It is Christmas Eve and Santa Claus is coming. I am near bursting with excitements as I wait for him. My guardian told me to leave him alone. He told me that I am not ready for Santa because I am too young and weak while he is old and strong. A single candle illuminates my bedroom shrouding it in gloom and shadows. I believe I am ready, I cannot wait to meet him. I defy my guardian’s orders. I slip silently out of bed, tiptoe to black curtains, push them aside and look out a Gothic, frosted, floor to ceiling window. A full, ghost moon rides high in the night sky. Twinkling, falling fairy snow dusts the night land. A clock strikes midnight somewhere down in my benefactor’s dark castle. I cock my head to the side and listen intently. I hear up in the dark heavens Christmas Bells. My heart is full of glee as I see Santa’s sled pulled by eight reindeer cross the face of the moon. Then they pass overhead and out of sight. With all my senses keenly on edge I wait. I hear the soft impacts of reindeer hooves as they land somewhere high on the castle’s roof and the even softer impact of Santa and his sleigh full of toys.
I tiptoe to my closed bedroom door. There is a barely heard squeak as I open it. I tiptoe to the top of high stairs and listen. I hear a soft rustle as Santa slides down one of the castle’s chimneys with his bag full of toys and the soft thump of his black boots as he lands in a dead fireplace. With less noise then a shadow I creep down the stone stairs. Making less noise then a ghost I drift through the castle halls. I peek around a corner into the grand hall.
And there he is in the flesh and blood. He who I have waited for, dreamed of, longed for – Old Saint Nick. As I spy on him, the prince of happiness, the original red suited fat man, pulls from his big red bag two presents, a thick black bible and a large wooden cross. He gentle places them under the present starved, thirty-feet-high Christmas tree. I suppress my excitement as I step softly into the great hall onto deep, rich, Oriental carpets. With barely suppressed glee I rush silently forward with arms open and leap at Santa Claus. I made no noise in my stealthy stalk and silent leap, yet Santa somehow, someway, with his back turned to me, senses my presence. My guardian had warned me that Old Saint Nick was old and wise. I am in midair when he whirls around, he is extremely fast for one so large and portly, and clobbers me with his big bag of toys. He is also very strong, again I had been warned. I am thrown thirty-feet across the hall where my little body crashes into a chimney with enough force that the hall shudders and the entire chimney avalanches down on top of me. I claw, shake and throw half a ton of bricks and mortar off my small body and stagger to my little feet. I leap, thirty-feet up to the high, dark ceiling with the agility of a spider. My fangs are fully exposed and claws fully extended, crosses and bibles be damned – Santa Claus will be my Christmas present. I hiss with rage and hunger and again leap at him. But alas the jolly fellow, the bringer of joy and happiness to a world full of children, is no easy prey. He is ready for me. He has pulled a baseball bat from his big bag of toys. He sidesteps my leap with the agility of a ballerina. As I land on all four besides Santa Claus he comes down with all his might with the bat breaking my back. My benefactor was right, I am not ready for Santa Claus. I am in trouble. I had preyed in the past on the weak, the lambs. Santa is a rabid red wolf. I slither away, stagger to my feet, turn to face him with falling confidence and growing fear as I back away from him. I had planned to slaughter and feast on rich, red blood this Christmas night, instead I am about to be slaughtered and my damned soul sent wailing in defeat down to hell. A wooden bolt fired from a crossbow Santa pulled from his bag slams into my chest knocking me off my feet. It misses my undead heart by the width of a hair. I stagger to my feet as Santa swiftly fits another bolt into the bow and speed cocks it.
I see the end of my young, potentially immortal life as Santa Claus takes careful aim at my heart. I know, he knows, he will not miss a second time.
My guardian demon dives out of shadows from the high castle rafters, grabs Santa from behind, wrenches his head to the side with enough force to break his neck. He then buries his vampire fangs in Old Saint Nick’s neck. The battle is over. I have won, by default. I ghost forward and look into Santa’s eyes and watch as his life, his strength, his love of humanity, fades from his immortal body as my guardian demon drinks his blood and enslaves his soul.
“It is Christmas my prince,” says my guardian as he takes a break from his rabid feasting, “come, receive your hard fought Christmas gift.”
Dracula, a prince of darkness, offers Santa Clause’s broken, butchered neck to me. With dark glee I, the Antichrist, the future king of darkness, bury my little fangs in Santa Clause’s butchered red neck and drink the blood and devour the rich, immortal soul of an angel.
It is the best Christmas present I will ever have.
The surprise twist got you didn't it -ShaSha out
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Scary Stories And Tales (Can you handle it?)
Short StoryA book full of the scariest of tales Woooooo(ghost noise)
