Christmas Countdown Day 23

“THE PARTY PREP POINT OF NO RETURN”

The North Pole had officially lost its mind.

Christmas Eve Eve had arrived, which meant two catastrophic events were happening at once:

1. Final preparations for Santa’s Christmas Eve launch

2. The North Pole Christmas Party — the one night a year when everyone pretends they’re not barely holding things together

Every corridor was packed. Every surface glittered. Every elf was stressed, sleep-deprived, and operating purely on sugar and denial.

And for the first time all season…

The Christmas Kitchen was open.

Not open open.

But open enough.

Peppermint stood at the edge of the courtyard watching doors she’d stared at for a century finally swing back and forth as chefs, party planners, and exhausted elves rushed in and out.

Her chest tightened.

“This is it,” she said quietly.

“This is the window.”

Joe swallowed.

“This is also how we die.”

Buttercup adjusted her scarf, eyes gleaming.

“This is my Super Bowl.”

Mason cracked his knuckles.

“Oh I am ready to make mistakes.”

Peppermint turned slowly.

“No,” she said firmly.

“Today, we do not rush.

We do not improvise.

We stay near the kitchen all day until a clean moment appears.”

They all nodded.

They did not mean it.

ATTEMPT #1

“DECORATE THE SECURITY (ON PURPOSE? ACCIDENTALLY? YES.)”

The plan, according to Peppermint, was simple.

“We volunteer for party decorating,” she said.

“We stay calm.”

“We stay NEAR the kitchen.”

“We do not—”

She looked directly at Mason.

“—touch anything that sprays, sticks, sparkles, hums, or reacts to joy.”

Everyone nodded.

They were lying.

Phase One: Innocent Decorations

They were assigned to decorate the hallway leading directly to the Christmas Kitchen, which felt like destiny whispering,

You’re so close.

Buttercup clapped her hands. “GARLANDS FIRST. WE LAYER.”

Joe held a clipboard and pretended to supervise. Peppermint focused on sightlines and guard rotations. Mason was given tape. This was the second mistake.

At first, it was tasteful:

pine garlands along the railings

soft lights

red bows tied neatly at intervals

Peppermint relaxed. “Okay. This is good. This is NORMAL.”

Buttercup tilted her head. “…but what if it had movement?”

Phase Two: Escalation

Movement became:

ribbon spirals

dangling ornaments

bows within bows

lights wrapped around lights “for warmth”

Joe turned around just in time to see Mason trying to “help” a nutcracker guard by adjusting his hat.

The nutcracker did not move.

Mason kept decorating him anyway.

Peppermint hissed,

“Mason—stop decorating SECURITY.”

Mason froze, ribbon mid-wrap. “He looked festive-adjacent.”

Phase Three: The Glue Incident

Buttercup discovered industrial-strength ornament glue.

Buttercup should not have discovered industrial-strength ornament glue.

She used it to:

secure garlands

reinforce bows

“stabilize vibes”

An elf walked by, tripped, and left with a bow permanently attached to his sleeve.

A nutcracker leaned slightly.

Buttercup panicked. “DON’T MOVE HIM—IF HE FALLS HE’LL SHATTER—”

They glued him to the floor.

Joe whispered, “We just committed a crime.”

Peppermint stared at the now-immovable nutcracker. “…I think we just decorated a felony.”

Phase Four: Glitter Happens (It Always Does)

No one admitted who brought the glitter.

It simply appeared.

A tub tipped. Someone sneezed. Air currents betrayed them.

Glitter coated:

guards

walls

ceiling

a passing chef

a security clipboard

The hallway sparkled like a cursed fairy tale.

A snowman guard wandered too close.

Buttercup gasped. “Oh no.”

The snowman bumped a garland.

Garlands fell.

Glue held.

The snowman was now part of the decor.

Peppermint screamed, “WHY IS SECURITY NOW FESTIVE.”

Phase Five: Discovery

Chefs began avoiding the hallway.

Guards struggled to turn. One nutcracker rotated 3 inches and stopped. Another was glued to a wreath.

An elf whispered, “…is this a trap?”

Then someone tugged a ribbon.

And the entire hallway shifted.

Lights flickered. Ornaments swung. Garlands tightened like festive snares.

Mason whispered in awe, “It’s alive.”

That’s when a supervisor elf arrived.

She stared.

At:

immobilized guards

a snowman wrapped like a gift

glitter drifting like radioactive snowfall

Buttercup stuck to a ladder

Joe trying to unglue a clipboard

Peppermint screaming apologies to everyone at once

The supervisor blinked slowly.

“…why,” she asked calmly,

“is security decor.”

Peppermint opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

❌ RESULT

The hallway was shut down. Decorations were declared “structurally aggressive.” Security was reassigned. The Chaos Four were escorted away backwards so they couldn’t touch anything else.

As they were dragged off, Peppermint screamed, “WE WERE SO CLOSE.”

Buttercup whispered, “…but it was pretty.”

Mason nodded proudly. “Worth it.”

ATTEMPT #2: THE GIFT-WRAPPING SPEED RUN

(aka: Tape Is a Weapon)

After the catastrophic decorating disaster of Attempt #1, the Chaos Four were sticky, glittered, and rapidly running out of clearance badges.

But then Peppermint saw it.

A sign.

A beautiful, terrible sign.

“LAST-MINUTE GIFT WRAPPING — KITCHEN PREP ROOM ACCESS REQUIRED”

Her eyes lit up like a peppermint possessed.

“This,” she whispered, grabbing Joe by the sleeve, “is our way in.”

Joe squinted at the sign.

“…This feels illegal.”

Buttercup was already tying an apron.

“Everything we do is illegal. Move.”

Mason cracked his knuckles.

“I was born for efficiency.”

They were waved into the Kitchen-Adjacent Wrapping Prep Room, a long hall packed with tables, ribbon spools, bows, tape guns, and frantic elves wrapping at Olympic speeds.

And most importantly—

A STAFF-ONLY DOOR AT THE FAR END LABELED: KITCHEN

Peppermint swallowed hard.

“That’s it,” she whispered. “That’s the door.”

Joe nodded. “Okay. Wrap fast. Blend in. No chaos.”

Buttercup smirked. “Define ‘chaos.’”

Mason picked up a tape gun.

It clicked ominously.

THE SPEED RUN BEGINS

At first?

They were… shockingly good.

Peppermint wrapped with precision. Joe folded corners like a man clinging to control. Buttercup tied bows so aggressively beautiful they made other elves insecure.

Mason?

Mason invented a system.

“I call it Speed Wrapping,” he announced.

“No measuring. No thinking. Only faith.”

He began launch-wrapping boxes.

Tape WHRRRRED. Paper FLEW. Bows went airborne.

Peppermint hissed, “MASON—SLOW—”

Too late.

A tape gun jammed.

Mason shook it.

The tape gun EXPLODED.

Tape sprayed everywhere like festive spiderwebs.

Joe screamed as his hands stuck together. Buttercup’s sleeve got taped to the table. Peppermint stepped back and stuck to the floor.

“WHY IS IT SO STICKY,” Peppermint yelled.

“Industrial holiday adhesive,” Joe sobbed. “IT’S STRONGER THAN LOVE.”

WHEN GIFTS STARTED BECOMING PEOPLE

An elf tripped.

Fell onto a table.

Got wrapped.

Another elf tried to help.

Also got wrapped.

A third elf backed into Mason and was immediately bow-tied to a stack of boxes.

Buttercup shouted, “STOP WRAPPING LIVING THINGS!”

Mason blinked.

“…No promises.”

A reindeer wandered in carrying bells.

Five seconds later it was wearing a gift tag that read:

“TO: SANTA / FROM: ???”

The reindeer looked offended.

SO CLOSE… SO CLOSE…

Peppermint spotted the kitchen door again.

It was only ten feet away.

Steam drifted from underneath.

She could smell the cocoa.

“We’re almost there,” she whispered. “Just—just slip through when no one’s—”

A TAPE GUN FLEW PAST HER HEAD.

It hit the door button.

The kitchen door opened an inch.

Angels sang.

Mason dove forward.

Joe grabbed him.

“NO MORE TOUCHING.”

Buttercup tried to cut Joe free.

Got taped to Joe.

Peppermint attempted to step toward the door.

Her boot peeled off.

She fell face-first into a ribbon bin.

ENTER: BOB (WRAPPED IN PATIENCE, HAM INCLUDED)

The room went quiet.

Bob stood in the doorway.

Ham baby secured to his chest.

He looked at:

• the taped-together elves

• the gift-wrapped reindeer

• the spinning ribbon machine

• Mason tangled in bows like a crime scene

• Peppermint stuck to the floor whispering “almost…”

Bob closed his eyes.

He whispered:

“…I leave you alone for ten minutes.”

A wrapped elf rolled past him and bumped his leg.

Bob gently adjusted the ham baby.

Then he raised his voice.

“EVERYONE STOP WRAPPING.

NO ONE MOVES.

IF I SEE ONE MORE BOW—”

The ribbon machine EXPLODED.

Bows shot everywhere.

Tape rained from the ceiling.

The reindeer escaped, trailing wrapping paper like a ghost.

Bob lost it.

“OUT. ALL OF YOU.

OUT OF THE WRAPPING ROOM.

OUT OF MY SIGHT.”

They were dragged out in a clump, still partially wrapped, leaving a trail of ribbon, tape, and shame.

❌ ATTEMPT #2: FAILED

Kitchen access: Lost

Dignity: Gone

Tape privileges: Revoked forever

Peppermint, peeling tape from her hair, whispered:

“We were ten feet away.”

Buttercup nodded.

“I could feel it.”

Joe stared into the distance.

“I hate gifts.”

Mason smiled softly.

“…Speed wrapping needs refinement.”

And somewhere behind them, Bob screamed into the void.

ATTEMPT #3: THE COOKIE DECORATING DISASTER

(aka: Edible Access Is Still Access)

By the time Attempt #3 began, the Chaos Four were no longer operating on logic.

They were operating on: • fumes

• sugar

• spite

• and the knowledge that this might be their last chance of the day

Peppermint wiped tape residue out of her hair and stared down the hallway.

“There,” she said hoarsely.

A massive open room buzzed with activity.

A banner hung above the doors:

“CHRISTMAS EVE PARTY PREP — COOKIE DECORATING & FINISHING”

Joe squinted.

“…That’s not the kitchen.”

Peppermint nodded.

“But it’s connected to the kitchen.”

Buttercup’s eyes lit up.

“They finish cookies here before sending them directly inside.”

Mason smiled slowly.

“So we go through the cookies.”

Joe whimpered.

“Why does everything involve cookies.”

ENTER: THE COOKIE DECORATING FLOOR

Rows upon rows of long tables stretched across the room.

Thousands of cookies.

Icing vats.

Sprinkle cannons.

Color-coded piping bags.

Elves worked at lightning speed, decorating cookies destined for: • Santa

• the Christmas Eve Party

• and the Kitchen’s final trays

Most importantly—

A STAFF-ONLY SWING DOOR MARKED: KITCHEN ACCESS 

right at the end of the room.

Peppermint swallowed.

“That door is it.”

Joe nodded weakly.

“We just… decorate cookies.”

Buttercup clapped.

“I’m excellent under pressure.”

Mason grabbed a piping bag and squeezed.

Icing shot across the room.

Peppermint screamed, “NOT YET.”

THE DECORATING BEGINS (AND IMMEDIATELY DERAILS)

At first?

It almost worked.

Peppermint piped neat snowflakes. Joe carefully placed sprinkles, counting under his breath. Buttercup freehanded elaborate designs that made other elves stop and stare.

Mason…

Mason discovered the industrial icing pump.

“Oooooo,” he said reverently.

Peppermint felt fear.

WHEN ART BECAME WAR

Mason squeezed the pump.

The icing did not drizzle.

It BLASTED.

A jet of royal icing fired across the table, gluing three cookies together, then gluing them to Buttercup’s sleeve.

Buttercup screamed, “WHY IS IT ALIVE—”

Joe slipped.

Fell face-first into a sprinkle bin.

Came up coated like a disco ball.

Peppermint tried to grab Mason.

Hit the pump.

The pump went FULL POWER.

Icing sprayed everywhere.

Cookies stuck to cookies. Cookies stuck to elves. Elves stuck to tables.

An elf ran past yelling,

“WHO UNLOCKED THE FESTIVE PRESSURE VALVE—”

Mason raised his hand.

“I wanted definition.”

THE DOOR WAS RIGHT THERE

Through the chaos, Peppermint saw it.

The kitchen door.

Steam puffed out every time it swung open.

She grabbed Joe.

“NOW. THROUGH THE DECORATORS.”

They ducked under tables. Slid across icing-slick floors. Crawled through fallen trays.

Buttercup kicked free from a cookie avalanche and sprinted after them.

Mason skidded behind, dragging a trail of stuck cookies like trophies.

They were five feet from the door.

Five.

Feet.

AND THEN THE COOKIES TURNED ON THEM

A pan tipped.

Hundreds of freshly iced cookies slid.

Hit the floor.

Hit the elves.

Hit EVERYTHING.

Sprinkles rained like hail.

An elf screamed, “COOKIE COLLAPSE!”

Another yelled, “SAVE THE TREES!”

Peppermint lost her footing and slid into a rack.

Joe collided with her.

Buttercup face-planted and came up with a cookie stuck to her forehead.

Mason tried to help.

Slipped.

Triggered the sprinkle cannons.

RAINBOW HELL.

ENTER: BOB (ABSOLUTE FURY EDITION)

The door to the kitchen swung open.

Bob stepped out.

Ham baby strapped to his chest.

Already wearing sprinkles from earlier incidents.

He stared.

At: • icing flooding the floor

• elves glued together

• cookies raining from tables

• Mason sliding past yelling “WHEEEEE”

• Peppermint clawing toward the door

Bob said nothing.

He just reached up…

…and closed the kitchen door.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Final.

Then he turned.

His voice was quiet.

Dangerously quiet.

“You are done for today.”

Peppermint sobbed.

Joe collapsed.

Buttercup laughed hysterically.

Mason clapped once.

Bob pointed.

“OUT. ALL OF YOU.

GO SLEEP.

IF I SEE YOU AGAIN TODAY, I WILL INVENT A NEW CONSEQUENCE.”

They were physically herded out, leaving behind a frosting swamp, crying decorators, and a cookie floor that would never emotionally recover.

❌ ATTEMPT #3: FAILED

Kitchen access: Denied with prejudice

Cookies: Weaponized again

Bob: At the end of his soul

Outside, night had fallen.

They collapsed into a heap near the craft supply storage.

Peppermint whispered, exhausted:

“…we’re running out of time.”

Buttercup pulled ribbon over herself like a blanket. Joe didn’t move. Mason yawned.

“I think,” he murmured,

“we’re close.”

They fell asleep tangled in: • ribbon

• garlands

• bows

• tape

• glitter

And somewhere in the North Pole…

Santa sneezed.

ATTEMPT #4: THE THEATER NON-PLAN

(aka: When There Are No Thoughts Left)

By the time Attempt #4 began, the Chaos Four were no longer capable of planning.

They were capable of:

standing

blinking

and vague gestures toward danger

Peppermint sat on a crate of tinsel, staring into the middle distance.

“…There’s one more place,” she murmured.

Joe lay flat on the floor, ribbon stuck to his cheek.

“If you say ‘tunnel’ I’m calling it.”

Buttercup was wrapped in garland like a wounded pageant queen.

“Is it illegal? Because I don’t have it in me to care.”

Mason was upside down in a pile of bows.

“I hear music.”

Peppermint pointed weakly down the hall.

“The theater.”

Joe opened one eye.

“…The rehearsal theater?”

“Yes,” Peppermint said slowly.

“They’re practicing tonight for tomorrow’s performance. It’s close to the kitchen. Really close.”

Buttercup blinked.

“…How close is ‘really close’?”

Peppermint made a vague pinching motion with her fingers.

Joe sighed.

“This is not a plan.”

“No,” Peppermint agreed.

“It’s… proximity.”

ENTER: THE NORTH POLE THEATER

The theater was warm, dim, and buzzing with quiet chaos.

Elves rehearsed dances. Choirs warmed up. Stagehands ran props back and forth. A reindeer wearing tap shoes argued with a choreographer.

And behind the stage—

A STAFF HALLWAY LEADING TOWARD THE KITCHEN COMPLEX

Peppermint felt her heart kick.

“There,” she whispered. “That hall connects to the kitchen prep wing.”

Joe sat down immediately.

“I can’t walk anymore.”

Buttercup leaned against a prop sleigh.

“I think I sprained my soul.”

Mason stared at a glitter cannon.

“…I will not touch it.”

Peppermint nodded.

“Good. We’re not doing anything tonight.”

Everyone paused.

Joe squinted.

“…What?”

Peppermint shrugged weakly.

“We stay nearby. We blend. We wait. Maybe later—after rehearsals—security shifts. Maybe a door opens.”

Buttercup stared at her.

“This is the smartest thing you’ve said all day.”

Mason frowned.

“It feels wrong.”

THE BLENDING (VERY LOOSELY)

They attempted to look useful.

Peppermint held sheet music upside down. Joe tried counting beats but lost count at three. Buttercup accidentally joined a chorus line and panicked. Mason was handed a box labeled “DO NOT OPEN”.

He did not open it.

(Everyone was proud.)

For a while…

Nothing happened.

No alarms. No Bob. No glitter. No explosions.

Just music. Lights. Rehearsal.

The Chaos Four slowly sank to the floor behind the stage, surrounded by:

• ribbon spools

• costume fabric

• fake snow bags

• garlands

• craft glue

• bows

• and one confused stage elf who stepped over them without comment

Peppermint whispered, eyelids heavy:

“…We’re close.”

Joe mumbled, half asleep,

“We’re always close.”

Buttercup yawned.

“Soon.”

Mason curled up in tinsel like a feral holiday cat.

“Our backup never showed,” he muttered, deeply offended.

THE COLLAPSE

At some point— No one was sure when—

They stopped sitting.

And started… sinking.

Into ribbon. Into fabric. Into glitter. Into crafts.

Peppermint fell asleep holding a roll of wrapping paper. Joe used a box of bows as a pillow. Buttercup disappeared under garland entirely. Mason hugged a bottle of glue like a teddy bear.

The theater lights dimmed.

Rehearsal ended.

Elves filed out.

The staff hallway near the kitchen went quiet.

And the Chaos Four slept— unaware that tomorrow was Christmas Eve

and their last chance to get the Special Hot Chocolate for Peppermint.

❌ ATTEMPT #4: FAILED (technically)

But for the first time…

They were close enough to feel the kitchen.

And tomorrow?

Tomorrow would not give them mercy.