Toy Soldier

Toy Soldier


“What’s that there?” I asked, peering under the tree. Tucked in the back, the glimmer from a final tiny package caught my eye.

“Huh. I’m not sure,” Mom replied, surveying the room, the near bedlam of ravaged wrapping paper and towers of stacked gifts my sister and I had excitedly claimed. “I thought we opened everything.”

Extending a long arm, I drew the last gift out. A bit larger than my palm, the wrapping shimmered, a rainbow hue which shifted as I turned the little box end over end. Topped by a brilliant red bow which sparkled like stardust, the simple handwritten tag read, ‘The Smiths.’

“Funny,” Mom recalled, “I don’t remember this one. Who wants to open it?” she asked eagerly.

“Ooh! Me! Me!” My sister leaped from the couch, snatching it away. She only needed to remove the cover. Inside was a simple note.

“Well?” I asked.

“It says Merry Christmas!” Of course it didn’t actually say that. She was only four years old and couldn’t read at all.

“Let me see that,” I demanded. Madelyn hadn’t even bothered to unfold the paper. So, I unwrapped it gingerly and spread it out upon the table. Written neatly in fountain pen, I read, “We need your help, or you won’t have another Christmas.”

“How terrible! Who would send something like that?” Mom grabbed the note, tucked it back inside, and tossed the whole package into the fireplace without even considering any objection. It joined the logs in the fire and we really didn’t give it another thought.

The next morning, we woke early, ready again to dig into our new toys and enjoy our extra days from school. Mom left for work and I was in charge of Madelyn. Sure to terrorize her thoroughly, I bolted throughout the house, new toy starship in hand, chasing her and her plastic unicorns while she screamed at the top of her lungs. Then, a flicker from the fireplace drew my attention and I paused. There, hidden amongst the ash, I rediscovered the little box, as new as ever, and not even singed in the slightest. I picked the thing from the soot and blew the dust away. “Huh,” I marveled, opening it again. There was the letter. This time it read:

‘We really do need your help.’

“For what?” I wondered aloud and, to my astonishment, the letter answered.

‘To save Santa.’

“Santa Claus? Uh-huh.” I doubted.

The letter replied, ‘No really. He never came home on Christmas Eve.”

“So, what happened?”

“The Martians have him and we don’t have much time! They want to keep Christmas for themselves.’

“No way.”

‘Big way! He was kidnapped on his way back from Greenland.’

“C’mon! This is a trick. Who’s writing this?” I turned the magical note over in my hands.

I was stunned when it answered, ‘Elves, of course.’

‘Okay? What should I do?”

‘It's important you follow these instructions exactly or else Christmas is doomed,’ the note declared, and a new seam creased the paper. It unfolded again and again, revealing a set of directions, the plans to what looked like a robot.

“What’s this for?” I asked.

‘A rescue mission.’

“Seriously?”

‘As the Grinch.’

“What’s next?”

‘Look inside.’

Glancing into the box, I discovered the interior was missing, replaced by an impossibly empty void. Of course, I reached inside, all the way up to my shoulder. That’s when I felt the parts. So, I dumped the little box upside-down, and the first piece to fall out was a mechanical arm. After some shaking, I had a dozen pieces piled atop the floor.

The instructions were a bit complicated, and I spent the rest of that day putting the thing together. Finally assembled, I took an anxious step back. It stood in full-attention – a life-size, though lifeless toy soldier, complete with rifle, tall bearskin cap, and even curled mustache. It was perfect.

“What now?” I wondered to myself.

The letter answered again. ‘Turn it on.’

Well, you bet I did. A sudden hum and lifeless eyes powered up. Then, without so much as a word, the toy soldier stomped outside.

“What did I just build?”

‘An army,’ the note replied. ‘Thanks!’ Then, the box and letter faded away.

Glancing skyward, rockets built into the soldier’s boots engaged as it blasted off for space. That’s when I saw the others in my neighborhood – other houses with other solders. And, judging from the number of rocket-trails, those Martians were going to be sorry.