Read Online Arthur Christmas by Justine Fontes - Free Book Online Page B

… ’til December 26 … Is that it, dear?”
    Mrs. Claus’s recorded voice replied to Santa, “Yes, Malcolm. Press the red but …”
    The machine BLEEPED .
    Arthur’s heart sank. He shook his head furiously, refusing to accept the awful truth. “No! Santa’s the most caring man in the world!”
    â€œSo, why are you here and not him?” Bryony wondered.
    Arthur turned to Bryony and stared blankly. He had no answer to that. He dropped the reins just as Grandsanta yanked hard.
    The sleigh suddenly flipped upside down. The Hoho flew up in the air.
    Steve called, “Arthur?!”
    But no one answered. The upside down sleigh dumped Arthur, Bryony, Grandsanta, Dasher, and Gwen’s bike out onto the dunes of a deserted beach before disappearing into the starry sky.
    After a moment, Arthur stood up and walked across the sand, away from the others and Gwen’s gift.
    â€œDon’t leave me, Arthur!” Grandsanta exclaimed.
    But Arthur just kept walking.
    â€œPoor old man and his reindeer, on our own at Christmas,” Grandsanta said pitifully. When Arthur continued to walk away, the old man added, “At least have the decency to finish us off with a rock!”
    The young man walked toward the vast ocean, his sadness as deep as the sea itself.
    With no other way to keep warm in the predawn chill on the beach, Bryony tore small bits of wrapping paper off Gwen’s bicycle to feed a campfire. The night had been such a wild rollercoaster of emotions: shock at finding the undelivered gift, the excitement of embarking on the “impossible” mission, joy at finding Trelew, confusion on discovering it was the wrong Trelew, and now despair as even Arthur seemed resigned to failure. Worse than that, the young man had lost that most precious spark: his belief in the goodness of Santa Claus.
    Arthur’s sadness chilled the elf even more than the wild wind on that dark Cuban beach. Even his self-centered grandfather hated to see Arthur so low.
    â€œSun’ll be up soon. It’s Christmas!” Grandsanta reminded him.
    Arthur’s sour expression did not change at all. “Christmas is for kids. You grow out of it.”
    Bryony could not believe her pointed ears. “What, in the last six minutes?”
    Arthur sighed. “You were right, Grandsanta. I wasn’t normal.”
    The old man regretted his harsh words. “No, no, it’s how you are, Son …”
    Arthur interrupted. “No, you were right. And Steve. And … and Dad. All that trouble for one kid, I was being ridiculous.”
    He stretched out on the cold sand. Soon he would be able to sunbathe. Arthur wondered what that would be like. “This is nice. It’s good to get away from it all, you know, all the Christmas fuss.”
    Grandsanta moved closer. “The night I last took Evie out, when there was all that … fuss … your father came to me. I’ll never forget it. Couldn’t look me in the eye. ‘Dad,’ he says, ‘Steve thinks it’s best you don’t fly again. We’re scrapping the sleigh.’ Me own son. Who used to sit where you sat, looking up at me!”
    The old man tried to explain his actions. “I just wanted them to remember who I used to be.”
    Grandsanta came as close as he could to apologizing. “We’re just a fambly, Son. But we’re a fambly of Santas! We’re the Clauses!”
    Arthur pulled Gwen’s letter from his pocket. “Are we? How can I ever write another letter saying Santa cares?”
    He threw the letter on the sand, pulled off his remaining reindeer slipper and tossed it far out to sea.
    â€œG’night, Dad,” he told the indifferent ocean. “Sleep well.”

IN HIS NORTH Pole quarters, Santa slept quite soundly, snoring loudly beside Mrs. Claus in their big, cozy bed. A soft knock at the door roused the tired man from his slumbers.
    Santa stumbled