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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Horror
- Subject: Horror / Scary
- Published: 12/26/2022
Santa Claus is Coming to Town
Born 1964, F, from Gordon, ACT, AustraliaThe Christmas carollers were adorable, identical and unidentifiable in their little red and white woolly beanies and matching scarves, warm coats and mittens.
“Away in a-a manger, no-oh crib for a beeed”
The children’s sweet voices, albeit a little off-key in parts, was enough to bring a tear to the most hard-hearted family man. And Col Summers was anything but hard-hearted. He wiped away a tear as he stood on the front porch, his arm around his wife, his three young boys shivering in the cold, snot-drips freezing at the end of their tiny red noses.
Claire, bundled in her outdoor gear, voice lifting more or less in tune with the other singers, noticed movement from the corner of her eye, but resolutely ignored it, focusing instead on the family tableau in front of her. Grief for the family nearly choked her as she forced out the rest of the song through a blur of tears. It was only made worse when Col sent his boys over to press five dollar notes into each mittened hand.
This was the fourth house tonight.
The carollers slunk off in silence when the Summers family went indoors. Claire hoped they were far enough away so they couldn’t hear the wailing when the family discovered that all the Christmas presents had been stolen from under the tree.
Two blocks up and around the corner, a dark blue van waited, the exhaust puffing out white clouds. Claire thought of snowmen farts and almost giggled despite her desperate unhappiness.
Steve and Thomas Parker jumped out of the van and held their hands out for the money that the Summers children had handed them. Between that and the stolen Christmas presents, they were making out like bandits. Literally.
Claire glared at them, wanting them to see how much she hated them. Thomas’s mean smile disappeared and he grabbed her and shoved her up against the van. “So, Claire. How’s your puppy doin’? Golly, must be a year old now, right? Christmas pressie and all that. Shame if something happened to him. Might get hit by like a van or something, hey? Or killed in a house fire. Or something.”
Thomas’s little brother, Arnold, left the huddled carollers and tried to stop him. “Leave her alone!” he cried. “Haven’t you done enough? To all of us? You’re horrible, and I’m telling dad!” Steve laughed and pushed Arnold into the snow. “You tell on us, you little punk, and that’s the last words that will come out of your mouth.” He towered over Arnold’s prone body and produced a mean-looking hunting blade. He squatted in the snow and pinned Arnold’s little body down with one hand, the other hand brandishing the knife in the boy’s face. “I will cut your dobby little tongue out of your dobby little mouth....” Arnold tried to wriggle away, but Steve effortlessly held him while he continued his threat. “And I’ll make you eat it. Raw.” He nicked Arnold’s ear lobe with the sharp blade, and several drops of blood stained the snow red.
One of the other carollers started crying. Claire wasn’t sure who it was. Maybe Emily? She was the youngest at only nine years old, and was usually the first one to cry.
The Parker boys ignored the little girl’s tears and ushered them into the back of the van. There was barely any room what with all the stolen presents.
Thomas peered in at them. “Look,” he said kindly. “One more house to go and that’s it, over for another year. Just suck it up. And shut that kid up.” He slammed the van door shut, leaving them in a soupy semi-darkness. The van smelled of Christmas wrapping and betrayal. The children sat in gloomy silence for nearly half an hour before the van stopped again to drop them off at the next victim’s house.
The children hopped out of the van and stood huddled together while Steve pointed out the house. It was a merry house, lights outlined the house and windows, flickering red ... green ... blue. Crystal white and blue waterfalls cascaded endlessly from trees, Frosty the Snowman waved at the empty street, wobbling slightly as if tipsy.
The Christmas carollers, heads hung in shame and misery, made their way towards the house. At least this is the last house, thought Claire tiredly. Unless the boys were lying. Which was quite likely, given they lied as easily as breathing.
A dark lane cut away to the right, and to the children’s surprise, a loud “psst” carried to them on the still air. A small figure was gesturing at them, his hand beckoning them in a “come here” gesture. Curious, yet somehow unafraid, the group approached the dark alleyway. What happened next changed their lives ...
Steve and Thomas gave the kids a few minutes to do their stuff, then walked the couple of blocks to the target house. They were surprised and infuriated to find there was no sign of activity. No singing, no choir, no householders standing at the front of the house instead of guarding the Christmas presents. What the heck did they think they were doing? Steve fingered his knife and figured it was time to teach them a lesson. He could probably just cut one of them, maybe two, and the others would toe the line. Understand that the Parker brothers weren’t messing around.
Thomas shrugged. “Maybe they’re not home and the kids buggered off?” he ventured. “Let’s sneak around the back, check things out. We can still get in and get their stuff if they’re not there.”
Just then, they heard a shuffle and a giggle from somewhere down beside the house. Steve’s jaw dropped. He was gobsmacked! Why those little ...
He marched into the semi-darkness, Thomas close at his heels. They could see the small group huddled together, whispering, tittering. Creepy. But he couldn’t go back now, not with Thomas watching. And they were just little punks playing some kind of game with him, that was all.
But the closer they got, the more ... wronger things seemed. The small figures’ eyes glittered silver in the dark, their ungloved hands large and grey, topped off by impossibly long fingers that ended in sharp fingernails. They slowly unwound their scarves and removed their beanies while Thomas and Steve slowly backed out the way they came, their hands up in placating surrender.
But they didn’t get far before they bumped into a large soft ...
Thomas whirled around and tried to scream at the sight of the angry man blocking their exit, his merry face red with fury. Steve looked around to see why Thomas had stopped, emitting a hissing croak in lieu of a scream.
The elves, now dressed only in their green and red tunics, advanced on the boys. It was a silent massacre. Razor-sharp nails and sharp white teeth flashed in the moonlight and carved through bulky winter clothes like a hot knife through butter. Scores of shallow oozing cuts drove the elves into a frenzy as they tore and ripped at the boys, their elven faces covered in blood and merciless glee.
It was over as suddenly as it had begun. The elves stood back, and Thomas was surprised and relieved to find he was still alive. He turned his head and saw his brother move a little. He began to hope that they might just survive this nightmare after all.
The last thing he saw was Santa’s shiny black boot blotting out the stars and heading straight for his face.
Santa lugged the bodies onto the sleigh while the elves kicked snow over the blood and brain matter.
Claire and the rest of the children, content at home with their families and pets, sipped hot chocolate with marshmallows, and looked forward to Christmas Day.
Santa Claus is Coming to Town(Hazel Dow)
The Christmas carollers were adorable, identical and unidentifiable in their little red and white woolly beanies and matching scarves, warm coats and mittens.
“Away in a-a manger, no-oh crib for a beeed”
The children’s sweet voices, albeit a little off-key in parts, was enough to bring a tear to the most hard-hearted family man. And Col Summers was anything but hard-hearted. He wiped away a tear as he stood on the front porch, his arm around his wife, his three young boys shivering in the cold, snot-drips freezing at the end of their tiny red noses.
Claire, bundled in her outdoor gear, voice lifting more or less in tune with the other singers, noticed movement from the corner of her eye, but resolutely ignored it, focusing instead on the family tableau in front of her. Grief for the family nearly choked her as she forced out the rest of the song through a blur of tears. It was only made worse when Col sent his boys over to press five dollar notes into each mittened hand.
This was the fourth house tonight.
The carollers slunk off in silence when the Summers family went indoors. Claire hoped they were far enough away so they couldn’t hear the wailing when the family discovered that all the Christmas presents had been stolen from under the tree.
Two blocks up and around the corner, a dark blue van waited, the exhaust puffing out white clouds. Claire thought of snowmen farts and almost giggled despite her desperate unhappiness.
Steve and Thomas Parker jumped out of the van and held their hands out for the money that the Summers children had handed them. Between that and the stolen Christmas presents, they were making out like bandits. Literally.
Claire glared at them, wanting them to see how much she hated them. Thomas’s mean smile disappeared and he grabbed her and shoved her up against the van. “So, Claire. How’s your puppy doin’? Golly, must be a year old now, right? Christmas pressie and all that. Shame if something happened to him. Might get hit by like a van or something, hey? Or killed in a house fire. Or something.”
Thomas’s little brother, Arnold, left the huddled carollers and tried to stop him. “Leave her alone!” he cried. “Haven’t you done enough? To all of us? You’re horrible, and I’m telling dad!” Steve laughed and pushed Arnold into the snow. “You tell on us, you little punk, and that’s the last words that will come out of your mouth.” He towered over Arnold’s prone body and produced a mean-looking hunting blade. He squatted in the snow and pinned Arnold’s little body down with one hand, the other hand brandishing the knife in the boy’s face. “I will cut your dobby little tongue out of your dobby little mouth....” Arnold tried to wriggle away, but Steve effortlessly held him while he continued his threat. “And I’ll make you eat it. Raw.” He nicked Arnold’s ear lobe with the sharp blade, and several drops of blood stained the snow red.
One of the other carollers started crying. Claire wasn’t sure who it was. Maybe Emily? She was the youngest at only nine years old, and was usually the first one to cry.
The Parker boys ignored the little girl’s tears and ushered them into the back of the van. There was barely any room what with all the stolen presents.
Thomas peered in at them. “Look,” he said kindly. “One more house to go and that’s it, over for another year. Just suck it up. And shut that kid up.” He slammed the van door shut, leaving them in a soupy semi-darkness. The van smelled of Christmas wrapping and betrayal. The children sat in gloomy silence for nearly half an hour before the van stopped again to drop them off at the next victim’s house.
The children hopped out of the van and stood huddled together while Steve pointed out the house. It was a merry house, lights outlined the house and windows, flickering red ... green ... blue. Crystal white and blue waterfalls cascaded endlessly from trees, Frosty the Snowman waved at the empty street, wobbling slightly as if tipsy.
The Christmas carollers, heads hung in shame and misery, made their way towards the house. At least this is the last house, thought Claire tiredly. Unless the boys were lying. Which was quite likely, given they lied as easily as breathing.
A dark lane cut away to the right, and to the children’s surprise, a loud “psst” carried to them on the still air. A small figure was gesturing at them, his hand beckoning them in a “come here” gesture. Curious, yet somehow unafraid, the group approached the dark alleyway. What happened next changed their lives ...
Steve and Thomas gave the kids a few minutes to do their stuff, then walked the couple of blocks to the target house. They were surprised and infuriated to find there was no sign of activity. No singing, no choir, no householders standing at the front of the house instead of guarding the Christmas presents. What the heck did they think they were doing? Steve fingered his knife and figured it was time to teach them a lesson. He could probably just cut one of them, maybe two, and the others would toe the line. Understand that the Parker brothers weren’t messing around.
Thomas shrugged. “Maybe they’re not home and the kids buggered off?” he ventured. “Let’s sneak around the back, check things out. We can still get in and get their stuff if they’re not there.”
Just then, they heard a shuffle and a giggle from somewhere down beside the house. Steve’s jaw dropped. He was gobsmacked! Why those little ...
He marched into the semi-darkness, Thomas close at his heels. They could see the small group huddled together, whispering, tittering. Creepy. But he couldn’t go back now, not with Thomas watching. And they were just little punks playing some kind of game with him, that was all.
But the closer they got, the more ... wronger things seemed. The small figures’ eyes glittered silver in the dark, their ungloved hands large and grey, topped off by impossibly long fingers that ended in sharp fingernails. They slowly unwound their scarves and removed their beanies while Thomas and Steve slowly backed out the way they came, their hands up in placating surrender.
But they didn’t get far before they bumped into a large soft ...
Thomas whirled around and tried to scream at the sight of the angry man blocking their exit, his merry face red with fury. Steve looked around to see why Thomas had stopped, emitting a hissing croak in lieu of a scream.
The elves, now dressed only in their green and red tunics, advanced on the boys. It was a silent massacre. Razor-sharp nails and sharp white teeth flashed in the moonlight and carved through bulky winter clothes like a hot knife through butter. Scores of shallow oozing cuts drove the elves into a frenzy as they tore and ripped at the boys, their elven faces covered in blood and merciless glee.
It was over as suddenly as it had begun. The elves stood back, and Thomas was surprised and relieved to find he was still alive. He turned his head and saw his brother move a little. He began to hope that they might just survive this nightmare after all.
The last thing he saw was Santa’s shiny black boot blotting out the stars and heading straight for his face.
Santa lugged the bodies onto the sleigh while the elves kicked snow over the blood and brain matter.
Claire and the rest of the children, content at home with their families and pets, sipped hot chocolate with marshmallows, and looked forward to Christmas Day.
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JD
01/19/2023Yipes! Nothing like a horrific little X-mas! But of course i cannot help but secretly wish all those who use and abuse children and steal gifts meant for others, meet the dark side of Santa and his elves, too! :-)
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Shelly Garrod
12/27/2022That was a creepy Christmas horror story. I loved it. Well done.
Blessings Shelly
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Hazel Dow
12/27/2022Thanks Shelley. I haven't written anything in about a year, it's good to be back!
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Lillian Kazmierczak
12/27/2022Hazel, only you could find a horror story in Christmas! Smartly crafted! Sometimes people get exactly what they deserve!
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COMMENTS (5)