My Girlfriend is Santa Claus & Together We Must Stop the Christmas Apocalypse Based on a True Story

At last, after many a mile, they came galloping to the Snow Witch’s gothic castle of ice. Its crystalline walls, intricately carved with gargoyles of yetis and winged snow balrogs, ebbed with a magical blue light. Peter pulled himself up off the sledge and stomped some feeling back into his boots. His watch displayed eleven o’clock. Not so late, unless you factored in how long it would take to get back to the workshop.

“You look tired, Peter,” Aiueo said.

“Yeah, I feel tired!” he snapped.

The gothic portcullis with its many barbs and impaled skeletons lifted and the Snow Witch greeted him, her beautiful blue eyes brimming with tears. Her lovely face was as the winter, when after an abominable night of avalanches, the moon slips free of cloud veil and bathes the virgin lands of snow with her cold luminance. And for those of you who prefer the dumbed-down No-Fear Shakespeare over the real deal, she also had pretty phenomenal tits. The kind where even a straight girl would see her cleavage and think, “damn, could we head off to the powder room for a quick girl to girl flash?” That’s what girls do in the bathroom together, right?

The night was charged with Lovecraftian sexual energy between boy and frosty elder goddess girlfriend. Peter had quelled the Snow Witch’s desperate loneliness with some hugs— very brief hugs to avoid ice crystals forming over his tender boy flesh, and her sadness sublimated away like dry ice into the air. From then on she was all wicked smiles and piercing demonic gazes— impaling him with her swirly glowing eyes— as Peter gradually grew sleepier and sleepier. No, Peter! You fool! Never fall asleep in a Snow Witch’s evil lair! That’s like killing a unicorn, listening to a siren’s song and u-turning your ship towards sheer rocks to get a better peek, or feeding a gremlin after midnight! Real amateur mistakes!

The Snow Witch took Peter on a treacherous tour of her ice palace, showing him the dovecote— a gothic tower crammed full of fluttering turnstones, puffins, and their guano— where she would mope as the lonely hours melted away, the grand music chamber— with her collection of magical instruments— where she would rest over the icicle harpsichord and grieve Peter’s absence with snowy tears, the wine cellar— with its many vaults of casks and barrels of anti-freeze laced brandies and wines— where she would lay on the floor and drink herself into oblivion awaiting Peter’s return.

And as intensely as Peter loved Squee, and Santa, and Yuzuka, and Yumeka, and Yuika, and Yukina, and Yuna, and even Iumika and some of the reindeer, the pity he felt for the Snow Witch, and the guilt she pressed upon him as she reenacted her moping, grieving, and alcoholism in each room, engraved this depressing snow girl upon his heart, and her alone. How could it be possible that she was evil— this shark toothed temptress, with her claw-like fingers, and platinum tresses bundled into a knot, which not even pure snow itself could have a finer lustre?

No, Peter! You dumbass! Never think you know better than a magical elf who’s trying to protect you! That’s like shunning Merlin’s warning not to sleep with your blood related sister, or stranger danger’s warning about getting into a mustachio man’s windowless van for free candy! And yet here you are, in the Snow Witch’s van, about to burn your whole kingdom to the ground! Wake up, sleepyhead!

The tour ended in her moonlit library, with its many volumes of icy tomes and grimoires, where she sat upon Peter’s lap and stretched her glittering legs out, and gathered him into her arms, and uncomfortably steamed against his body heat.

“You know, if you become a Snowman we’d be able to… you know.”

“Uh huh…” Peter groggily rolled his head. “Sounds great.”

“But you’d have to say goodbye to the human world forever. I couldn’t do that to you!”

“Mm-hmm…”

“But the thought of not being able to touch you…” she gestured towards her breasts. “It’s like there’s a great hollow within me.”

“Uh huh, me too.”

“But I couldn’t force you to do that! Well… I guess I could. I am physically stronger than you. It would be incredibly easy to keep you captive here while I prepared the necessary ingredients. And to be honest, I can be cruel, because sometimes it’s necessary to be cruel to make a relationship work. Rome wasn’t built on love alone.”

Pay close attention here! These are what the kids would call ‘red flags.’ Those not-so-subtle clues that your relationship is doomed— doomed to end with your valuables flung out a window, doomed to end with your vehicle repainted with curlicue, accusatory graffiti, doomed to end with your pet rabbit simmering in a pressure cooker— if you’re lucky, that is. If you’re not lucky, things may end with several knives sticking out of your corpse and a suicide note that reads, “He lied about everything!” Peter might have picked up on this shit-test had his brain not been slipping off into dreamland.

“You’re so much better than my last fiancé.”

Record scratch! Freeze frame. Fiancé? The Snow Witch’s lore deepens, deepens in a way that no teenage boy could prepare for. A blizzard of questions blinded Peter. How long had the Snow Witch been engaged? What horrible event had called off the engagement? Was it her personality, or was it the fiancé’s fault? Was he still alive or did she decapitate him in a bloody breakup? For a moment Peter wondered how to press the Snow Witch for information, but then, perhaps thanks to his sleepiness, decided that any answer she gave would only sour his opinion of her.

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“I’ve got to head back. They’re going to realize I’ve snuck out.”

Peter stood and drunkenly wobbled towards the door. He bounced off a wall and then balanced himself steady. His romantic mission was complete. He was, in fact, a good boyfriend. All the night’s misery and his throbbing headache were proof of that. In his sleep deprived and frozen state Peter looked so dreadfully awful, like a boy with one foot in an icy grave, that a doctor might have considered him beyond saving. However, outside in the dark of a wintery dawn with no sun, the Snow Witch did not see his misery, and so she clung to him and drew from his lips a deep and freezing kiss.

“Come back soon next time,” she growled.

“Mm-hmm.”

Peter walked with jellified legs back to the sledge and face-planted onto the cargo bed. The reindeer then took off back to the workshop, their reigns jingling with many a merry bell.

Sneaking back into the workshop was not as easy as sneaking out. Not when there were hundreds of elves about sipping morning coffee, kindling fires, body blocking doorways with idle chatter. But he managed to tumble back into his bedroom and collapse into bed for a solid twenty-minutes of sleep before Yumeka came to wake him. But even before that, his phone went off.

— Why didn’t you text me good morning? (╬ಠิ益ಠิ)

Peter looked at the time, 6:15, and pounded his head with his fist.

— I’m still in bed.

— I waited forever!

— You waited 15 minutes!

— You don’t care about me! (T⌓T)