A New Christmas Carol Sandra46 When he got the notice he couldn't believe it. Fired! Him! Santa didn't think He would dare, but He had done it. The Lord had fired Old Nick Santa. Downsizing He had written. Santa was ready to admit that his waist had gotten a bit too large, and he left tracks deeper than usual in the snow. He wasn't as slim as he had been when he was younger, but this downsizing was a bit too drastic. A leaner company, this was written. He had been put aside as an old boot, Santa couldn't imagine how to tell it to the reindeer. He went to Toytown to get an explanation, but when he arrived, sleigh, reindeer, and all, he found an empty place. The last guards were closing the gates with a big chain. "They've cleaned out," said one of those guys. "They've moved off-shore. They're gonna gentrify the area." "No more company town." Santa stammered, "How could it be?" "Cut-throat competition!" The guy was sententious: "If you can't beat'em, you know the saying. He's outsourced everything to off-shore locations. You won't recognize this place within two years!" "I won't be here within two years!" Santa muttered and took off. Now that he was on vacation - think positive! Don't let Him know that you care! - Now that he was on permanent vacation, Santa decided to call on Vampire in Rumania. In the heart of the Carpathian Mountains, Vampire's headquarters was typical of a post-Communist nouveau riche, a little too gaudy for Santa, but he was too impressed by the squat building's new wing to care for the rest. Santa landed next to Vampire's brand new chopper, and showed himself to Vamp's office. "Hi, how're you doing?" Vamp didn't look very surprised. He knew it. "You've built a new wing, I see," Santa felt a big knot inside, near his belly button. "Huhm, yes! Last Halloween was the best!" Vamp caressed with his red dead eyes the army of vampirettes fingering their computer keyboards in the vast hall beneath his office. The spacious room looked onto a spectacular vista, the gloomy ruins of the castle of Vamp's most famous forefather, Dracula. The castle turrets were permanently beaten by picturesque stormy clouds and lightning. "I've brought some cases of French champagne in the sleigh, if you send someone to fetch 'em." Santa's voice sounded a bit too jolly, and Vamp was a bit too solicitous, but things went on pretty near smoothly. "He did it wrong," Vamp conceded, after a case of French champagne, "but you are a bit out of date, you know." Santa was dangerously near to be as drunk as a lord, but he wasn't stoned enough not to hear that. "You, too, Brute -Brutus!" he spluttered. "Nick, Nick, you know it! I'm telling the truth. Oh, come on, you old blockhead. Why didn't you even try to renew your look, Nick? Oh, Lord, what's the matter with you, guy?" Santa felt the bells clanging inside his head. He felt hot. He felt fine. Never been better. Never been so good for ages. He was Nick, Old Nick. The First, and the Only One. The Transformer. He could do it. He would work on his own, no more restrictions on trade. When he thought of it, he could see that his skills had been limited to a niche - a very large one, he conceded, but... Now he could see no religious or ethnic constraints in his future. Billions of new customers! No more huts in the North Pole, but the Presidential Suite in every Hilton in the world. "You're right, Vamp!" Old Nick stood up. "It's time to have a new look," he said, and changed into a wonderful woman. "Santa's dead, I'm gonna be New Year's Eve!"