About Revolt at the North Pole:
This is a short holiday horror story of 3900 words or approx. 14 print pages by Hugo finalist Cora Buhlert.
Excerpt:
Discontent had been brewing in Santa’s workshop at the North Pole since September.
“The old man is working us to the bone,” Frosty Busynight, elf second class, whispered to his colleague Noel Happyglitter, as they stood on the assembly line, painting an endless succession of wooden toys.
“Sixteen to eighteen hour shifts, shitty pay, no overtime, no days off till January…”
“I know,” Noel Happyglitter whispered back, painting a red nose onto what had to be the thousandth nutcracker today, “But what can we do? Jobs ain’t exactly easy to come by, here at the North Pole.”
“Unionise,” an elderly elf named Yule Ciderspirit said, as he inserted glass eyes into an angel-haired baby doll, “If we’re all unite and threaten to strike, the old man has to hear our demands.”
“Are you crazy?” Noel Happyglitter hissed, “Don’t you remember what happened to the last elves who tried to unionise? They were kicked out into the cold and the snow to starve.”
Noel Happyglitter took off his cap in remembrance of those poor elven souls. Frosty Busynight and Yule Ciderspirit did likewise.
“What’s the matter, you lazy bums?”
The fore-elf Rusty Shelfelf cracked his jingle-bell studded whip, causing Jolly and Frosty to flinch. Only Yule, who’d seen it all, did not flinch, but glared icicles at Rusty.
“If you don’t finish your quota by shift end, I’ll make sure to have your pay docked.”
“What pay?” Frosty whispered, once Rusty was out of earshot, “We’re already working for a pittance.”
“Fucking class traitor,” Yule grumbled, still glaring icicles at Rusty, “Used to be that he only spied on the kids, not on his own.”
Noel shrugged. “You know Rusty. Always brownnosing Santa and always eager to rat out anybody for a pat on the head. I just hope he didn’t overhear us talking about...” He cast a glance over his shoulder. “…the u-word.”
“We shouldn’t bother with the u-word,” an elf named Cinnamon Firelog said, her fingers forming air quotes, “The u-word doesn’t work. What we need is the r-word?”
“R-word?” Frosty asked, “R as in reindeer?”
“No, R as in revolution,” Cinnamon replied.
“Be silent,” Yule hissed at her. Frosty clamped his hand over Cinnamon’s mouth and Noel all but fainted.
“You don’t say that word, not even in jest,” Yule continued, “Cause if the old man should hear…”
“Or Rusty Shelfelf,” Noel added ominously.
“Then what?” Cinnamon replied, shaking off Frosty, “He’ll dock our pay, increase our work hours and kick us out into the cold to starve? Wake up! He already does that. He does it all the time.”
“Exactly,” Noel hissed, “And if you keep talking like that, you’ll be next.”
“And we’ll get kicked out into the cold, too, just because we happened to be nearby, when you said the… the…” Frosty couldn’t even say the word out loud.
“Yes, maybe the old man will kick us out,” Cinnamon said, “But our lives are already miserable, brutish and short. Every week, at least one of us succumbs to a workplace injury. And the old man doesn’t care. He never cared and he never will. That’s why we need a r…”
“Shush,” Noel and Yule hissed as one, while Frosty clamped his hand over Cinnamon’s mouth again.
“Get back to work, you lazy bums, and keep the heavy petting to your off-hours,” Rusty Shelfelf called in the distance.
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About Cora Buhlert:
Cora has been writing, since she was a teenager, and has published stories, articles and poetry in various international magazines. She is the author of the Silencer series of pulp style thrillers, the Shattered Empire space opera series, the In Love and War science fiction romance series, the Helen Shepherd Mysteries and plenty of standalone stories in multiple genres.
When Cora is not writing, she works as a translator and teacher. She also runs the Speculative Fiction Showcase and the Indie Crime Scene and contributes to the Hugo-nominated fanzine Galactic Journey. Cora was a finalist for the 2020 Hugo Award.
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