The Christmas Wish

Snow fell gently to the ground that Christmas Eve as the rented van made its careful way through the winding forest road. The van was occupied by three people and was headed to a cozy rental cabin in the woods, far from the typical noise of the holidays. They hadn’t even seen anyone on the road in more than half an hour. The radio only had intermittent service at this point, and the conversation between the two friends in the van had tapered off almost an hour ago, so they had fallen into a somewhat sullen silence. The silence was broken by a singing coming from the man on the floor of the backseat, somewhat muffled by the bag that covered his head.

“God rest ye merry gentlemen

Let nothing you dismay

Remember Christ our Savior

Was born sometime in May

No matter what they decided

In Nicaea that day

Oh, I re—ow.”

His singing was cut off as Josh, who was in the backseat with him, kicked him. “Shut up. Greg, are we almost there? I don’t know how much more of this guy I can take.”

Greg chuckled as he spared a glance at the GPS. “Yeah, it looks like this’ll be the last turn, then we’ll be there. So less’n a minute or so.”

“Finally” groaned Josh, exasperated. They turned into the driveway and saw the cabin. “Damn. Nicer than I was expecting.”

Greg parked in front of the cabin, and the two of them lifted the bound man out of the backseat. He didn’t resist or struggle with them in any way, in fact he was surprisingly helpful. As the three of them reached the door of the cabin, Josh knocked. It was a cross between the traditional ‘Shave and a Haircut’ knock, and the Fibonacci sequence. That was their secret knock to let whoever was inside know that it was them outside and that all had gone well. The door swung open and Josh and Greg walked their captive inside.

“You’re late. So, Josh, you gonna tell us who you had us nab this time?” asked the man who had been inside the house, as he closed and locked the door behind them.

“In due time, all in due time. And of course we’re late, you chose a cabin on the ass end of nowhere” responded Josh.

The man waved his hand dismissively. “Better than having unwanted visitors. It’s a nice enough place, ain’t it?”

“It is at that, Will” said Greg. He was in the kitchen and had found a bag of chips which he opened and was in the process of devouring. “What’s there ta eat round here?”

“I grabbed a casserole from the store, and that’s in the oven. It’ll be done shortly, but…” Will grimaced slightly. “Eat whatever you can find, you can’t ruin the casserole any more than it’s already ruined.”

Greg nodded once, grabbing down a pack of jerky from the cupboard. “Bet.”

Josh clapped his hands together, drawing everyone’s attention. While the two had been talking, Josh had tied the captive down onto a chair near the table, binding his wrists to the arms of the chair and his chest to the back of the chair. “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to our new guest.” Will and Greg gathered around the table, looking at Josh and the captive. Josh pointed dramatically at Will and pronounced “William! You recall that one summer that we gave up crime and went searching for leprechauns at your behest, certain that the gold that we got from capturing one would have us set for life?”

Will nodded. “Naturally. What dumbass thing are you leading up to? You always talk super formal when you’re being a dumbass.”

Josh ignored him and pointed at Greg. “And Gregor!” Greg grimaced slightly at the use of his full name. “You recall when, at your urging, we plotted a heist against--”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, we’ve all come up with stupid plans, sometimes including fictional characters.” interrupted Greg. “Who d’ya got under the bag? I promise we won’t mock you too much.”

“Alright then, without further ado, gentlemen, I present to you…” Josh removed the bag from the captive’s head with a flourish “Santa Claus!” Will looked on with apathy, while Greg choked back a couple snorts of laughter at this claim, and the captive looked at Josh quizzically.

The supposed Santa Claus was fairly young, looking to be mid-twenties, with curly red hair and a bushy red beard. He was also rather trim and athletic looking. In fact, the only thing about him that made him appear to be Santa Claus was his outfit, a rather stereotypical Santa outfit from the leather boots all the way up to the fur lined hat that he had somehow kept through his kidnapping, with the exception of the fact that instead of red, his suit was a dark green, almost emerald in color. In fact, the only spot of red that he had on his entire suit came from a sprig of holly that was tucked in his hat.

Will looked from Josh to their Santa, then looked over the Santa. “Well, he ain’t fat, he ain’t old, he ain’t particularly jolly, his beard ain’t white, and his suit ain’t red. But other than that, he’s the spittin’ image of ol’ Saint Nick.”

“Well” said Greg, around a piece of jerky, “I can forgive him not looking super jolly. I mean, he did just get kidnapped.”

The alleged Santa nodded agreeably, as Will shook his head and said “No, it ain’t just the physical looks and stuff like that, nah, what bugs me most about this is we always came to an agreement before doin’ dumb stuff that probably wouldn’t pay off before. When I wanted to hunt leprechauns, I asked first. When you wanted to rob Fort Knox, you asked first.”

Greg nodded at that. “Yeah, that’s all true, but Josh was always the brains of the operation. He talked us out of robbing Fort Knox. He told us when we should cut out losses when hunting leprechauns. He lets us know when it’s more profitable to dump a body, cut and run, than it is to hold out for ransom. He hasn’t led us astray yet.” Will nodded in agreement with Greg’s points. “Also, and possibly most importantly,” continued Greg, fishing a large piece of jerky out of the bag “even if we don’t have the real Santa, lookit him, he must be loaded. No one is this calm after being kidnapped unless they have a lot of experience with it.”

“And the only way you get kidnapped enough to be experienced in it is to be rich. Fair point, you’ve convinced me, I’ll give Josh’s stupid plan a chance” responded Will, heading to the kitchen to grab the casserole out of the oven as the timer chimed. “Bone Appetite” stated Will dryly, dropping the casserole tin onto the center of the table. The top of the casserole was burnt to the point that it was no longer distinguishable what the original color may have been.

Greg glanced at the casserole with disdain. “Yeah...I’m good” he said, popping another piece of jerky into his mouth.

Will nodded pensively and went to the kitchen to grab the other snacks. Josh accompanied him to grab the drinks, while Greg got the dishes. Shortly the table was laden with five types of jerky, seven types of chips, three types of dip, four sodas, paper plates, plastic cups, and plastic utensils. “Behold,” stated Will dramatically, “our Christmas feast.” He plated a heaping mound of casserole onto one of the plates and stuck a fork into the top of it, sliding the plate to the captive. “Enjoy” he said sarcastically.

The captive alleged Santa reached facetiously towards the plate, his wrists still bound to the arms of the chair so he knew he couldn’t reach the plate, and, more importantly, having seen the casserole, he really didn’t want to reach the plate. Shortly he grew bored of just watching the group eat, and he decided to speak up and break the silence. “So, Josh, can I call you Josh? I’m gonna call you Josh. So Josh, what exactly makes you think that I’m Santa Claus? I don’t even look like Tim Allen. Ha! Santa Clause reference.” The three looked at him, watching him laugh at his stupid joke.

Josh chewed slowly, thinking about what to say before swallowing and answering. “I guess it doesn’t hurt anything to tell. I was going to tell everyone else in this room shortly, so why not you?” He reached into his inside coat pocket and withdrew a package. “I found this at a small antique shop” he explained as he unwrapped it slowly. “Guaranteed to point me right to Santa Claus himself.” The item looked to be a skeletal hand grasping a polished black orb, with the handle appearing to be arm bones, the handle being long enough for somebody’s hand, and on the other side was what looked like an icicle made of pure silver.

“O...k…” said the alleged Santa. “So, two follow up questions, how much did that cost you, and why are you looking for Santa?”

“This” replied Josh “is a unique and ancient magical item, called a Rýtingur of Divining and it was a steal at fifteen hundred dollars. As for—“

Their captive Santa cut this statement off by bursting into a fit of raucous laughter. “I’m sorry, did you just admit to trading rent money for magic beans?”

Josh looked aggravated by this allegation from their alleged Santa Claus, and looked decidedly more aggravated by the fact that Greg joined in on the laughter. “I obviously didn’t leave him with that money, you know me.” Greg wiped his eyes and nodded in agreement. “Second, as for why I would want to find Santa, leprechauns are a dime a dozen and give you a pot of gold for capturing one. If you can capture a genie, it’ll give you three wishes. Santa Claus makes all of those beings look common and powerless, so I can only imagine what he’d give someone who managed to capture him.”

Their Santa Claus raised an eyebrow at this. “Really? Leprechauns are a dime a dozen? Found a bunch when you went hunting for them, did you?”

“Well no, we...didn’t really find...any,” replied Josh hesitantly. “But I’m talking about relatively speaking, when compared to Santa, you know, leprechauns are more...numerous. You know what, I don’t have to explain myself to you!” Greg and Will were both enjoying watching this exchange, particularly watching Josh get more and more flustered and angry while their captive remained perfectly calm, while it should have been the other way around.

The captive Santa continued down a line of inquiry with Josh, as he also enjoyed watching Josh get more and more irritated. “So what exactly are you expecting from Santa, if you do capture him, or have, or can, or whatever. If he’s captured by you. Are you hoping to get that real name brand Huffy bike just like in all the ads that you always wanted ever since you saw how totally awesome it looked on the TV?” The inflection in the question got increasingly sarcastic and increasingly mocking as the question went on.

Josh looked at him dryly and unamused as Greg and Will continued eating and looking on in amusement. By this point Josh was no longer certain that their captive was actually Santa, nor was he certain that he cared, as he kind of just wanted to shoot the asshole and be done with it. “As it just so happens, I have a source who informs me that, while Santa Claus is bound by certain laws, rules, and regulations, if he is captured by someone, he must grant them whatsoever they most desire, and all rules binding him are temporarily lifted. So there you go, whoever you are. That’s my plan.”

“Oh, a source” stated the faux Santa, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well you didn’t tell me that you had a source. Well I simply must know where he gets his information, as he sounds ever so well informed. This is simply groundbreaking information that is obviously correct.” By this point he was projecting so much sarcasm into his voice that he had actually put on a fake British accent.

“Oh, and I just bet that you can come up with better information, can you?” snapped Josh.

“Well obviously I am the foremost authority on Santa and can tell you simply anything that you want to know” replied not Santa, still in his sarcastic fake British accent.

“You know what?” said Josh, taking a couple steps away from the captive and cocking his gun. Then he looked back at probably not Santa and began laughing, walking up to him and kneeling right in his face. “Is that it?” Josh asked himself, almost too quietly to be heard. He then pressed the barrel of the gun to Santa’s temple, and decided to ask him a very direct question. “Okay buddy, no more games, no more sarcasm, no more anything, just yes or no. Are you the real Santa Claus?”

They stared into each others eyes for a good two and a half seconds, before a smile spread across Santa’s face and he nodded slowly. “So, what was it? Where did I overplay my hand?”

“The wording you used, about a real name brand Huffy bike and all that? Yeah, I used that exact wording in my letters to Santa back when I was eight. And, while everything you said was sarcastic, if you are willing to ignore the inflection…”

“You figured out that I can’t lie, and rely on sarcasm and assumptions to protect me from that. Damn. No real good options then. Speaking convinced you that I wasn’t Santa, but it also made you realize that I am. That sucks” said the, apparently real, Santa Claus. “Well, anyway, I should probably warn you…” Music filled the room, originating from nowhere in particular, and Josh took a startled step backward as Santa began singing along with the music.

“Release me now

Or you must face the dire consequences

The children are expecting me,

So please come to your senses”

Josh laughed and responded, also singing along to the music.

“You’re joking, you’re joking

I can’t believe my ears!

Will someone shut this fellow up,

I’m drowning in my tears

It’s hopeless, you’re finished

You haven’t got a prayer

‘Cuz I’m Mr. Oogie Boogie

And you ain’t going nowhere”

As he finished the song, Josh dramatically turned and gestured to the closed, locked door, flanked by windows that just showed darkness and snow, and you couldn’t even see to the woods, less than twenty feet from the windows. Will had his head buried in his hands and was shaking his head, while Greg was still looking around, trying to discern the source of the music. Of course, all three of them heard applause and snapped to attention, turning to see that it came from Santa Claus, who still should have been tied up to the point that he shouldn’t have been able to clap.

Santa Claus was not only no longer bound, but also was no longer in the seat they had him in. In fact, he was in a comfy recliner positioned next to the chair to which he had been bound, a recliner that had not existed before. Furthermore, the fireplace now had a cheery fire in it an in the corner was a well decorated Christmas tree. But the most drastic change was possibly the dining table. It now held a veritable feast of roast duck, smoked turkey, ham, rolls, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, sweet potato casserole, porridge, macaroni and cheese, and huge stacks of various types of cookies, with a large ornate crystal decanter of schnapps in the center.

Upon seeing this sight, Josh instinctively shot Santa Claus in the chest, as that’s what you do if one of your captives escapes. Santa seemed rather apathetic to being shot, in fact he couldn’t even be bothered to bleed. Instead of blood, a little flurry of snow fell from his chest for several seconds, before the wound and the bullet hole in his suit both resealed themselves. He then lazily produced a mug, with the words “#1 Santa” on it, and a kettle from thin air. From the kettle, he poured hot chocolate into his mug before taking a sip.

“I’m glad you got the reference. My last captors I tried that with had never seen the movie before. I mean, you misplaced Oogie Boogie’s verse, that specific verse comes later on, but, you know, close enough” said Santa, unperturbed by having just been shot. Upon seeing the dumbfounded expressions on the faces of all three of his captors he scoffed derisively. “I’ve been doing this a long time, and I am an incredibly powerful magical being. You really expected ropes to hold me? I can escape from functionally any trap. And, of course, mortal weapons can’t really do anything to me, with very limited exception. Honestly, for that specific weapon, I’m mildly surprised that it could even break skin.”

Greg looked at Santa, mildly alarmed. “You said something about dire consequences? Also, you apparently can’t lie, sooo…”

Josh shook his head. “No, I think he was just singing the song, to try and spook us, isn’t that right?”

Santa hesitated for a moment. “I...wouldn’t quite put it that way...I am simply...not quite as bound to the truth as normal when speaking in recitations.”

Josh eyed him suspiciously. “That sounds like what I just said, just using different words.”

Santa nodded briefly “Yeah, pretty much.”

Greg shook his head “Naw, I don’t like this, I think we should turn him loose. He’s obviously more powerful than you were anticipating, and we don’t have anything that can even hurt him if he gets out of control.”

Santa took a drink of his hot chocolate then pointed at Greg, nodding. “Yes, him, I like his idea, let’s do that.”

Will nonchalantly walked up to Santa, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “Are you sure that we don’t have anything that might hurt him? He very specifically said that MORTAL weapons couldn’t harm him. You remember that my mother’s from Iceland?”

Santa slumped in his seat, shaking his head. “Of course. Of fucking course she is” he said, under his breath.

Will casually picked the Rýtingur of Divining up from the table. “Does anyone know what rýtingur means in Icelandic?” Without waiting for an answer, he brought the icicle part of the Rýtingur of Divining down into Santa’s hand, pinning it to the arm of the chair. Blood welled up in the wound as frost began forming on the icicle, almost immediately, quickly spreading upwards. Will then withdrew the Rýtingur of Divining, causing the wound in Santa’s hand to heal near instantly.

Santa blinked impassively as his spilled blood transformed into snow, which he absentmindedly brushed onto the floor. “I would have the damned luck to run into a group of dumbasses where one of them can figure out what a Divining Blade is for. For anyone who was wondering, rýtingur is Icelandic for dagger.”

Josh looked at him quizzically “Divining Blade? What?”

Santa sighed in exhaustion. “See? What did I say? Dumbasses. The English term for what you have there is a Divining Blade. There are maybe half a dozen to a dozen still in existence on this world. Gather ‘round children, it’s story time!” He gestured at the table of food. “Also, feel free to dig in, there’s plenty, and it’s all safe to eat.”

“Good enough for me” said Greg, grabbing a plate and beginning to serve himself. “I mean, if no one else thinks we should turn him loose the least I can do is get fed.”

Josh shook his head “No, I don’t want ‘story time’ or any of that shit, I want you to grant us our Christmas wishes.”

“Calm yourself” chided Santa gently. “There is a method to this. All things in their proper time. I regale you with some tales, try to convince you to let me go. And, if by the end you remain unconvinced, I will grant your wish. Sound good? I hope so, because it really isn’t up for debate.”

Josh took the Divining Blade from Will and held it up casually. “You aren’t willing to debate it with me? Even with a weapon that can harm you?”

Santa nodded calmly. “It could kill me, yes. Perhaps even permanently, I’m not certain. I kinda doubt it because the Cult of Baldoun half-assed almost everything they ever did, to the point that they don’t even know that the name of the god they’re trying to awake is Beldeon, not Baldoun.” Quieter, almost to himself, he added “Although they did a decent job with the purge.”

Josh blinked, taking in this information, not understanding most of the references that were made. “So—wait permanently? Are you saying you can be killed temporarily?”

Santa took another sip of hot chocolate and nodded cheerily. “Can be. Have been. Probably will be again. Such is the life of any Loreborn immortal. Even if that blade were to permanently kill me, another Santa would rise up in some way or another, because the only way to kill a Loreborn is to destroy all tales of them, including people who know those tales. Once the Cult of Baldoun failed to kill me with their fancy blades, they enacted the purge, massacring anyone who knew any tales of me and burning any books with even roundabout references to me.”

Greg paused eating and looked at him. “I can’t help but notice that you’re still alive.”

Santa pointed at Greg yet again. “Good catch, very astute. So, as I said before, gather ‘round, children, it’s story time.” As he said this, a chair materialized behind Josh and another behind Will, each hitting them in such a way that it forced them to sit. “So first, we must address what a Loreborn Immortal is.” Josh opened his mouth to say something and a cookie appeared in his mouth, gagging him, as Santa gave him a pointed look. “Now, there are a wide variety of immortal beings, but I am Loreborn, which means I will continue on in existence so long as there are tales of me. The downside is that I am bound by these tales, to one degree or another, which is why I have no ability to lie or to do harm anymore.” He looked wistfully off into the distance. “Back in the day my toys were made by naughty children that I kidnapped and took with me. That’s also how my sleigh was pulled. I could beat naughty children, and...now it’s just coal. That’s the worst punishment I might be able to dish out. I used to be in the role of a Judge, and now, I’m here in the role of a mere Gift Bringer.” His gaze snapped back to the present. “Worst thing is I can’t even really miss it. I can feel nostalgic and melancholy for days gone by, sure, but I lack the ability to even desire to choose my own path. Ain’t that a bitch? Anyway, Josh, you were going to say something?”

Josh swallowed the bite of cookie that was in his mouth and shook his head. “It’s not important. You said something about a purge? What was the point of that? And how did you survive it?” he asked, trying not to appear too interested.

Santa smirked slightly, glad to have hooked another person with his storytelling. “As it stands, I can only speculate as to the purpose of the purge. I never actually got a straight answer from the Cult of Baldoun, and even if I had, their view of reality and actual reality don’t really align that well. Anyway, my survival is a much easier story. I mean, have you ever tried to get rid of all references to anything? They got surprisingly close, and I was relegated to one singular world for a good two hundred years.” A malicious grin and nostalgic look spread across his face. “For two hundred years I was known as Die Sinder Cloose. Stalking the endless battlefields of that world, judging the innocent and the wicked, bringing hope and deliverance to the innocent, while the wicked received…pain. Fear and pain. Did you know that was the first time I was depicted in red? Well, I was still in green, but it was stained red with the blood of the wicked.” He blinked and snapped back to the present again. “And it’s the last time I’m wearing red until I get my back pay from Coke for using my likeness without my permission all these years!”

The trio of kidnappers was looking among themselves with a look of distinct unease. All except Josh. “That would be a frightening story, if you hadn’t already told us that you can’t do harm. The worst that you can do is give us coal. So, you’ll have to do better than that to scare us off.”

Will chuckled. “Good catch, Josh.”

Greg still didn’t look fully reassured, but wasn’t willing to argue with his friends. “So how did you get back to here?”

Santa blinked, not quite expecting that follow up question. “Um... Saint Nicholas? Maybe Odin? I predate Christmas by quite some time, and didn’t return to this world following the purge until there was some tale close enough to my own. I don’t have any control over it. Not much, at least.”

“Wait, Odin?” asked Josh.

Santa nodded. “The tale of Santa Clause is tangentially based on Odin riding out on Sleipnir during the solstice. People would leave treats for Sleipnir, and if Odin was pleased with them he would leave a gift.”

“Wait” said Josh. “So, are you Odin?”

“Sadly, no” responded Santa. “We have a couple of similar stories, but he’s more powerful than I am. I’m harder to kill, though.”

It was at this time that a grandfather clock began chiming midnight. This was surprising for two reasons, the first being that the cabin didn’t have a grandfather clock in it, and the second being that it shouldn’t have been that late quite yet.

Santa nodded and finished off his hot chocolate. “Midnight. Christmas. Moment of truth. Are you keeping me here, or setting me free?”

Josh looked at Santa cynically. “You tell a good story, Saint Nick, but I fail to see why we should let you go.”

Santa shrugged. “Oh, the stories have nothing to do with it, the goodness of your heart is the only possible reason.”

Greg spoke up “This still feels off, I still say we turn him loose.”

Will scoffed. “You’re always too jumpy. Ain’t nothing bad gonna happen.”

Josh gave a single nod. “Sounds like we got our answer, you’re staying.”

“Yeah, I suspected” said Santa. “Seems like the sort of thing you’d do. Never one to turn down that easy money, were you? I guess I could have tried harder to convince you, but, you’ve each got a long history and, well, after so many years, a man gets bored.”

“What?” asked Josh, confused. Before he could say anything else, or get an answer, a knock came from the door, causing all three of the kidnappers to jump.

A malicious little smile spread across Santa’s face. “You should probably get that. They won’t want to be kept waiting.”

Josh stood up and stepped over to Santa quickly, pressing the point of the Divining Blade to his throat. “Try anything and you’ll be able to find out just how half-assed this blade is. Greg, check the door. Will, cover him.”

Greg tentatively stood up and headed to the door, as Will drew and cocked his gun. While Greg walked towards, the door, there was the distinct sound of a needle being placed on a record, and the song “Santa Clause is Coming to Town” began playing, the sound originating from nowhere and everywhere. At the line “You Better Watch Out”, there was the unmistakable sound of a needle slipping, and the line repeated itself, slightly distorted. By the time Greg reached the door, the words were still recognizable, but were disturbingly inhuman in sound. There was a knock at the door again as Greg took a breath, braced himself, and flung the door open.

Standing outside in the snow were two figures, one small the other unnaturally tall and thin. The small one spoke, her voice almost grandmotherly and bearing a distinct German accent. “Guten abend! May we come in?” and, without awaiting a response, she entered, followed closely by her compatriot. “Danke schoen!”

Now that the two were inside, they appeared as more than indistinct figures. The little old lady was bundled in what appeared to be a ragged, disheveled, hooded dress, covering everything but her hands and her face, however her face was not left uncovered. She wore a mask of iron, appearing to be the face of an old crone twisted in a terrible, terrifying expression, with a hooked, beaklike nose. Her companion was also unsettling to look upon, although less overtly disturbing in appearance. He stood at least eight feet tall, stooping so as not to hit the ceiling, and his skin was a pale, pallid color. He wore what appeared to be a faded Santa costume, in the traditional red, that was several sizes too small for him. The pants ended at mid-shin, and the coat, while it mostly covered his torso, stopped at least five inches before his wrists. He also wore a Santa hat and a grungy, no longer quite white, fake beard, and carried a large sack full of...something that clinked. There was also something off about his eyes, but nobody wanted to make eye contact with him long enough to figure out what it was.

Without any warning or segue, Santa was suddenly standing behind his chair, without even bothering to stand up. His sudden disappearance from the chair caused Josh to become unbalanced and collapse into the chair.

“Perchta! Guten abend! Right on time, as always!” said Santa, delighted, a distinct German accent entering his voice.

The old lady, Perchta, turned to Santa. “Nikolaus! Leibchen! It has been too long!”

Greg let out a laugh, all his fear and trepidation gone. “Perchta? Frau Perchta? You’re what I’ve been so afraid of this whole time?” He walked up to her, and at six feet tall he was a full foot taller than her, before she stooped over. “Frau Perchta, the Christmas Witch. I knew you looked familiar when I answered the door. Well guess what, I’m not a little boy anymore, you can’t scare me with your birch rod and your beatings of naughty children. Not anymore.”

Frau Perchta nodded slowly “Ja, ja. It has been a long time, has it not, Gregor? You vere, vhat, sechzehn? Sixteen vhen you left home? Do you recall vhat it vas I vas saying to you that year?” Greg shook his head slowly. “Nein, nein, it hat been several years. I am not surprised by zis. I kept telling myself I should haff dealt with you in mein own way. But you vere young. Und you felt...some remorse. Und vhat you did to zat dog vas...mostly accidental. Und so I gafe you one last chance. But no more. You are not ze child anymore, breaking your sister’s toys, und bloodying your brother’s nose. You are malicious, und cruel, und lazy.”

Greg let out another snort of laughter. “Listen, bitch, you didn’t scare me back when I was sixteen, you won’t scare me now, so why don’t you just take you best little shot, and then leave us to our business?”

“Oh?” replied Frau Perchta. “I did not scare you? I did not frighten you into leaving off the tormenting of your siblings und leaving ze home at sixteen?” Greg started to respond, but she cut him off, striding forward, backing him into a corner. “Zis ist not ze point of my visit. Vhat did your parents call me? In ze dead of night, vhen ze kinder vere asleep, und zey could not be overheard, vhat did zhey call me?”

The tall man watched this impassively, not making any movements, once he had grabbed the crystal decanter of schnapps, except to take the occasional drink from it. Santa watched the exchange, obviously enjoying it, while Greg’s two friends watched with mild, growing unease. This feeling of growing unease was also felt by Greg.

Greg shook his head slowly. “I...don’t remember” he said lightly, trying not to show how uneasy he was beginning to feel. “What, is it important or—” his question was cut off as, in a single motion, almost too quick to be seen, Frau Perchta withdrew a long kitchen knife from her dress and stabbed him in the stomach with it.

With her free hand, she lifted her mask, allowing Greg, and only Greg, to see her true face before he died. “Ich bin Frau Perchta, the belly slitter” she said calmly, with no real emotion or inflection in her voice. Then she replaced her mask and, true to her name, cut his belly open from pelvis to sternum. She laid him on the floor gently, almost gingerly. “You like ze cash, ja? You never vanted ze work, but always vanted ze cash.” And with that statement, she began pulling out his entrails with one hand, while, with the other, she stuffed his stomach cavity full of cash and coins of all denominations that she withdrew in near endless supply from within her ragged dress. All Greg’s friends could do was watch in abject horror as she withdrew a rusty needle and length of dirty thread and methodically sewed his stomach closed.

Santa let out a laugh. “Finally left behind the straw and stones method?”

Perchta smirked under her mask. “I developed a sense of irony. Ze greed und ze laziness vas not his worst fault, but it vas ze most exploitable for mein purposes.”

The tall man turned to Will, smiling a frightening, fang filled smile, and boomed out “Ich bin dran. My turn” in a deep, resonant voice.

Will, very prudently, decided that he didn’t want to wait around to find out what was meant by this, and took off sprinting towards the door. Will moved quickly, but the tall man was quicker. The tall man grabbed Will with a single hand, hoisted him aloft, and shoved him into his sack, as the room was filled with a wet, squelching, tearing sound. The tall man left Will in his sack for a moment as he inspected his arms and sighed deeply. The skin on the arm that he had used to grab Will was torn and hanging loosely, revealing a wiry arm, covered in coarse black fur. “Sheisse” he murmured to himself. He gripped the (hopefully) fake torn skin, and peeled it off his arm, revealing long, shiny black claws adorning the tips of each of his fingers. He then peeled the skin from his other arm, then from his legs, which removed his boots as well, revealing cloven goat’s hooves. He then removed the face and neck portion, leaving on the Santa hat, which left him with no skin showing, just his coarse, bristly fur. It also left him with no skin not showing, but there was no way of knowing that. His head bore two large, sharpened goat horns. His face was long, and hairless, and gray, and harsh, and terrifying, with the rectangular eyes of a goat, situated vertically rather than horizontally, and an unnaturally large mouthful of long, sharp fangs.

Santa nodded contemplatively. “I prefer this aesthetic for you, Krampus. Although I must admit, I don’t know where your outfit or disguise came from. Neither of those are set in any lore, are they?”

Krampus took one last long swallow of schnapps before setting the decanter back on the table. “Nein. It is nicht of lore. But in lore, that specific outfit of yours was never in green, was it? Und whom would you rather let into your home? Der Krampus, or another human?”

Santa laughed “Oh yeah, homeless basketball Santa, who wouldn’t trust him?”

Krampus laughed, a deep and terrible sound, then dumped out his sack. Will tumbled out, bound and locked in chains. Krampus looked wistfully at Will, then at the Christmas tree, then back at Will. Santa shook his head slowly and sighed, a small smile on his face. “What the hell, it’s Christmas” said Santa. “Go wild.” Then, with a snap of his fingers, Santa made all of the ornaments and various decorations on the tree disappear in a flash of multicolored light and a flurry of snow that was gone as soon as it appeared.

Upon being given the go ahead Krampus smiled a wide, terrifying, sadistic smile. Will screamed out in pure, unbridled terror as Krampus pressed his long, sharp claws against Will’s stomach. And then, with no preamble or hesitation, Krampus thrust his fingers through Will’s stomach and ripped it open. Once he had done this, Krampus grabbed fistfuls of Will’s bowels and threw them at the Christmas tree, and, upon reaching the tree the bowels wound around it in the same way one would decorate a tree with tinsel garland. Once the bowels decorated the tree, they seemed to have Christmas lights appear around them out of nowhere, causing the tree to appear somewhat festive, in a rather ghoulish way. Krampus glanced over at Santa and asked “Lights Nikolaus? Really?”

Santa shrugged. “It’s Christmas. If you’re going to decorate the tree, don’t half-ass it.” Krampus nodded acceptingly at this explanation.

Throughout all of this Will continued screaming in fear and pain, or at least screaming as well as one can when his lungs are no longer contained by his chest cavity, which he proved to be quite well. Rather, Will was screaming, right up to the point where Krampus popped his head off and perched it on top of the tree like a star.

Josh watched all of this, trembling in Santa’s armchair, paralyzed by fear, but, to his credit, he didn’t wet himself until Krampus and Frau Perchta both simultaneously turned and locked eyes with him. When Santa clapped a hand on his shoulder, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“It’s been a long night for you, hasn’t it, Joshua?” Santa asked, striding past Josh, not really paying any particular attention to him. “But! It’s time for your Christmas wish, isn’t that just the most exciting?” Santa asked this to him in the same voice one might use to speak to a dog or a small child. “Now, your wish has changed somewhat since the beginning of the night, has it not? And now, you just want this nightmare to end.” Josh nodded numbly, as Santa looked around for something. “Ah, here it is” stated Santa as he picked up Will’s discarded, forgotten gun. He lazily pulled back the hammer and walked over to Josh before pressing the barrel of the gun against Josh’s head and...well, you can fill in the rest of the details without my help.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Marion sighed as she pulled up to the cabin, her minivan full of cleaning supplies. Being able to have the day off to spend with her family, that’s all she wanted for Christmas. Of course she couldn’t even have that, she had to clean one of her boss’s rental properties. And anyone who checked out on Christmas day tended to leave the place a mess. But at least she’d be getting great overtime pay. But as she stepped into the cabin, she was met with something she didn’t expect: the smell of fresh baked cookies.

As she walked through the cabin, she found it to be immaculate. The only sign that anyone had been there was in the kitchen. On one of the counters was a container filled with sugar cookies, that smelled and tasted exactly like the ones her late grandfather would make every Christmas. And, next to that container, was a small, beautifully wrapped present with a tag stating “To: Marion Quincy”. Inside she found a copy of her grandfather’s handwritten cookbook, including the recipe to the Christmas Sugar Cookies, which she knew for a fact had been destroyed when her basement had flooded during a move. But here it was, all of his recipes, in his own handwriting. And, before heading home, she took a moment to cry, not sad tears but happy ones. The tears of a long awaited reunion between two old friends.