“Psycho Goes To The North Pole” – Short Story



© Sitarra “LullaDIEs” Sefton

“Hello Santa,” I quipped, “Remember me?”

Santa stood in the doorway, mouth gaping, his rosy cheeks drained of color. Yes, he remembered me.

His eyes drifted off onto the horizon, where the toy factory once stood. I twisted sideways to follow his gaze, and saw the coal black smoke rising into the winter white sky.

“Oh yes,” I chimed while turning back around to face him, “The elves were very easy to dispatch of. They were so busy making toys, they didn’t notice the doors and windows shut one by one, or the sounds of them being hammered on and nailed down. They didn’t expect the explosion …” my voice drifted off as my face contorted at the memory, “there wasn’t much left to dance in when they rained back down. It was mostly a warm, sticky, red mist.”

Santa swallowed, his adams apple moving up and down as he did. I smirked at his reaction, enjoying his moment of unknown fear. Soon, he would know what to be afraid of.

I shoved the jolly old bastard back into the house, he was heavier than me but lazy and unathletic, and so he stumbled over and fell to the floor. I laughed at the sight, and stood over top of him with a bag of coal.

“You. Have. Been. Very. Naughty.” I spoke as I hit him with the bag over and over again.

Santa started bleeding from a gash on his head, staining his snow white hair. Still I did not stop, and eventually the beating was too much for Mr. Clause, and he fell into unconsciousness.

As I was standing there, admiring my handy work, Mrs. Clause came out of a room and round the corner. She wore her winter coat, red with white fur trim, and was fussing with her dainty black leather gloves.

“Santa, how long do you think we have before Psy-” her words caught in her throat as she looked up from her hands to see me standing over her battered husband, a bag of coal firmly in my grip.

I dropped the bag with a loud thump and turned towards her.

“Well well Mrs. Clause, don’t you look ravishing.” I cooed.

Fear filled her eyes as she turned to dart to the other side of the house. She was slow however, her age working against her. I caught the elderly woman easily from behind, pulling her close to my chest and holding her there. She tried to thrash her way from my grip, but it was no use.

“Shh..” I whispered into her ear, “This is going to be the best Christmas ever.”

I left Mrs. Clause chained to the large bed, and Mr. Clause inside a cage facing her. I wanted him to feel my pain and hopelessness, and so I would wait for him to wake before starting the fun.

While I waited, I went out to the stable with my shotgun. I came prepared for this adventure, and brought many fun “toys” of my own to the North Pole.

The reindeer were all in separate stalls, each bedded down in a pile of fresh hay. As I walked down the rows, shooting them in the heart or lungs, they became panicky. There was no escape, but still they threw themselves against the thick wooden gates of their enclosures. The ruckus they made filled the air around, but with each pull of the trigger the stable became quieter, until they all laid dead.

I cut off each of their heads, and threw them into a wheelbarrow to take up to the house so I could show Santa what’d become of his precious pets. I’d decided against eating them, thought it was best to let them rot.

Inside the house Santa was awake. The doorways were wide, due to Santa’s size, so the wheelbarrow rolled through the house and into the room with ease.

I pushed the wheelbarrow inside with great force, hitting the edge of the bed. The wheelbarrow tipped sideways and the nine reindeer heads dumped onto the floor.

Santa immediately puked at the sight, filling the room with its sour smell. He looked pale as a ghost when he slumped back in the cage. I smiled at the sight, and grabbed the head with the beaming red nose. I shoved my arm up the creatures neck, using him like a puppet. Tilting him back and forth in the air, I walked closer to Santa in the cage.

“Rudolph the red nosed reindeer, had a very shiny nose, and if you ever saw him, you would even say it glows.” I sang while walking closer.

At the last line the deer was positioned next to his head, and the tongue fell out of the beasts mouth, slapping Santa in the face. He puked once more, and I laughed loudly as he did. Dropping Rudolph next to him, I approached the bed.

“Now Mrs. Clause, I haven’t forgotten about you.” I cooed.

“Don’t! Please, I can help you! I’ll help you!” Santa begged and pleaded.

I ignored him, for the time being. Slowly I cut Mrs. Clauses winter coat away, and threw it at Santa’s cage. Both were weeping at that point, but I ignored it too. Next came her gloves, I carefully slid the razor sharp blade through the soft leather, being sure not to cut her skin.

“Psycho please! You don’t need to do this. Let me help you!” Santa cried.

I yanked Mrs. Clauses shiny black boots off her feet, and they hit the floor with a thud. Slowly I slid the knife up her middle toe and inner leg, cutting her pants as I did. The blade sliced through only the first couple layers of her wrinkled skin, leaving behind a faint red trail.

I watched her face contort as tears broke out of her tightly closed eyelids, flowing down her cheeks. I grinned shyly, and bent down low, rubbing my nose against hers.

“This might hurt a bit lovely.” I whispered.

I thrusted the knife into her center. She gasped at the pain, but couldn’t move away from it. I ripped the blade free and plunged it into her torso once, twice, three times. The last time I raised the knife I plowed it into the side of her neck, pulled out, and nearly decapitated poor Mrs. Clause.

Santa screamed as the blood sprayed from her neck, painting me red. I raised my arms up and out to my sides, tilted my head back, and enjoyed the warm spray of revenge.

I turned towards Santa, grinning from ear to ear. As I walked out of the room, leaving the gory mess behind to decay along with him, I turned around and said,

‘You can starve now Mr. Clause, I’m taking over Christmas this year.”


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