s normal. But you don’t have to figure it all out today. Come with me.” She turned on her heel and began heading out the room. “There’s something else you need to see.” I looked back at my great-great-grandfather one more time before I rushed to catch up to her.

Eve led me through a series of hallways and down a staircase that seemed to spiral endlessly into the earth. The air grew warmer, the hum of magic vibrating through the walls.

”Where are we going?” I finally asked, half out of breath and filled with anxiety.

”The heart of the operation,” Eve replied. “If you’re going to take this role seriously, you need to understand what’s at stake.”

We finally reached a massive steel door engraved with intricate patterns of holly and snowflakes. I’d never seen anything like it. It appeared as though the flakes were falling and the holly was swaying in a breeze, but there was no breeze. And the door was solid. How could the design on it move? I stepped closer to touch it but Eve stepped in front of me. She pressed her palm against the centre of the door, and it groaned open, revealing a cavernous chamber bathed in a soft golden glow.

I stepped inside, my jaw dropping.

The room was dominated by a colossal glowing contraption of some kind - part machine, part living organism - that pulsed with energy. Dozens of little people scurried around it, adjusting knobs and pushing buttons. On one end, it looked as though some were feeding it streams of data but I couldn’t tell how. They were pulling out what looked like crystals from one area and reinserting them into another. It was all so confusing and odd looking. 

“This,” Eve said, her voice echoing in the chamber, “is the Engine. It’s the core of Christmas magic.” I took a deep breath, trying to take it all in, trying to make sense of what my eyes were seeing. “Every wish, every spark of holiday joy, every act of kindness - it all fuels this.”

I blinked, struggling to comprehend what I was seeing. The Engine thrummed with power, radiating warmth and light. It was beautiful and overwhelming, and it made my stomach churn with unease.

”Let me guess,” I said, trying to mask my anxiety with sarcasm. “If I screw up, this thing explodes, and Christmas dies forever?”

Eve arched her eyebrow. “Not quite. But the magic would weaken. The joy and wonder that fuel the season would fade, and the world would feel the loss. It’s happened before during wars, plagues, times of great despair. The Engine faltered, and the world grew colder.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of Eve’s words sinking in. “So, no pressure.”

Eve turned to face me, her expression serious but not unkind. “You’re not here because you’re perfect, Amber. You’re here because the magic believes in you. Whether you believe in it - or in yourself - is another matter entirely.”

I flinched at the statement, feeling the truth of it hit too close to home. I didn’t need to be reminded that I had flaws. I knew them all too well. How else had I ended up a single woman in her late thirties, living alone, barely any friends, working useless job after useless job? Sure, it took skill, but not the kind of skill that helped a person succeed. I already knew I was a disappointment to my father and mother. Was becoming Santa just going to be another huge failure? And another notch on my belt of reasons to solidify my low self-worth? “Why me then?” I finally asked though it felt difficult to speak. My chest felt as though it were tightening, or as though some sort of weight was being pushed down onto it. I shrugged and huffed, trying to catch my breath. “I’m not special. I don’t even know if I believe in all this…‘power of love and joy’ stuff. I’m barely a regular person.” 

“Ok,” Eve responded. She looked awkward and uncomfortable. “You’re not special - yet. But neither was Edward when he first arrived. He had doubts, fears, failures. What made him a great Santa wasn’t his belief in magic - it was his choice to embrace it despite those doubts.”

I glanced at the Engine. It was so odd and yet somehow, beautiful. “Am I going to have to learn how this thing works?” I sincerely hoped not as I’d never been good at science or maths. How could I possibly grasp such a machine, or structure, or being, whatever it was. Eve shook her head no and I sighed in relief. “And what happens if I don’t embrace it all? What if…”

Eve’s gaze hardened. “Then you’ll fail, and the world will carry on. The Selection Committee will find someone else.” I breathed a sigh of relief, trying not to make it obvious, but I guess it was because she continued. “But you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been. And the magic will remember your choice.”

I stood in the Engine room, my heart heavy with doubt and confusion. For the first time since this whole ordeal began, I realized the choice wasn’t just about Christmas - it was about who I want to be… something I’ve never liked to think about. I felt a shiver run up and down my spine and huddled into myself, pretending it was from the cold. The room wasn’t cold. Eve’s words echoed in my mind as I continued staring at the glowing heart of Christmas magic. I tried to smile but could only feel the weight getting heavier on my chest. Could I do this? 

Ⓒ November 2024. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.