Once there was an old farmhouse sitting on one of the rolling hills that are so common in Jefferson County PA. There were many doors in the old house but there was one rather ordinary door that was never opened. The old door was upstairs in an unheated room of the farmhouse, a seldom visited room mostly used for storage. Aside from camping equipment and the like there were books – books that the children had enjoyed very much, some they had outgrown, and some were to grow into.  There were many books in all rooms of the house, as the children loved to read and be read to. 

The children one time asked what was behind the door. “I believe Tozzie Wazzer lives there,” their mother said. “Who?” asked the children with surprise and disbelief, followed by many questions about who Tozzie was. The mother was just as astonished– it had simply popped into her head, as if it she had always known such a thing, although she’d never heard the name in her life and hadn’t meant to invent a mysterious house guest. She merely shrugged. Curious, the child whose eye was nearest the height of the keyhole attempted to see in without getting too close. The cautious child backed away and the bravest of the children tried the knob and it turned but did not open. There was nothing to see, but once upon a time, an elf named Tozzie Wazzer had lived behind that door.

Tozzie, like the children, loved to read. It was that love that was the cause of him getting stranded in the old country house one Christmas Eve. It was his first trip with Santa. It was quite an honor to be chosen to travel with Santa and Tozzie was indeed proud. Of course, he had known the rules, the most important one being to stay passionately focused on the work, but Tozzie was curious. Telling himself he would just quickly tiptoe up the stairs to see if the children were asleep, he had climbed the backstairs, spotted some books and found himself reading.

The book that grabbed his attention, as it was lying open, was an illustrated and entertaining Calvin and Hobbes. Only a moment had passed when he realized he was in dire straits. Was that Santa giving a whistle to his team, about to alight in a half-second’s time? He raced downstairs, falling over himself with panic. By the time he got outside, the sleigh was barely a dot in the night sky. What was there to do? Would Santa return for him which would cause a rift in the design of the universe so significant that Christmas could be ruined for the year? No, Tozzie knew that Santa would not allow that to happen. 

Santa has a very tight schedule, even though our time is not the same as Santa’s. Now you mustn’t think for a second that Santa would deliberately leave one of his elf helpers behind. But so assured was he in his process, he just didn’t consider it possible.  It had never happened before, had it? 

Tozzie quietly went back inside, feeling quite distraught. He had to think quickly. Wasn’t there a door he saw upstairs, in that back room, that he could investigate and perhaps hide behind? Feeling rather desperate he opened the door enough to squeeze through. The space behind the door wasn’t much bigger than a small closet. There was enough room for Tozzie to lie down comfortably. This was now to be his hiding place, his refuge. Had there not been a houseful of books to read Tozzie surely would have found his predicament quite intolerable. 

The books were his lifeline. He quickly learned basic survival skills, which foods to forage and even how to knit. Tozzie crafted wooden knitting needles and knit warm clothing from unraveled socks in an odd fashion, always using only one of a pair. Perhaps that was the reason the mother of the children had an unintended collection: a large assortment of mismatched socks that defied the laws of probability.

Tozzie cringed to think what a tragedy it would be if he was ever caught. Even if it was by the family, the children might be tempted to tell their friends, their friends might tell their parents, parents – neighbors; neighbors – reporters. Perhaps there would be mugshots and fingerprints, DNA samples, psychiatric evaluation, hypnosis, TV and radio interviews and just who knows what, the whole world would want to know about Santa and the magic of Christmas.

The family’s old, dark red farmhouse dated back to 1860. That’s well over 150 visits by Santa! It was a pleasant home, with lots of windows, lots of doors and two staircases. The dark, narrow back staircase is the one Tozzie used; it was the best chance of not being seen. Fortunately, the house had no visible neighbors. The west side of the house, past the barn and gardens, had uncluttered views of stupendous sunsets. Behind the house was the “big woods” where Tozzie thought he might have a rendezvous with a deer, but the Pennsylvania whitetail is a skittish animal from being hunted. Tozzie had imagined it was related to the deer of his home, the friendly reindeer. His hope had been to get close enough to tell of his predicament and plead for help, which to him would be a would be a ride home to the cold north.

At first, it was hard for Tozzie to find any food. Only gleaning sunflower seeds and suet from the birdfeeder, frozen chestnuts, rosehips from the multiflora rose, and a rare pilfer from the kitchen. In the spring, he fed himself on sweet wild strawberries, rhubarb, dandelion greens, and flowers and stalks that he knew to be edible. In summer there was plenty – raspberries, blueberries, corn, early apples, greens from the garden. In fall he found ripe persimmons, apples and pears, edible mushrooms, beets and turnips, potatoes, kale, cabbages, and crunchy sweet chestnuts. He was lucky to be stranded on a farm with such diverse plantings. 

Tozzie read. He read all the books. The books kept him company, they took him places all over the world and into the future and back through the past; they excited him, they scared, calmed and delighted him, taught him, and filled him with wonder. Sometimes the stories made him weep; more often he had to stifle giggles. 

Having narrowly survived winter, spring, summer and fall while remaining hidden, he found it was now winter again. He thanked his remarkable pointy ears for keeping him safe, forewarning him to the comings and goings in the house. He knew Christmas was coming, there were trips through the back room to the attic, a tree was brought into the house and decorations were going up. Christmas is like no other time: the excitement is like electricity; you can feel it in your body. Tozzie was elated. The smells of Christmas, unique to the holiday (pine, cookies baking, peppermint, chocolate, oranges and clove) were like a tonic to Tozzie.  Smells often are a speedy transport to another time and place, and they stirred in him an intense longing for home.

He had watched the children’s advent calendar to keep track of the days. Tozzie knew he had to be vigilant even if it meant staying awake. There was no chance that he was going to miss going home. But Santa had not forgotten about Tozzie nor had Tozzie’s friends and family. Santa knew exactly where Tozzie was, just the same way he knows where you are! As nervous and anxious as Tozzie was about getting back home and reuniting with Santa, he might have rested assured that it was a done deal. 

Christmas Eve finally came, and I bet that you might have an idea of how excited Tozzie was. Well multiply that by ten. Tozzie’s ears were very finely tuned to bells that jingle and he heard before he saw that beloved figure all dressed in thick red wool with cold rosy cheeks. Tozzie practically jumped into Santa’s arms and Santa squeezed Tozzie with a big strong hug, but that was all there was time for, stories and explanations would come later. There was a mission to be accomplished and nothing and no one would be allowed to stop it. 

Tozzie Wazzers’s welcome home was with great fanfare and celebration. He remains quite the legend at Santa’s village and the young and the old flock to hear his tales. Especially the one true tale of how he spent a year hidden away in an old country farmhouse nestled in the rolling hills on the Appalachian plateau without getting caught! Tozzie will never forget, and every year for years later there were always books and socks under the tree in that home for Christmas, Tozzie Wazzer made sure of it.