It’s been two hours since we heard it. Dad put down the gun twenty minutes ago. He’d been aiming at the chimney with his finger on the trigger and Mom held onto my arm like she was ready to drag me out of the house at the first sign of movement, but we haven’t seen anything. Even Charlie the Christmas dog (who, I’ll admit, is simply “Charlie the dog” any other time of year) has long since given up his barking and settled into a comfortable spot on the couch.
Two hours. That’s enough to tell ourselves it must have been the snow or the wind or anything that means our lives are still normal and we’re not in danger. But we did hear it. That’s why the gun is still within reach of Dad’s chair, and why Mom can’t seem to go a few seconds without staring at the chimney, and why Charlie’s ears twitch whenever one of us breathes a little too loudly. We know what we heard.
One foot steps, the other drags.
Or maybe it really was the wind. I just know that I need to talk to someone and you guys are the best option I have right now. So, while Mom keeps watching, Dad keeps listening, and the dog stays ready to guard, I’m gonna tell you a story. The story of how one Christmas wish ruined everything for our little home town.
The story of how Santa came back from the dead.
Our Very Own Santa Claus
Years ago an old man walked alone through the snow and freezing wind past a church on the edge of town. They said no one was behind him for miles. They said he must have made the whole trip on foot, from wherever it is he came. This old man, he kept a smile on his face the whole way, and he told anyone who offered help or asked what he’s doing that he’s here for Christmas. He said there was a boy, young Christopher, who hadn’t had a very good year at all, and poor Christopher’s parents weren’t able to provide much for Christmas that year. So the old man brought some presents.
It’s a small town. Word spreads fast. People knew the kid he must have been talking about, Christopher, who hadn’t had a very good year. So those people talked to his parents, and those parents swore no old man or any other stranger had come near their home. But sure enough, on Christmas morning, everything Christopher wanted was waiting for him under the tree.
That’s how it started, or so the story goes.
Next year was similar. A few people spotted the old man but no one could identify him. Christmas morning, a few kids who couldn’t count on much else woke up to gifts their parents couldn’t afford. Then the year after that, and the one after that, and so on. Each year the list grew until every kid in town was included. And they loved it. We loved it. How could we not? It’s a genuine Christmas miracle - our very own Santa Claus.
Until this year. This year, something bad happened.
They found him face down in the snow. He didn’t go peacefully. Some of the adults tried to cover it up, to tell us he left town or passed in his sleep, but we knew they were lying. You could feel it. It’s like all the joy and Christmas spirit any of us had was stolen. I remember after we heard, when Mom took me to get ice cream and told me I could pick whatever present I want this year, we passed all the Christmas lights and decorations we love to look at every December and when I saw them I didn’t feel a thing. It was empty. I knew why. Everyone knew why.
Something killed Santa. And Christmas died with him.
A Christmas Wish
They gave him a funeral.
The casket was closed. They didn’t want anyone to see him like that. I think most of the town showed up. The preacher, Brother Nicholas, same guy who leads the church where Santa first showed up, did the eulogy. He said it’s the spirit of giving and if we can’t give anything else, we can at least give our thanks for the time he was here. He was a miracle, someone God sent to remind us what it’s all really about, and now it’s time for God to call him home.
I believed that. I think we all did. Maybe we were selfish. Maybe we didn’t deserve another gift. But after experiencing one miracle, I guess some of us were hoping we could get one more.
So we made a wish.
One more Christmas. That’s all we asked for. Just let us have him this year, one last Christmas with our Santa, and then we’d say goodbye and we’d all move on.
Bring him back.
It almost seems silly looking back. I don’t know if any of us really believed our wish would come true. But we believed in Christmas, and we believed in Santa. For us, that was enough.
Spreading the Christmas Fear
The first sighting came from Mr. Parker. Huge guy, former heavyweight boxer, people who know him say he’s the toughest guy they’ve ever met. So you can imagine the shock his neighbors felt when he came sprinting out of his house carrying his daughter, panting so hard he couldn’t even speak. Folks gathered around, tried calming him down, asked him what was going on. It’s Carol, his daughter, who eventually answered.
She pointed back at their house and, everyone there swears to this, she said, “It’s Santa. Santa came back.”
Small town. Word spread.
“It’s hysterics.” That’s what people said. The man is stressed, doesn’t know how he’ll provide for his daughter this year, maybe someone broke into his house and he believed he saw someone he couldn’t have. The mind can play some nasty tricks when a whole town is grieving.
That explanation might have been enough if the sightings stopped at Mr. Parker. It didn’t stop at Mr. Parker.
The Douglas family. The Frasers. Every night it was another home. If they were lucky, they got scared out of their minds. If they weren’t lucky, well, some people disappeared. That’s what happened to Rudy.
Our teachers wouldn’t even talk about it. “Rudy won’t be coming back.” That’s the most we got. He was a quiet kid. Never caused much fuss. But he loved Christmas. It’s the only thing that ever really got him excited. He told me about his tree, how his dad let him pick which one to take home this year and they got the biggest one so Santa would know to leave lots and lots of presents.
Now Rudy is gone.
They say Santa leaves a piece of himself in every house. Maybe a finger or a tooth or a chunk of skin. Sometimes in the stockings, sometimes under the tree. They say his body is all messed up, that one of his legs drags behind him and there’s holes all over his face.
Mostly, they say Santa came back. And he brought Hell with him.
The mayor actually held a town meeting. I didn’t go, but I heard my parents talk about it. The mayor said it’s all panic and lies, that people are twisting a man’s death and using it to target Christmas. He said we’re not backing down, Christmas will go on and everyone will celebrate because everything is fine and no one is in any danger.
Brother Nicholas talked to people too, and he told them something else. He said we’ve all been real bad this year. We got selfish. We turned a miracle into a curse and some coal in our stockings won’t be enough, so we’re getting something much worse.
Brother Nicholas is a believer. You can count on him.
Of course, kids talk too. This one girl, Holly, she actually thought she was funny. I remember on the last day of school, right when we were getting ready to head home, after the teachers told us Merry Christmas and to stay safe, Holly yelled out to the whole class, “Remember, don’t leave out any milk and cookies! It won’t do any good! This year, Santa’s eating brains!”
I don’t know if Santa really eats brains. All I know is we never should have made that wish. And this is, without doubt, the worst Christmas ever.
Christmas Time is Here
That brings us to tonight. It’s Christmas Eve. There’s been some talk, I heard it from Dad, that this’ll all end if we just make it through Christmas. That’s what Santa’s here for, and when it’s over, he won’t be here anymore. It makes sense. We wanted one more Christmas. Maybe that’s all we have to survive.
You know, we actually thought we’d make it through without any trouble. It’s not real, and if it is real, it won’t happen here. He’ll go to someone else’s house. It won’t happen to us. That’s what we told ourselves. A nice little lie for Christmas.
Then Mom found the present. It was tucked under the tree. The one box none of us recognized.
“From Santa.”
And that’s when we heard the sound. One foot steps, the other drags.
So now we wait.
I really should have learned my lesson by now, but I’m gonna make one more wish. I just want to get through Christmas. I don’t care about the presents or the holiday spirit. I want it to be over. I want me and Mom and Dad and Charlie the Christmas dog to sit together on a completely normal day and all be okay.
I’m afraid that’s all I’ve got. I don’t know what’s going to happen next or if he’s even really up there. Just the wind, right? Either way, I don’t think we’ll be sleeping tonight. Maybe some of you can at least relate with that much.
Anyway, thanks for giving me the chance to get it all off my chest. It’s been a long holiday season. Let’s hope we make it to the end.
Oh, and just in case I don’t get the chance to say it later. It’s the last thing I’d want to hear, but I guess I owe it to you guys.
Merry Christmas.