Santa Claws

A Story by KawaiiWrites

A nightmare that only nonbelievers will live.

The night was as dark as any other night, given the dense winter fog kept the street lights from illuminating the town. All through the streets was quiet with the acceptance of occasional dog barks and late night home comers, arriving from work. Otherwise, it was rather quiet and that’s how Sam liked it. Noises frightened the fifteen year old boy, though he wouldn’t admit it. He knew his parents were in bed just down the hall but his house was often loud when the furnace kicked on.
He and his eight year old sister, Leah, had just been tucked into bed by both their parents. Sam felt he was too old to be tucked in, but that didn’t stop him from watching Leah get tucked into bed right across the hall from him. He felt like he was growing up and he didn’t believe in the jolly fat man called Santa Clause, need his mommy’s kisses or his daddy checking beneath his bed or in his closet; monsters didn’t exist anyway.
Or so he thought.
For there was a tale told by all the kids in his school that on a full moon’s night of Christmas Eve, when Santa sets foot in the house of a nonbeliever, he gets hungry. His face would shrivel like a raisin, his eyes would become bloodshot, and his teeth would grow as long as his nails.
That when he would set out the present, he’d smell the nonbeliever’s aroma and begin to wonder the home. For as big as he was, he’d creep through the night and find himself at the door of the child who no longer believes. What would he do? He wouldn’t eat the nonbeliever, oh no. They were much too salty with their disbelief. Instead, he would be sure that the kid was watching as he lures any believer in the house back to his sleigh so he can eat them. Maybe then, scared or not, the nonbeliever would believe in him once again.
The whole tale was ridiculous. When he did believe, he nor his sister were ever eaten and their parents sure didn’t believe. Why would Santa want to do that to kids anyway? It was all a joke to Sam and all he’d do is scoff and walk off.
Finally getting the thought removed his head, he was able to close his eyes, relaxing his body. Just as he was sure he was about asleep, the fog shifted, just enough for the full moon to shine brightly through his window and into his eyes. Squinting when opening his eyes, he shifted to his side, back to his window, and closed his eyes again.
A sound of a creak was heard and Sam’s eyes widened. His eyes slowly traveled down, past his feet and peered at his door which was once closed and now cracked open. The hallway light flickered before settling again. He assumed it was something with the circuitry and hoped it would be fixed soon; they did live in an old house afterall. He was about to close his eyes again when the hallway light suddenly switched off, the only source of lights from the window.
He stared, horrified into the hallway, panicking on the inside but dared not to make a single noise for the fear there may be a burglar in the house just down the hall. Through the tiny crack of the door, he saw his sister’s sleeping figure in bed, her shoulder raising and lowering in unison with her breathing. The sound of footsteps, barely audible, came closer toward his end of the hall, where the light from the hallway window gave off the shadow of a large, round figure. Swallowing hard, he felt there was a lump in his throat, making it harder for him to breathe. The air suddenly seemed thicker and his heart raced. He felt his body shaking as he pulled his blanket closer to himself. Looking between the figure upon the floor and wall and his sister in bed, he felt useless. He was just a kid and his sister was going to get abducted.
Or maybe he was going to be abducted.
Hell, for all he knew, the burglar had probably already murdered his parents and were coming for him and his sister next. What was he supposed to think of all of this? Was this a nightmare? Was this reality? His thoughts stopped simultaneously as some deep red cloth came into view through his door before everything went dark.
Without looking away, Sam eyed the crack in the door harder, focused on trying to see if the figure had covered his peripheral vision, or if it was just plain dark. Before he could think about it, something moved and the only thing that was seeable was a large dimly colored red eye, staring straight at him. Sam’s breath hitched and he froze where he laid, eyes wide. A low chuckle came from the man sounding like a possessed ho. ho. ho. And with that, the door made a low creaking sound as he closed the door. Underneath the door Sam saw a light shine through and heard voices.
“Santa?”
“Hello, Leah.”
“I told Sam you were real!” Sam couldn’t help but swallow again, frozen in fear in wonder as to what he should do.
“Leah, how would you like to come to the North Pole and see my elves?”
“No…” Sam mouthed, unable to get his voice out from being stuck in his throat.
“Yeah!” And through the source of the light shining under his door, he saw the large man move aside and Leah small figure leap out of bed with joy. Their footsteps trailed down the hall until he could no longer hear them.
He finally found himself moving again and was quick to get up. He stood next to his bed, turning in a circle to try and figure out what to do now. Some man dressed as Santa was going to kidnap his sister!
Sam looked off to his open closet and ran to it, shuffling through his things before finding his baseball bat from last summer. He held tight to it and slowly opened the door, peeking out. He looked around to make sure he was in the clear before walking out into the hall. A burst of thunder sounded through the house and he gasped, hurrying toward his parent’s room in hopes to get them to wake up. When his hand connected to the handle, he found it hard to turn it.
“It’s locked.” he muttered to himself and looked around before down the stairs where he saw two figures near the Christmas tree. He gasped as his swift movements to get down the stairs were also quiet, keeping him hidden from the man; Or so he thought. When he reached the bottom, peering around the pillar of the staircase, Santa turned slowly, his eyes gleaming a dim red for only a second while giving a shark toothed smile. He was quick to turn to Leah and lift her into his arms, squeezing himself up the chimney.
“Leah!” Sam shouted, dashing out after him, grabbing the rope that kept his bag of presents securely shut, closing his eyes to keep the ash from invading his vision.
When he opened his eyes, upon a whisk of cool air hitting him, he saw he was now in a large room in a large bed. It seemed warm and cozy. Too cozy. He jumped from the bed, looking around as he still held tight to his bat. Where had that fatass taken his sister now?
The blonde, fifteen year old shook violently, slowly making his way toward the door. Slowly reaching out, her pressed a hand against the cold, candy cane colored door. Before opening, he looked around the room. It was festive and filled with so many colors and toys. What kind of sick b*****d was he? He swallowed hard and pushed the door open. As if he stepped into a whole other dimension, the room outside the bedroom was chaos. It was dark and rummaging with elves running around. He held his bat tighter and his eyes targeted one running by. The small monster stopped in front of him, staring at him with beady red eyes, hissing loudly.
The hissing alerted the others and they all turned to him. He looked around, eyes shooting past them toward a table where he could see something deep red moving ever so slightly. Then it hit him. There, upon the table, was Leah. Her eyes were wide with terror and shock, blood seeped from her mouth and tears had ran down her cheeks. Santa Claws looked back, heaving, and moved enough for him to see the state she was in. Her chest and stomach had been ripped apart and devoured, her rib cage shielding her heart and lungs. The rest of her organs were either gone or laying on the table itself. One of her ribs was broken off and in the man’s hand, leaving Sam to believe those were what he was after next.
Sam dropped the bat, tears forming and streaming down his cheeks, dripping off his jaw. He couldn’t keep his sobs as quiet as he’d hoped for and before he could say or do anything.
They attacked. He was their meal. So when your friends say they don’t believe, don’t be surprised when they become the Christmas meal.