Page 3 of The Grinch Who Stole Orcmas

As I’m sprinkling artificial flakes over tiny rooftops, the bell over the door chimes. “Welcome to Jingle All the Way!” I sing out, not looking up from my work. “How can I help you find your Christmas spirit today?”

“You can start by turning off that horrible music.”

The gruff voice makes me jump, scattering snow everywhere. I whirl around, coming face to face with… Oh. Oh my.

He’s huge. That’s the first thing that registers. Tall, broad-shouldered, with skin the color of pine needles, eyes like warm honey, well, hot honey. Is he angry? And… tusks. An orc. And not just any orc. This must be…

“Grum?” The name squeaks out.

He grunts, crossing his arms over his massive chest. “Chief Brokka sent me. Said something about community service.”

Right. The help Brokka promised for the Santa’s Workshop event. But I was expecting… well, not this. Not a scowling, man-bun-sporting mountain of muscle who looks like he’d rather eat Santa’s reindeer than help them fly.

“Of course!” I manage, plastering on my brightest smile. “We’re so glad to have you here. I’m Joy Noel.”

I stick out my hand. Grum stares at it as if it’s cursed.

Okay, then. Dropping my hand, I scramble for something to say. “So, um, have you ever helped with a Christmas event before?”

The look he slants me could curdle milk. “Do Ilooklike I’ve ever helped with a Christmas event?”

Fair point. With that permanent scowl, his black tongue, and the star-shaped tattoo dead center on his forehead, he looks morelike he’s plotting a Christmas rampage than spreading holiday cheer.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything!” The words come out too bright, too chirpy. I wince. “Why don’t we start with something simple? Like… oh! You can help me finish decorating the window display.”

Grum’s scowl deepens as he pierces me with his stare. “I don’t do decorating.”

“Oh, come on. Everyone can decorate. It’s easy!” Without thinking, I grab his arm to pull him toward the window. Mistake. Big mistake.

Not only don’t I budge him, but he jerks away like I’ve burned him. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

The words came out as a menacing growl, which spikes fear down my spine.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have touched you without consent. I, um, didn’t mean to offend. Look, why don’t we start over? I’m sure we can find something you’re comfortable with.”

Grum grunts again. It seems to be his preferred method of communication. They’re not even monosyllables. They’re prehistoric. If I didn’t know better, I’d think all orcs were this way, but Fire Chief Brokka was very respectful and well-spoken when we talked on the phone.

This is going to be tougher than I expected. But that’s okay. I like a challenge. And if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s spreading Christmas cheer.

Even if it kills me.

Or him.

Whichever comes first.

Chapter 3: Clash of the Christmas Spirits

Grum

Three days into this Christmas nightmare, and I’m ready to snap. Today we’ve moved from the Jingle All the Way storefront to the Zone’s community center where we’ll hold the Santa’s Workshop event.

The first damn thing that woman must have done was bring in speakers to play Christmas music, because the tinny sound of “Santa Baby” assaults my ears for what feels like the millionth time today. My jaw clenches, teeth grinding together as I fight the urge to smash the speakers or bang my head against the wall—or both. Either option seems preferable to enduring another minute of this torture. I now know the definition of “earworm.”

“Grum! Could you hang these wreaths around the Santa’s Workshop stage?” Joy’s voice chirps from somewhere behind a mountain of tinsel.

A grunt is the only response I can muster. Pushing off the wall I’ve been leaning against, I grudgingly make my way to the pile of greenery. The scent of artificial pine makes my nose burn. Does this woman not know how sensitive orc noses are? The stench is painful. Back on An’Wa, our winter festivals smelled of real evergreens and woodsmoke, not this plastic crap.

If I didn’t think my question might destroy this woman whose heart seems to be in the right, albeit annoying, place, I’d ask her to explain how all this manufactured garbage is supposed to bring happiness. But one look at her cheerful face as she decorates one of the ten artificial trees scattered around the room convinces me I’m not mean enough to break her human brain.

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