I grabbed Lula by the back of her jacket and yanked her toward the door. "Run! And don't look back."

FIVE

FIVE

WE BARRELED THROUGH THE WORKROOM door to the reception area, pushed through the front door, sprinted across the lot and jumped into the car. Lula popped the doors locked, and the elves swarmed around us.

"These aren't elves," Lula said. "I know elves. Elves are cute. These are evil gremlins. Look at their pointy teeth. Look at their red, glowing eyes."

"I don't know about gremlins," I said. "I think the guy with the red eyes is just a little person with bad teeth and a hangover."

"Hey, what's that noise? What are they doing to the back of my Firebird?"

We turned and looked out the back window, and we were horrified to find that the elves had dragged the trees out of the trunk.

"That's my Christmas tree!" Lula yelled. "Get away. Leave that tree alone."

No one was listening to Lula. The elves were in a frenzy, tearing the trees limb from limb, jumping up and down on the branches.

Suddenly there was an elf on the hood. And then a second elf scrambled up after the first.

"Holy crap," Lula said. "This here's a horror movie." She shoved the key into the ignition, put her foot to the floor, and rocketed across the lot. One elf flew off instantly. The second elf had his hands wrapped around the windshield wipers, his snarling face pressed to the windshield. Lula made a fast right turn, one of the windshield wipers snapped, and the elf sailed away like a Frisbee, windshield wiper still clutched in his little elf hand.

"Fuck youuuuuuuu," the elf sang as he sailed away.

We went a mile down Route 1 before either of us said a word.

"I don't know what those nasty-assed little things were," Lula finally said. "But they need to learn some people skills."

"That was sort of embarrassing," I said.

"Fuckin' A."

And I still didn't have a Christmas tree.

It was a little after five when I waved good-bye to Lula and trudged into my building. My apartment was quiet. No Diesel. I said a silent thank goodness, but the truth is, I was disappointed. I hung my jacket on a hook in the hall and listened to my messages.

"Stephanie? It's your mother. Mrs. Krienski said she didn't get a Christmas card from you. You did mail them, didn't you? And, I'm making a nice pot roast for supper tonight if you want to come over. And your father got a tree for you at the service station. They were having a close-out sale. He said he got a good deal."

Omigod. A close-out tree from the service station. Does it get any worse than that?