by Tim Curran
“An explosion of grey smoke followed. Big lumps of ash fell to the bottom of the fireplace. It was followed by something big, a loud thud, and someone groaning.
“I thought, Is that how he makes his entrance? Not very elegant for someone who has done this for centuries.
“As the smoke and ash cleared and I spotted his red suit amidst it, I lifted the shotgun to my shoulder and sighted him.
“Santa grunted again, got back on his feet, brushed off his suit, then coughed. I realized there was blood. It was coming from Santa's head. He had hurt himself in the fall.
“He wiped it away with another grunt, then grabbed his bag, turned, and looked directly at me.
“And that was when I pulled the trigger.”
9.
“I swear I didn't know. I swear. It wasn't until Santa fell backwards into the fireplace, a hand to his chest, blood gushing from the wound I had made, that I realized his beard had slid to the side.
“That's when I knew I had done something awful.
“I ran to his body, grabbed John's head, and put it in my lap. He was barely able to speak.
“‘…she was terrified of Santa. After…the incident…you scared her…I…I wanted her to know…to show her…there was nothing to be…afraid of.’
“To make matters worse, Molly had heard the commotion and, thinking it was Santa, which it sort of was, she had run down the stairs and was now standing behind me, screaming her lungs out.
“‘DAAAAD!!!’
“What have I done? I thought to myself, completely devastated.
“‘Please don't die, John,’ I whispered, while I stroked his hair. ‘Please don't die on us. We need you.’
“John opened his eyes once again and looked at me with a sly smile.
“‘I knew you'd be my death one day, Sara. I just…knew it.’
“Then his eyes rolled back in his head and his head fell to the side.
“‘NOOOOO! DAAAAAAD!’ Molly screamed.
“Seconds later, John's mother came out as well. Her screams were terrifying and pierced through my bones.
“‘John! Oh, my God. What did that awful woman do to you, John?’
“She pulled me away from him and took him in her arms, sitting on the floor, getting blood on her hands, crying, my daughter at her side, crying her heart out as well. I had no idea what to do, how to react. I was devastated. Completely broken. I couldn't stay in that house anymore, so I ran outside, threw up on the lawn, and went for my car."
"But you didn't make it very far," Dr. Hahn says.
"No. One of the neighbors had heard the shot and called the cops and, seconds later, they had surrounded my car and I got out."
"From another perspective, one might think you were trying to escape," he says. "To run from your actions."
"I wasn't. I just had to get out of the house, to get away."
Dr. Hahn clears his throat. "One might argue that it’s the same thing."
"I wasn't trying to run from what I had done," Sara says. "I really wasn't. I knew I had done something horrible, but it was an accident. I promise you it was. You have to believe me."
"And just why do I have to believe you?" Dr. Hahn asks. "Why is that?"
"Because you're the last one I'll ever get to tell about all this."
Dr. Hahn clears his throat then leans forwards. Sara doesn't like the look in his eyes.
"Okay. Here's the deal. I was asked by the court to make an evaluation of you. To see if you were even fit for a trial, mentally that is. Or if they should simply lock you away in a mental institution for the rest of your life. You're being charged with first degree murder of your husband. You’ve told me your version of the story. Here's what the rest of the world believes: They believe you killed your baby brother because you were jealous of him, then came up with the story of Santa killing him afterwards. When it comes to your boyfriend, Rob Wilson, you conveniently left out an important part of the story, didn't you? In your file, it says you had recently learned that he had cheated on you and slept with a cheerleader after a game, so that provides a very good motive for you to get rid of him as well. You learned at an early age how to get away with murder, so you thought you could do it again. Blame it on everyone's favorite person: Santa. The good and jolly Santa Claus. Finally, it is obvious you were angry with your husband for leaving you and taking your daughter away, so you went to his mother's house and killed him. What do you say to that?"
Sara sits up straight, folding her shackled hands, and placing them in the lap of her orange jumpsuit that is two sizes too big.
"I know exactly how the world sees me, what they think about my story, but what I need to know is that you have listened, that you have understood it."
"Why me?"
"Like I said. You're going to be the last one I can tell. I know what the world thinks of me. I know they'll condemn me. I know I am heading for the needle. But what's important to me is for you to know the story and tell it. I need you to keep warning people about this monster. We let him into our homes! Every year, people welcome him like he is the cuddly teddy bear we are all taught to believe he is. But he's not. He's a vicious monster. I need to know that you'll tell people, that you'll warn them."
Dr. Hahn looks at Sara like he doesn't really know what to think, then he points at her.
"Oh, you're good. You almost had me convinced there that you were, in fact, crazy, but you're not. You're just really clever. I’m not falling for it. You're perfectly fit for the trial. There you have it. That's my verdict."
Dr. Hahn presses a buzzer and in come the two guards who have been watching them through the one-way window. They grab Sara by the arms.
"Please, Dr. Hahn," she screams desperately. "Don't let him get away with this. He's a vicious killer and people should know!"
"Take her away."
"NO! Dr. Hahn, please listen to my story. See the facts! Don't let your kids sit in his lap! Don't let them trust him!"
Her arms are hurting as they drag her out of the room. Just before the door closes she yells, “Can't you see it? He's got us all FOOLED! Santa is just an anagram for Satan!"
10.
Dr. Hahn is still shaking is head as he crosses the parking lot. His Toyota is the only one left outside the prison. It is getting late. He can't wait to get away from here. The woman's story still gives him the chills. To think that anyone could be so cold as to blame Santa. To make up that kind of story about everyone's round and joyful childhood hero?
Tsk. A bloodthirsty Santa. What has the world come to?
Dr. Hahn has met many killers in his life, many of them coldblooded, but this lady tops them all.
He finds his keys in his pocket and unlocks the car. He gets in and puts his briefcase on the passenger seat. He thinks about his daughter, Trisha. He has promised to take her to see Santa at the mall this coming weekend and can't wait to see her precious face when she sits on Santa's lap.
Dr. Hahn shakes his head again. What a day. He doesn't like to have to send people to Death Row, but that is where she'll be going. He had really hoped this woman would turn out to be insane. But she was way too collected to be crazy. He didn't see the traits of someone hallucinating or any paranoia in her. Nope, none whatsoever. She had just made up this story to make sure she wouldn't have to go to trial. But she hadn't counted on meeting him. He's the expert when it comes to evaluating people like her. He has so many clients at the prison he has his own office there.
Dr. Hahn sighs and is about to put the key in the ignition, when he spots something on the dashboard.
What is that? A note? I don't remember leaving a note there.
He picks it up and reads it. It simply says:
BETTER WATCH OUT
Dr. Hahn wrinkles his nose and reads it over and over again, but still can't make any sense of it. Is it some cruel joke?
That's when he hears it. It's creeping up behind him, slowly sneaking closer. The sound of someone laughing. But not like normal people l
augh. The way only one person in this entire world laughs.
He looks into the rearview mirror and sees him. There he is, wearing his red hat and with his cherry red nose, bloodshot eyes, and pointy teeth, grinning from ear to ear, his chubby hands lifted, the long claw-like nails ready to rip into his throat.
"S-S-Santa?"
The End
About the Author
Willow Rose also goes by the name The Queen of Scream. She is the author of 45 novels most of them horror and mystery. She lives on Florida’s Space Coast where many of her books take place. She has sold more than a million books.
http://willow-rose.net/
https://www.amazon.com/WillowRose/e/B004X2WHBQ/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1478535218&sr=1-2-ent
Tommy’s Christmas
By
John R. Little
I was being noisier than I should have been. Goddam kid. I never even heard the little bastard come into the room until he cried, “Santa!” Then, he ran over and hugged my leg.
“Hi there, kid.”
He rubbed his eyes and yawned. He was maybe three years old -- four at the most. His hair was brown like a sparrow and stuck out at odd angles.
I swallowed and slowly put the silver candlesticks back on the mantel over the stone fireplace beside me. The burlap sack was almost full anyway. If I could just get rid of the damned kid, I would leave the rest of the loot and just split.
“Did you bring me toys, Santa?” He was wide awake now and staring up at me in awe with big blue eyes.
Christmas Eve is usually my busiest night of the year. The parents are all too drunk to wake up, and the kids are normally too worried about scaring off Santa Claus to get out of their beds if they hear me.
“What’s your name, little boy?”
“Tommy.”
“Well, Tommy, has Santa ever disappointed you?”
He shook his head yes. “Well you di’nt bring me a Hot Wheels Road Race set last year like you promised.”
The place had seemed like a perfect setup. I had cased the joint pretty good -- the parents were sleeping in a small bedroom in the basement, and only the two kids slept on the main floor. Maybe I hadn’t been careful enough because it had seemed so easy.
The house was all decorated for Christmas inside, and the family had gone to bed with all of the lights still burning on the tree. There was a set of Royal Doulton figurines in a china cabinet in the dining room. I had been careful to wrap them up so’s they wouldn’t chip.
There was also a good heavy crystal set and a couple of hundred bucks stashed away in an oak bureau drawer.
A grey and white cat was meowing loudly around me when I first got in. That’s probably what woke the kid up. I picked the cat up by its neck and tossed it out the back door onto the porch overlooking the yard. It looked at me and hopped down the steps.
I had drunk the glass of milk and ate the oatmeal cookies that the kids had left out for Santa Claus. A can of Green Giant niblets corn was sitting on the coffee table beside them; I guess it was a snack for the reindeer. The milk was warm.
“How come you got Danny next door a Hot Wheels set and not me?”
“Can’t have everything you want, Tommy. You’d be spoiled.”
“That’s what my mommy says.”
I bit my lip. Never did like to deal with little kids. “You’d better get to bed, you know. You ain’t supposed to be up when Santa comes.”
“You really Santa Claus?”
“Sure I am, kid. Why?”
He twisted his head and scratched his ear. “I dunno. How come you din’t know my name?”
“I always get you mixed up with your brother, kid.”
He thought this over and said, “You don’t look like you did in Sears. Maybe I better get my mommy.”
I grabbed his shoulder. “Hell, no, kid. Don’t do that.” He looked scared. “Big people don’t believe in Santa. You know that, don’t you?”
He nodded slowly. “Aunt Betty does.”
“If you wake up your mommy, I’d have to leave and take all of your presents with me.”
He eyes brightened and grew wide again. “Presents! What did you bring me?”
“Why, I brought you a Hot -- ”
I looked behind Tommy and saw an older boy walking down the hall toward us. “Oh, damn.”
“Tommy?” he said. Then he saw me. “Hey, what’s going on?” He looked to the staircase leading down to the basement.
I grabbed Tommy and covered his mouth with one hand. “One word and I’ll break his neck.” Tommy squirmed and tried to get loose, but I kept a tight hold on him.
The older boy was about ten, tall and skinny for his age with short blond hair. He wore a light green robe over brown flannel pyjamas.
“Put those candlesticks in the sack for me. Fast.”
He walked over and did as I asked, frowning with dismay as he saw the rest of the silver and china I had lifted.
“What are you going to do with Tommy?”
“I’m getting a bit old for this business,” I said. “Need an apprentice. He’ll be okay if’n you don’t try anything stupid.”
The idea hadn’t occurred to me until I said it, but maybe it was time. Whoever heard of a fat old man like me breaking into houses?
“You just stay put, kid. One move and your brother’s dead.”
I grabbed Tommy, picked up the sack, and quickly climbed up the chimney. Prancer and Vixen didn’t like him at first, but they’ll just have to get used to him.
The End
About the Author
John R. Little is an award-winning author of suspense, dark fantasy, and horror.
He currently lives in Ayr, a small town near Kitchener, Canada, and is always at work on his next book. John has published 14 books to date, and most of them are available on Amazon. He hopes you enjoy his work.
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=670108452&fref=ts
http://www.johnrlittle.com/
Naughty or Nice
By
Veronica Smith
As Thanksgiving approached, all the impending signs of Christmas were apparent. Even before Halloween had arrived, the Christmas decorations had taken over the seasonal area and shelves. The leftover bags of Sponge Bob & Bratz Halloween candy now sat next to all the new flavors of candy canes and marshmallow Santas.
Working in the local Kmart was a crappy job but it still was a job. It paid the rent and girls really went for guys that actually had a job. Robert was thinking about girls again as he adjusted the white and green artificial Christmas trees in the display. They had them packed in so tightly you couldn’t get a postage stamp between them. It was thirty minutes after closing so he could loosen his smock and relax a bit. He took pride in his department and wanted it to look the best. He decided to put some of the trees back in storage; it would make the rest look more appealing. As he mulled it over, deciding which ones to put away, he heard odd clopping noises; like horses walking down the center aisle.
He looked around for the prankster; Lou was way over in Housewares, straightening up the Tupperware and small appliances. Susan had the worst department – Toys! After a day of all those brats going through there, it looked as though a tornado had hit. He didn’t envy her one bit. Usually his department, Seasonal, truly only got bad when they had a huge sale on ornaments or cards, as it did today. After straightening up those shelves, he wandered over to the yard displays and came to a sudden halt.
The inflatable Santa and reindeer were gone! No nylon puddles sat on the floor; they were just missing. Someone had turned off the air pumps and unplugged them from the figures, then toted them off.
“Have you been naughty or nice?” boomed a loud voice.
Robert turned to see Santa in all his blown-up glory, without the aid of any air pump!
How was this possible?
“Well?” Santa asked again, “Have you been naughty or nice?”
His round air-filled belly shook like a bowl full of jelly, big
ger actually – like a huge manhole-cover of jelly. Santa had one arm behind his back and brought it around front now. In his huge gloved hand he held an axe. It still had the $10.88 sale tag on it. His jolly mouth was turned down in a frown of malice. He smacked the axe flat-wise in the palm of his other hand.
“You haven’t answered me!” he bellowed at Robert.
Robert opened his mouth but couldn’t speak – couldn’t do anything except stare at the axe bobbing up and down. He turned and fled down the aisle that let towards Linens.
Clop. Clop. Clop. He froze when he saw three inflated reindeer walk out from other aisles to meet in the aisle in front of him. He let out a scream of terror!
“What’s wrong?” he could hear Lou call from a distant part of the store. Without stopping to answer he turned down the next aisle and headed in Lou’s direction. He almost stumbled upon another two reindeer. They had knocked down several shelves worth of towels and were locked together on top of them like two dogs, mating. In shock, he tripped and picked himself up.
He managed to get to Housewares and ran right past Lou, who was covertly picking his nose and wiping the boogers on the spatulas hanging next to him.
“What’s the matter with you?” he asked Robert.
“Santa!” Robert panted, “He’s got an axe!”
Lou looked at Robert and smiled. “Oh, you’ve been nipping at that spiked eggnog, haven’t you?”
“No really!” Robert yelled, “He’s coming!”
“Sure,” Lou sang, “Santa Claus is coming to town! Ha ha!”
“Have you been naughty or nice?” boomed Santa, who had caught up with Robert now.
“Holy shit!” Lou shouted, “What the hell is going on?”