I never believed in Santa Claus. As a child, I saw the truth behind the holiday season – a way for companies to make money off of parents buying gifts for their children. I never wanted to sit on Santa’s lap or write him letters, because I knew that it was all just a big lie.
But as I grew older, something strange started to happen. Every year, on Christmas Eve, I would hear the faint sound of sleigh bells ringing outside my window. I dismissed it as my imagination, a trick of the mind brought on by the holiday season.
But then, one year, the sound grew louder. I could hear the clomping of hooves on my roof, the rustling of a large bag being dragged across my lawn.
I tried to ignore it, telling myself that it was just a prank or a neighborhood kid playing a joke. But when I looked out my window, I saw something that chilled me to the bone.
There, on my roof, was a figure dressed in red and white, with a long white beard and a sack slung over his shoulder. It was Santa Claus.
I rubbed my eyes, convinced that I was hallucinating. But when I looked again, he was still there, staring straight at me with his beady little eyes.
I tried to run, but my legs wouldn’t move. I was frozen in place, like a deer caught in the headlights.
Santa climbed down from my roof and approached my window, his eyes boring into mine. And then, he spoke.
“You didn’t believe in me, did you?” His voice was deep and gravelly, like a smoker’s cough.
I tried to stammer out a response, but my throat was too dry. Santa chuckled, a deep, ominous sound that made my skin crawl.
And then, he started to climb through my window.
I screamed, but my voice was drowned out by the sound of sleigh bells and the rustling of his bag. He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me towards him, his grip like iron.
I struggled and fought, but it was like trying to move a mountain. Santa’s strength was otherworldly, and I was powerless to resist.
He dragged me towards the fireplace, his bag slung over his shoulder. And then, he tossed me in.
I fell through the flames, my screams echoing through the empty room. And then, everything went black.
When I woke up, I was back in my bed, my body covered in soot and ash. I rubbed my eyes, wondering if it had all just been a nightmare.
But as I looked around my room, I saw something that made my blood run cold. There, on my windowsill, was a small red-and-white striped candy cane, like the ones Santa Claus always gave out.
I knew then that it wasn’t just a dream, that Santa Claus was real, and that he was coming for me. Every year since then, I’ve made sure to leave out cookies and milk on Christmas Eve, hoping to appease the jolly old man and keep him away.
But the memory of that night still haunts me, a constant reminder that sometimes, the things we don’t believe in can be far more terrifying than anything we could ever imagine.