Wind and snow ghosted
high above him and huge wet
flakes began to swirl down. They spun into his reddening eyes and for a
moment the Christmas lights, decorations, the crowd and reflections
melted and formed crayon scenes of a massacre. Something bright came
around the corner, and as his vision cleared he recognized the man as
Santa.
Sheltered by an alley
doorway and a garbage bin, jolly Santa lit a cigar and pulled a bottle
of cheap sherry from his sack.
As he frowned at Santa, he
remembered his father saying - Santa is a bad man, teaching children to
be greedy. Yes, he’s a bad man, he thought as he crept up and swung his
metal bar, cracking Santa on the head. Santa, the nasty fella must pay,
he said as he hit him again and again, watching some chocolates,
cherries and mints rolling in the spattering blood.
Inside in the washroom he
washed the blood out of Santa's costume, then put it on and strolled
across the tiled floor to the exit. Adjusting his suit, he looked across
the mall and focused on the fake reindeer and Santa's booth. Sticky
gumby men, sugarplums and the instruments he’d use in a New Year's
torture chamber fell through his mind as he walked to Santa's throne.
He was early, no lineup yet
- an adorable little blond girl came out of nowhere and jumped to his
lap, and he couldn't spot any parents with her. The only person watching
was a nasty looking freckle-faced boy.
Lucky day, I've found a
stray already, he thought, as his eyes went to her ghostly pale face.
What’s your name, little girl?
Angela, that's nice. And where are your parents? Oh, you've run off from
your mom. So that's why you’re so pale. Well, well. How about telling
Santa what you want for Christmas?
As she spoke he really felt
like Santa, soaring with his sleigh through a shaken bubble of blue and
flurries. Cones, needles, wreathes, presents showering down as he flew.
But the people below were greedy, their uplifted faces twisted mean, and
his good gifts turned to fluttering money and a shower of gold coins.
Angered, he swooped down, grinding hooves and runners into the crowd.
Blood showered his dreams,
no one was watching, he was about to stuff a sock in the little girl's
mouth and thrust her into the bag. Then it would be off to the North
Pole and his mistletoe.
But the weird little boy was
still watching, and in an uncanny way -- the vile urchin had teeth like
cat fangs and he grinned like he was hungry for a taste of Santa’s leg.
White Christmas was
playing in the mall -- he was somehow picking up on the boy's thoughts,
and he shook his head, trying to get rid of the images. But he couldn't,
and he saw things through the boy's eyes -- the colorless faces in the
crowd, pale reflections in shop windows, eyes full of tinsel and
silliness, mouths that were an empty stamp. Then there was Santa - his
nose a pink-veined knob, cheeks like rosy wine, a plump bottle of
sweetness. Santa brightened Christmas with red firelight. And he longed
to sink his teeth into . . . .
A sudden bang and shattering
glass startled them, and the girl cut her wish list short. Gunshots; it
was a robbery over at the fur shops. A wounded clerk was falling, his
face mashed to cherry pie by a shotgun kick right between the eyes. Two
masked crooks flashed their sawed-offs as they fled with some goods.
All eyes were on the armed
men. It was Santa's moment - grabbing a sock he moved to stuff it in the
little girl's throat. And he was just getting it in when the little boy
landed on him.
He howled -- his best Santa
yell, but the kid had the strength of a tiger. Fangs penetrated, Santa
could choke but he couldn’t shout. His blood flew up in ribbons as he
kicked and slid down in his throne.
Pinned on the floor, he had
the feeling of looking up from the bottom of an immense black chimney.
The little girl was above him with the Christmas stocking in her hand
--- pale and ghostly, she floated straight up to the higher levels. And
he heard her singing as the hungry boy growled and sucked his blood.
Deck the halls
with boughs of holly, fa-la-la-la-la,
la-la-la-la.
---The End---
