Wiggle He

December 23rd, 2007

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There had come a day, he explained, when the fate of the world would be decided. Horrors had been unleashed which could not be surmounted: a machine, vast and terrible, whose only function was to travel the world, reach down the chimneys of the world’s people and deposit under their Christmas trees devices which would devour them even as they awoke on Christmas morning. This was only the first of the terrors to emerge from the dread portal opened by the foe who summoned it.

There was, he said, a chance. A boy, who would later grow to be the same Father Christmas who I met that frozen winter and whose presence was felt by every child. He alone had the power to seal the portal and save the world. But he was held back by his nerves, by his lack of confidence.

His attempt to seal the portal failed. He needed a cause, a purpose, he needed an emotional reason to succeed.

My friend was in possession of a depth of knowledge about the future, about all potential futures, for he carried with him an amulet – a chocolate, he said, although I never believed that – with the ability to lift the veil of time and lay it out before him. He knew what must be done, and it was so awful that he dared not place that burden upon anyone else.

He had to go back, and murder the elf who had taught young Claus to fly. It could only be done by one with a heart of ice, my dear friend told me, because this elf was beloved by all. And so, with great and desperate regret, the Snowman traveled back along the stream of linear time, and killed the elf teacher.

There was a period of mourning in Lapland, which the Snowman could not face and so returned reluctantly to the future.

There he found that the world had, indeed, been saved. In that moment of truth, Claus had successfully performed the looping trick he had failed to do before, and he did it because his teacher was dead. He did it for the old man, in his name and for his memory. Grief can lend strength even to a child, and I dare not imagine the sorrow felt by the reindeer which the man had cared for, who pushed themselves to the limit to perform the task, and to close that terrible portal.

The world was saved, and yet the man was dead. Christmas was a sad occasion from then on.

And yet Christmas prevails, and is not a sad occasion. After a time I realised that despite his promises, my friend had not told me the whole of the tale. So where was the discrepancy in the Snowman’s story?

I had to see for myself. And so, throughout my career I have sought the traces of this “quantum chocolate”, knowing that something of it must surely remain where my friend has been. I used my wealth to hire scientists and theoreticians, telling them only what they needed to know and trusting that my status and money would be enough to keep them from scoffing and abandoning the work.

Traces were found of the strange substance, which linked all of time together along a string of Christmases, deep into history. We devised methods of using the chocolate’s signature to send me back along this path to the day, hundreds of years ago, when the Snowman made his sacrifice. I felt a great need to watch events unfold with my own eyes and learn the truth.

Only twice did I succeed, but both times I arrived too soon, and too briefly.

Today, fate has smiled upon me and I feel this must be my day of truth. The location of the next trace of the Snowman’s quantum trail has been pinpointed. By chance, it is to materialise on the set of a film in which I shall be performing, and on the very first day of filming.

I intend to return to that old school, and this time I know where my previous errors were and shall not miss the day and the moment in which it all took place. Ironic that as I take my first step into Mr Henson’s maze, I will finally escape the labyrinth that has been my life.

Soon I will know.

If I am not seen again, let this video stand to comfort my family, who I do not leave lightly.

I wish you all the best, but I must do this.

I must.

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