Christmas Countdown Day 24
Nutcracker boots marched in the distance. Snowmen shifted like judgment in the dark. Gingerbread security clicked their candy-cane batons together like they’d been training for this moment since October. Mitch cracked his knuckles.
Merry Christmas Eve - Part Two
Operation Hot Chocolate: “THE BACKUP ARRIVED”
(or: “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Holidays”)
The courtyard held its breath.
Nutcracker boots marched in the distance. Snowmen shifted like judgment in the dark. Gingerbread security clicked their candy-cane batons together like they’d been training for this moment since October.
Mitch cracked his knuckles.
“So,” he said, grinning at the kitchen doors like they owed him rent. “Where’s the kitchen.”
Peppermint pointed with the last flicker of hope she had left. “…Right there.”
Sprinkles roared happily.
And that—That was when everything finally went completely, irreversibly wrong.
THE HUDDLE OF BAD DECISIONS
They crouched behind a stack of supply crates that had definitely seen better centuries.
Joe whispered, “Okay. We do NOT improvise.”
Mason blinked. “When have we ever—”
Buttercup slapped a mitten over his mouth. “Shh. The grown-ups are spiraling.”
Peppermint leaned toward Mitch. “We need one cup of Santa’s special hot chocolate. That’s it. In and out. Quiet.”
Mitch nodded with solemn sincerity. “I can do quiet.”
Joe stared. “You look like you eat quiet for breakfast.”
Mitch sniffed. “That’s rude. Also incorrect. I eat raisins.”
Buttercup recoiled. “Oh. So you’re a criminal.”
Sprinkles leaned in to be included and accidentally exhaled a gust of cold air that frosted the top layer of the crates.
Peppermint patted his arm gently. “You’re doing amazing, Sprinkles.”
Sprinkles beamed.
Mitch pulled something from inside his coat.
A rolled-up “map.”
Joe’s eyes lit up. “Oh thank Santa. A map.”
Mitch unrolled it dramatically.
It was a crumpled party flyer with a doodle of a door and the word KITCHEN written in something that looked suspiciously like beet juice.
Joe stared. “…That’s not—”
“It’s symbolic,” Mitch said.
Peppermint’s eye twitched.
“Okay,” she said carefully. “What’s your plan.”
Mitch leaned in, whispering like he was sharing state secrets.
“We create a distraction.”
Joe nodded cautiously. “Good. Something small. A noise. A—”
“Not a noise,” Mitch whispered. “A moment.”
Buttercup went pale. “He’s going to create a moment.”
Mason looked delighted. “He’s going to create a moment.”
Peppermint inhaled. “Define moment.”
Mitch pointed across the courtyard—past the kitchen wing—at the party staging area: harness carts, sleigh straps, gift sacks, rehearsal props…
…and one crate that read:
FROST-FX: DO NOT ACTIVATE WITHOUT SUPERVISION
Joe stared at it like it was a loaded weapon.
Peppermint whispered, “Oh no.”
Mitch nodded proudly. “See? Staging chaos. Everyone runs away from the kitchen. You slip in.”
Buttercup hissed, “That crate is literally saying don’t.”
Mason perked up. “It’s also saying impact.”
Peppermint grabbed Mason by the scarf. “No buttons. No warnings. No innovations.”
Mitch nodded. “Civilized. Yes.”
Then he reached into his coat and pulled out… a handful of tiny carabiners.
Peppermint froze. “…Are those mine?”
Mitch winked. “Borrowed.”
Joe whispered, “From WHERE.”
Mitch said, “A place you can't afford."
Peppermint’s eye twitched harder.
THE PLAN (ALLEGEDLY) BEGINS
They crept along the courtyard’s shadow line like tiny criminals with holiday trauma.
For one glorious minute—
It worked.
No whistles. No marching. No gingerbread aggression.
Peppermint almost smiled.
Then Sprinkles stepped on a courtyard ornament.
JINGLE.
Not festive. Not cute.
That sound hit the air like a security alarm.
Because of course the courtyard ornaments were enchanted.
“Anti-sneak enchantment,” Joe whispered. “Of course.”
Every nutcracker within fifty feet turned at once.
CLICK. CLACK. TURN.
Peppermint whispered, “NO MOVEMENT.”
Sprinkles froze mid-step, eyes wide like a guilty snowbear.
Mitch leaned in. “Act natural.”
Sprinkles tried.
Which meant he waved enthusiastically at the nutcrackers.
The nutcrackers did not wave back.
A gingerbread guard sniffed the air. “UNAUTHORIZED YETI PRESENCE.”
Peppermint hissed, “Okay. Distraction NOW. But SAFE.”
Mitch nodded gravely. “Safe. Yes.”
He turned to Sprinkles.
“Sprinkles,” he whispered. “Do the thing.”
Peppermint spun. “WHAT THING.”
Sprinkles waddled toward the staging area with the pure confidence of a creature who has never been arrested.
He reached the cart labeled:
LAUNCH NIGHT — DO NOT TOUCH
and gently lifted it to “move it out of the way.”
Peppermint’s soul left her body.
The harness bells jingled.
The reindeer nearby heard bells and did what reindeer do when they hear bells:
They assumed work.
They panicked.
Comet snorted like he’d seen war.
Dasher kicked a snowdrift.
A handler shouted, “WHO MOVED THE CART—”
Sprinkles tried to set it down carefully.
He did.
But “careful” for a yeti is still “light earthquake.”
The cart hit. A latch popped. Straps spilled out like metallic spaghetti.
One strap snagged Mason’s boot.
Mason yelped, stumbled, windmilled—
and slapped his hand onto the one crate Joe had been praying would remain closed.
FROST-FX: DO NOT ACTIVATE WITHOUT SUPERVISION
It clicked.
Joe screamed, “NOOOOO—”
The crate opened.
A machine whirred.
And fired.
A blizzard cannon of artificial snow exploded into the courtyard like winter itself had filed a complaint.
Visibility dropped to zero.
Nutcrackers marched blindly.
Snowmen began yelling.
Gingerbread guards slipped, shouting, “FOOTING COMPROMISED.”
Peppermint coughed. “I CAN’T SEE.”
Buttercup screamed, “MY EYELASHES ARE FROZEN.”
Joe lost his mind. “WHY IS IT ALWAYS A BUTTON.”
Mason yelled happily, “IT’S SO FESTIVE.”
Mitch laughed like this was a spa day. “THIS is what I meant by moment!”
Peppermint screamed, “THIS IS NOT A MOMENT THIS IS A DISASTER!”
THE CHRISTMAS TREE INCIDENT (MASON’S LEGACY)
In the whiteout, Mason stumbled backward, trying to find “the off switch.”
His hands hit something sturdy.
Tall.
Decorated.
He blinked snow from his lashes and realized, too late—
he had backed into the base of the massive Christmas tree.
Peppermint’s voice sliced through the chaos.
“MASON—GET AWAY FROM THE—”
Mason panicked.
And panicking Mason is a special kind of stupid.
He yanked a small gadget from his pocket.
Joe screamed, “WHY DO YOU HAVE THAT.”
Mason yelled, “IT’S FOR EMERGENCIES!”
Buttercup shrieked, “WE ARE CURRENTLY IN AN EMERGENCY, PUT IT BACK!”
Mason slapped the gadget onto the tree stand.
It beeped cheerfully.
Peppermint froze. “…What is that.”
Mason blinked. “Uh… a stabilizer clamp?”
The stand hissed like it resented being stabilized.
The lights flickered.
The ornaments trembled.
The star pulsed ominously, like it had a heartbeat.
Joe whispered, horrified, “Did you just attach something to the tree stand.”
Mason whispered back, “It was supposed to help.”
Peppermint shouted, “REMOVE IT.”
Mason lunged.
The clamp popped.
Not an explosion.
A dramatic holiday release.
The tree leaned.
One inch.
Two.
Buttercup screamed, “IT’S TILTING!”
Peppermint ran forward with her arms out like she could catch an entire tree with vibes.
Joe yelled, “SOMEONE STABILIZE THE BASE!”
Sprinkles heard “stabilize.”
Sprinkles did what Sprinkles does.
He grabbed the trunk lovingly…
and lifted it “just a little” to straighten it.
The tree came loose.
The entire tree rotated—slow, majestic, horrifying—like it was doing ballet against its will.
Lights whipped.
Ornaments flew.
The star wobbled.
And then the tree toppled.
Not onto elves.
Not onto reindeer.
Straight into the mountain of wrapped presents staged for tonight’s launch.
The pile erupted like an avalanche of joy and administrative nightmares.
Boxes slid.
Ribbons snapped.
Tags flew into the air like panicked birds.
Peppermint screamed, “THE PRESENTS!”
Joe screamed louder, “THE MANIFEST!”
Buttercup shouted, “NOT THE TAGS—WE’LL NEVER FIND WHOSE IS WHOSE!”
Mitch laughed, delighted. “Wow. You guys go hard.”
Peppermint spun on him, eyes wild. “THIS IS NOT ‘GOING HARD.’ THIS IS RUINING CHRISTMAS.”
And that’s when she saw him.
Through the snow and chaos—
Santa stepped out onto the courtyard walkway.
Calm. Curious. Walking directly into the worst scene imaginable.
Peppermint’s heart stopped.
“Santa—NO—”
Because a loose harness strap snapped free and slung across the courtyard like a whip.
Right toward Santa.
Time slowed.
Joe screamed.
Buttercup covered her face.
Mason gasped, “Oh no.”
Sprinkles moved fast.
He lunged, grabbed the strap midair, and yanked it down.
The strap missed Santa by inches.
Santa froze.
Looked at the strap in Sprinkle’s hand.
Looked at the toppled tree.
Looked at the gift avalanche.
Looked at Peppermint, coated in flour from earlier and fake snow and existential dread.
Santa’s eyebrows rose slowly.
He blinked once. Very slowly.
Peppermint braced for death.
Instead Santa said, very calmly:
“…Is this… rehearsal.”
Joe whispered, “We’re going to die.”
PEPPERMINT’S OPENING
In the chaos, the kitchen door cracked open.
Steam drifted out.
And for the first time all day—
No one was guarding the cocoa station.
The pot shimmered inside like a miracle.
One cup.
One hundred years.
Right there.
Buttercup whispered, “Pep… now.”
Joe croaked, “This is your moment.”
Peppermint took one step toward the door—
then looked back at the presents.
At the reindeer.
At Santa standing too close to catastrophe.
At Bob barreling across the courtyard like an angry storm cloud.
And something in her chest shifted—heartbreak and growth tangled together like ribbon.
Peppermint turned away from the kitchen.
And ran toward the presents.
Joe stared. “Pep?”
Buttercup’s mouth fell open. “Peppermint…”
Peppermint shouted, “WE ARE NOT RUINING CHRISTMAS OVER MY WISH!”
Mason blinked slowly. “…That’s kind of heroic.”
Mitch muttered, “That’s inconvenient.”
Peppermint pointed at him like a general.
“Mitch. Sprinkles. If you want to help—HELP ME FIX THIS.”
ENTER: BOB (HAM BABY WITNESS EDITION)
“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”
Bob arrived with ham baby strapped to his chest like a tiny courtroom observer.
Nutcrackers behind him.
Snowmen outside.
Gingerbread security forming a line of frosting doom.
Bob stared at the fallen tree.
The gift avalanche.
The blizzard cannon.
Santa in the middle of it.
A yeti holding a strap like a hero.
Mitch looking guilty by default.
And the Chaos Four—glittered, floured, and spiritually incriminated.
Bob inhaled so deeply the air itself froze.
He didn’t yell.
That was the worst part.
He spoke very quietly.
“Everyone… stop moving.”
Nothing moved.
Even Comet paused mid-snort.
Bob pointed.
“You.”
“You.”
“You.”
“And you.”
Then at Mitch.
“You. Green.”
Mitch bristled. “Excuse—”
Bob pointed at Sprinkles.
“And the large snow demon.”
Sprinkles waved politely.
Bob closed his eyes like he was praying for strength.
“Congratulations,” Bob whispered. “You have achieved what I thought was impossible.”
Peppermint swallowed. “What’s that.”
Bob opened his eyes.
“You have almost ruined Christmas.”
Peppermint’s voice cracked. “…We can fix it.”
Bob stared at her, dead inside.
“You can fix it,” he repeated slowly, “from jail.”
THE ARREST OF THE CENTURY
Nutcrackers stepped forward in perfect formation.
CLICK. CLACK. TURN.
Gingerbread security tightened their line.
Snowmen raised their whistles.
Mitch tried to back away. A snowman stepped in front of him like an ice bouncer.
Sprinkles took one protective step forward—
and Peppermint shouted, “SPRINKLES—NO.”
Sprinkles froze and sat down like a giant guilty dog.
Mitch sighed dramatically. “Fine. I hate accountability.”
Bob pointed toward the village.
“Elf jail,” he said. “All of you.”
They were marched away in a ridiculous parade:
Peppermint clutching a present tag like a crime clue.
Joe muttering about load paths and injustice.
Buttercup limping and furious and somehow still glittery.
Mason smiling like he’d had a great day.
Mitch grumbling about being misunderstood.
Sprinkles waving cheerfully like this was a tour.
Behind them, Santa sighed.
With one slow wave of his hand—
The blizzard cannon shut off.
The presents floated back into neat piles.
The tags snapped back into place.
The tree lifted upright with a groan and a shimmer, lights turning on one by one like a heartbeat returning.
Order restored.
Christmas saved.
And the Chaos Six?
Thrown into a cell together.
THE CLIFFHANGER
Peppermint sank onto the bench, exhausted.
Joe leaned his head against the wall. Buttercup whispered, “We are never getting that cocoa.”
Mason yawned. “Best Christmas Eve ever.”
Mitch muttered, “I can’t believe I got arrested with… elves.”
Sprinkles curled up like a fluffy mountain.
Peppermint stared at her hands, trembling again.
“I waited a hundred years,” she whispered. “And I still—”
Footsteps echoed down the hall.
Slow. Calm. Familiar.
A shadow fell over the bars.
And Santa’s voice drifted in, warm and tired and amused.
“Well,” he said.“…I heard you wanted hot chocolate.”
