The Santa Pact

The house smelled of peppermint and pine with the sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies subtly, softly, slowly but surely wafting in from the warm oven. On the stovetop, mother prepped the ingredients for hot chocolate later on just before sending everyone off to bed. Lights of all colors flickered on the walls from the Christmas tree, just a few presents sprinkled about the base. Pine needles were scattered about in the empty spots, the hardwood slightly sticky from the tree sap.

Father was on the front porch juggling a string of lights as he cautiously climbed the short step ladder to adorn the trimmings of the house. The sound of the large colored bulbs tinkled dully against one another. When one refused to light, he would replace with a whole new bulb being careful not to repeat the pattern of colors in line.

Meanwhile, the extremely precocious eight-year-old child, Billy Ditko, sat in between the tree and the fireplace which had died down to a lazy pile of ash and desperately glowing embers. There was enough warmth to entice him to lie down right there on the floor and take a nap, but he had, as he called it, very important work to do before going to sleep.

With a sharpened pencil in hand he laid the clean sheet of paper on the floor and began to write the following letter:

Dear Santa,

I know that you have already received my wish list for this year several weeks ago, and I hope that this will not be misconstrued as a vain attempt to test the limits of your “nice” list. I, as much as anybody else, do greatly enjoy not being on the “naughty” list. But I digress. This letter is in regards to an incident that happened at school just before the winter break in which a bully (who shall remain unnamed since it is likely that he is already in your aforementioned “naughty” list) aimed to manipulate me into thinking that you, Santa Claus, do not exist.

Being of scientific mind, I aim to definitively and empirically prove to myself that you indeed do exist. Your part is minimal and requires only your signature below. I fully intend to keep the results of this experiment to myself and thus call this letter “The Santa Pact.” While it would be nice to meet you in person, your autograph will suffice in proving that my faith in you is not all in vain. Thank you.

Signed,

Billy Ditko

I, Santa Claus, do hereby proclaim myself as an entity in exisitence:

Signed:

Dated:

“Billy!” mother called, “The hot chocolate will be ready in a few minutes. Will you let your dad know?”

“Yes, mother!” Billy shouted back. He hastily folded the letter and stuffed it inside his Christmas stocking and carefully hung it back on the mantle before running outside to call his father.

As the Ditko family finished up their hot cocoas, mother prepared some fresh cookies for Santa. She placed them on a small plate along with a tall, cold glass of milk by the fireplace. Billy helped and even suggested putting the cookies on the coffee table so that Santa would not accidentally knock them over onto the floor on his way in the house.

The next day Billy, still in his pajamas, ran to the living room and saw that the glass of milk was half gone, and the plate of cookies half empty. The presence of presents underneath the tree was noticeably fuller including a large box with Billy’s name written on the side of it. Mother and father came out of the master bedroom and watched their son’s excited face, his eyes glowing with wonder. It never gets old to watch, even after eight years.

Instead of running to the large box or half eaten plate of cookies or even to the window hoping to get a glimpse of flying reindeers pulling a sleigh, mother and father saw Billy walk over to his stocking on the mantle. He pulled out a folded piece of paper and a look of disappointment draped over his innocent face.

“Honey,” mother called gently, “What is that?”

“It’s an experiment,” Billy replied, “I wanted to prove to myself, scientifically, that Santa exists so I asked him to sign this pact I wrote up last night… It’s blank.”

“Did you know that was there?” Mother asked father.

“I had no idea,” father whispered back.

“I deliberately didn’t tell you two about it,” Billy said, “No offense, mom and dad, but I didn’t want you to pass of some cheap forgery just so I would still believe in Santa Claus. This could only mean one thing.”

“Billy,” father approached the young boy. He tried to hide the worry from his eye, “I guess I have something I have to confess.”

“How could I be so stupid?” Billy asked, frustrated.

“You’re not stupid, sweetie,” mother commented.

“It was my fault for not giving Santa enough time to read this pact ahead of time!”

“I’m not following, Billy,” mother said.

“I even asked to move the cookies out of the way. Of course!” Billy shouted.

“Are you okay, son?” father asked.

“It all makes so much sense now!” Billy smiled and laughed. “Look at all these presents. And look at the cookies; he didn’t have enough time to finish them all! He needs the cookies for the sugar content. That’s what keeps him up all night! He’s so busy trying to get everyone their presents that he didn’t have enough time to see my letter! It’s pretty self-centered of me to think that he would make time to partake in this pact. If he had, some poor little boy or girl on the other side of the world may not have gotten their presents on time! That’s why he didn’t sign!”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out, son,” father said, “Next time you better let me handle the postal transactions to the North Pole, okay?” Father smiled and took one of Billy’s presents and handed it to him. The child was about to tear into the carefully wrapped package before stopping himself.

“Gee, I hope this little stunt doesn’t get me on the ‘naughty’ list for next year,” Billy said. “It was all in the name of science. Do you think Santa will understand, dad?”

“I’m sure he will, son.”

“Am I still a good kid, mom?”

“The best,” mother corrected, “Merry Christmas, baby.”