My first Christmas mystery involving Elves and Shelves started 60 years ago — the day after Christmas.

Over the last 20 years we have heard the legend of elf-on-the-shelf. As this modern Christmas story goes, this elf-spy was naughty/nice reporting mechanism put there by Santa to inform his decision making.

It only made sense to me that many of our creative friends would take it to the next level, every night for weeks before Christmas setting up elaborate stage-sets of elf shenanigans to the delight and horror of their kids in the morning.

Children would pop out of bed to find elves swinging from ceiling fans like they are on a carnival ride, devouring the candy bowl or making snow angels in the Christmas cookie sprinkles.

But this is an elf/shelf mystery that pre-dates this story by 60 years — when elves first showed up on our mantels.

The elves we now know began being manufactured in US occupied Japan in the 50’s and were called “Knee-Hugger Elves”. Because their hands were sown together they could assume a rather impish pose on shelves, in trees and wreaths in America.

In the 60’s, Whitman’s Candy, arguably one of the most innovative candy companies in the world saw a marketing opportunity. One of their team figured out that Knee-Hugging Elves could be Candy-Hugging Elves and the joint marketing began.

You see while other confectioners were selling through wholesalers Whitman had built a sales-distribution channel across every town in American “Building relationships with the best drugstores in every neighborhood.” And Whitman knew they could have Candy-Hugging Elves in the market in a matter of weeks.

Within a few years, near every home in America had a Whitman’s Christmas Elf (and would have to buy placement candy every year.)

Our house was no different. Mom made sure that “Dad’s special candy” was on the mantle every year.

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And this is where the first Elf/shelf mystery began. We three brothers knew the Elves were not magic. We knew that the Whitman’s Sampler came from the Sudbury Drug. We also knew that this was not candy for us, but for Dad.

And the mystery started after every decoration came down, the three elf-sized Whitman samplers would still be on the mantle.

For months after, one by one the candy would disappear. For decades, Dad would sneak one candy at a time.

Nobody. Ever. Caught him.

He would leave the empty boxes like hunting trophies until the last candy was secretly enjoyed in solitude.

I remember coming home from college for the summer the boxes still on the mantle. I peaked in, one candy left. It was gone by the end of the summer — must have tasted like a chocolate covered rock.

To this day, do not know why he felt he had to sneak the candy. Maybe it did not start that way, but since nobody ever saw him do it, it became a bit of a game for him. A game that mades us all smile for decades.

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This year one of Dad’s Elves sits on my shelf hugging a Whitman’s Box.

I will do my best not to get caught.