Arthur Christmas Read online

  ARTHUR

  CHRISTMAS

  THE NOVEL

  Adapted by

  JUSTINE & RON FONTES

  STERLING CHILDREN’S BOOKS

  New York

  STERLING CHILDREN’S BOOKS

  New York

  An Imprint of Sterling Publishing

  387 Park Avenue South

  New York, NY 10016

  STERLING CHILDREN’S BOOKS and the distinctive Sterling Children’s Books logo are trademarks of Sterling Publishing Co., Inc.

  TM & © 2011 Sony Pictures Animation Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher.

  ISBN 978-1-4027-9242-7 (paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-4027-9604-3 (e-Book)

  For information about custom editions, special sales, and premium and corporate purchases, please contact Sterling Special Sales at 800-805-5489 or [email protected].

  Lot #:

  2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

  09/11

  www.sterlingpublishing.com/kids

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1 DEAR SANTA

  CHAPTER 2 GO! GO! GO!

  CHAPTER 3 SANTA, ARE YOU HERE?

  CHAPTER 4 MISSION … ACCOMPLISHED!

  CHAPTER 5 WHO GETS TO BE … SANTA?

  CHAPTER 6 MISSION IMPOSSIBLE!

  CHAPTER 7 GRANDSANTA’S SECRET

  CHAPTER 8 SKY-SCRATCHERS A STOWAWAY

  CHAPTER 9 SILENT NIGHT

  CHAPTER 10 TROUBLE IN TRELEW

  CHAPTER 11 SANTA’S ANSWER

  CHAPTER 12 THE ELVES REBEL

  CHAPTER 13 EVERYBODY PANIC!

  CHAPTER 14 THE BIGGEST MAP IN THE WORLD

  CHAPTER 15 ATTACK!

  CHAPTER 16 COUNTDOWN TO MELTDOWN

  CHAPTER 17 THREE SANTAS ON THE SCENE

  BEHIND THE SCENES

  SIX-YEAR-OLD GWEN HINES was having doubts about Santa Claus, but she still wanted to believe.

  On November 25, Gwen wrote a letter to Santa. Then she put on her jacket, her woolly hat, and her gloves, and ran out of her house in the quiet village of Trelew, in the country of Cornwall, England.

  Gwen trotted down Mimosa Avenue to the mailbox. She stretched up on her tiptoes to reach the slot and carefully slid in the envelope addressed to:

  SANTA CLAUS

  THE NORTH POLE

  Three days later, Gwen’s letter arrived at the North Pole’s Mail Department, along with millions of others addressed the same way. It traveled down a hall made of shining ice and past a series of office doors until it reached one labeled Mail Agent 3776.

  Behind that door sat a lanky young man named Arthur. Arthur believed in Santa completely! He knew for certain that Santa was real, because Santa Claus was his father, just like his grandfather had once been Santa and his great-grandfather before that.

  Huge stacks of letters contributed to the cozy clutter of Arthur’s office, which also contained an impressive collection of Santa memorabilia. Strings of stamps from all over the world hung in loops like paper chains, decorating the crowded shelves. Even though he lived at the North Pole all year, Arthur was a bit of a Christmas nerd!

  Arthur ran one hand through his messy hair as he read Gwen’s letter. Though he read hundreds of such letters each day during the North Pole’s busy season, Arthur never tired of them. Each child felt special and important to him; each letter commanded the youngest Claus’s complete attention.

  Gwen’s letter began …

  Dear Santa,

  My friend doesn’t believe in you, because to get around the world in one night, you’d have to go so fast it would make you and the sleigh and the reindeer all burn up. I think you are real. But how do you do it?

  Arthur smiled, glad that Gwen had not let her friend’s skepticism spoil her belief. He glanced from her letter to the unopened collector’s edition reindeer slippers at the heart of his “shrine” to Santa Claus. Arthur believed in Santa with all his heart. He was glad his position in the Mail Department gave him the chance to nurture that same faith in others.

  He returned his attention to Gwen’s words …

  For Christmas, I would love a pink Twinkle Bike with training wheels. But PLEASE don’t bring it if it makes you and the reindeer burn.

  Love,

  Gwen Hines

  23 Mimosa Avenue

  Trelew, Cornwall, England

  Gwen had attached a postcard of her hometown. On the back, she had made a crayon drawing showing her on a pink bicycle waving to a red-clad Santa Claus—on fire!

  Arthur grinned. Gwen’s concern for Santa’s safety was very sweet. But she need not fear. Santa Claus could perform his annual miracle without risk to himself or the reindeer. The rosy-cheeked, twinklyeyed man in the picture on the wall of Arthur’s shrine could do anything—at least that’s what Arthur fervently believed. So he wrote:

  Dear Gwen,

  Thank you for your letter and brilliant picture. Your request for a pink Twinkle Bike will be passed on to Santa. Yes, do believe in Santa. He is real, and he’s the greatest man ever. And he can get around the world to every child without a single reindeer being incinerat—

  Arthur stopped himself, and changed the word to hurt, concluding, By the time the sun comes up on Christmas Day, he’ll get to you, too! Using his … special magic.

  By Christmas Eve, millions of similar letters had been processed, gifts made or acquired, wrapped, tagged, and prepared for delivery in an operation more efficient and better organized than any undertaking known to humanity.

  While cities slept under a blanket of stars, a nearly invisible shadow slid through the sky at tremendous speed. No sleigh for Santa any more—this was the S-1, an incredible, huge, mile-wide “sleigh ship,” designed by Santa’s older son, Steve. When the craft stopped, millions of hatches opened, and tiny figures swooped down on wires. Quicker and quieter than ninjas, this army of elves “invaded” every corner of the world, racing over dark streets, across rooftops, and even down the occasional chimney, to bring the correct toy to every child on the planet!

  At 11:56 p.m., the S-1 had reached the town of Aarhus in Eastern Denmark. An elf named Carlos Connor spoke into his high-tech headset. “First Field Elf Battalion—set!”

  A large figure wearing a red suit trimmed with white, emerged from the sleigh and replied, “Ho, ho, ho!” He was, of course, Santa Claus!

  Andrew Marino, the elf standing nearest Santa, relayed this go-ahead command. “That’s a Ho, ho, ho, Aarhus.”

  All over the Danish city, tiny watches suddenly glowed green as millions of elves sprang into action.

  Carlos Connor spoke urgently into his headset. “Field elves! Jingle! Jingle! Jingle! Drop time: 18.14 seconds per household!”

  Elves on every roof near Connor disabled burglar alarms and obscured security cameras. They expertly disconnected wires and decoded keypads. They tossed snow “grenades” that kept cameras from tracking their lightning-fast entrances and exits.

  Like fearless mountain climbers, elves rappelled down tall towers. They slid through windows and air vents, over fire escapes and through skylights.

  They swung from strings of lights over plastic reindeer and Styrofoam Santas, before skiing down roofs. Some used sucker-padded shoes to scale the sides of skyscrapers. The elves moved with the agility of gymnasts and the stealth of thieves.

  Santa, on the other hand, struggled to maneuver his bulk down a short ladder held steady by two loyal elves. His labored breathing echoed in his frostbitten ears. On this, his seventieth Christmas, th
e current Claus wondered, “Am I getting too old for this? No, of course not!” Santa had a job to do—and the night’s amazing mission was nearing its successful conclusion!

  A team of elves made their way down a suburban street. Before alley cats could open their mouths to meow, an elf turned his gun to “CAT” and dispensed a barrage of tuna-flavored treats. Similarly, a dog-food grenade silenced a guard dog.

  Every type of gift, no matter how large, cumbersome, or noisy, reached its proper destination beautifully wrapped and perfectly assembled. Though most houses no longer had chimneys, the elves found their way in, deposited the right gifts, and left without waking so much as a mouse.

  Disguised as doctors, they delivered to every sick child in hospitals. Prepared for every possible problem, the elves even had a peanut gun to shoot into the beak of a parrot that squawked loudly.

  They had special gadgets designed to bite the carrots children left out “For Rudolph” and the other reindeer. They used hoses to suck up the pudding left “For Santa” into containers strapped to their tiny backs.

  An electronic scanner measured the Nice/Naughty percentage of each child, allowing the stocking-filler gun to dispense the proper amount of small toys, chocolate coins, and candy canes.

  The elves efficiently slid every kind of gift under tree after tree, and stuffed stockings with lightning speed, all without knocking over one knickknack or card.

  Incredibly, within the 18.14 seconds, all the elf teams emerged from their targets with their gifts successfully dispatched. Carlos Connor reported proudly to the camouflaged craft, “Stand by S-1! Aarhus is Merry. Aarhus is Merry!”

  The elves grabbed the wires and shot back up on them to the waiting ship, as air jets in the soles of their tiny shoes erased their footprints from the snow below. No trace of their visit was left behind. As each trio of elves ascended, they saluted Santa before disappearing into the craft.

  As it flew through a dense cloud between stops, the S-1 momentarily dropped its starry camouflage, revealing it to be a giant red spaceship, the most modern craft on Earth!

  Commanding it from Mission Control, Steve Claus said, “North Pole to S-1, you have weather fluctuation, update camouflage.”

  One of the elves assigned to maintaining the craft’s disguise replied, “Roger that, Control.”

  Cameras all over the S-1’s surface clicked to life. Suddenly the huge craft was cloaked in images of the land beneath. It was making itself invisible by projecting its surroundings onto itself! “Hull projection optimized,” the elf reported.

  The helmsman, Chris Tankenson, reported, “Denmark cleared.”

  Other elves echoed excitedly, “Denmark cleared.” “That’s an X-12 on Denmark.”

  Determined to keep them focused on the best delivery operation, Steve said, “OK, next drop Flensburg, minus 12.4 seconds.”

  AS THE SPEEDING S-1 approached Germany, one of the elf specialists jammed the nation’s Air Defense Radar on five different frequencies. A computerized voice from the North Pole Mission Control played through the S-1’s monitors. It reminded the elf, “Four hours to mission deadline.”

  The elf’s tiny, sensitive ears twitched at yet another sound, a tentative knock on the door and a muffled voice saying, “Hello … ?”

  The elf knew that voice and pressed a button that caused the door to SWISH open and a red carpet to unroll for Santa Claus. His jolly demeanor and big red suit made the man instantly recognizable. At his approach, all the elves present quickly saluted. Santa shuffled inside, muttering, “Sorry … Forgot the pin code.” He could not get used to all the passwords and codes required by Steve’s new technology. But Santa still wanted to stay on top of the mission. “So, how’re we, uh …”

  The eager helmsman answered Santa’s question before he could finish. “Just crossed into Germany, sir.”

  “Germany.” Santa stifled a belch. “Aren’t we doing well?”

  “Certainly are, sir,” Tankenson replied.

  Santa almost belched again, and then apologized. “Umf … sorry … one too many … mince pies.” His belly was bloated with all the treats combined with the stress of the season. He patted his pockets, looking for the antacid tablets Mrs. Claus always made sure were there.

  Tankenson filled the awkward silence. “Great achievement, sir.” Then he added, “Looking forward to retirement?”

  Santa hadn’t heard him over his own chewing. He had found the roll of chalky tablets and had already popped two into his mouth.

  The computerized voice recited, “Ten seconds to Flensburg.”

  Santa yawned. White chunks of dissolving tablets dotted his tongue. “Maintain current … um … Carry on all!”

  The computer went on, “Update national protocol. Delete rice pudding and carrot. Germans leave out a shoe on the front step for Santa to fill. Repeat: Shoe on front step.”

  The same voice echoed in the S-1’s giant Dispatch Deck where millions of gifts traveled along a maze of conveyor belts. As each gift passed through a control point, a scanner read the tiny barcode on its tag. On the computer screen of the nearby checker elf, the number would appear, ticking off the delivery for the child assigned that particular barcode.

  Past the scanner, teams of delivery elves huddled beside their hatches, waiting for other elves to attach a gift to their back. The room resonated with numbers, followed by the constantly repeated phrase, “Gift secured!”

  Dispatch Chief Carlos Connor kept his crew briskly focused. “You! MOVE!” he shouted to a dreamy elf named Tardy Baynham.

  “What happened to peace and goodwill to all men, Sarge?” Tardy wondered.

  Connor grumbled. “It don’t say nothing about elves, soldier. GO! GO! GO!”

  Over the speaker, Steve commanded, “Engage rooftops!”

  Another elf hooked Tardy to his wire and pushed him out of the huge ship. Wind whistled through Tardy’s pointy little ears as he suddenly sped toward the ground.

  Live images of his speedy descent reached Mission Control at the North Pole, monitored on a giant screen by the dashing Steve Claus, Arthur’s older brother. All the support elves admired their brilliant, handsome, dynamic leader, especially Steve’s assistant, Peter. Everything about Steve, from his neat, white Christmas tree—shaped goatee to his trim, muscular physique inspired adoration in the fawning elf—even the way Steve sipped his espresso.

  “Commencing Flensburg drop,” the computer’s voice reported.

  Steve commanded. “S-1, hold drop altitude. This is Germany, Father. They drive on the right, national dish is sausage” He looked at the big screen showing Santa landing on a rooftop.

  He clapped his hands to rally the elves. “OK, let’s show them, people. Operation Santa Claus is coming to town.”

  Steve’s deep, authoritative voice echoed off the walls of the huge, secret space dug into a glacier. His bright blue eyes—younger, clearer versions of his father’s—reflected the giant banks of screens displaying the weather, S-1’s status, plus military and civilian transmissions from all over the world.

  Teams of elves worked in front of each screen. One watched the Santa Monitoring Station, which kept track of the big, jolly man’s heart rate, cookie consumption, and Ho, ho, ho’s per second.

  Numbers flashed across the other screens, each representing a present delivered. Elves clicked buttons and recited “Drop Complete!” Each drop registered on an enormous counter.

  Thousands of support elves sat on a giant icestepped platform in front of their monitors. At the top of the stairs stood a huge ice sculpture of Santa beneath big brass letters proclaiming the North Pole’s sacred motto: In Santa We Believe.

  On a walkway near the icy ceiling, a door opened, and Arthur stepped out. In honor of the special occasion, the youngest Claus wore a bright green Christmas sweater, and he had finally opened the package containing the silly, singing reindeer slippers. The furry slippers felt warm and cozy, though Arthur could not see his feet over the tall stack of papers filling hi
s gangly arms.

  Not used to walking in plush slippers, he tripped on a slick step and his papers went flying. “Oops! Sorry!”

  Support elves scurried to retrieve the scattered letters. Arthur knew each letter by the color of its crayoned scrawl, and its sweet contents.

  A busy elf named David wondered, “What are you doing, Arthur?”

  “I have to get Maria Costa down to Steve,” the younger Claus brother explained. But as he reached for the letter in question, it floated away from him. When Arthur tried to grab Maria’s letter, he suddenly became painfully aware of the dizzying drop beneath the elevated walkway. He leaned back, wincing with vertigo and nausea, fighting the intense desire to drop down flat to hug the floor.

  With a windy WHOOSH, an open elevator platform with no handrails soared up to become level with the walkway. An elf stepped off, holding out Maria’s letter. “Is this yours, Arthur?”

  “Oh thanks, Kenneth!” Arthur gratefully accepted the page. Then he added, “Merry Christmas!”

  David stepped onto the elevator platform. “Need a ride?” He joked, knowing that Arthur was scared of heights.

  Kenneth, David, and other nearby elves giggled. Arthur declined, “No, no thanks. Uh, I’m not very good with going fast and being high up and …”

  Arthur winced again as the platform sped off. Images on the multiple screens showing elves plummeting to Earth made him feel even queasier.

  Far below Arthur, Steve strode across Mission Control’s floor with Peter at his heels. Arthur was in awe of Steve’s confidence, clarity, and drive. His brother seemed the very picture of competence as he punched the buttons on his HoPad, the latest in high-tech devices.

  Steve commanded, “Buckle down, people!” Then he turned to his assistant and demanded, “Peter, update!”

  Meanwhile, Steve’s clumsy brother couldn’t even climb down a flight of stairs without creating chaos. Arthur apologized as he tripped past busy elves working hard at their screens.

  These support elves communicated with the delivery elves in the field, issuing important information like, “Seventh step from the top had a squeak last year.” Whenever elves encountered a problem they couldn’t solve, they turned to Steve who always had a quick, decisive answer.