For most children, when they hear that Santa is coming again they get excited and giddy. They beg their parents to take them to his grotto; scarcely able to believe THE Santa is at their local Shopping mall. They queue for hours in lines that never seem to move until they finally sit in that little chair next to him, or for the lucky few on his knee, and tell him everything they want for Christmas.
For me..... at almost 30, the thought of Santa coming to town fills me with dread. I still remember all those years ago when I was small like it was only yesterday. It was December, I had eaten my 7th chocolate from my advent calendar and I was told I had to be extra good or I wouldn't get any presents from Santa. I nodded and smiled promising I would be a good girl for him and everyone. I went to bed after my nightly bath and snuggled with my teddy bear. I wore flannel pyjamas because they kept me warm in these cold winters. My covers were pulled up high and I soon drifted off to the sound of my ticking clock.
I awoke with a start at 3am according to my clock and listened, trying to figure out why I was suddenly awake. I remember I had heard a soft thud and even at my young age I had put it down to snow falling from the roof and landing in the garden. Still that didn't explain the jingling of bells I could hear and the quiet cursing. Maybe it was my parents? It was the weekend after all, who said they had to have a bed time? I always understood that my parents, being grown ups, didn't have a bed time and when I was their age, I wouldn't have a bed time either. It must have been my parents then.
I turned my bed side light on and got up to use the bathroom and get a drink of water.
As I descended those stairs the cursing got louder and then stopped when one of the stairs creaked. I peaked through the banister rail and gasped. It was Santa...and there were three elves! I rushed down the final few stairs and there I stood in my flannel pyjamas and bunny slippers, clutching my teddy bear. I didn't know what to say except "hello".
Santa stood himself up fully and looked at me. I blinked, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Those eyes they.....they weren't human. Nobody, not even Santa, had orange eyes. The elves started walking towards me and stopped at Santa's command. "Hello little girl, I'm Santa and these are three of my elves....I'm here making sure you've been a good girl and checking I can get in properly on the special night!"
I blinked again and nodded "I've been good....can you get down the chimney okay? Is the fire place in the way?" He chuckles at my response, but it wasn't a jolly chuckle. It as a menacing chuckle. "I always fit down the chimney and the fireplace is never a bother." I nodded at his answer and look around the front room. "Why are you pulling out the drawers?.... and why is the front door unlocked?"
He stays silent then answers "my elves couldn't get down the chimney so I had to let them in through the front door. Your parents left me the key." He shows me my mum's house keys and I nod again, looking at the elves seemingly caught in the middle of ransacking the downstairs area of the house.
I walk to the kitchen and step up on a stool to get a drink of water. One of the elves follows me and watches me closely. I look around the kitchen and find it messy; papers thrown everywhere, boxes upturned and kitchenware scattered. I was 6 and I knew that something wasn't right. I walked back to talk to Santa and found him stood with rope and duct tape. It was then that my childlike brain kicked in to gear and told me this was not Santa and maybe he shouldn't be in the house. I screamed. I screamed my little lungs out and my parents came running.
I'm not sure how much time passed between me screaming and my parents scrambling to get down stairs, but by the time they got to me and I stopped screaming Santa and the elves were gone.... however so were our house keys and my mum's purse.
It took them a while to calm me down and get out of me what I had seen. They stayed awake until the police station opened and then called in. We changed our locks and my mum cancelled her credit and bank cards. We didn't have much of a Christmas that year....Santa stole it.
At 6 years old you don't really take any notice of the news but when I was older, roughly 14 or 15 my parents sat me down and explained what had been going on. Around the festive period for three years running a man dressed as Santa and wearing contact lenses with the help of three "little people" dressed as elves had successfully broken into homes, stolen various valuable items and in some cases kidnapped children. They prayed on the innocence of their brains. I would have been another victim had I not screamed and alerted my sleeping parents. He was never found. The man who dressed up as Santa and planned to kidnap me and others seemed to just disappear. The police investigation quietened down soon after and then we moved. Mum and dad said it was time. I was 10 and I had never been happier to move away from the house I grew up in.
Even with the explanation and moving away, the damage had been done. To me Santa is a bad man and he scares me. What if one of those mall Santas is the man who broke into our home? What if he's just praying on the innocence of children? I hate this time of year.... he's everywhere and everyone is so happy.... and there's me.... trembling in the corner of my room at the mere mention of Santa.... a man who is supposed to be a comfort to children young and old.
I'll sleep with a baseball bat by my bed. Just for my own type of comfort.
