The Writer: December 2017

"You better watch out, You better not cry, Better not pout, I'm tellin' you why, Santa Claus is coming to town...He sees you when you're sleeping, He knows when you're awake, He knows when you've been bad or good, So be good for goodness sake..."

Everybody knows the Christmas song, "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town", right? Have you ever really listened to some of the lyrics closely and noticed anything off, something ominous about them? It might sound crazy that a beloved Christmas song is possibly about something dark or something that isn't what it seems. You might not even believe it but think about it. Could O' St. Nick be a jolly man that gives presents to children or does he have a vengeful side that is kept secret?

Besides the song, have you ever also wondered where all of those toy-making elves came from? Are they willing toy makers or is something sinister making them work for Santa? Well, twelve-year-old Billy Pucking found out the ghastly truth when Santa finally gave his parents gave their Christmas wish.

Billy was very intelligent but was a hateful, heartless, evil brat with black, cruel eyes. He got no punishment for his bad behavior such as calling his mom and dad stupid, shooting fireworks at people, hitting and tormenting younger children, and stealing candy and knives from stores. He was the only child and his parents wanted to give him nothing but encouragement and love so he could grow up happy. They naively thought his "unruly behavior" was just a phase but as the months went by, they were slowly beginning to see the abomination of a soul that was within him. He was on the road to being a complete sociopath.

It was two days before Christmas and Billy's parents had to go to work one last time before their week holiday. Billy was off from school already and they wanted him stay at home while they were gone but of course, he didn't listen. As soon as they left, he began his malicious acts. First, before he snuck out, he wanted to dye his short, blonde hair jet black that day. He always colored his hair without his parents' permission. He just loved seeing them upset. He grabbed a pair of latex gloves from the first aid kit that was in the kitchen and a can of temporary black hair color, which he was hiding under his bed. He then went into the bathroom and sprayed his head, making a huge mess all over the mirror and on the sink. Once he was finished, he deliberately sprayed the rest of the dye all over the bathroom; on the walls, on the toilet, and way up on the ceiling, making even more of a massive mess. The fumes from the dye would also have made anyone else gag or light-headed but he liked it. When the can was empty, he took off the gloves and tossed them and the can to the ground.

"Good luck cleaning this up Connie," he grinned wickedly, disrespectfully referring to his mom.

Then, he quickly walked into his bedroom, changing into his black, Charles Manson sweatshirt and grabbing his pocket knife with a red handle, which his parents didn't know he had, from his underwear drawer and put it in his sleeve. He then opened his window, climbed onto and off of the roof, and jumped.

Snow crunched underneath his winter boots as he landed on the ground. He was just lurking around the neighborhood when he saw five-year-old Timothy Elvin playing with his toy car on the sidewalk. Timothy was Billy's favorite victim to torment. He was always wearing Jake and the Never Land Pirates shirts, an over-sized pair of thick glasses, and a puffy, blue coat. Billy thought that Timothy's appearance alone made him an easy target but the real reason that he was Billy's main victim was that he was too small to fight back. Every time that Billy pulled out his knife, helpless Timothy became mute and gave Billy his toys or money so he wouldn't be cut.

Billy ran up and snatched Timothy's car from him, pulling off one of the wheels and throwing both objects in the road.

"My car!" Timothy cried out.

"Your wimpy toy is the least of your problems right now," Billy chuckled, "because I wanna play a game."

Timothy asked nervously: "What game?"

What Billy thought was a cool trick, he pulled out the knife from his sleeve with a flick of his wrist, opening the blade swiftly. He put the blade to Timothy's cheek.

"Let's find out if you can still see with just one eye," grinned Billy, "I'll just gouge out one of your eyes. It'll be fun."

Timothy whimpered in protest but no words formed. He was shaking like a leaf, pleading, fearful tears ran down his face, and urine went down his legs, as the blade came closer and closer to his eye. He tried to shut his eyes but Billy twisted his arm painfully every time that he attempted.

"Oh, don't be a baby," exclaimed Billy, "It won't hurt that bad!"

The sharp blade was almost to Timothy's pupil, when somebody pulled Billy away from him, smacking the knife from Billy's hand and letting it fall into a nearby sewer. Thankfully, the person got there just in time so Timothy wasn't hurt.

"Hey," Billy yelled out, "That was my only damn pocket knife!" He turned around to see who pulled him away; the person that Timothy ran to and was now crying to.

Billy assumed that it was a homeless man. He was a tall and round man with grayish skin, dirty, white hair and beard, and strange, dull yellow eyes. He also wore an old, blood-red shirt and red pants that both looked like rags with some worn-out, black boots. He was holding Timothy's car and its wheel in one hand while he was patting Timothy's shoulder comfortingly with the other.

"Now, now, that mean boy won't bother you anymore," the man reassured him, "It's alright. Just tell your mommy."

Feeling disgusted by the man's kindness, Billy said sardonically: "If you're some pedophile, please just take him."

The man scowled at Billy but smiled down at Timothy, showing rotten teeth.

"What's a pedophile?" Timothy asked innocently between tears.

"Don't mind him," the man replied happily, "here." He then put the wheel back on the car and handed it back to Timothy.

"Thank you," the little boy gasped.

"Run along now," the man smiled, "don't talk to strangers and go tell your mommy what this mean boy did to you so he'll stop. ...And, merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas," said Timothy, hugging the man, "Thanks Santa!" He then ran home happily without looking back.

Billy chuckled and thought: "Does he really think that this nasty guy is actually Santa Claus? What a dumb kid!"

"And that's what police call grooming," Billy sneered, "I know because I watch all of those cop shows on television. I should tell on you, you sick, old man but I won't if...you get my knife back!"

The man just ignored him with his back to him.

"Look, old man, you're getting my knife back or...!"

The man suddenly turned to face him. With his eyes bulging out and an insane smile, he started singing in a sing-song but a deep, demonic voice: "You better watch out, You better not cry, Better not pout, I'm telling you why, Santa Claus is coming to town."

"Santa," Billy exclaimed with a laugh, "really? I don't believe in that Coca-Cola loser!"

"He's making a list, He's checking it twice," continued the man, grabbing both of Billy's arms, "He's gonna find out who's naughty or nice!"

Billy yelled: "Get your hands off of me, you freak!" He pushed the man away but he lost his own balance and fell back onto the cold snow. When he sat up, the man suddenly disappeared but the words naughty or nice echoed in Billy's mind for a moment. Ignoring the words and the weird feeling that he now had in his stomach, he figured that the man ran off when he yelled out. He slowly got up on his feet and angrily kicked the snow, he walked back home.

When he got home, his mom, Connie and his dad, Peter were home. Connie had her golden hair up in a bun and was wearing her very old pink apron and some yellow rubber gloves, scrubbing the bathroom feverishly. Peter, meanwhile, was pacing back and forth anxiously, combing a hand through his salt-and-pepper colored hair.

"Hey Connie," Billy laughed when he walked in, "are you having fun?"

"Not funny young man," said Connie, walking out of the bathroom and trying to sound more stern than usual, "We need to talk."

"What," he smirked, "You don't like my redecorating?"

"You know how we feel about you coloring your hair with that spray," said Peter.

"But Peter," Billy said mockingly, "I need to express myself!"

"At least let your mother help next time," replied Peter, "so she don't have to clean up the mess!"

"We're way off topic," said Connie, glaring at her husband then at Billy, "Mrs. Elvin called...Did you put a knife to Timothy's face?"

"Yes," he said nonchalantly, "It was aimed at his eye actually."

Connie exclaimed: "What were you thinking? You could've hurt Timothy!"

"This is serious Billy," Peter added.

"He would've been just fine with one eye!" Billy declared.

"Thank God that Mall Santa stopped you and threw that awful thing in the sewer," said Connie.

"Mall Santa?" Billy exclaimed, confused.

"Yes, Mrs. Elvin said that Timothy adorably told her that Santa saved him so she figured that it was the nice man from two houses away that dresses like Santa Claus at the mall. We forgot his name so we've been calling him Santa."

Billy had seen that guy before and the man that he saw that day definitely wasn't him.

"It wasn't him," he said, "it was a deranged homeless man."

"Don't be that way," she scolded, "I would make go over and apologize to Timothy but dinner will be ready soon."

"Not hungry," he sighed, "Thanks anyway Connie." Then, before either of them could stop him, he went into his room. He heard Peter yell out his name but he shut and locked the door. Later, when he was watching a movie, he could hear them whispering at the dinning room.

"So you agree?" asked Peter.

"Yes," replied Connie, "We have to. He almost killed Timothy."

"And we can't control him," Peter remarked.

"He isn't our son anymore," she spat, "He's a monster!"

Billy thought that they were taking him to therapy or sending him away to some reform school.

"I'll get out of it," he thought with an evil grin.

The next day was Christmas Eve. It was five in the morning and Billy was still having a demented dream about people being eaten by huge soldier nutcrackers, the people screaming in agony and their blood spraying everywhere. This made his warped mind happy until he woke up to a growling, hungry stomach. He should've eaten the night before but he thought that Connie's cooking was gross and wasn't in the mood to choke it down at the time. As he got out of bed and was about to walk pass his window to get some early breakfast, he saw the old man from the day before watching him from the front of the house.

"I'm not afraid of you!" Billy shouted through the window.

Suddenly, the man just started screaming. At first, Billy just was laughing at him but then, the man's screaming got higher in pitch. The pitch got higher, higher, and higher until the sound became unbearable. It felt like his eardrums were bursting from the sound. Billy was on his knees, covering his ears. To his disbelief and horror, his ears were actually bleeding. The window shattered in front of him. The man's mouth also became inhumanly wider with his jaw dropping down low as if unhinged. The man was utterly monstrous looking.

"Stop it," yelled out Billy, sounding like a scared, little kid for once, "stop it, please sto---!"

The screaming stopped abruptly, the man was gone, his ears weren't bleeding, and the window wasn't broken. It was as if nothing had ever happened. He was now just on his knees, looking like he was about to pray in front of the window.

"I was just sleep walking or something," he lied himself, as he got up from the floor and blinked away tears.

Later that day, Connie was going to some last minute shopping for the Christmas dinner. She said:"Timothy is coming over soon for you to apologize."

"um no," he said.

She ignored him and continued: "Your dad just went to town to pick up his subscription from the store. He'll be back in five minutes. Please don't...hurt Timothy." Then before she went out of the door, she also said with a smile: "It's Christmas Eve, Santa's really watching now. Better watch out."

"Whatever," he muttered, as she left.

One minute after she left, the doorbell rang. He wasn't going to apologize to a little kid. He was going to send him home with a "nice" threat. When he opened the door, he was expecting Timothy but the old man walked in, carrying a sack over his shoulder. Billy tried to push him out but it was too late. The man even locked the door, reaching out for him and exclaiming: "You better watch out, you better not cry, better not pout, I'm tellin' you why...I'm in town!"

Without hesitation, Billy kicked him in the gut and the man was hunched over in pain for a second, dropping the sack. Billy then ran into the kitchen. He tried to get into the knife drawer to get a weapon but it was locked.

"Seriously?" he exclaimed. Thinking fast, he broke a wine glass. When the man came in to grab him, he deeply cut his neck with a jagged piece of glass. The man staggered back a bit but wasn't giving up.

Billy dashed away into the bathroom and locked the door. He was desperately searching for anything to use as a weapon. He didn't have much time. The man was already slamming himself against the door to open it. Finally, he saw the hairspray. Hairspray could burn a person's eyes like pepper spray. He faced the door with the bottle of hairspray in hand, as the man burst in the door. Before Billy could act though, the man sprayed Chloroform mist in his face. The small bottle was hidden in the sack before so Billy couldn't see it. The sweet smelling mist burned Billy's eyes and nose until darkness enveloped him and he fell back.

By the time that both of Billy's parents came back home, the man had him in the sack, waiting for them.

"Is it over Mr. Claus?" asked Connie.

"Yes," he replied, patting the sack, "This evil boy won't hurt anyone else."

"Thank you so much," Peter said, shaking his hand.

"I just wish that we were better parents," sighed Connie.

"It's not your fault," Santa replied, kissing her kindly on the forehead, "I see it all the time. He's just a bad seed."

Connie just hugged him.

"Now," he said, "I must be off. I want to teach this boy a lesson before my deliveries tonight."

"Wait," exclaimed Peter, "will people notice that he's missing? What do we say?"

Santa chuckled merrily and said: "That's my second part of my gift. At midnight tonight, no one will remember that he ever existed...even you."

"Thank you," they said in unison.

Carrying Billy in the sack, he got on his sleigh that appeared out of nowhere, which was going to pulled by eight reindeer. As he began to go up and up into the air, on his way to the North Pole, he called out: "Merry Christmas!"

When Billy finally woke up, he was strapped to a cold, metal operating table with a bright, white light shining down in his eyes.

"Where am I?" he asked groggily, his head pounding.

"At my workshop at the North Pole," said Santa dryly.

"So if you're Santa Claus," Billy said, "then why are you so ugly?" Even in this frightful state, he was still mean.

"To the nice children and parents, I'm the Santa that everyone knows and loves...the snowy white beard, the bright red suit, the twinkling eyes, the rosy cheeks...the whole bit, but to the naughty ones, I'm their worse nightmare."

"But I thought that Krampus kidnaps bad children," replied Billy, now getting scared, "not you!"

"Krampus is just a myth and I only take the bad children when their parents want me to...like yours did."

"But..."

"That's enough talking for you," said Santa, "I have work to do." From a tiny bottle, he poured a clear liquid down Billy's throat. At first, Billy only tasted cool, peppermint but then, he felt his vocal chords freezing up. He could still breathe but couldn't speak or scream.

Using a rusty butcher knife and without warning, Santa then chopped off the small wedges of his ears, blood splashing everywhere. The pain was unimaginable but all that Billy could do was cry silently. The torture continued when Santa began to stitch what remained of his ears to a point until they looked like elf ears. Then Santa painfully sewed corners of Billy's mouth into a big smile.

When he was finally finished, he unstrapped Billy and said darkly: "Now my elf, time to meet your new brothers and sisters."

He dragged him down a long hallway and pushed him in a darkened room. The other "elves" or former bad children were mute and smiling but were pleading for help through their eyes, as they were continuously making toys.

"Merry Christmas Billy!" cackled Santa, shutting the large door thunderously and locking it.

As Billy stood there, traumatized and in pain, he knew that he'll be forced to make toys forevermore, while he'll be internally screaming. He should've watched out, he shouldn't had cried or pouted because Santa Claus was in town.

(c)Lena Holdman, all rights reserved 2017

Merry Christmas and smooches! ❤ 💋