On the night before Christmas, Michael, who was a month away from being ten years old, opened his eyes from his fake slumber and grinned wide. He ducked under the covers and slid off the bed knowing full well the consequences if he were to be caught. But he was older now and in his book that made him ready. Ready to finally see Santa.
Not alone though, of course. For every spy needed a sidekick.
He crept over to his younger sister’s bed and tapped her. She had fallen asleep. The comfort of the bed had taken her away to another world. Yet another side effect of her inferior age.
“Come on, Nina!” Michael whispered.
Nina’s eyes popped open. She squeezed the covers until they were visibly wrinkled and threw them off the bed entirely. She hopped off the bed, intentionally holding back her excitement. It made her robotic but Michael thanked her for the restraint as her excitement tended to cause quite the ruckus. He didn’t thank her out loud though.
Each in their own flower pattern pyjamas—Michael’s blue and Nina’s yellow—they examined each other.
Michael gave Nina an inquiring eye: Ready? It’s time, you’re ready, right? Right?
Nina answered with her movements: Yes! Ready! Readyyyy!
Their door swung forward with the steady creak of a haunted house. The hallway was consumed by darkness—Michael’s very own arch nemesis. Beyond it, soft howls—from both animals and the swift wind—travelled through the midnight black of the dead world. Nina hugged him from behind. Michael patted her on the head and took her trembling hand. At this point he’d begun to wonder if it was the stifled excitement or genuine fear that she was feeling. He for one was quite anxious about the upcoming endeavour. He vowed to not let his endless enemies in the dark take this opportunity from him. They continued on.
At the landing, Michael picked up the candle and match he hid behind the railing earlier that day. Turning on the houselights would alert not only Santa but also his parents. He placed the candle on a copper dish on the floor and struck the match just as a shadow darted away in the corner of his eye. Sshhh—Half-lit, the match fell from between his fingers and disappeared into the darkness of the stairwell.
He was never good with matches and the absence of suitable lighting was starting to really scare him. He took another match and ran it across the side of the box, making sure to focus purely on his hands—unless, of course, something were to move in his peripheral.
Sshhhhwp. A large intake of air and then combustion. Flames glowed high then stuttered to a steady burn. Now for the real test. He held his breath but the more he tried to keep his hands steady the more they shook. He moved it over to the candle and let it sit above until the flash transferred and the candle began its burn. He exhaled relief.
They descended the stairs—Michael holding his sister’s hand and the candle illuminating one step at a time as they went. Subtle crashes and thuds rose from below. That must be him, he thought. Nina glanced at Michael but he looked straight ahead, his mind fully focused on the mission.
Nina let go of Michael’s hand and rushed off, giggling into the darkness. This was bad! Holding her excitement had caused it to overflow. She would ruin the plan.
He chased after her and a cold breeze snuffed out the flame, leaving only the dim moonlight to give sight. No matter. He made each step briskly but carefully, keeping in his mind the words of his mother, “No running down the stairs, Michael.”
Michael stopped at the stairs and sighed with his entire body. Thank God.
Nina was behind the sofa holding her mouth and squealing to herself. She hadn’t done anything yet and it seemed they had made it just in time as he could hear the crunching of cookies. Santa was getting his fill. He joined Nina behind the sofa.
Beside them a large shadow grew and stubby hands placed circular shaped objects in what could be a mouth. It crunched and crunched. The shadow then picked up a glass of milk and chugged it. No manners, Michael thought. That meant it must be him.
This was it. It was the moment Michael had dreamed about many nights. A moment that would cement his place as a kid-in-the-double-digits. And it would make for some elegant bragging. Michael brushed his hair with his hands and Nina did the same. He put on his best grin and came out from behind the sofa.
The unlit candle clattered from Michael’s hand and his grin reversed. It wasn’t Santa. It wasn’t anything like Santa. There, beside the lightless Christmas tree was an amalgamation of green and grey. Santa was fat, but not that fat. This creature was a towering blob with caves spreading across its entire mass. Its tiny eye, that sat at its top, slushed across from one child to the other, observing them lazily.
“A-are … you S-Sa-Santa?” Michael pulled Nina close although she seemed to be more in awe than terror.
“Hello.” She waved.
After a long pause, the creature stretched a misshapen, droopy arm—that formed from its mass—towards Michael and from the ends of its three ‘fingers’, holes opened. They made an awful sound, like someone with a stuffy nose and Michael felt air so strong it blew his hair from his forehead. He wanted to run away but his legs wouldn’t listen.
The creature retracted its arm back into its ‘body’ then it began to fluctuate and an audible gurgle rose as a wide opening appeared at its centre. A strained, almost distorted voice came out.
“Miccch–ael … Wessst.”
Michael nodded, fearfully. He didn’t know what else to do. It was like he couldn’t think past a millisecond ahead. To make things worse, he was close enough to feel the warm moisture from the creature’s breath. It didn’t smell, surprisingly.
“Niiice…”
Its ‘head’ sank and rose, and sank again, deeper. It sounded like it was gagging. A bit of colour peeked out from beyond its ‘mouth’ then it expelled a box. It was a Christmas present. An average sized box brightly wrapped in colour … and dripping, clear goo—with a bow on top.
Michael looked from the box to the creature and back again. “You… you are Santa.” He gulped. Just not the one we were expecting.
The creature repeated the process with Nina. First, it sent out an arm. Nina seemed to misinterpret the gesture; she stretched both of hers as if to give the creature a hug. Michael’s head was clearer now so he began analysing the situation. The sniff must’ve been an identification system. Nina giggled and winced as her hair floated. Typical.
Then the creature said, “Niiina … Wessst. Niiice…”
It vomited up a much smaller present that made up for height in what it lacked in width. The chances of it being a doll were quite high considering Nina’s obsession with them. The creature then looked down at him and his mind went blank again. It stretched both its arms—Michael recoiled while Nina tried to hug it again—giving them two pats each. Michael could also feel the wet sensation of its palm, like water sinking through his hair and onto his scalp.
“Staaay… Niiice…”
Its features shifted around making it look like it had turned its back, even though it had none, then it disappeared up into the fireplace, squeezing through like a large rat going through a hole half its size.
Michael inspected what he thought was his present. The liquid, that could be honey if it wasn’t clearer than water, dripped steadily off the present. He dipped a finger in it and put it to his nose. It smelled like … like Christmas. Not figuratively. Exactly. Like the Christmas trees, like the socks that hung above the fireplace, like the milk and cookies. It was the combination of everything that went into the holiday. He later discovered that the very same goo was also plastered in his hair. He grimaced as he flashed it out.
***
His feet jelly, Michael ascended the stairs with Nina hopping up behind him. He held onto the railing the entire way and although his fearful frown faded his smile never returned. He couldn’t say the same for his sister though. She was ecstatic. She’d finally seen ‘Santa’ after all. He wasn’t a fat, bearded man in red and white though.
As Michael laid in bed trying, and failing, to fall asleep he couldn’t help but wonder: What would’ve happened if they weren’t nice?
KJ Douglas is an emerging author based in Jamaica. He enjoys experimenting with genres but finds himself most at home in the world of horror. He can often be found sitting under trees with pen and paper, developing fresh story concepts.
Published 8/7/26