PSYCHO LETTERS: TO & FROM SANTA
© Sitarra “LullaDIEs” Sefton
I know I’m not always good, but I really try to be. You never stopped by my house when I was a child. I know I may be too old to write you letters, but this one is important.
I want love. My mother died when I was born, I never got the chance to know her. My father blamed me for her death and became abusive, I’m sure you already know.
He beat me with a bag of coals one Christmas morning, screaming that I was naughty, the spawn of Satan. That can’t possibly be true.
He said no one would ever love me, and I’m starting to believe he was right. Please send me someone who can understand me and love me for who I am. Christmas is always such a lonely, depressing time of year. It would really mean the world to me.
You are by far the most naughty person on my list. Just last week you shot two people, stabbed three more, and raped a nun during mass! The list of naughty deeds you’ve done this year alone stretches clear across the North Pole.
Don’t try and use the pity game, I’m always watching to see who’s naughty or nice. Your father beat you with the coals on Christmas because he woke to the cat in the microwave (or what was left of the stinky mess), and the dogs head under the Christmas tree!
No one but the Devil himself can understand you, but even he isn’t capable of loving a monster like yourself. There is no love for your murderous kind, only hate and pain.
Fuck you ya fat fuck! I was trying to be fucking nice you jolly old bastard, but no! You had to go and deny me my deepest desire. I came to you humble, on my figurative knees, and you pissed in my face!
I’m coming for you Santa. I’ll be at the North Pole shortly. When I get there, I’m going to blow your fucking toy factory sky high! I’ll trap you freaky elves inside and dance while their severed body parts rain down!
Your reindeer; Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donnor, Blitzen, and Rudolph. Consider them dinner. I’ll turn their hides into rugs and blankets, and I’ll mount their heads on my wall like trophies.
Oh, and your bitch wife, don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten about her. I’ll make her my sex slave, tie her to the bed and do what I want. I have a knife fetish, hope she’s tough. *wink wink*
You’ll be there too, for a while. I’ll let you watch from a cage while your fat ass slowly starves to death.
I’ll burn your precious North Pole, melt the ice caps and turn the snow into a river. I won’t stop until you watch me destroy everything you hold dear.
In the North Pole, Santa has just read Psychos letter.
“Hunny! Mrs. Clause! We’ve gotta go!”
“We can’t go Santa. Christmas is in three days. What about the children?” Mrs. Clause pouts.
“Listen dear. Screw the children. Remember that naughty guy I told you about? Psycho?”
“I may have made him a tad upset, he’s coming here.” Santa explains.
“I’ll just go grab my coat.” Mrs. Clause answers as she hurries away, fear in her voice.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Santa goes to the door to see who it could be. When he opens it, he is paralyzed with terror. He is face to face with Psycho, black smoke rising in the distance where the toy factory should be.
“Hello Santa,” Psycho muses, “Remember me?”