"The Night Rudolph Dropped the Ball"

'Twas the Night of the Crash: An Ethereal Account of Christmas Chaos

By Casperine McAllister, Richland’s Resident Spectral Reporter

Gather 'round, dear readers, as I recount the fateful tale of Christmas Eve, 2018—an event etched in the annals of Richland history as both a disaster and a testament to our community’s unyielding spirit. The night began with an impenetrable fog blanketing the neighborhood, muffling the twinkling lights and muting the world’s festive cheer. But little did we know, above that mist, a legendary sleigh and its magical team were careening toward catastrophe.  

The Crash Heard ’Round the 'Hood' 

At precisely 2:03 a.m., the tranquility of Taylor Road was shattered by an otherworldly CRASH—a sound that rattled windows, frightened the raccoons in the trash dumpster, and sent me bolting from my usual post at the lending library. Floating toward the source of the chaos, I was greeted by a sight I could scarcely believe.  

Santa’s sleigh, the very heart of Christmas magic, was embedded in the roof of the Richland HOA clubhouse. Pieces of the iconic vehicle littered the lawn like broken ornaments, and Rudolph, his legendary nose flickering weakly, stood dejected among the wreckage. Reindeer pranced nervously nearby, leaving behind “gifts” of their own that I can only describe as... pungent.  

Santa himself sat slumped on the clubhouse steps, his crimson coat smeared with soot, sipping what appeared to be a spiked peppermint mocha. “Well, this is a fine pickle,” he muttered to no one in particular.  

A Call to Arms

Within moments, the HOA’s emergency hotline lit up, summoning the Board President. Clad in mismatched pajamas and wielding a flashlight like a battle torch, Mr. Prez activated the Holiday Incident Response Tree. The community’s residents—both mortal and supernatural—answered the call.  

The Vampire Brigade, their night vision superior to any mortal contraption, began scouring the surrounding area. Presents hidden in bushes, perched precariously on rooftops, or inexplicably wedged in mailboxes were swiftly recovered and returned to the sleigh. Their leader, Count Mordecai, was overheard muttering, “Honestly, Santa, we do this every year for free. Next time, a little blood wine as payment wouldn’t hurt.”  

Meanwhile, the werewolves—initially distracted by the tantalizing aroma of reindeer—focused their considerable strength on lifting sleigh parts from the pool and reassembling the vehicle under the elves’ watchful eyes. It was a scene of teamwork rarely witnessed outside of the HOA Boo Bash or BBQ Pool Parties!   

Even the living residents lent a hand. Families trudged out in robes and slippers to help organize presents, while a particularly spry group of older teens formed a makeshift ramp for Santa’s takeoff using leftover cinder blocks from the last pig roast.  

As Richland’s resident ghostly journalist, I had the distinct privilege of recording this extraordinary night in detail. Floating invisibly through the chaos, I noted the ethereal glow of Rudolph’s nose attempting to flicker back to life, the haunting creak of the sleigh’s broken runners, and the unmistakable odor of peppermint and singed pine wafting through the fog.  

I overheard Santa muttering about “union grievances” and “needing a better tech team.” Meanwhile, the elves worked furiously to recalibrate Rudolph’s nose, the red glow finally stabilizing as dawn threatened to break.  

The Dawn After Disaster

By the time the first light of Christmas morning peeked through the dissipating fog, the sleigh had been restored, the presents reloaded, and Santa, with a twinkle in his eye and a flask in his hand, was back in the skies.  

Rudolph, however, was grounded indefinitely. “Blitzen’s taking the lead next year,” Santa grumbled. “At least he doesn’t short-circuit in a little fog.”  

As for the clubhouse, it bore the scars of the incident for weeks, with shingles missing and a Rudolph-shaped dent in the lawn. Yet, the cleanup crew left behind a small, mysterious package, now prominently diplayed in the lending library. Its contents remain unknown, but some say it’s Santa’s way of saying thanks—or possibly an invoice.  

Though chaotic, the 2018 crash became a defining moment for Richland. It showed us that no matter the odds—be it a malfunctioning reindeer or a demolished roof—our community rises together. Now, every year, we spend a little extra and light up the club house with Extra Bright LED Fog Proof Lights - Ensuring there is never a a repeat of the 2018 Incident!