Christmas Countdown Day 11

“Buttercup’s Secret Tunnel”

Buttercup strode into the living room wearing:

a headlamp

an orange safety vest

snow boots

and the swagger of an elf who has been waiting her whole life for this moment

She unrolled a large parchment across the table with the drama of someone casting a spell.

Peppermint gasped.

Joe froze.

Mason leaned over it like it was forbidden treasure.

Buttercup announced:

“Behold…

The Butter-Tunnel.”

Joe whispered, “Buttercup… this is an actual architectural blueprint.”

Peppermint whispered, “How long have you known about this?”

Buttercup: “Longer than I’ve known any of you.”

Mason: “I’m scared. And do I get to blow something up?”

THE REVEAL

Buttercup tapped the map with her headlamp.

“This is a forgotten tunnel the Naughty & Nice Oversight Committee used during the Great Cocoa Famine of 1812.

It runs directly underneath Santa’s private quarters.”

She smacked a point on the parchment:

“And THIS is right beneath the pantry.”

Peppermint gasped like the map had proposed marriage.

Joe clutched his clipboard, trembling.

Mason teared up.

Buttercup pushed her headlamp down with a flourish.

“Suit up. We go beneath the kitchen tonight.”

THE TUNNEL DESCENT

They hiked out to a snow-covered pine tree behind the courtyard.

Buttercup brushed snow aside, revealing a hidden iron hatch.

She opened it with one hand like it weighed nothing.

A carved stone staircase wound down into a perfectly preserved underground passageway.

Peppermint: “This is… beautiful.”

Joe: “This is load-bearing craftsmanship.”

Mason: “I want to lick the bricks.”

Peppermint & Buttercup: “NO.”

Torches lit automatically as they descended.

(It unnerved Joe deeply.)

THE “SMALL HOLE” PLAN

At the end of the tunnel was a circular chamber with a stone ceiling.

Buttercup clicked her headlamp and pointed upward.

“Right above us is the pantry floor.

We make a tiny hole. Peppermint goes up. She grabs the hot chocolate. We succeed.”

Peppermint nodded sharply.

Joe pulled out a notepad titled “Risks & Regrets.”

Mason pulled out his portable explosives kit.

Peppermint shrieked,

“MASON, WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE THAT?!”

Mason: “In case of emergencies.”

Buttercup patted his shoulder. “For once, we actually need him.”

Joe wailed softly.

THE EXACT MOMENT EVERYTHING COLLAPSES

Mason prepped what he lovingly called:

“A baby boom.”

Buttercup: “A MICRO boom.”

Peppermint: “A COUGH-level boom.”

Joe: “A BOOM-LESS boom.”

Mason winked.

Peppermint muttered, “We’re going to die.”

Buttercup lit the fuse.

There was a polite pop.

Dust fell from the ceiling.

Joe sighed in relief.

Peppermint: “See? Maybe this ti—”

KABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM.

The ceiling cracked.

The tunnel shook.

And Peppermint was blasted upward like a peppermint missile:

“NOOOOOOO—”

She shot through the stone ceiling and burst up into the pantry above, landing:

on a flour bag

then bouncing into a sack of cranberries

then rolling into a stack of mismatched pots

before finally crashing behind the spice cabinet with a soft oof

She was nowhere near the hole she came through.

Only her muffled voice drifted out:

“I think I swallowed cinnamon.”

Meanwhile, the opening in the pantry floor was now a ragged crater the size of a hula hoop.

BOB ARRIVES — AND LOSES IT

The pantry door SLAMMED open.

Bob the Bulky Elf Guard stormed in holding his ham like a security badge.

He froze at the scene:

A smoking hole in the floor

Flour clouds drifting like battlefield fog

A rolling cranberry slowly passing his boot

Peppermint lying behind the spice shelf like a stunned raccoon

A pot still wobbling from impact

Bob’s eye twitched violently.

He marched toward the destruction, muttering,

“I swear on Santa’s beard… if it’s them… if it’s them again…”

He reached the hole, looked down…

and saw:

Joe covered in pine nuts

Buttercup wearing half a ceiling tile

Mason smiling proudly next to an explosion scorch mark

Bob inhaled through his nose so sharply the room temperature dropped.

He said nothing.

Not one word.

He just slowly lifted his ham.

Tilted his head.

And dropped the ham straight down into the tunnel like a weapon of emotional destruction.

It thudded off Mason’s forehead.

Mason: “I deserved that.”

Bob stared down the hole for three seconds of pure existential crisis.

Then he turned…

…and walked out.

Very slowly.

Like a man who was genuinely afraid that if he stayed even one more moment, he might arrest himself for violence.

Not a lecture.

Not a threat.

Just silent resignation.

Because the thread holding Bob’s sanity together has snapped like a candy cane in a toddler’s hand.