Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S1 Ep9: Episode 9: The 2020 Holiday Special

Episode Date: December 24, 2020

I welcome you all to the darker side of the Christmas holidays, the side few dare to venture... and with good reason!  We begin our festive episode with ‘If you Hear Sleigh Bells’ an original story by Kallier Devdi 6359, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  https://www.reddit.com/user/KallierDevdi6359  This is followed by ‘Frost Rot’ which is an original tale by Isaac Cordaro, also shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  https://www.reddit.com/user/IsaacCordaro  Next up is ‘My Christmas Tale’ an original work by Chris 183539, once again shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  https://www.reddit.com/user/Chris183539 We round off our festive fun with ‘Santa's Other Workshop’ another original story by Derek Hawke, AKA Killahawke1, once more kindly shared with us at Dr. Creepen’s Vault:  https://www.reddit.com/user/Killahawke1/ 

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please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. So Christmas is upon us. Happy holidays to one and all. Now if the weather outside is frightful, but your fire is so delightful, since we've no place to go.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow, let me tell you some stories. Now, just because it's Christmas doesn't mean we can't have a little bit of fun, of fun and some horror thrown in. Four tales for you this evening. First, if you hear Slaybells by Kaliaddevdi 6359, followed by Frostrod by Isaac Cordaro. After that, we have my Christmas tale by Chris 183-539, and we round off proceedings this evening with Santa's other workshop by Derek Hawke. Now, as ever, a word of caution before we begin. The following stories may contain strong language,

as well as descriptions of violence and other horrific acts. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin. Run. I can't think of anything else to say other than run. But I guess for that to make sense, I'd have to go into detail about what happened 10 years ago, when I was about eight years old. I've always loved Christmas,

ever since I was able to understand the word. Christmas, even the name sounds festive. I'd grown up with every story and song about good old St. Nick and the warm holiday imaginable. And, in short, one day I decided that I would see him for myself, as most kids with the same upbringing often considered. I prepared for at least a week navigating around potential landmines like parents being awake or being caught by the jolly fat man himself

or even just leaving evidence that I was ever there I decided that I'd venture downstairs at 3am armed with a blanket and some black coffee to keep me awake although I couldn't stand the bitter taste and often found myself wanting to regurgitate every time I took a sip When the day finally came Oddly enough I found myself hearing

Santa Claus is coming to town playing just out everywhere for just about as long as I could stand I heard the lines He sees you when you're sleeping He knows when you're awake He knows if you've been bad or good

Over and over again But I guess something just Didn't click And I really wish it had I really, really wish it had. Because that night, I saw something I desperately wish I could unsee. Even now, hearing the sound of a sleigh-bell, I reflexively recoil as if I expect something deadly to appear consecutively. The air that night was stiff and chilly.

It was coming down violently outside my window, and every step I took down. the stairs revived my pulse with a renewed sense of dread both the dread of being caught and that dread you feel descending any flight of creaking stairs the dread you feel when it startles you the sudden and yet drawn out sound that for a split second you might mistake for a human cry and yet i continued down the stairs until i reach the place i will be hiding a small knock between the wall in the living room the sofa and the radiator from which I had anticipated being able to discreetly witness Santa's arrival. And so, I waited there. And I waited, and I waited. And I waited. I must have been through at least my second shot of my black coffee, certain that I'd been there for at very least two hours

when I glanced at the time. And to my horror, not one minute had passed. Not one. It was still 3am. I thought, certainly, that clock must have been wrong. Certainly. Certainly. Yes, surely that clock was broken, literally being counting seconds upon seconds upon minutes,

waiting for anything, anything to happen. I'd almost convinced myself that time had passed, and that clock was stuck for whatever reason. I had almost been successful in calming myself down. When? Well, when I noticed the wind had stopped. The wailing sound of the wind, which resembled a human scream

and the occasional knock of an angry gust on any of the closed windows had completely halted. It was silent, completely... silent, so silent in fact that all I could hear was the sound of my shaking breath. The silence so loud that it accentuated the darkness. Every shadow, every dark corner seemed to reach for me at once, as if trying to swallow me up too. All I could hear was my own increasingly struggle breathing.

And I stayed like that. until I heard it. Something which shattered the silence, once more breaking the comfort I'd settled into and cutting through me like the jagged end of a cold knife. It was a jingle. A soft rhythmic chime set to the slightly crooked gait that sounded more like someone dragging themselves around by their elbows

than like walking. My first thought, when I heard the unmistakable chime of the sleigh-bells, was that Santa was finally here. But, as the sound grew closer, I noticed it was accompanied by a soft, whimpering sound, which sounded close enough to human to be recognizable, but inhuman enough for me to be unable to tell how old the voice was, or how feminine or masculine it was. My pulse quickened anew. This wasn't Santa.

With each dragging step, the sleigh bells only grew louder, and the whimpering became more clear. Hmm, see. It sounded even less human than the whimpering had. The speech was broken up, distorted. That thing spoke as if it was literally choking on its own love. step chide the darkness was swallowing me up once more eating away at my sanity i found it difficult to breathe it was getting closer and the crooked melody of the sleigh bells only grew louder i held my breath between every pause for every step every agonizing second before i heard the next chime He knows where.

Step. Chime, it was close. So, I didn't know where it was, but it was so close. I could feel the air, begging to suffocate me, each chime stealing my breath more violently than the last. I could almost make out what it was saying now. His voice was so grossly distorted. It sounded like an animal trying to speak while choking on its own blood.

Freak, chime. And with that, I saw it. It finally came into view and stared straight at me. And more violently than ever, I fought to keep the coffee and my dinner down. Skin was stretched tightly over its face, grey and leathery, with its mouth twisted into a sinister smile, or as close to a smile as it could be called. There was a hole in its lower jaw from which I saw its tongue hanging with dry blood clinging to the lining of the cavity and its beard, sparse white hair, barely clinging to its chin. From its torso all the way to its neck The bells were wrapped around it to the point where

If the creature so much has moved its head the wrong way It might have accidentally garotted itself I tried to scream I tried to move But the silence had already devoured my cry And the darkness already crushed my limbs I could only watch as the creature slowly hobbled towards me each sleigh-bell ring engraving itself into my memory as its distorted grimace widened,

causing a flow of fresh, warm blood to flow from the cavity in its face. That girl shouldn't be up at this hour. Time suddenly resumed, and in a moment, with some inhuman strength, The creature had torn me from my knock and throw my limp, petrified body into a wall. The doors and windows clattered with the angry gusts of wind and snow billed in from the window the creature must have entered by, chilling my body. I tried to look up. I tried to breathe. But before I could try to cry out again, a chain of sleigh-bells was wrapped around my neck.

The freezing metal dug into my skin and choked me. My eyes began to roll back as I frantically grabbed at them in the darkness. God, the ringing. I could hear them. They chimed as they cut off my air, darkening my vision. Intermingled with my choked off sobbing. The bells almost sounded like screaming. And the screaming of the bells,

that which sounded like other children all crying out together to make the bell sound. Before it all faded to cold. Unconscious silence, this was the last thing I heard. I woke upon the cold floor with half a pitcher of coffee, clenched tightly in one hand, and the blanket wrapped around me. I exhaled quietly, relieved that it had all been a dream, and proceeded with my day as normal. I'd almost convinced myself it had never happened.

That is, until my mother asked me where that bruised. screws around my neck had come from, and outside, I had a single sleigh-bell ring in the darkness of the early winter morning. And so now to the story of Jeff and Andy, just two ordinary men who were fed up with overpriced razors. So, they took matters into their own hands, starting Harry's to fix the world of shaving. As you can imagine, as a horror aficionado, razors are quite important to me, and that's why I turn to Harry's. Now, as a lover of good stories, I also know that first impressions are important. My personal experience of Harry's was phenomenal. The products look so good when you first open that box, and you find these incredible razors,

leaving your face smoother than other shades, and with care of it. considerable less pain and discomfort in the process. Now, Harry's make a point of taking less profit, offering great quality products for a fair price. So tonight I introduced to you the Harry's trial set, which includes everything that you need for a close and comfortable shave, with a weighted ergonomic handle, five precision-engineered blades with a lubricating strip and trimmer blade, oh, and a rich, lathering shave gel, and travel blade cover. So, take Doc's word phrase. Get started shaving with Harris today by claiming your trowseyset for £3.95. Support our podcast and get your trow set delivered to you, including a razor

handle, five blade cartridge, foaming shave gel, and travel blade cover by going to harries.com slash creep at C-R-E-E-P right now. Again, that's harries.com slash creep. So, quite a cautionary tale, our first story there. Maybe, just maybe, we should take the lyrics of those Christmas songs a little more seriously. Now, we move north, up into the Lapland area of Norway. But Father Christmas certainly isn't who we're going to find in this next story. I was on my way out to a small village that had been recently discovered.

We were heading up north into the freezing tundra of Norway. I was never happy going into a cold environment. I preferred the deserts of Egypt or a rainforest somewhere, but, well, this particular finding had exquisite interest in the archaeology community. It was an entire village that had just disappeared from the map. What was worse is that everyone who'd lived in the village was dead. I was really excited to investigate what had happened, but at the same time I was a little nervous. I wanted to know the truth about what had happened to these people.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not scared of anything like ghosts, and those things don't exist. But I do remember a story I read about a group of researchers. who'd gone to a Siberia to study a temple, and because of their experience, I was a little on edge. The last thing I needed to deal with was me becoming mentally unstable and killing all my colleagues. Once we'd arrived, I began to look at the numerous buildings that had been set up there. There was a tavern, a motel, and dozens of other wooden houses side by side. The village itself was in bad shape due to years of neglect and winter winter. weather. I just still didn't understand why everything had been abandoned though. As I was walking around,

taking in the environment, I lost my footing and was I tripped by something? I managed to regain my footing before I actually began to fall and I turned around to see what it was that was on the ground. Where I looked down, I saw a human arm sticking out of the snow. No, not a whole arm, just apart. I could see why I hadn't noticed it. It must have been covered by the snow. The frostbite on the arm was quite severe. It was completely blue.

Upon further examination, though, I started noticing what? It looked like patches, patches on the skin that looked to be like bite marks. I assumed that maybe a wild animal to attack the person. When I got the rest of my examination team over there, they began to uncover the whole body from the snow. Very grisly sight indeed. What I saw was definitely a shocker for the whole team as well as myself.

Most of his flesh and organs had appeared to, well, have rotted away. We tried to think of any logical explanation in such a cold environment for this to happen. The way he was shaped told us that he'd been trying to run away. But then, why was almost all of his flesh gone? Eventually, we pretty much had to make the conclusion that he had possibly been eaten after he fell down. I started to walk around near the woods of the border of the village. I didn't really feel like looking around in the main area anymore. The freezing cold temperatures were starting to really get to me.

Even though I was covered up from head to toe, I could still feel the cold air rushing through the small cracks of my clothing. I'm glad I was wearing wool. At least that way, I'd get a little bit of warmth whenever I got tired and started to sweat. I started to take in the beautiful sights of the frosty woods. The trees had no leaves on them, except for the pines. This area rarely thaws out. So it's amazing that there's even skeletons around here.

I would have thought some animals would have devoured most of the bodies. It's oddly enough, I hadn't seen a single animal in the area. There were no caribble, not even birds. This whole area seemed deserted. I happened to spot a cabin, and decided to check it out. I opened the front door and saw nothing but the wrecked ruins of everything inside.

The curtains had been torn to pieces on the window frames and the beds were ripped up. It was a small cabin and everyone probably had to live in the same room. So why were there no bodies in here? I would have expected at least one. I looked around and a book managed to catch my eye.

It was a brown book with almost all of the pages turned yellow. Thankfully, the cold had probably preserved this book very well. I opened it up to the first chapter and took a look to see what kind of book it was. Thankfully, I knew Norwegian. November 24th, the first day of my diary. Papa has been out drinking with his friends a lot, and Mama gets worried every time he heads out. We live so far from the village, and she still thinks that there's something outside watching us. I don't blame her.

It's creepy being out here in the woods. My baby brother doesn't quit crying, and I've noticed that my dog doesn't seem to want to stay here for very long. During the day, all she does is moan and how. Papa thinks it's just the isolated environment getting to our heads. even if he is right about that shouldn't he at least show some concern for us I mean we're his family November 28th

things have gotten a little better here at home Papa says he's going to buy a gun so we can feel a little more secure I sure hope this works December 4th I went into town with Mama and we started noticing some weird things A couple of farmers said that their cows had disappeared.

It wasn't that someone had stolen them. They said their cows had been acting weird for days and they just finally smashed their way out of the fences. Animals just don't seem to like it here in this place. The town is only two years old, but it seems like a good spot with all the wood that was around here. Supplies are kind of running low at home. And there appears to be a bit of famine.

for the things we need. December 6th. Going to church is always weird. I sometimes feel like the pastor's watching me. He never quits looking at us girls, but there's something different about him. He used to be very nice, but now he's being a little too nice. I don't want to tell Mama or Papa, because I'm afraid of what they'll do. Papa has gotten way more violent lately.

He doesn't even drink anymore, well, as much as he used to. He's just getting really aggressive. Mama is getting really lazy. My clothes are getting dirty and the house is becoming filthy. She barely breastfeeds my baby brother anymore. I'm worried about what's going on. December 20th. Christmas is approaching, but I don't really care for that anymore.

lately I've become more hungry like very hungry I can't stop eating whatever I find a couple of days ago I came across some gooey substance underneath my bed it didn't have any particular colour it was clear but when it touched my skin it turned green I found more of it underneath my parents bed I'm not too sure what this is I'm not sure what it means, but I just can't stop eating. December 26th, I think. All I ever think about is food. My memory is starting to get worse.

I don't even know what day it is half the time. The pastor has been acting very friendly towards all of us, girls. I caught him with at least three of them. I think it was yesterday. I'm not too sure, but he grabbed hold of me and tried to drag me into a back room. room at church. You threw me down and started to huntress, but something in me snapped. I became very hungry and he was just so vulnerable. I'm afraid to say what happened next. The last thing I need is for my family to be ostracized. Word is already spreading through town about the pastor's murder.

you see I ate him well I discovered I'm not the only one with this eating disorder all around town people are starting to act differently my mom doesn't do anything but lay in bed anymore my father

he recently murdered someone too nobody seemed to understand what's going on yet they don't care at the same time it's almost as if we're become animals. I can't stop hunting. My baby, brother, is no more. I got a little desperate. I don't feel any shame for what I've done. Lately, I found out there are others in town just like me. We often hunt together in groups and capture anyone that is outside at night.

The police haven't really been doing their job either. They just like to do as they please. I've just realized what's going on. It's the seven deadly sins. I'm becoming gluttonous. My papa is wrath. Mama is sloth. The pastor was lost. It's happening all over town. I'm slowly losing what little sanity I have left. It's almost as if there's a devil walking among us. Got to go now. Ask gluttonous people. have pretty much devoured everyone. Practically everyone is dead now. I wouldn't say I'm the last person in town,

as I can still see people, and they're covered in some of the sticky green stuff, just like me. I'm writing this as a last message to anyone that comes to this town. Leave. Just get out of here. This place is cursed. There's something living here that opens up the evils of man.

He got me to do things I never would have done. It got a bunch of us to do things that we would never, ever do. And it's crawling all over me. I can feel it slowly coursing through my veins, taking over every part of my body, rotting away my flesh and destroying every part of my body till I'm nothing but a withered up skeleton. I just finished reading the last part of this,

and whoever this person was, well, I don't know. I couldn't help but feel my heart pounding through my chest. I looked out the window and thought I saw something. I was getting out of this town. I had to get my colleagues together and we had to leave immediately. I ran as fast as I could back into town. But when I got to the research site, there was nobody to be found. I looked around and saw nothing.

but blood and chunks of flesh. How did all of this happen without me hearing a single peep? I looked at one of the convoy trucks, and I saw my way out. When I got inside the driver's seat, I realized that someone had taken the keys out. I had no idea where they could possibly be. I had to get out and look around at the desks inside the tents. I kept looking around, but saw nothing,

but the horrors of human remains everywhere. I was panicking, and then I heard something. Footsteps were coming up behind me, and they seemed slow. I peaked outside. I was just about to vomit from the horror of what I'd seen. It was a rotten skeleton walking around covered in green slime. It seemed like it was being controlled by the slime, but it had all its teeth still in its mouth, with blood drenched down through the rib cage.

I'm guessing it had tried to eat people, but it had nothing to hold the contents. I started running as fast as I could. I didn't want to end up being devoured by whatever this thing was. I kept running and running. And when I looked back, I saw four skeletons chasing after me. I happened to see a shotgun lying in the snow up ahead and grabbed hold of it and aimed at the first skeleton. I fired the gun and blew the whole thing to pieces.

I had to reload and take another shot. I kept on firing as much as I could until every last one of them was gone. Nothing but a bunch of shambled bones on the ground. I was relieved that I'd finally managed to get the four of them. Maybe now I could look around for the keys. But then I felt something on the gun. I looked down and saw a transparent slime of green on my fingers. Oh God.

So if there's one life rule I like to live by, it's a void green slime at all costs. Now, on to our final story. A young boy and his father live up in the mountains. and his father is very secretive. He has a special room that he always keeps locked. What secrets does it hold? Let's find out. Ah, the snow.

How delicate and unique each flake of the cold white substance can be. The children will dash through it, flinging it left and right among each other. They'll lay down and stretch their arms and legs in all directions, attempting to create a beautiful angel for all to see. Then of course there are others who build snowmen, their laughter filling the frosty air as they partake in a multitude of holiday activities. How I envied those who enjoyed the Christmas spirit. I had never actually seen such festivities occur. Rather, I would hear about them through tales my father would tell of the good old boys and girls who truly valued what it meant to celebrate Christmas. This story will be a recounting of an experience.

I had as a young boy. After finding myself away from my childhood home and actually close to civilization, I began taking the time to recollect a few memories from my past. Between strange occurrences I couldn't explain back then and one freakish moment I'd experienced at that point in time, I suppose this will act as a warning to you. I truly want to help you, and this is perhaps the best way I can spread the word around about what I've discovered about the holidays without him finding out. I need to be discreet about this. Although I've travelled as far away from my old home as I can, I know for a fact that he's still out there and that he can find me.

I don't want to risk it, so maybe if a few people who see this help me spread it around, I won't have to worry about the consequences of my actions. It's the best I can hope for, I suppose. Even still, I have to live the life of a nomad, never once being able to stop and catch my breath. Doing so would be too dangerous, so it's imperative I get this out soon. Now, since I've finished my introduction,

I suppose it's time to release something I've been holding back on for quite some time now. I can only hope that I make any sort of difference by doing this. My childhood was a strange one. When December would come, I found myself locked inside my house. My father and I didn't adorn the walls with stockings or decorations, nor did we erect a Christmas tree in our living room. The fireplace was constantly extinguished, rowing me of the comfort I desired.

Each night I would curl up in bed, trembling as the cold air ran across my body, and I stared up at the ceiling, my mind completely blank. Yes, it was as bad as it sounds. No, I didn't mind how rough things could get. There always seemed to be an innocent part of me that didn't mind the way we lived, no matter how barren the house could be during all times of the year. Don't get me wrong, my father was very good to me. I can't recall a day he didn't show me his big, wide smile.

and treat me as best he could. He took care of me, fed me well, and was a good parent overall. He was a rather porty fellow, but a kind man nonetheless. The only issue is that, well, he wasn't a big fan of the holidays. It made for a very bleak life around the wintertime, especially. It confused me as to why he would tell me about how the other children had such a great time. I often thought he did it to make a bit of fun, or perhaps he was just pulling my leg. I'd never seen the things he described to me after all, so it would make sense that maybe they were just stories.

I rarely found it strange that we didn't live remotely near anybody else. Our small wooden hut was located high in the mountains, where the slopes would be treacherous for anyone ascending or descending the terrain. Perhaps, even if I had wanted to see the outside world, I wouldn't have been able to. It would have been impossible for me to climb up and down the rugged area, let alone at such a young age. Because of the sheer height of the mountains where we lived, the air was thin and the winds blew fiercely, and most I ever saw of the outside world was through my window. My father said, we hadn't always lived there. He said we had some home somewhere down.

below where the other people lived, but we were in his vacation home, as he put it. I hadn't lived in any of the house before then, so needless to say, it was a rather odd vacation, to say the least. While my father stayed inside with me, we would play board games and create drawings together. Those and various other indoor activities would teach me about the outside world and what it was like. However, my favorite memories of my father and the story he would tell me. Now, as I mentioned, he would tell me of his experiences with that which dwelled under the mountain and across the world. His various interactions with such people piqued my curiosity and, upon my request to learn more, he would bring me books and magazines.

Those sources were my first true contact with society, and I'd spend hours at a time reading. It kept me busy, and despite the life, lack of holiday cheer in my life, I was content. As each December came, my father would start spending less time with me and more time in his private office. I only ever saw him carrying a large list of what appeared to be names on a sheet, and then he would vanish for lengthy periods of time. I always wondered what he did up there, but he never took the time to explain. He always brushed off my questions or dismissed them with a simple, You'll understand when you're older, kiddo.

I never found myself content with those answers. And at a time when I wanted to learn, that lack of knowing the truth bothered me a lot. For years, I felt as if my thirst for knowledge would remain unquenched, for the simple reason that I hadn't a clue what my father did. after mischievously trying to sneak into his office one night while he slept, I found that the door was locked, and I never found the key. With my determination fleeting, I decided just to mind my own business and let it be.

Several years of this same pattern would come and go, and I was fine with that at first. However, I was not fine with the repetitive and quite frankly monotonous routine. I read all my books, perfected all of my books, perfected. all my art, and it got to the point where my father would be retelling the same old stories. I grew tired of these tedious rituals, and thus my curiosity sparked once more. It had been years since I'd learned about the existence of my father's office. I thought that perhaps I was old enough to handle what was inside.

You could imagine my dismay upon being denied my request to enter the room. I must have asked that man several times a month. Still, with his everlasting patience, he would respond with a simple no each time. With all of this information out of the way, I think it's now time I introduce you to something my father would do that would eventually cause my curiosity to spill over. You see, every night on December 24th, he would open the front door, a large brown bag slung over. over his shoulder. He'd wave goodbye to me with a jolly grin on his face. He'd release a cheerful laugh before closing the door and locking it behind him, making his merry way down the mountain

with inhuman speed and skill before disappearing into the night. The following day, he would come back, exhausted. After taking his back to his office, he would then sleep for most of the day. I may have been an ignorant child, but I wasn't stupid. All the books I'd read, all the stories I'd heard, they connected like puzzle pieces together within my young brain. The lists, the 24th of December, the brown sach. I smiled ear to ear as a realization came to my mind. I knew then, more than ever, that I had to find out what was in his office. So, I formulated a devious plan within my mind and decided it.

was worth a shot. After a few hours of waiting, I saw the sun begin to rise over the horizon. The snow had ceased on the mountain, and the morning was a calm one indeed. I struggled to keep my eyes open. I'd waited all night for my father to return, and I didn't want to quit.

Not then, when I was so close. After much waiting, I felt my body begin to relax. I fought with all my strength to keep my eyes open, and right before I drifted into a sound sleep, I heard the front door open. I poked my head up and fixated my eyes on the shape of my father stepping through the doorway. He looked surprised to see me up so early, but he flashed that same, warm smile he always did, and rubbed my head gently. As expected, he ascended the stairs and opened his office door.

He told me to wait outside. not to look in, and I obliged. As he exited the room and closed the door, I stopped him before he could lock it with his key. I quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him downstairs. He towed back towards the door in protest, but I was persistent, and he eventually sighed and followed me willingly. I led him to the kitchen, where a fresh bowl of cereal awaited him. He smiled and thanked me before digging in.

He wentientically eating the oats and drinking his milk. He eyed me as he ate, and I caught him looking at the stairwell, which went to his office quite a few times. After he finished his cereal, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and got up. I could see the bags under his eyes, and the dead expression of his face.

With a single yawn, he went to his room and fell asleep in bed. My plan had succeeded. I steadily made my way up the stairs and found myself in front of the office. Sweat pulled in my palms as I gripped the doorknob before me. Years of waiting and curiosity would be satisfied and the mystery would finally be solved. I snickered softly. Finally, a little action, a vacation from the curiosity which had plagued me for so long. I trembled in excitement, and I pushed the door open and entered.

A single desk stood in the middle of the room, and the brown bag sat on top of it. I slowly approached the desk, placing my hands on the bag. With one swift motion, I opened it and poked my head inside. To my surprise, its contents weren't exactly what I'd expected. What I saw in that bag left me scratching my head. head in confusion. Instead of what I thought would be there, I found what seemed to be random objects at the time. I was disappointed with my findings. I carefully made sure to exit the door and close it behind, certain that I covered my tracks well. I never spoke a word of that experience

to my father for fear of getting in trouble. I found myself chuckling a few times at how underwhelmed I'd been. I was expecting something far greater, only to find a strange assortment of items inside the back. Perhaps I laughed to distract myself from the truth of what I'd seen, but I convinced myself that my dad was nobody special all along, and although it was still a mystery to me what he did those nights, I never thought more of it. It wasn't until I got much older, and finally moved out of that house that I began thinking about. what I'd found that day and what it truly meant. My father never hurt me, but I fear what may become of me by releasing this information.

Perhaps he's still out there, doing what he does best. I only hope this information being released can help someone out there, and maybe it can help me organize my thoughts and help me get some sleep at night. Believe me, I haven't got enough rest since I discovered what was really going on. The parts of the Christmas holiday, they don't tell you. Maybe I fear that I will become like him someday, that it is my predetermined fate to do as he did. I'm not certain, but all I know is this. He is my father.

He is the reason I fear for my safety by writing this. I will never forget what I found in that brown bag of his, for it all becomes clear to me now. I saw chains, coal, birch branches, rope and branding irons. Each one had been used the previous night, and several child-sized shoes were also contained within the sack. All of them charred beyond repair. And now it's time to round off our little Christmas special

with a story from the one and only Derek Hall. Perpetual darkness lingered at the top of the world. Thick ice, frigid air and snow covered the lifeless mountain-scape as far as the eyes could see. Despite this all, the endless night did not go unchallenged. A single source of light illuminated the sky and drove back the darkness. Nestled between two snow-covered mountains, a little cottage sat with puffy, billowing smoke rising from its chimney, ignoring the fact that the nearest civilization was thousands of miles

away. To the casual eye, the house was simply a warm and welcoming home. Still, one might ask themselves, what an odd thing to find. fight in such a bleak place. How could such a thing come to be? Like most things found in the North Pole, not everything is as it appears. The land was unforgiving and cruel, and could take your life within minutes. Only a select number of creatures were given permission to live in this harsh and relentless wilderness. All others who entered this domain did it of their own accord, such as the residents of this tiny little home. However, these individuals had fortune on their side,

and they were like no other. With a lot of love and just a little bit of magic at their disposal, they lived happy and joyful lives. At first glance, it would appear it was nothing more than a simple, ordinary home inhabited by elderly people who loved each other dearly. If this were your conclusion, you would be partially correct. In reality, a magical secret existed below, for the small house was much more than meets the eye. The warm and cozy cottage was not just a home, but the tip of a mystical workshop hidden beneath the ice. For centuries, children around the world found joy from the efforts of the hidden workshop, all year round, tiny magical hands toiled and laboured to create toys and playthings for all the good children of the world.

Elbs, the last of the magical creatures from old, dwelt within its walls and used their mystical nature to create wondrous and joyful things for Christmas morning. Two days after the winter solstice, the old man would put on his heavy coat and boots, take to the air and deliver his Christmas joy to every last child. Like everything in the cosmos, there must be a balance. For every night there must be a day. Every beginning has an end. And, with every kind child, there was a naughty little boy or girl to be found.

Far below the bright lights, singing and happy elves creating and building new and fantastic toys, there was another workshop. There, the warmth of the hearthstones could not reach. Or the purpose of the upper workshop was to bring happiness. The other was dark and sterile. It too had a purpose. It was here where the masses of cheap and easily broken toys were made. There was no love put into these objects.

Never would a child's eyes brighten with wonder and awe upon seeing these gifts on Christmas morning. In his wisdom, the old man knew that even a naughty child should not be forgotten during this time of goodwill. However, the old man was no fool and had no desire to waste his resources on such unsatisfying tasks. The responsibility was handed to the banished and exiled elves that inhabited the deepest bowels below the workshop, those with selfish hearts and greedy desires. Stripped of their immortality, they wasted away in the dark

with only the trinkets and flimsy materials to pass the time. Egratatat sat in the poorly lit corner of a tattered workbench. His focus was entirely devoted to the old and worn piece of brass in his hands. The clangs of his hammer hitting metal rang out and echoed through the dark halls and passageways. He pounded the brass sheet relentlessly, until the metal slowly began to surrender its shape and bent to Ergra's design.

Suddenly, the hammer flew out with the mad elf's grass. He examined his limp hand, trying to will it back into his control. Fury filled his heart as he watched the necrotic flesh sloughed off his bony hair. he didn't have much time. His other hand was weak, but still capable of grasp. He reached into his toolbox and removed a long, warped nail

and stabbed it into the back of his paralyzed hand. He pushed on the nailhead until its tip broke through the skin and emerged through his palm. Immediately the pain surged and shot up his arm. The thick and rigid tendons loosened within his hand. giving him temporary use of his digits once more. The elf picked up his hammer and resumed moulding the shape of the brass plate. With each impact on the brass, he poured his rage into his creation.

How ironic that the product of his tireless work was meant for the ones he hated the most. His deteriorating body was fading fast. He possessed just enough magic to fuel the curse he would cast upon the object. When finished, his gift would be placed with the other junk toys and cheap trinkets. It would make its way to them and find a child on Christmas morning. The curse will take hold and slowly begin tearing apart their lives. It will channel their essence back to him and really will re-exam. Reignite his ill-mortality.

The object would pass from one child, then to another, century after century. Yes, he had just enough magic left to evoke his curse. Eagra had once lived and worked above. Like any other elf before him, he loved nothing more than to create beautiful and wondrous toys and gizmos. However, in his heart, he wished he could keep some of his creations for himself. One day, his eyes fell upon a beautiful music box his friend Delaela had created. The music box was extraordinary, meant as a gift to a king's firstborn. It was magnificent.

Crafted from Oakwood, it bore an elaborate gold design on each of its sides. When opened, a figurine of two children, opening their gifts under a Christmas tree, spun to a lovely melody. Egra Eta had never desired anything more in his entire life. It filled his heart with jealousy. He became resentful that this precious and rare treasure will go to an undeserving human infant. A little girl didn't deserve it. It should go to him, he thought. So, under cover of darkness,

Ere slipped into the work area and took the music box. Unable to sleep and anxious to put the finishing touches on his prize creation, Delayla decided to return to the workshop. To his surprise and shock, He caught the elf attempting to steal the special box. Delehla was enraged, for greed and thievery amongst elves were extremely offensive and not tolerated.

Ere begged his friend not to report his transgression, but Delejila was unmoved by the pleas and turned to tell the others of Ere's crime. Desperate, Ere did the only thing left for him to do. He grabbed a hammer and brought it down on his friend's head over and over again, until no more life remained in the broken body. Despite his meticulous efforts to conceal his crime, he could not escape the sight and wisdom of the old man. Humiliated and dishonoured, the elf was banished from the workshop,

and his precious music box was taken from him and given to the little prince. Stripped of his immortality, Ere Ere Eta was cast into the cold and dark corridors of the other workshop to spend his remaining days, never to create a beautiful thing again. As the seasons passed, his hatred for all children grew and ate away at his sanity. He gritted his teeth, knowing that the children of man were given everything and he had Nothing. Conched over his work, he had a feverishly worked to complete his masterpiece. He stared down at the anvil and hammered down on the brass.

Each strike brought the faces of a child into his mind. It lives in warmth. The blunt hammer formed the metal into a hollow cylinder. It stuffs his face with sweets and treats. Stumpy legs were welded into place Gets everything it asked from mommy and daddy A malformed head and crooked ears took shape It gets anything The brass surface was scrubbed of debris and grime It gets everything

Small turquoise stones were glued to to the brass body. I hate it. One glimmering red ruby stone was glued onto the left side of the figurine's head. I hate it. The second red ruby was then fixed onto the right. I hate them all. In the glow of the fire, Ere held up the brass figurine.

It was a disturbing ring. representation of a rabbit. His body was a lattice of criss-crossed brass strips, bejewed with a bale-blue turquoise stone at each intersection. His head was malformed and gave the impression of a dead thing instead of a pleasant rabbit full of life. He placed the atrocious thing upon an open silver locket that contained a mirror on each of the hinged inner sides.

With the rabbit figurine facing one of the mirrors, He carefully opened a vial that held a clear liquid. It was lymph from the elves. The lymph was the source of magic that flowed through their bodies like that of blood from the second set of unique arteries. The magic lymph had its own circulatory system and heart. It was the vital system that gave the elf their magical abilities. Only a few tiny drops fell out of the vial.

It splashed onto the figurine and mirrored locket, illuminating them with a golden glow. Eagra closed his eyes and spoke the words of wormwood in his elven tongue. The clear liquid turned black and stained the surface of both a rabbit statuette and silver locket. The glow turned a deep purple, then slowly faded. it. Pleased with the outcome, he gently placed a cloth over the object to obscure it from sight and ever so carefully placed it in a small box, decorated with holiday cheer. Finished with his work, Ergrat turned to leave, pushing past the corpses of several elves

hanging upside down from the support beams of the other workshop. Their lifeless bodies drained completely of every last job of my job. magical limp. Ergra's calculation had been correct. He had just enough magic to fuel the curse placed on the object. The mad elf smiled and began to laugh. For the first time in a very long time, Ergra Etaire's heart filled with anticipation at the approach of Christmas morning.

The little girl sat in a large pile of torn wrapping paper from the many gifts she found under the Christmas tree. On the morning of December 22nd, Gabby awoke earlier than anyone else. She went downstairs and glared at the many presents that continuously tempted her. It was as if they teased and mocked her every time she looked at the colourful, beautiful wrapping paper. She would receive such a terrible scolding from her parents, but she couldn't wait any longer. At first, it would only be one gift she opened. Then it became two, then another and another.

Before she knew it, all of her presence had been opened. Despite getting everything she asked for, the desire for more was still not satisfied. When Gabby stood, a small gift next to the base of the Christmas tree caught her eye. She could have sworn it hadn't been there before. The wrapping paper was worn and yellowed with age. Written, in big words, with a tag that said, To Gabriela, it was like no other, and she surely would have seen it before now.

Puzzled, she removed the wrapping paper and found a box that contained a smaller, sealed box and a scroll. She opened the scroll and read it. Congratulations, lucky one. You are the proud owner of Pepe, the rabbit. Pepe loves you and will be your best friend in the whole world. Pepe is a friend like no other, and he will give you everything your heart desires. To be Pepe's friend, you must listen to him and never disobey the following instructions. One, place Pepe on his locket facing the mirror.

Two, never look Pepe in the eyes. He is ever so bashful and only likes to see you through his mirror. Three, you may ask anything of Pepe three times. In three days time he will grant any and all you asked of him before. Never look Pepe in the eyes. Yes, it bears repeating. He does not like it and he will be upset if you disobey this rule. Remember, lucky little boy or girl.

Pepe loves you. He loves you more than anyone else in the whole wide world. Pepe will make sure that no one will hurt you ever again. And if you love Pepe, you will listen to him and do whatever he asks of you. loves you and no one can ever come between you and him pepe loves you thank you for coming to the dungeon for dr creepen's christmas special now wherever you are and whatever you celebrate i wish you all very very happy holidays and sweet dreams and bye-bye until next time back again next week and i hope you're going to join me again Thank you.