He heard the creaking of the bedroom door being opened.
“Damn kids,” he mumbled, giving his wife a quick kiss and then quickly sitting up in bed. Through the dark, he said in a deep voice, “I told you kids to stay in bed, if nothing else, until the sun is above the horizon.” He paused, looking at the clock on his nightstand and seeing it wasn’t even 3:00 am, yet. He then turned back to the fully-opened door and shouted, “Hey! What did I tell you damn kids, huh? I told you to…”
His words were cut short as a sharp blade was quickly and precisely drawn across his neck. Blood spurted onto his attacker and his wife.
Helen began to scream, but it was only for a moment, as a giant shadow suddenly leapt through the air, smashing on top of her, making the air in her lungs burst out.
Helen lay under the rotund man and thrashed this way and that. She felt something poke in between her legs, but the thoughts of being raped quickly dissipated as she felt something cold and sharp against the side of her neck. She wanted to scream, again, but the large man had already placed a large, smothering glove over her mouth. Finally, not that she wanted to, but knowing she had to, she opened her eyes…
And said to herself, Oh my God, it must be St. Nick!
Helen started to repeat a line in the famous poem over and over again to herself, Now dash away! Dash away!
Above, she saw Santa start laughing. Then he said, “Dash away all!”
Then he slashed Helen’s throat and her fright was never more.
He then sawed off both the husband and wife’s hands, stuffed them into the deep pockets of his big, red coat and walked out of the room, gently shutting the door behind him.
WALKING DOWN THE HALL towards the sleeping girls’ room, his eyes twinkled with delight and he could feel his dimples, his cheeks full with merry. And, yes, his cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry, but that was from the blood that had splattered upon his face from Helen and Jerry (not that he knew or even cared to know their names). As he wiped the dripping knife blade off on his fur covered right leg, he brought up his other arm and mopped up his face. He smiled, again, knowing he had just done the world some justice—teaching people, especially the ones that acted like good model citizens, with their expensive cars and homes (not that this particular family had either of those luxuries, but that really didn’t matter in his faltering mind at this point), when they were anything but. Besides, he was St. Nick, Santa Claus, goddammit, and it was his job to check off on his list who was naughty or nice.
Coming up to the girls’ room, he slid the now clean, shiny blade back into the sheath on his belt and then slowly reached out with the same hand and grasped the doorknob. He gave it a quick wiggle back and forth, making sure the door was indeed unlocked, then twisted it all the way to the left and slowly eased the door inward. He then tiptoed into the dark room, shutting the door behind him.
DRESSED IN HIS TRADITIONAL holiday garb, he stood at the side of the girls’ bunk beds, his head throbbing with naughty images and his mouth watering with want. No, he wasn’t a pedophile, never even had the slightest inkling to be one. What he wanted, craved, more than anything was to teach all the bad boys and girls in the world, more realistically the city he resided in, that no bad deed goes unpunished. Especially when it was supposed to be the season of giving and all he ever felt like the world ever gave him every Christmas was a lump of coal in his stocking. But not this Christmas. Oh, no. This Christmas, he was going to show the world; house by house, adult by adult, child by child, that this old St. Nick was someone to not be fucked with any longer.
HE TOOK CARE OF the first girl, the one on the top bunk, with one quick slash of his knife. Blood squirted from her carotid onto his face, changing his snow, white beard into crimson and mess. It was quick and painless and she didn’t scream. The blood from the girl ran down his chin to the end of the beard’s now tangled mess and down the front of his plump belly.
He smiled and chuckled to himself as he started to saw off the little girl’s hands, knowing she would never open another Christmas present ever again.
AFTER STUFFING ANOTHER SET of hands into his pockets, he leaned down close to the older of the two girls and took a good look. If he had to guess, he’d say she was probably either a senior in high school or a freshman in college, home for winter break. At first he got so close to her face that he felt the tip of the girl’s cold nose against his. He lifted his head away a bit so they weren’t touching any longer and then took his free, left hand, and slowly pulled the heated blanket off her body, piling it down by her feet.
Even though she was the older of the two girls, she was still dressed from neck to toe in long, green pajamas. He tried to think of the name of the new blanket-like invention where you could literally have your entire body zipped inside a blanket, but at this very moment the name escaped him. But, it didn’t matter. Not really. It would soon be off her, anyway. Then he would show her how people in the world, rich, spoiled people like her, always treated people like him.
The true outcasts, the little people, the elves of society.
EVEN THOUGH SHE WAS way past the age of believing in Santa Claus, Crystal had dreams of sugar plums dancing in her head as she slept. Sure, she kept up with the myth of Santa for her little sister, Susie, but she definitely didn’t believe any more. But, in her dream world, where everything was always perfect, Santa did exist and he brought her, not a shiny sled or a new Barbie doll with long, golden locks, but the hot stud quarterback on her college’s football team—and he was all tied up in a red bow just for her. She had the wet dream of waking up Christmas morning and seeing that Santa had delivered her ultimate present, Jake, and he was waiting for her, only her, under her parents’ Christmas tree. She would run over to him, throwing her little sister out of the way, and tackle him like a linebacker, wanting to plant his ass into the ground. Then, suddenly she was naked, except for a red stocking hat with a big, white fluffy ball at its end, and it kept hitting her in the sides of the face as she rode him like a reindeer wearing a saddle.
As Crystal climaxed, she awoke.
At first the room was too dark for her eyes, but soon they adjusted to the dim light from the moon coming in through the curtained window.
Then she saw a man, a big man dressed all in red, leaning down only inches from her face. He looked like Santa, but since she didn’t believe in St. Nick, she knew it wasn’t the real McCoy. Besides, she didn’t see a stump of a pipe held tight in his teeth nor the smoke that would be coming from it encircling his head like a wreath.
Her eyes shot open wide and she tried to scream. But, her cries of terror were cut off by the big man slamming a big, mitted hand down upon her face. She shook her head back and forth but it was no use. She tried to kick her legs this way and that but they wouldn’t move. She was stuck. Done for. And she didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t sure if it was the holiday spirit or a never-dying love in her heart, but all she cared about right now was to know her sister was okay. She didn’t care what Santa, not that this fat man was the real deal, did or didn’t do to her, as long as Susie was safe. Crystal wanted to ask, to beg, for ‘Santa’ to tell her that he hadn’t harmed Susie, but she had no way of doing so. The fact of the matter was, if the big man kept the pressure over her mouth and nose any longer, she was going to pass out and then she’d have no idea what ever happened to Susie, or even her parents for that matter, because the man would probably end up raping and killing her somewhere outside on top of a pile of cold, white snow. She could picture in her head the man raping her, then slipping a long, cold blade deep within her belly, until she couldn’t plead or beg at all.