Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S4 Ep151: Episode 151: Santa Claus Horror

Episode Date: December 22, 2023

We start this festive podcast with ‘If you Hear Sleigh Bells,’ an original story by Kallier Devdi 6359, kindly shared directly with me to have me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  https://www.reddit.com/user/KallierDevdi6359  ‘Frost Rot’ is an original story by Isaac Cordaro, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  https://www.reddit.com/user/IsaacCordaro  ‘My Christmas Tale’ is an original story by Chris 183539, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  https://www.reddit.com/user/Chris183539 Tonight’s penultimate tale of festive terror, titled ‘Santa Claus: Manhunter’, is a wonderful story by SkyBruceLee23, kindly shared with me via my subreddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission:  https://www.reddit.com/user/SkyBruceLee23/ To round off proceedings, we have ‘Santa’s Other Workshop’ an original story by Killahawke1, kindly shared with us at Dr. Creepen’s Vault:  https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/7ih9vw/santas_other_workshop_by_derek_hawke/

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Tonight's tales may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. 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 8 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 Satan. 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 about 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 reached the place I would 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. 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 3 a.m. 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'd almost been successful in calming myself down when, when I noticed the wind had stopped. The wailing sound of the wind, which resembled a human swing. 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.

once, as if trying to swallow me up to. 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. It sounded even less human, the whimpering hat. The speech was broken up, distorted. That thing spoke as if it was literally choking on its own lung. Step. Chai, 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. Be 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 his 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. Good 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 threw my limp, petrified body into a wall. The doors and windows clattered with the angry gusts of wind and snow billowed 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 sound like screaming. And the screaming of the bells, that. which sounded like other children all crying out together to make the male 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 bruise around my neck had come from. And outside, I heard a single sleigh-bell ring in the darkness of the early winter morning.

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. 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 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. When 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. Paches 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 felt. 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. he's 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 at church. He 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 becoming animals. I can't stop hunting. My baby, brother, is no more. I got, well, 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 to be. 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. us 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

living here that opens up the evils of man. It 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 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 peeked 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. 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.

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. Hey Ontario. Come on down to BetMGM Casino and check out our newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. Don't miss out. Play exciting casino games based on the iconic game show. Only at BetMGM. Access to the Price's Right Fortune Pick is only available. Available at BedMGM Casino. BetMGM and GameSense remind you to play responsibly. 19 plus to wager, Ontario only.

Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2,600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. Bed-MGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. 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 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. 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. 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 room.

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 favourite memories of my father were the stories he would tell me. Now, as I mentioned, he would tell me of his experience with that which he would be.

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 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. 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 my art,

and it got to the point where my father would be retelling the same old stories. I grew tired of these teens. 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, he should. 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 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 unlocking 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. Well, 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 began to relax. I fought with all my strength. 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 perked 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 and 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, frantically 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, her 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 ear. 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 overwhelmed 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. Man hunt, I'm already in the killer's house. Santa spoke fervently to his wife through a wireless headset, and he tried to keep his voice down. The big man was out of breath, and the ash in the chimney almost made him cough.

It wasn't the first time Santa he carried a handgun, holding the automatic pistol felt natural in his hand. When Santa felt his heavy boots touched the floor, he could still feel warmth emitting from the dark abandoned fireplace. The darkness in the living room greeted Santa. It enveloped him and choked his eyes. I can't see worth shit. Santa whispered to his wife through gritted teeth.

He tried to be brave as he maneuvered through the darkness with his gun drawn like a US Marine on a battlefield. Christmas is tomorrow. I can't believe I'm inside a killer's cabin in the middle of the woods trying to find a mother's missing children. A life of a bounty hunter can be a bitch I thought about letting the police handle this one I decided to take matters into my own hands

It sounds a fuss while speaking to his wife But he didn't want to sound heartless And he could only calm his nerves by quietly ranting And saying anything that came to his mind You spent weeks tracking this killer down The police would only arrest him But you're not the police which means you're free to kill him I thank God every day

that bounty hunting is your side job. Mrs. Glaw's delicate voice caressed her husband's ear. I was nervous. I didn't want you to do this either. But you insisted. Mrs. Glaws gently nagged her husband. I know that I insisted.

Santa's rumbling voice broke past his whispering tone for a second. He immediately caught the slight base in his voice before taking a cautious, deep breath. I know, I insisted. Santa repeated himself through his whispering tone once again. He listened as his wife released an exasperated sigh.

I wasn't trying to upset you, darling. I just want you to be careful. Mrs. Claus tried to hide the stress in her wise and calming voice. She knew that her husband needed her support more than the loaded gun in his hand. Mrs. Claus thought about her husband's career as a navy seal before he became Santa Claus. She knew that her husband could handle himself, and he was an expert martial artist. Mrs. Glaus thought about the reason why her husband had to leave the military. She thought about that Syrian terrorist witch who cursed her husband after he'd ordered his soldiers to arrest her and take her children away.

You know, I can hear your thought sometimes. Santa whispered to his wife through a suppressed chuckle. He had different supernatural gifts that would manifest them sometimes. from time to time, thanks to the Syrian witch's curse. One of those supernatural gifts was the ability to read minds. Santa couldn't read thoughts all the time, but sometimes his gift would switch on and off like a radio. Santa knew his wife was thinking about his military past,

even through his phone's earpiece. Yeah, I know you're thinking about what happened to me when I was a SEAL team commander. You're thinking about when your husband's name used to be Commander Tom Rollins. I used to be a normal soldier, husband and father. And that sorceress bitch cursed me after my seal team shut down her terrorist operations in Latakia. I told my man to arrest her and take away her two boys. That's when she told me I'd be a bulky old man responsible for making millions of children happy every year for all eternity.

I didn't mind making children happy every year. I hate that I gained 60 pounds in a week and, grew this damn itchy white beard that I can't get rid of no matter how many times I shave. There was no such thing as Santa Claus, till that wish turned me into this. Santa, aka Commander Rollins, spoke about his condition with a slight disdain toward his new body image. He gained weight, but he still had a muscular build, which gave him the appearance of a stocky W.W.E. wrestler. Oh, I didn't mean to make you think about what happens, you in Syria, darling. I didn't want you to think about the terrorist sorceress. I'm sorry.

Mrs. Glorso's actual name was Martha Rollins, also fallen victim to the witch's curse. The witch cursed her and even her teenage daughter through her husband. The 15-year-old girl, Amanda, was an elf. Well, the child still looked like a healthy, beautiful teenage girl, but her ears pointed past her medium blonde hair. Martha gained weight and she aged prematurely like her husband Martha was 41 years old but she had the skin and grey hair of a 70-year-old

the odd part was that the woman still felt young despite her elderly appearance it was the same thing with her husband he looked old but his robust physique still helped him move like a young man you don't have to apologise my dear commander Rollins continued whispering to his wife I'm the one who should be sorry

The gun-toting Santa Thought about the witch's curse And what it had done to his wife and daughter Oh, I didn't know that the witch's curse Would affect our daughter My poor darling's afraid to go to school Because of her ears I thought the curse would only affect me

I didn't know her to turn Amanda into an elf The grief in Commander Rollins' whispering voice Was more somber than the darkness in the living room There was a brief silence between Commander Rollins and his wife. The only thing Commander Rollins could hear was the rippling sound of his red leather jacket shifting from his steady movements through the darkness. The white fur that decorated the collar of Santa's red leather jackets would get tangled in his long beard every time he'd turn his head.

Santa also had a bulletproof vest beneath his jackets. As the minutes rolled past, the darkness became less potent to Santa's eyes. The commander could see the room's furniture While his heart jumped When he thought he saw a person standing near the cabin's window It turned out to be a mannequin Which rouse more goosebumps on Santa's skin He couldn't understand why there was a female mannequin

Standing near the window with its arms missing Santa felt like the mannequin was watching him He preferred the darkness to hide the plastic life-size figure from his eyes As it had done a few minutes ago Once the darkness lifted, Santa could see that a few shopping mallocans filled the living room. There were four female mannequins, and each of them were standing in every corner of the room, watching Santa's every move. Are you still there, darling?

Mrs. Claus asked, through her soft tone. She gotten concerned when her husband fell silent for two long minutes. Yeah, I'm here, Santa replied to his wife with a subdued alarm in his voice. This child-killing son of a bitch put shopping mallocins all around his living room. There's four mannequins in here, and they're all looking at me. Santa felt like he was a policeman giving his wife a description of four suspects. The commander continued. There's a mannequin standing near the window.

There's one standing near the front door. I see another one standing near the hallway, and the fourth one's near the sofa. This killer really loves mannequins. and Santa involuntarily chuckled softly to stop himself from feeling nervous in the situation. Sounds ominous. I just want you to be safe, sweetheart. Mrs. Glaws felt her voice tremble after her last sentence. She could feel her husband's nervousness radiating through the phone.

Don't worry, my dear. I just need to keep my eyes open. Santa tried to inject confidence in his words. He went into soldier mode And his eyes scanned every square inch of the living room Along with his gun He never took his finger off the trigger He made sure that he turned the safety off on his hanger

He also prayed for his gun not to jam If he ever needed to pull the trigger Sweat poured down Santa's bearded face His nostrils would flare every time he'd take a breath And he'd feel his heart stumbling around in his chest Santa could only hear his heavy footsteps, gently knocking down on the dirty hardwood floor. The commander tried to tiptoe through the living room, but his steel-toed army boots made gentle thuds that rattled his nerves. Being stealthy was Santa's primary goal, and he felt tempted to remove his boots and walk barefoot so he could get quieter movements through the killer's log cabin.

He knew what he was up against. He knew what this killer could do. Santa had heard the news reports. He'd heard about the human remains found in a junkyard and the small bodies found mutilated in the swamp area. Santa heard about a 14-year-old boy who escaped from the killer, but he still ended up in the hospital because the killer had chopped off a few fingers on his left hand. The killer had also beaten the child up pretty bad.

Santa was in this dark cabin, not knowing if he was being watched by the child killer. All he could do was keep his gun pointed stemming. in front of him. You get thinking about the horror movie, The Silence of the Lambs. He felt like FBI agent Louise Starling when she first entered the killer's house and got swallowed up by the darkness. She couldn't see the killer, and she didn't know that the killer could see her through the darkness using night vision goggles. And this is how Santa now felt. He wanted to keep whispering to his wife to keep her from being worried about him, but he didn't want to lose his concentration and let his guard down. The log cabin creaked when an icy wind struck its foundation.

When the cabin creaked, it caused the bulging muscles in Santa's arms to tighten. This was not how the commander had envisioned his night before Christmas. He didn't know he'd have to track down a killer instead of preparing to deliver toys to the homes of millions of little ones. Santa much preferred, preparing his sleigh and making children happy, but he was in the fire now and he couldn't back out. Is that someone screaming? Or is that the wind? Mrs. Claus asked her husband, with the tremble still clear in her petite voice.

Oh, it's only the wind, Santa replied, while using his free hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. Geez, I can't stop sweating. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm too damn fat to be sweating like this. Santa swallowed half. while clutching his gun with both hands once again. You're sweating because you're nervous, sweetheart. Mrs. Claus tried to keep the calm tone in her voice while speaking to her husband.

This is torture. I wish you were home with me. I should have taught you out of doing this. I should have been more falseful. Don't blame yourself for your husband's actions. Santa spoke with insistence in every word. This was your husband's mission. I feel like I'm doing the right thing. Remember, darling, before your husband was Santa Claus, he was a soldier. A soldier's job is to risk his life for others.

Santa was so enraptured in whispering words to his wife, he didn't notice that one mannequin in the room is in a different position than before. Santa was approaching the cabin's hallway, and he stopped when he felt the air changed direction behind him. Santa held his breath when he looked over his shoulder, to see that the mannequin that stood near the cabin's front door had changed its position. The commander remembered seeing the mannequin standing by the door, but now it was standing closer near the dark fireplace.

Santa knew that he wasn't losing his mind, but it was still too dark for comfort, and Santa's eyes were now rummaging through this threatening darkness. What's going on? Is everything okay? Mrs. Claus could feel her breathing becoming shallow, and her ear kept reaching out for her husband's voice. Yes, dear, everything's fine. Santa lied to his wife because he knew she'd go into hysterics

if he told her that the mannequin standing near the front door would move behind him. What Santa didn't understand was that his wife will become hysterical anyway. Santa's fears came to life and he could feel eyes on him. The eyes locked on him through the darkness, and every time Santa would take a breath, he would feel those watchful eyes getting closer.

Why are you in my cabin, old man? A young man's threateningly gentle voice crept up on Santa suddenly. The voice reached out of the darkness, grasping Santa on his shoulder. Santa unloaded his gun in the direction where the voice had projected at him. A gunfire lit up the living room like strobe lights in a nightclub. "'God, help me!' Santa muttered beneath his panic breath. "'He fired off three bullets, but he didn't know if the bullets had connected.

"'What's going on?' Mrs. Claus shrieked after she heard the gunshots. Her voice reverberated out of Santa's smartphone earpiece. Before Santa could answer his wife, a hard blow to the back of his skull knocked him to the floor. Santa couldn't see what had struck him from behind. he could hear his wife screaming but from a distance. When the killer struck Santa from the back, he'd knocked his earpiece out, sending it skating across the dusty hardwood floor.

A loud thud echoed throughout the cabin when Santa landed on the floor. He tried to brace his fall using his hands, but he'd fallen too quickly and landed on his chest instead, causing the living room floor to vibrate. The killer may have landed the first blow, but beating up Santa wouldn't be that easy. Surprise then caught the killer

when Santa leaped up from the floor, tackling him within a second. He thought he'd have time to land another punch and he couldn't understand how a big man like Santa could jump from the floor at such rapid speed. Now Santa bear hugged this child killer. After wrapping his massive arms around the criminal's arms and waist, he lifted the man's body into the air

before throwing the killer down on the floor with a lethal precision. decision. Another loud thud echoed throughout the cabin. Santa found out that the man he was wrestling with was shirtless. Knowing that he was fighting a man who had no shirt on, unnerved Santa a little. Santa could tell that this killer was a young man in the prime of his life. He could feel how sturdy the killer's physique was. Or tussling with the killer, he could feel the young man's slender muscles rippling and flexing beneath his icy cold skin. A street brawl broke out between the man and Santa in the darkness of the living room. Santa used his martial arts skills to see if he could incapacitate the serial killer.

Well, he found out soon enough that the killer also knew martial arts. This was not good. Now Santa had to fight a child killer who was also skilled in Jiu-Jitsu. How could this young man be skilled in Jiu-Jitsu? Is he ex-military? These thoughts speeded through Santa's mind faster than the punches he was delivering to the child killer's jaw. Most of Santa's punches were getting blocked by the young man's bulky forearms.

Yes, the killer knew how to counterblock a punch, which irritated Santa further. Come on, old man. The killer taunted Santa. His tone of voice had a peaceful but brutal nature. Most of the time he'd whisper out his words and didn't seem to be out of breath. There was a slight hiss

behind the killer's words. The man sounded like a slithering snake every time he would talk. I win. The killer chuckled those two words into Santa's ear with his rock-solid, tattooed arm wrapped around Santa's throat. Now Santa could feel

death hovering over him. The commander felt the air leaving his throat, and the more he'd struggle, the more he could feel the man's arm tightening around his neck like a boa constrictor. The killer's arm felt like a roar and sweaty, muscular noose. Santa had to do something, or he would die with a crushed throat. He lifted the killer off his feet using his back. He thought about flipping the serial killer over his shoulder, but then he got a better idea.

While clutching the serial killer's arm with both of his hands, Santa had every fearful thought about the missing children rampaging through his mind. I have to find those children. I have to save them. Please God let those babies be alive so I can rescue them. Please don't let this killer strangle me to death. Let me win this fight. These were the thoughts that pummeled Santa's mind. He panicked when he used his body to throw the killer into a wall only to find out that his violent

defensive move barely rattled this ruthless young man. The killer mocked Santa with his inhuman laughter. He never loosened his arm around Santa's neck, even after the big man had slammed him into a wall a second time. The killer was masochistic, and he disregarded Santa's brute strength. The killer had confidence in his own strength, and he knew that his superhuman chokehold on Santa would prevent. He roared triumphantly when his chokehold finally brought Santa down to his knees.

The child killer smiled as he stood over Santa. Yes, he planned to kill this man, but not yet. The darkness continued to haunt Santa's eyes when he opened them to discover that he was in the trunk of an old car. It took a few minutes for him to realize that ropes were tied around his hands and feet. He also woke up to find that the only stitch of clothing he had on his body was his underwear. Santa could also feel the duct tape across his mouth, and he could feel the edges of the tape sticking to the strands of his white beard. Sweat covered Santa's body from head to toe,

but it was a cold sweat that chilled him to the bone. It was ten degrees below zero outside, a cold air seat into the car's trunk, causing every bone in Santa's body to shiver. The cold alone was bad enough, but Santa had a fear of tight enclosed spaces. He suffered from extreme claustrophobia. Now being trapped inside a dirty trunk

brought back memories of Santa's abusive childhood. He could see his alcoholic foster mother tossing him into a dark closet and locking the door. Oh, he could see her twisted face again and he could hear her raspy voice. His breathing increased when he thought about how his foster mother slapped him in the face when he tried to run from her. He was eight years old at the time, and his foster mother wanted him to sit in her lap, but he refused because he knew what she'd do to him.

Oh, Santa could feel the cigarette burns on his arms again. He could smell the whiskey on his foster mother's breath. He could feel her hands sliding down his pajama pants. When Santa was abused for the first time by his foster mum, he thought about his real mother. He thought about her ageous beauty and a smile. He thought about how she kissed him on the forehead after putting him into his car seat. Santa had remembered touching his mother's face and hair. He also thought about the carjacker who killed his mother.

He was five when he saw a bullet enter his mother's skull right in front of him. Now, the darkness in the muscle car's tree. trunk brought back a lot of unsettling memories. All he could think about was how his drunk foster mum locked him in a closet one night and told him that the boogeyman was going to eat him for being a naughty boy. Being in darkness for three days caused Santa to hallucinate. He heard a voice and he thought the boogeyman was in the closet with him. He remembered feeling elongated, clawed fingers gripped the back of his small eight-year-old neck. He even thought he heard something whisper the words, come to me in his ear. This hallucination happened on the night

of the second day. By the time the third day it rolled around, Santa thought he heard breathing in the closet that wasn't his own. He never forgot the disembodied voice he heard and the hang gripping the back of his neck. After that experience, Santa took his fear of darkness and enclosed spaces up into his adulthood. Being in the trunk of a serial killer's car made him feel like that eight-year-old boy again locked in the dark closet. Santa tried to fight the darkness that suffocated him. He tried to fight the memories of his foster mother. He wanted to erase the smell of cigarette smoke and whiskey. He wanted to forget about what his foster mother had done to him. So Santa tried to breathe slowly, but being in a dark and tight space twisted a knot

in his chest. He had the feeling that something was with him in the darkness, something more malevolent even than the serial killer who would soon murder him. Santa's half-naked body injured punishing blows from the car's rough suspension. He could feel every pothold in the road reaching up into the trunk and hammering his spine. Santa shifted his body around in the trunk to see if he could at least make himself comfortable, but he perceived his movements to be useless. riding in the trunk of a vintage muscle car was like being trapped in an earthquake Santa knew that if the killer didn't murder him riding in the trunk of this rusted out 1969 GTO judge would eventually

Santa didn't know which was worse feeling the muscle car's roaring engine rattling the muscles in his body or feeling the potholes in the roads both had an equally jarring sensation In order to get his mind off being killed later, Santa thought about a muscle car that he don't. He had a 1987 Buick GNX. He felt proud of himself after he'd insol a more powerful engine in his car, which produced 500 horsemen. He'd also rebuilt the car's chassis, along with its transmission.

Santa called his muscle car the omen. He taught his teenage daughter how to drive the car after she begged him for a year. Santa wanted to make his daughter happy, and after she got a learner's permit, he taught her how to do burnouts and donut spins in an empty parking lot in the middle of the night. Well, he knew that he couldn't teach Amanda how to do stunt driving maneuvers in her mother's pre-owned Toyota Highlander. First, he knew Mrs. Claus would kill him for teaching their daughter dangerous driving skills, which could put her life in danger, and she'd also kill him for putting premature wear and tear on her car. Santa wanted to teach his daughter how to drive like a madman to make her driving lesson more fun and unforgettable he also wanted to do it safely

and he could only teach his daughter how to drive his tuned-up muscle car in an abandoned parking lot and he also told Amanda not to tell her mother what they did because he feared punishment from Mrs. Claus Zanda thought about the fun he'd had with his daughter and how she enjoyed revving the powerful engine in her father's car He also thought about how his daughter enjoyed blasting her rap music while doing her burnout manoeuvres.

He thought about how he took his baby to a drive-in theatre to watch a classic horror movie after her insane driving lesson, and Santa remembered how his daughter couldn't finish eating her hot dog because she was too busy laughing at the mustard and pickle relish in her father's beard. Teardrops arrested Santa's eyes. When a voice in his head told him he would never see his daughter's face again. Oh, he wanted to be strong, but he reflected on how the killer easily overpowered him inside the cabin. The killer had won the fight using a single chokehold,

and Santa didn't even want to imagine what the killer would do to him once he removed him from the trunk of this car. He could feel an insect crawling across his hairy, bare leg, but he was crying so hard that he paid no attention to this cockroach. The commander used his tight hands to clean away the tears that washed his face. He felt a few teardrops drip into his long frizzy beard. There was nothing worse than having a wet beard on a cold winter's night. So cold in the trunk that Santa thought his salty teardrops would turn into ice on his cheeks. He could feel his heart palpitating and the blood in his veins went cold

when he felt the killer's car come to a grinding halt. The muscle car's rusted brakes released a nasty squeal that pierced Santa's ears. Be strong. Stop crying. You'll see your daughter and wife again. You're a soldier. You can rescue those children. Come on, find the killer's weakness. Santa told himself, trying to bring comfort and encouragement to his soul with positive thinking. Sandra had used positive thinking to help him while in military combat.

He would always find the upside while in a deadly situation. He would also try and find a weakness in his enemy. In war, every enemy has a weakness. Now, Santa's mission was to find a weakness in this child killer. He couldn't defeat the crazed young man physically while battling him in the living room, but he wondered if he could defeat his opponent psychologically. Santa kept thinking about how he could defeat this killer, even with a loaded gun aimed down at his face.

Well, it seemed like Santa had lost track of time. One minute he was in a grimy trunk, and the next he found himself chained to a warehouse floor while sitting in a metal folding chair. Santa's head was throbbing, and he didn't remember the killer knocking him out again after yanking him out of the trunk. Santa would soon remember being struck across the head once his headache subsided. The warehouse was dark, just like the trunk and the killer's cabin. Why so much darkness? This question arose in Santa's mind.

He was sick of seeing darkness. his teary red eyes craved for some form of lights and he didn't care if the light was man-made or God-given. Well, it took a few minutes, but God answered Santa's prayer. The warehouse's lights exploded when they came on and they had the same intense luminosity as football stadium lights. Santa even had to shut his eyes for a minute after the warehouse's light struck him, stinging his eyes.

He heard crying in front of him. It sounded like children, crying. A hopefulness filled Santa's spirit when he heard the wimpers. It had to be the nine-year-old girl and a five-year-old brother who'd gone missing a few days ago. It's okay. I'm here. Santa caught out to the garden, a little brother, with his eyes still squinting through the light. He felt more hopeful after finding out he had no debt tape on his lips and could speak freely. That man's going to kill us, Santa heard one of the children say through her gasping. he knew it was the voice of the little girl

no one's going to kill you honey i promise Santa finally opened his eyes as he spoke to the girl and when his eyes finally adjusted to the light he got a better look at the children's faces they looked like they were Cuban-American the girl had the face of a beauty pageant queen her small pink lips complimented her adorable slender nose her doll-like, coffee-brown eyes were beautifully bright.

A wavy, raven-black hair flowed past her shoulders, and a white flower decorated the corner of her hair. Her flawless skin matched the colour of her eyes, and the little girl's white floral dress still looked lovely, even though it was dirty and had tiny bloodstains on it. The girl's little brother was equally adorable. He had on his white slacks in a plaid, blue short-sleeved button-down shirt, Enrique and his sister, Selina, were barefoot and blood-stained their little feet.

Enrique had his sister's lips, but his nose was a little wider. His curly hair had a reddish-brown, and it looked freshly cut. The little boy's eyes were blooming bright, but he had a fresh bruise beneath his right eye. Santa's heart collapsed when he saw the bruise. He also noticed that Selina's left hand was bleating. that her pinky finger had been severed. Seeing this made Santa sick to his stomach. Tears arose, but Santa restrained himself.

He had to be strong for Enrique and Selena, ensuring tears in front of them would terrify them even more. What's your name, honey? Santa presented his question to the girl. My name is Selena Dominguez. The girl replied through her timid, trembling voice. What's your name, little man? man Santa asked the girl's little brother through a smile my name's henrike the little boy mumbled

out his name while sniffling and swallowing some of his tears henrique's shyness was clear and he kept sheepishly gazing up at Santa wondering if he was looking at the real Santa Claus his sister was giving the command of the same questioning gaze you Santa Claus you look just like him selina didn't know that she'd stopped crying after asking her question. Old tears still dripped off Salina's little chin, but she felt some tension leave her body while staring at Santa. Yep, I'm Santa Claus. The commander answered the child's question through a soft chuckle.

Yep, I'm that big, fat bearded man, who your parents always talk about every Christmas. I'm the one who comes sliding down your chimney with a bunch of toys. Santa kept chuckling as he looked at the astonished expressions on Selena and Enrique's faces. It gave him joy to see smiles on them. Santa wanted to keep Selena and Enrique happy. He knew that he could never tell them that the curse of a terrorist witch had transformed him into Santa Claus within a week. I'm nine years old and my uncle told me I was too old to believe in Santa.

Selina stated. the little girl still had some doubt in her eyes while studying Santa's bearded face her wondrous smile remained on her lips oh you're never too all to believe in Santa a darling a calming atmosphere manifested through Santa's warm chuckles he almost forgot about the serial killer as he enjoyed looking at Selena and Enrique in Santa's mind he felt everything would be all right until Enrique told him how the killer had abducted him and his sister. The man who took us from our mommy told us he was Santa Claus. Enrique mumbled sweetly. The little boy brought his chained hands up to his face to rub his eyes.

Yeah, he had on a Santa Claus suit, but he had on a skull mask. He didn't have a beard and he wasn't big like you, Selena explained. He came in through the back door of our house. our mom was asleep on the sofa but our grandma was awake we came back from our aunt's wedding reception selina paused for a second while moving her silky black hair away from her pretty face our grandma saw a man come into our house she tried to fight him but the man pulled out a knife he stabbed her selina lost her smile and her lips quivered as she spoke the man grabbed me in my brother. I tried to hit the man, but he grabbed my hand and he used his knife to cut off my finger.

He punched my brother, because my brother tried to fight him too. He told both of us to stop crying, and he put us in the trunk of his car. My mom woke up and she ran outside, but it was too late. He'd already thrown us in the trunk, and he was driving away. I could hear my mom screaming. Santa lost his voice for a minute as he listened to Selena's story. He tried to think of something, to say something well that would comfort Selena and her brother, but his mind went blank when he saw a dark figure lurking behind them a few feet away. When the figure crept into the light, Santa could tell from a distance that it was the shirtless man walking on all fours like a dog. The skull of a moose concealed the man's face

and the antlers on the skull had blood on them. The shirtless man stood up after he came into the light. He was about 30 feet away from Santa and the children. As he slowly made his way toward his victims, he began dancing and shifting his body unnaturally. Santa watched as the killer made unearthly contortions with his body. He watched as the man walked backward while twisting his head all the way round. He then watched as the killer bent the bones in his arms. Santa watched as the shirtless man contorted his spine and his shoulder blades. He went back down to walking across the floor on his hands and feet. The moose skull that the serial killer used as his disguise never moved.

It was as if he'd nailed the animal skull to his face. The killer mumbled to himself as he lurped across the floor in slow motion on his palms and feet with his body bent backwards. His chest and his torso were pointing straight up to the sky, and you could see his ribcage pressing against his lifeless pale skin. He made movements that would put a contortionist to shape. Selena screamed when she turned her head to see the killer creeping up on her and her brother while shifting his bones around in his body.

The little girl struggled against the chains that held her to the floor. She looked around at her little brother, wanting to protect him, but all she could do was cry. Enrique sobbed when he turned to see what was approaching them. The child looked around at Santa with pleading eyes. He wanted Santa to save him and his sister. Child cried harder when he had to face the reality that Santa could do nothing for him or for his sister. Enrique shivered as he listened to Santa, who was yelling out to the man,

telling the killer not to harm them. But his yelling was futile, and every time Santa would roar obscenities at the killer, The killer would softly cackle like a hyena while continuing to crawl towards them. It's me you want. Not them. Come and get me. Santa kept shouting at the crazed man. You could see that the killer was clutching a hunting knife in his right hand.

Santa wildly jerked and poured on the chains around his wrists and ankles. He screamed out in frustration while fighting against his metal restraints. He didn't want to see this series. killer snorted two children right in front of his eyes, so he kept fighting. He needed strength. He needed a miracle. He kept thinking about the carjacker who killed his mother in front of him. The killer was gradually cutting the distance between himself and his victims.

He stood up and decided to walk after readjusting the bones in his back and cracking his neck. When the child killer stood up, he went back to dancing again like some Indian chief. dancing around a campfire. He enjoyed leaping up and slapping his feet on the floor. He took his hunting knife and he dug the serrated blade into the palm of his hand. The killer wanted to see blood so badly that he tasted his own blood while preparing to use his hunting knife to withdraw blood from Salina and Enrique. The taste of blood, even his own blood, would stimulate this killer.

He enjoyed the bitter metallic flavor that he had. he'd always taste in the blood of his victims. He loved how it felt warm and sticky on the back of his tongue. Santa's head was throbbing now. His heart shook so violently that it felt like a thunderstorm was taking place on the left side of his chest. The commander prayed to God for help. He prayed for God to give him strength like he'd given strength to Samson in the Bible. The killer was getting closer to Salina and Enrique.

with his large hunting knife clutched between his fist. Selina couldn't scream anymore when she saw how close the monster was to getting to her and her brother. The girl's mind went blank as she watched the killer raise his knife over her head with his other hand gripping her small chin. She thought she was about to die. The nine-year-old girl closed her eyes and she thought about her mother's kiss. she tried to ignore feeling the man's ice-cold elongated and prickly fingers digging into her chin

selina kept thinking about her mother she took a deep breath she braced herself the girl's last thought involved her mother telling her how much she loved her after having that final thought selina expected to fill the blade of a knife sliced through the skin on her forehead the child waited patiently with tears locked in her closed eyes. But the killer's hunting knife never kissed her head. Instead, Selina felt the air

violently shift above her. She felt something massive flying over her. The next thing she heard was grunting and the sound of two men wrestling with each other. Selena kept her eyes closed, but her little brother could see everything.

Enrique thought he was watching an action movie. He'd never seen Santa Claus fight before. The child saw Santa do something amazing He watched as he ripped apart the steel chains on his wrists and ankles He watched as Santa stood up from the chair like a giant tree rising out of the ground He watched as Santa leaped over his sister's head Tackling the serial killer like an NFL linebacker

Enrique was getting a front row seat to the action The little boy would cringe every time Santa would hammer the serial killer with his feet fists. Santa went berserk on this child killer. He felt like something mightier than him was possessing his body. Oh, this wasn't the same street brawl he'd had with the killer in the living room. Santa had felt powerless inside the killer's cabin, but his second confrontation with the crazed young man brought forth a devastating wrath within Santa's soul, and he used every part of his body as a weapon. He used his hands, his feet, his elbows, his knees, and even his head. Santa didn't care that he had an open, bloody cut on his forehead from butting the killer in his face, and he

didn't care about using the heel of his foot to break the killer's leg. He didn't mind using his fist to break the man's nose in his jaw, and he ignored the pain from his knuckles come into contact with the killer's animal skull mask. At first, Sam, Santa was the king of the fight. He was about to grab the killer by the throat, so he could body slam him. But then he felt a serrated blade slice into his arm. He jumped back while wincing and grabbed his left arm. He looked down to see blood leaking out of his bicep muscle.

Santa battled the pain, and he swung the back of his fist at the killer's face, momentarily knocking the knife-wielding madman to the floor. The killer didn't stay down. long and amazingly he used his broken leg to knock Santa's feet from beneath him. Santa hit the ground hard and the back of his skull smacked the floor. He almost lost consciousness and his eyes widened when he saw the tip of a knife getting ready to plunge down on his bearded face. Like a lightning bolt he reached up and caught the killer's hands.

He used all his strength and both of his hands to prevent the serial killer from bringing this hunting knife down on his face. Santa was now arm wrestling with a homicidal maniac while flat on his back. He could feel the muscles in both of his arms burning and straining from trying to hold back the criminal's hunting knife. Something wasn't right. Santa just couldn't understand how the killer could be so strong. He felt like a weightlifter who was trying to bench press 500 pounds. The killer had a muscular slender build.

Santa was more robust. He felt stronger than the killer a few minutes ago, but his uncanny strength departed from him after the killer sliced into his bicep. Santa knew he had to win for the sake of Selena and Enrique. He briefly glanced over at them when he heard them screaming out to him. Santa swallowed hard when he felt his arms losing power. He saw the knife's blade edging closer to his eyes. He tried to shout out his fear of dying. He had to fight.

since she was half naked wearing only his boxer briefs he could see every muscle in his arms and legs twitching and flexing beneath his sweaty skin he looked at the tattoo of his wife's name on his left shoulder and he could hear mrs claus gawes yelling at him telling him to fight for the children oh it was agony but santa kept his grip on that killer's hand he jabbed the serial killer in his jaw a few times hoping it would force him to let go of his knife Santa thought it was over for him when he tried to punch the killer in the face again but ended up losing his grip on the man's wrist.

The knife came down, but it missed Santa's head, striking the ground. The killer grunted in aggravation as he brought his knife back up to land another stabbing blow, and he enraged him after Santa dodged the blade of his knife again. Time slowed down when Santa heard something crash into the warehouse, releasing a thunder-clap that shook the floor. Glass and debris landed a few feet away from him and the killer. It took no time for Santa to recognize Mrs. Claus's car. He couldn't believe that he was seeing his wife's silver Toyota Highlander

breaking through the warehouse's wall with his engine revving. Santa saw his wife's car as a two-ton hybrid-powered mechanical bull that had broken through the building's wall. when he heard rap music booming out of his wife's car he smiled remembering that his wife loved hip-hop just as much as his daughter it gave Santa hope to hear Eminem and Dr. Dre echoing out of his wife's car it was sweet music to his ears the SUV came to a dead stop amongst the rubble Mrs Claus emerged from her SUV holding a Remington 12-gay shotgun

She still had on a nightgown and her house slippers. Without hesitation or thought, she aimed her shotgun at the shirtless serial killer who still had her husband pinned to the floor. She pulled the trigger faster than an FBI sniper. A long, flowing white hair looked like silver clouds in the sunlight, and it wavoured past her shoulders when she detonated her shotgun. She lost one of her candy cane earrings when the shotgun exploded,

Her slender, beautiful grandmotherly face displayed a cutthroat determination. Mrs. Glaws didn't care about the damage she did to her car. She didn't care about her bare feet stepping on broken glass. She only cared about saving the children and her husband. There was nothing left with the killer's head. The shotgun blast had obliterated the top half of his skull, and only his left cheekbone and jawline remained intact. The moose head skull mask that he wore had shattered into pieces.

After she'd executed the killer, Santa watched as Mrs. Glaws ran towards Selina and Enrique. He watched her amazingly use a hairpin to unlock the chains on their wrist and ankles. Santa knew his tears would come when he saw Selena and Enrique hug Mrs. Gawes while crying in her arms. It had taken him a while to register what he saw. He slowly stood up after throwing the killer's dead body to the sides.

He was about to approach his wife, but Mrs. Claus was already standing in front of him with Selena and Enrique under her arms. She kissed the children on their foreheads before lifting her alluring, gorgeous hazel green eyes up at her husband. She couldn't help but break into a smile while looking at the befuddled expression on his face. How on earth did you find me? me, Santa asked his wife. He gazed down at Selena and Enrique, when the children reached out to hug him. Santa embraced the children and his wife. He waited for an answer that would explain his wife's incredibly heroic actions. Our daughter helped me find you, Mrs. Claus whispered into her husband's ear. She gently placed her delicate fingers on a metal stud earing that was pierced into her husband's

right ear. Amanda's a smart woman. kid and she's a tech wizard. Her baby put a tracking device in your earring and I used her phone to find your location. Mrs. Claus then pulled out her daughter's phone. Oh, all those high school science projects paid off. Mrs. Claus ended her sentence with a slight giggle. She reached up to touch her husband's face and she was happy to see him alive and well. Mrs. Claus saw what the killer did to her husband's arm. All that mattered to her was shooting the killer before he could stab her husband.

So, let me get this straight. You mean to tell me my little girl put a tracking device in my earring? Santa repeated his wife's words through his question while reaching up to touch his pierced ear. I knew Amanda was up to something when I couldn't find my ear in last week.

Santa chuckled out his words as he gazed down into his wife's eyes. He glanced at his daughter's phone for a minute in disbelieve. After kissing Mrs. Claus, Santa brought his affectionate gaze down to Selena and Enrique. He caressed the faces of the children or thinking about how his wife and his daughter had helped him. Santa smiled from ear to ear, knowing that Selena, her little brother, and millions of other children across the world, were going to have a joyous Christmas, all because of his daughter. tracking device, oh, and his wife's shotgun.

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 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 earth. 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 men, 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 tricks. and flimsy materials to pass the time. Egera Ejta 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 bend to Ere's design. Suddenly, the hammer flew out with the mad elf's grasp. 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 hand. Yes, 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 reignite his immortality 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 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. Egera 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. Deleila was enraged, for greed and thievery amongst elves were extremely offensive,

and not tolerated. Ere begged his friend not to report his transgression, but De Lejila 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 princess stripped of his immortality ergra etatah 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 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 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, 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 globe. Eagra closed his eyes and spoke the words of wormwood in his elven tongue. The clear liquid was. turned black and stained the surface of both a rabbit statuette and silver locket. The glow turned a deep purple, then slowly faded. 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 magical lymph. 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, Ere 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 everyone 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 design. 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 their 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. Pepe loves you and no one can ever come between you and him.

Pepe loves you. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of the wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen now I'd ask one small favor of you wherever you get your podcast from please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast that's it for this week but I'll be back again same time same place and I do so hope you'll join me once more until next time sweet dreams and bye bye