I spent the evening working on Son of Hel, a novel about Santa Claus inspired by the famously bad movie Santa Claus Conquers the Martians. The following is the rough draft of the first chapter:

This was the End of the World. It was a place few mortals had seen—and most who had seen it had not survived to tell.

At the pinnacle of the Earth, the Arctic Ocean’s surface turned to ten feet of ice—but beneath the ice, the deep ocean still flowed. Thus it poured, in a vast circle ten thousand feet across, into a round hole penetrating the surface of the globe, forming the world’s largest waterfall. This was the Symmes Hole: The water that flowed into it, lifeblood of the planet, ran through unseen rivers and streams throughout the Earth’s hollow interior, thus becoming the source of the planet’s innumerable springs and wells before it at last exited at the South Pole in a geyser as enormous and deadly as the North Pole’s waterfalls.

In the center of this vast circle of tumbling water, jutting up from the Earth’s unexplored interior, was the Black Precipice, a mountain to rival Everest, made all of lodestone. This mountain it was that caused all compass needles to point inexorably north. Though enormous, the Black Precipice was invisible from the iced-over ocean beyond, shrouded as it was in a permanent cloak of white mist rising from the tumbling water around the Symmes Hole. Few men had glimpsed this terrifying mountain, and most who had, had soon met their deaths in the ten-thousand-foot drop of the vasty waterfalls. Man had not yet built the flying ships capable of crossing the chasm and landing safely on the Black Precipice’s craggy cliffs, so those who dwelt on its slopes remained, for the time being, unharried by the rapaciousness of human greed.

The queen of Elfland, in her chariot pulled by atomies, passed over the deadly falls with no difficulty. Even the terrible winds howling about the great mountain gave her no trouble, as her magical steeds could easily block the frigid gusts with their gossamer wings.

No taller than a thimble, she landed on a level spot overlooking one of the Black Precipice’s sheer cliffs, but as she stepped from her car, she grew to human size—and then grew taller still, at last stopping at a regal height of seven feet. Cloaked in white fur, with a tall crown of intricately intertwined crystal, delicate as a snowflake, atop her head, she walked accompanied on either side by two fairies in golden armor, who bore spears and bows.

All around the Black Precipice’s lower slopes stood a vast city of the elves. Because of the mountain’s extreme magnetism, not a speck of iron was allowed in this place, so the great and nameless city sparkled all over like burnished gold. Every roof was of shining copper, and the high walls around its greatest fortresses were of brass. Gold leaf adorned every doorpost, and the walls of even the humblest dwellings were of marble. Although the waterfalls encircling the mountain thundered perpetually, as the queen approached the city, the noise of the tumbling ocean was soon drowned out by the cacophony of hammers and saws.

Continue reading “‘Son of Hel,’ Chapter 1”