Elf Magic Why do I do this year after year? Standing here in this god-awful conversion unit, naked and freezing. And for what? Long hours, no bennies, no union, minimum wage, and crap from the boss. Still, I suppose it's the prestige of the thing. I can go back to the factory with another tick on my resume. I heard the chamber door slide shut behind me and that was my signal to enter the conversion ring in the center of the floor. The unit looked like a bunch of metallic mushrooms growing from the slick, steel deck, decorated with winking red, blue, and green lights. The minute I stepped into the ring, the mushies started peeping and beeping. A rush of warm air drove up around me. I shivered, despite myself. I suddenly had to pee. Happened every time. A moment later an observation window slid open opposite me. Beyond the glass, I could see the horned rimmed glasses, pointed nose and fat lips of the tech. His long, black hair hung in greasy strands about his face. I couldn't see his ears, but his skin had an ivory pallor, so for all his ugly wug, I knew he was an Original. Yeah, the boss used only Originals to run the manufacturing side. Said he didn't trust seasonal converts. Well, I suppose I can understand that. A lot of us steal, lie, and gamble. Can't have that kind of funny stuff going on year-round when you're trying to get product out the door. The tech thumbed a microphone. "Smith, Bill. I see you've worked for us for the last 25 years." "Yes, sir," I said, in a shaky voice. The tech studied me with a sour look before answering. "You're late showing up this year." "I had to do overtime for my regular job. We had a bunch of folks go out sick just after Thanksgiving. Bad turkey or something." "The chief probably wouldn't have sent for you if it hadn't been such a bad year with all the recalled toys," he announced. "We're pulling double shifts. That okay with you?" "Yes, sir." "There will be 30 minutes for lunch, and two 15 minute eggnog breaks per shift. No smoking on the premises." "That's fine, sir." He nodded and regarded something on the desk before him. "There is a new staff rule, as well. No one is to go to the Christmas Village for recreation. We've had numerous complaints of boisterous, inappropriate activity at the Snow Globe Pub and other establishments. Understand?" "I understand, sir." "Also, we've had to do away with the regulation hats this year. Since the season began, we've had three workers who've gotten the caps' dingle balls caught in the machinery. OSHA told us to wear hairnets instead." "I'm ready to fill the bag for the Old Man, sir." The tech snorted. He didn't give figgy pudding for the Human conscripts or volunteers. We were lower than reindeer poop to him, and no matter how many years we showed up to do our end-of-the-year duty for the good of Earth's children, it was always the same--the Originals got the bonuses and we got the boot come December 26th. "Stand ready," he ordered, suddenly. I spread my legs slightly, straightened my back and made sure my arms were at my sides. It was said this machine had been invented by the Old Man almost a thousand years ago. I saw patent on it once when I was flipping through blueprints at the main office. The machine was nicknamed the "Elfinator," but as I read farther into the patent specs, I realized it was a complicated DNA re-sequencer. "Engaging process," the tech announced. A brilliant white light filled the area inside the circle. It was warm and tickled my nerve endings like a thousand spiders lightly crawling across my body. After a moment, I began to feel the familiar sensation of shrinking and stretching. It was over in less than a minute. The light went off, the mushroom thingies powered down, and I took a quick look at myself. I was shorter by a good three feet. I had lovely, pink skin, not that sallow stuff I had before. Touching my nose, I found it was long and hooked. My hair had turned black and grown about five inches, so now it hung limply over my tiny shoulders. I reached up to touch my ears. Ah, pointed and perfect. The tech shuffled some papers and spoke to me again. "Get your locker number and uniform from the supply sergeant. Then report to the "Dollies" line for your work assignment." "Thank you, sir," I squeaked. He flapped a hand at me. "Yeah, yeah. Merry Christmas and all that. Next!" ******* 798 words. Inspiration? I've always wondered where Santa got his elves!