Ask Maria: How Does Rudolph Fly?
What keeps that magical reindeer in the sky?
I am six-years-old, and I still naïvely believe in the magic of Christmas. However, one must stomach a lot of fact-stretching to buy the whole kit and caboodle. The one thing I just can't wrap my head around is the magic dust theory. Where does Santa get this dust? Who made it magic? Bullshit, I say. So Maria, do you know how those dang reindeer really fly?
What a bright child you must be—you have seen through one of the biggest Christmas lies! The real truth behind reindeer flight, as with so much in this world, is actually much more sinister. The whole magic dust thing was just invented to spare the children from learning the despicable truth, for this lie also protects the image and brand of one lovable, marketable character: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Innocent, jolly fella, right? Incorrecto! You see, mija, millennia ago there was a quiet, thoughtful yeti who kept to himself and mulled wines in his cave while also practicing his alchemy potions. This yeti wanted nothing more than solitude and peace.
But around this time, Santa's eight reindeer made a new friend. His name was Rudy. His nose was normal, for now. Rudy was a feral, misguided reindeer they found roaming the angry mystical dark woods of the North Pole, the land Santa forbade them from entering. Like most psychotic entities, Rudy was also quite charming, and he dragged the other reindeer with him into a life of crime and debauchery. The nine blood-thirsty, mayhem-bent reindeer wreaked havoc upon the land, ruthlessly murdering innocent animals and elves at the drop of a hat, on a whim, heartless, reasonless.
So the snow-covered wood was splattered with elvin and human blood, the idyllic white boughs now dripping crimson, smelling of copper.
However, once ol' Saint Nick caught wind of this, the reindeer decided to cover their tracks. They feared being kicked out of their cushy, comfortable stables, stripped of all the wonderful privilege Mr. and Mrs. Claus had bestowed upon them. So they found themselves a scapegoat and began telling tall tales about an abominable snowman, a fearsome, murderous yeti stalking the pole. Up in arms, the elves and townspeople formed a frothing, rabid mob and searched the torch-lit forest for the yeti.
When they came to his cave, the yeti explained that he was only a peaceful creature and wanted no part in their drama. But they persisted, and they trespassed, and the yeti was forced to defend himself. So the snow-covered wood was splattered with elvin and human blood, the idyllic white boughs now dripping crimson, smelling of copper. The yeti was wise and powerful, he knew who had set him up. He craved revenge for the monster they had turned him into. He retreated to his alchemy lab and created an elixir to rub Rudy's nose in his misdeeds, his corruption of the innocent eight.
One night, Rudy drank from a water trough at the pole and immediately noticed a foul taste. The water was tainted. But before he could figure out why, he began to hear the screams of all of his victims. Every single creature he had caused harm to, whether directly or not, howled in deep anguish. Suddenly, their desecrated, lost souls emerged from the snow-packed earth, swirling before Rudy's twitching snout, and rushing with anger into the tip of his nose creating a glowing, bulbous orb of hate.
And now, on the eve of Christmas each year, the lost souls begin their evil churn as they try to climb their way to heaven, and it levitates the evil Rudolph and drags him across the atmosphere. If it weren't for Santa steering the crew, they might just disappear into oblivion.
Anyway, hope that clears everything up for you, Nora!