And it continued on each year. Every Christmas since then, Santa and Rudolf would be there, along with a gift. A sleigh would materialise and Rudolf would give them a ride. They would spend the night in the Winter Wonderland, where children's wishes congregated and gifts spawned from snow and Santa’s magic.

  Then came the Christmas last year.

  It started out much the same. She took the doll she received this Christmas with her and Rudolf sped them towards the Winter Wonderland.

  Only this time, when she jumped down the sleigh and beheld the sight of the ever magical Winter Wonderland, something felt a tiny bit odd. Everything seemed slightly tilted, warped around the edges, distorted about the centre, grating her like an itch she could not quite scratch. It was like all those times when she had clearly removed the branding on a shirt’s collar but it somehow still managed to irritate her skin, hovering around like some clingy ghost. But over there stood the tree of wishes, and over there the fountain of gifts unfortunately remained. Santa and Rudolf sandwiched her, all was as it should be, and she was willing to ignore any discomfort for her annual night in the Winter Wonderland.

  Then Santa kneeled down to face her, eye to eye. He looked conflicted, his face clouded with emotions she could not quite decipher. She had never seen him look like this. He was always a jolly old man, the embodiment of Christmas joy and wonder. He was Santa.

  Every bone in her body was telling her that something was very wrong. A cold chill creeped up from her feet, sending the hairs on the back of her neck upright. Unconsciously, she took a step backwards, bumping into Rudolf’s hinds. 

  Santa reached to cup her cheek. Even through his gloves, she could feel the cold emanating from his hands. ‘You are a smart and insightful child. You should be able to see it,’ Santa said, sad but proud, and moved his hand up to cover her eyes.

  When he took his hand away, the snow was gone. The fountain that vomited gifts when Santa sneezed was gone. The tree that grew leaves that were wishes was gone.

  In place of it was a strange room, crowded with people, all bent down working on something with their machines. Taking a closer look, she realised they were making duplications of the doll she just received.

  Santa gestured towards the room, ‘Somewhere here, is your secret Santa.’

  She looked up at him, shocked. The air in the room was hot and stuffy. Clicking sounds from the machines sounded continuously. Some of the workers appeared to be dozing off due to exhaustion. This was nothing like the fountain of gifts, where gifts splurged out, admittedly in a disgusting way, with just a simple sneeze from Santa.

  ‘No,’ she shook her head, ‘No. The fountain of gifts vomited my gift. You are my Santa.’

  Santa shook his head sadly, ‘You know what this is. You knew before I brought you here.’

  Still, she shook her head adamantly. ‘I don’t have a secret Santa. I don’t need a secret Santa. You are my Santa.’

   ‘Child, I am sorry. But your gifts are not entirely of my doing.’

  She shook her head, backing away from Santa. ‘You’re not real. Izzy is right. You’re just my imagination.’

  A twinkle appeared in Santa’s eyes. ‘Who says being an imagination makes me any less real? I am as real as the unending sky, the unmoving mountains and the immeasurable sea as long as kids like you continue to exist.’

  But she glared at him. ‘But you’re not. You can’t make gifts from snow. You don’t actually have a vomiting statue. You are a lie! A fake. A coverup. I hate you!’

  ‘Child…’

  ‘No, don’t call me child,’ she said, mimicking Santa as she said the last word, ‘I don’t want to see this. Just make it come back. Please, make it come back.’

  Santa waved his hand and the strange room disappeared. But the Winter Wonderland did not return. Around them existed only a blanket of snow that suffocated the ice beneath, and nothing else.

  Somewhere deep inside her rose the urge to destroy something, to shatter to scratch and to rip. But around her there was only snow, endless snow, Santa, Rudolf, and the doll in her hand. She realised that she couldn’t hurt anything. Tears streamed down her face.

  Rudolf trotted next to her, his golden nose pressed against hers. He clicked as if trying to comfort her.

  ‘Take me back, Rudolf,’ she murmured, ‘take me back.’

  Rudolf’s eyelids lowered slightly, then his nose started glowing, so bright that she could not distinguish between the colours. It was everything at once, a shade that made her think that standing next to the sun would be nothing more than carrying a torch. 

  She closed her eyes and fainted against Rudolf. With his horns, Rudolf hooked her up by her cloak and swung her on his back.

  Rudolf clicked disapprovingly at Santa, his golden nose dimming. Too early, too young.

  Santa leaned against him, ignoring his annoyance. ‘You know it was never of my control. Our control. She is the one who pulled the mist off the facade. We can only help.’

  Just as Rudolf thought he would let Santa rest on him for just this once, the old man straightened. He picked up the child and carried her in his arms, carefully wiping the tear tracks from her face.

  ‘Let’s get her back and get you a nap, shall we?’ He asked. He blew into the air and a sled appeared.

  Rudolf kicked his hind legs impatiently as Santa hopped in. A nap had never sounded better. Sometimes he wondered why Santa didn’t need more naps. For his sake, Rudolf made sure his nose was shining in a shade that resembled a burning hearth.