by J. L. Foster
He attempted to stand from his chair so that he could prepare it to be carried off by the company that he worked for, but it seemed nearly impossible to move. He was exhausted.
Perhaps just five more minutes of sitting and then he would feel better.
The shadow that blocked out the rays of sunlight made him lift his head and open wide his bright blue eyes. Panic grew over his body as he stared up at the monstrous man that towered before him. Whether a bum or a mugger, he knew the man intended trouble. He could see it in the icy pits of his eyes. The beastly stranger opened his fanged mouth into a horrifying grin, and Rick Henderson wondered how many breaths he had left until death overcame him.
"Ye be the one they call the Santa Claus?” Nicholas asked in a demonic voice filled with hatred.
"Only for two hours a day during December,” Rick answered, afraid not to.
"Yer wardrobe. Give it to me."
"What?” the old man questioned, clutching tightly to the costume that he, himself, had spent five hundred dollars on. “This was handmade for me."
Turning to the lamp post that stood beside Santa's throne, Nicholas released a heavy breath, turning the post into pure ice. Then, looking back to the Santa Claus, he huffed, “If ye don’ want to die right this moment, ye will turn over yer garments."
Moving with controlled speed, Rick stood from his chair and began to undress. When the coat, belt, boots, pants, and hat had been stripped from his body, he stood in the cold, shivering in nothing but his boxer shorts and undershirt.
"Please...” he chattered helplessly and fought back tears. “I'm so cold..."
"Ye be cold, eh?” Nicholas asked, moving as close to his identical opposite as he could. “I'll show ye cold.” And with the blowing of a light breath, Rick Henderson was transformed into ice.
Nicholas stared at the ice sculpture of the nearly naked Santa Claus and grinned wickedly. Without the costume, he was no more than another fat, pitiful mortal.
"How dare ye tarnish me reputation?” Nicholas spat.
He remembered that the old man had admitted to only portraying him part of the time, which meant there had to be others out there like him—other men playing this Santa Claus character. Men who were tarnishing Nicholas Von Barron's name and reputation.
These Santa Clauses were now the mark of Nicholas's new wave of vengeance.
Briefly, he considered that this modern day Santa Claus was but another punishment inflicted on him by his master. It seemed the sort of thing he would do.
He began to pull the clean costume on over his grubby ancient clothing, and once dressed in the former Santa's attire, Nicholas stood tall, mighty, and refreshed. Aside from his eyes and his open mouth, there was nothing to distinguish him from all of the other ingrates that were playing St. Nick.
There was one positive side to this new reputation he currently suffered. The modern village children seemed to want to come to him, instead of him having to hunt them down.
Yes, Nicholas Von Barron would feast well on this day.
Chapter Seven
Jasmine pushed hard through the heavy wind, bright sun, and snow-covered sidewalks. The streets were packed with traffic jams, last minute shoppers, charity workers, a million Santa Clauses, and everything of the like. The one thing she had not seen so far was an ice sculpture, and for that, she was quite thankful.
Bailey's apartment came into view and she sighed with heavy relief. Her ankles felt swollen, her knees were cramping, and her lower back was beginning to feel like it was on fire. Jasmine hardly ever left the comforts of home during the winter, and rarely did she travel by foot. This walk had proved brutal for her, but with her destination so near, she gained momentum and strength and persevered to the front entrance of the grand, comfortable, and all too familiar Ransom Rayne apartment building. She knew this building like the back of her own hand, and she missed it terribly.
After climbing the four flights of stairs to Bailey's level—and what used to also be Jasmine's level—she turned down the right wing hallway and crossed down to the sixth door. There, she knocked with a heavy fist.
The door was opened by Bailey's husband, George Blake.
"Jasmine?” he asked, pulling the door open wide. “Long time no see."
"Hi, George,” she smiled pleasantly. “Is Bailey home? I needed to speak with her."
"No, she left a few hours ago to do some Christmas shopping. I had hoped she would be back by now, but ... So, what's up? Is something the matter?"
"I needed to talk to her. Dylan and I—well—we're pregnant."
"That's terrific,” his cheered. “Having a kid is great. I've been sitting with our son Toby all day. We just woke from our nap, actually."
"So, you haven't heard from Bailey?"
"Not since she left, no. Would you like to come in and wait for her? She should be home before long."
"No,” Jasmine whispered, feeling a familiar chill befall her body. “I think I'll give her a call later. Have—have you watched the news today?"
"Nah,” George remarked. “I haven't watched television in years. We don't even own one. It rots the brain, you know."
"So I've heard,” she said, forcing a smile. “If Bailey comes home, will you please tell her I stopped by and share the news with her?"
"Of course!” Saying his goodbye and closing the door, he could not help but wonder what Jasmine had meant by “if” Bailey came home.
Crossing down the final steps of the stairway, her ears perked at sounds that resembled chaos. Her pace quickened as she rushed to the exit of the apartment building, pressing her hands against the glass and staring out into the street. Cars in all directions had crashed together, and people ran hurriedly and screamed with deafening tones as they rushed about, toppling over one another. Then, as Jasmine peered further to her left, she could see the local post office only two blocks down transform into solid ice.
Loudly, a clock chimed behind her on the wall, alerting her that it was now two in the afternoon. In two hours, Dylan would be leaving work, and Jasmine would be nothing more than a block of ice.
A flock of Santa Clauses swarmed by the apartment building, and they all looked more terrified than the normally clothed people that ran along beside them. Then, more buildings began to turn to ice, and Jasmine suddenly had the most terrible of ideas. What if, when the buildings turned to ice, so did everything inside of them?
Panic struck deep within her core and she opened the door with terrible quickness. Stepping outside, she founded herself pushed against the building, nearly overrun by the mob that filled the street and sidewalk. Climbing up onto a snow-covered planter next to her, she stood tall above the heads and searched for the source of the ice.
Then—she found him. The ice was from some unknown power controlled by a large man in a Santa suit.
"I always knew Santa was bad,” she whispered, astounded at the sight of an office building transforming into ice from the ground up. Through the icy windows, she could see the frozen faces of the building's inhabitants. They too were ice, and she received the wrenching answer to her question.
"Jasmine!” she heard a voice call and took immediate notice of Bailey Blake running up to her. “Jasmine, it's terrible!"
"Bailey, what's going on?” she pleaded as she climbed down from the planter. “What's happening?"
"Some crazed Santa Claus,” the woman answered in a huff as she tried to catch her breath. “He's gone on some sort of rampage, chasing after everyone in a Santa suit and turning everything in his path into ice!"
"How—how does he turn things into ice?"
"Just watch.” And turning her back to her friend, Bailey ushered toward the mad Santa, who had just made it to the edge of their block. By the touch of his hand, he turned an apartment building and its connecting grocery into pure, sleek ice.
"Holy shit,” Jasmine panted, finding that all other words had left her.
"Come on. We've got to get out of here! Are George and Toby out of
the apartment yet?"
Coming back from a daze she hadn't known she was in, she turned to face her best friend. “No—no, I just saw him in the apartment. I was up there looking for you, and..."
"I've got to get them out of there!” Bailey shouted, pushing past Jasmine and bolting through the door.
"No!” Jasmine cried from behind her. “You can't go in! It's too late! He's coming this way!"
But Bailey did not hear her friend's call, and shortly, she disappeared up the steps in an attempt to save her family.
Jasmine jerked her head back behind her to see the wicked Santa Claus approaching her—only two buildings away.
"Bailey!” she cried as loudly as she could, hoping to save her friend in time. “Bailey!"
Another look to the Santa told her that it was time to move. With a great leap, she bolted away from the building just as the monster reached out and touched its wall. Ice began to quickly scale up it, and Jasmine watched as it devoured it completely.
"Bailey, no...” she whimpered for a brief moment before realizing that the Santa Claus was staring directly at her.
She could see his face now, and she recognized it. The icy blue eyes with the black as night pupils, the hollowed smile filled with fangs, the rough beard that hadn't been trimmed, tamed, or cleaned in heaven knew how long ... This was her nightmare man—the man from her dream.
Nicholas's eyes met with hers and for a moment, it seemed as if all else in the world had stopped. She had seen him before—perhaps in a dream—and she remembered him. That meant one thing and one thing only. This woman was with child. Within her stomach, she carried a tiny bundle of brand new life—the most delicious meal of all for Von Barron.
Pulling his gloves from his pocket, he slid them on, winked a cold blue eye at her, and then began to charge toward her. In a huff, Jasmine turned on her heels to run. She moved with a greater speed than she had ever used, fleeing through the mixture of other terrified retreaters. Nicholas could have cared less about any of the others now. He now had Jasmine's scene, and he was determined that her womb would be his next meal.
He pushed his way through person after person. Each screamed with great intensity, fearing that they were about to become ice. Due to the nature of his gloves, however, every one of them was thrown to the ground alive and reasonably unharmed.
At first, Jasmine no longer recognized the New York neighborhood that she rushed through. Every person and every building became one fleeting object to her as she left them all in her dust. Then, one building managed to stand out among all of the others. She had reached Gracy's Department Store, and inside, Dylan was still playing St. Nick.
Once inside the enormous store, she stared at the hundreds upon hundreds of shoppers and then glanced behind her at the only visible exit out of the store. She now realized that it had been a bad idea to follow her instincts and venture into the store. Now, she was trapped and had put numerous more lives in danger. Either the abominable Santa Claus would follow her inside, or he would turn the entire building and everything within it to ice.
She knew she did not have time to stop and catch her breath. She had to hide. Her first thought had been to find Dylan, but now she remembered what Bailey had said. The large, evil St. Nick had been targeting other Santa Clauses before setting his sights on her. If she fled to Dylan, they were both doomed.
"Excuse me?” one woman asked in a huff as Jasmine pushed by her, causing her to drop the tacky garment she had been admiring. “Have some respect, lady!"
"I'm sorry!” Jasmine managed to respond, but this did not prevent her from continuing to push her way through the thick packs of shoppers.
Somehow, she had to find a place to hide. Briefly, she took note of the escalators, the elevators, and the stairwell. She closed her eyes and tried hard to think which one was the best route for her to go. She knew that she couldn't remain on the ground level. He would find her in an instant.
In the movies, most damsels in distress fled to the stairwell, where the killer usually caught up with them and put an end to their fleeing. The escalators would put her in plain sight until she reached the top, and a confrontation on them would have easily proved deadly. She could see herself being flung down to her death.
The elevators seemed to be the best and most logical choice. They had no windows, and of the three currently running, it would prove impossible to detect which one she was on.
Like a flash of light, Jasmine bolted for the row of elevators, thanking her creator as one opened at her arrival. She rushed into it and pressed the button to shut the door, not taking the moment to see who else was there. When the door closed and the elevator began to roll upward, she saw that she stood amongst five men, all dressed as Santa Claus.
Although frightened and surprised, she barely showed it, but she felt as if she had jumped a mile. This elevator full of Santa impersonators was perhaps her most frightening revelation yet. If she had failed to notice five men dressed as Santa right in front her when she had stormed into the elevator, how could she trust herself to notice the murderous one when he was in close range?
She felt sick again but knew that she could not vomit here. She couldn't allow herself to grow that weak. Not now. Not while she feared that the horrible Santa Claus still chased her. And she knew for a fact that he was. The building had not been turned to ice. That was the only proof she needed.
Jasmine remembered she had not pressed a floor button, and she felt the elevator ease to a stop on floor number two. She panicked as the door slid open, and as one Santa moved to the front and out of the elevator, she pushed herself further to the back. The second floor was much too close to the first one for her comfort.
The elevator repeated this pattern with four of the five remaining floors. It did not dawn on her until the last Santa exited that these were the four o'clock reliefs. Dylan would be getting off from work shortly, and in his Santa suit, he would be an easy target for the monster. As the door opened to the sixth floor, she now prayed that she would find Dylan instead of avoid him. She had to warn him of the ice Santa.
With only ten feet at most separating them, Jasmine stared into the cruel face of Nicholas Von Barron.
In a flash, she pressed her hand repeatedly against the “close” button to seal the door and whimpered as the beast began to near her. Her eyes stayed on the gloved hand that reached out for her with demonic intentions. Salvation blessed her on this occasion though, for just as his hand was about to reach into the elevator, the door slid shut.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed the button for the third floor and vomited to her side as the elevator began to move. How had he tracked her so quickly?
The Santas, she knew, had cursed her. By stopping at each and every floor, they had slowed her down. Now, she had nowhere to hide. The beast knew that she was on this elevator, and he knew she was going downward. He would be on every floor waiting for her until she reached the ground floor, and even there, she would be his.
There was but one option.
Slapping her hand against a large red button, she brought the elevator to an emergency stop. Almost instantly, the elevator's telephone began to ring. She answered it quickly, not wasting a moment's hesitation.
"This is Gracy's Security,” the rough voice on the other line spoke. “We've received notice that the elevator has come to an emergency stop and are checking the situation."
"You have to listen to me,” Jasmine spoke lowly, fearful her voice would be heard through the door of the elevator. “You have to get everyone out of this store."
"Excuse me?” the security guard asked in disbelief. “You're kidding me, right?"
"Everyone in this building will die if they don't get out right now."
"Is—is this a bomb threat?"
"Listen to me, you stupid mother fucker,” she growled as lowly as possible. She hadn't the time for this. “Haven't any of you watched the news today? All day long, some sick son of a bitch has been turning people into ice."
"Yeah, I saw something about that."
"He's in the store!"
"You've got to be joshing. In here? In Gracy's with nearly two thousand shoppers? Don't you think there would have been some sort of panic by now, or someone turned into ice maybe? Something other than a panicky woman in an elevator?"
Jasmine was about to speak, but she recognized the next sound that she heard. The heavy breathing, the sudden gasp from the security guard—the sound of ice slamming to the floor and shattering. The ice monster was in the security room.
"I can smell yer insides...” his demonic voice slurred into the phone, sending a chill over her as she listened with numb ears. “I can smell yer womb."
"Leave me alone, you sick bastard!” she cried, wishing she could spit in his face.
"I can smell yer child, fresh an’ delicious. It will do ye no good to run. Ye will join me for my next feast."
"What—what do you want from me?"
"Nothing much, lass. Just yer child.” His laughter was menacing and strong, enrapturing her ears with exquisite dread.
Tears fell from her eyes as she slammed the phone back onto its hook and closed the emergency panel-box door. He wanted her. He wanted her child—the child she and Dylan had prayed for. It was too much to handle and she felt faint and weak. But just as her eyes began to drift shut and her body began to tumble to the side, her head tilted up and she saw the door to the elevator's roof.
At five feet, six inches tall, she predicted having great difficulty reaching it. It took her four jumps, but on the last one she pressed hard against the thin metal door and forced it out of place. It moved over enough for her to grasp hold of the open frame's ledges on her next jump, and with all of her might she began to pull herself up and out of the elevator. On its top, she found that she could stand tall. The only thing above her was the roof of Gracy's Department store. On either side of her hung the cables from the other elevators, and she could see the location of each box. One elevator was currently in motion, and it was heading up toward her. The Monster Claus would be expecting her to go down. So, as the elevator gradually crawled up, Jasmine stepped onto it, grabbed hold of its cable to balance herself, and hitched a ride back up to the sixth floor.