A Downtown Fayetteville Holiday Adventure From Elf Season: The Crosslight Tales

Somewhere between lamplight and laughter lies the Crosslight Realm — a hidden current of magic that connects the North Pole to every town where kindness still lives.

Each year, Santa’s Great List drifts through this current, gathering warmth and goodwill from the world below. It always pauses in Fayetteville, a city built at the meeting of roads and rivers, where generations have passed through, left their mark, and moved the story forward. Soldiers, merchants, makers, dreamers — everyone leaves a trace behind. Over time those traces have layered into something steady and bright, humming quietly beneath the streets and lampposts.

That’s what powers the Crosslight here: not fairy dust, but the simple current of people doing good work and looking out for one another.

The truth is, most folks land somewhere in the middle. The List records laughter after the accident, the good try that almost worked, the “sorry about that” followed by cookies.  At headquarters they jokingly call it “the Mostly Nice List,” because everyone gets up to mischief eventually — and half the time that’s how the season’s best stories start.

The Great List of Naughty and Nice has been shattered — scattered across downtown Fayetteville, its glowing fragments drawn to the light of good places and good people.

No one’s entirely sure what caused it.  Some elves whisper that the Crosslight itself lost connection — a brief flicker between worlds that broke the signal mid-flight.

Now, pieces of the List have begun surfacing in the most unexpected places — tucked into wreaths, hiding behind shop windows, even glimmering on lampposts after dark.

Whatever happened up there, it started here — downtown.

During a long-ago Crosslight surge, she helped steady Fayetteville’s current and earned her title of Quickgleam — one who can spot light where others see confusion.   She’d been sent back because she understood this place and its rhythm.

She landed — spectacularly and somewhat sideways — right in the middle of Green Street.

A passing driver honked once, then waved. Tinsel looked around, blinking. No snow. No frost. Not even a respectable chill.

       “Where’s the snow?” she muttered — then remembered where she was.  “Oh right… Fayetteville, North Carolina — the only place that’s 85 degrees at noon and 32 by eight.”

She dusted off her sleeves, checked her candy-cane compass, and declared a full-scale “Code Twinkle.” As she started her survey, a low grumble caught her ear — the sound of someone (or something) complaining about parking meters and having to walk fifty feet.  From the corner of her eye, she spotted a puff of lime-green mischief scurrying into a doorway.

“Grumplings,” she sighed. “Great. What are they doing here?” Just as she was reaching to grab one by the collar, something in the corner of her eye stopped her.  In a nearby window stood a small Store Elf — awake, alert, but missing its Second Name — the one every elf can sense the moment they meet another.

“Good sugarplum fairies,” she whispered. “What’s happened here?”

Each shop in Fayetteville shelters at least one Store Elf, a local guardian of goodwill.  But without their Second Name — the one that must be given by humans — they can’t link into the Crosslight’s current or do their proper work.

To repair the Great List, every Store Elf must first receive its Second Name from its post - the shops, cafés, etc.  Only then can they have enough magic to search for the shattered List truly begin.

For now, Tinsel’s working solo — making notes, asking questions, and trying not to melt. Her reinforcements are scheduled to arrive next week: a full team of elves stepping through the Crosslight to help rally the shops, track down the fragments, and grab every last Grumpling found.

Then she grins, tucks her compass into her belt, and reaches for the newest tool in the scout kit -  a small, glowing rectangle. Humans, of course, just call it a phone but …. Oh nevermind ... that is a story for another time. Tinsel tilts her head, taps the screen, and sends her message rippling through every feed, signal, and scroll:

        “If you can hear this, you’re part of it now.  The Great List is broken — its pieces scattered across downtown, waiting to be found.  Your downtown elves need your help. Every visit fuels the magic, and every act of cheer helps the mission succeed.

          Give the elves you find a name, complete their quests, and spend some time in the shops, cafés, and restaurants that keep downtown shining — the magic’s waiting on you.”

She smiles toward the lights of Person Street, adjusts her cap, and starts down the sidewalk.

As she’s greeted by the many Store Elves peeking from windows and doors, she returns their candy-cane salute and calls out with a grin:

     “Now hear this, troops — The Great Elf Mission has begun!”

As Tinsel rounds the corner of Hay and Green, a little girl presses her nose to a shop window.

Inside sits a tiny Store Elf with no name tag and a hopeful look.

The child thinks for a moment, then whispers, “Sprig.”

For the briefest second, a warm light ripples through the Crosslight.

The first fragment of the Great List shimmers back into the world — a small glint of gold catching on the shop glass, then fading into the night air.

Tinsel’s compass flickers green. She smiles.

          “One down,” she says softly. “Let’s get to work.”

But before she can take a step, the glow in her compass sputters.

A faint rumble rolls beneath the cobblestones, low and uneasy — the kind that makes garland quiver in the windows.

The Crosslight hum falters for a heartbeat, then steadies again, pretending nothing happened.

Tinsel frowns and lifts her communicator.

“Quickgleam to Reinforcement Command — we’ve got movement under downtown. Possible interference in the current.

Recommend dispatch of secondary unit — light-class operatives preferred.

And send someone who knows how to work in humidity.”

Al pause, then the static reply crackles through:

“Copy that, Quickgleam. Reinforcement Elf Command en route. ETA: one week.”

Tinsel exhales, watching a wreath tremble on the door beside her.

“Hold the light, Fayetteville,” she murmurs. “Help’s on the way.”

Printed for Elf Season 2025 by Spark Downtown & Downtown Creative Works.

Follow the Crosslight each week to join the story.

© 2025 Spark Downtown and Downtown Creative Works.

Elf Season: The Crosslight Tales™ and all related names and stories are copyrighted creative works of Spark Downtown and Downtown Creative Works. All rights reserved.