Creative Story: One Sick Christmas
“Hurry up Joe! It’s 10:15, your fifteen minutes late!” Claire screamed
from outside the dressing room with a hint of a New York Accent. Claire was
Santa’s helper at the mall.
“I’m coming!” Joe yelled back. “Stupid kids, I hate kids.” Joe mumbled
to himself while getting himself dressed.
Joe was the Santa at the local mall. Since Joe had just been released
from the mental institution for insanity, the cost of the institution wiped him
out of money so he needed the job badly.When the job was offered to him he
had to take it.
Joe was a scrawny man. Not your usual Santa Clause. He had no rosy
cheeks or round belly, he didn’t have the hearty laugh nor real white hair. His
ribs poked out of his skin and his stomach looked like an empty cave. His eyes
were pushed into his head way more than most people, the dark rings circling his
made his eyes look like they were going to pop out any second. The bones of his
cheeks showed through his dry, pale skin making him look like a zombie.
“Let’s go now!!” Claire screeched at the top of her lungs.
Claire meant this time. Quickly, Joe stumbled out of the dressing room
in a clumsy fashion. Looking like he had just chugged a couple of kegs,
dragged his oversized Santa coat and pants with him hopping they wouldn’t fall
down and left the dressing room. Joe and Claire walked toward where Santa’s hut
was while watching a crowd gather around it.
“Ya know Claire,” Joe said, “I really hate my job.”
“Really,” replied Claire in a sarcastic tone, “Who doesn’t hate little
brats crawling around on your lap.”
Joe sat down in his special Santa chair and waited for the first child
to come forward.
The fist kid was about five yrs. old. Joe thought he was disgusting.
The child was wearing cuarteroy overalls with a white turtleneck underneath.
The cuarteroys had crusty stains of peanut butter all down the front of his navy
blue overalls. Making a revolting contrast between colors. The turtleneck
seemed to have lost its whiteness a long time ago. It was imbedded with red
pasta sauce and olive chunks glued to the sauce. His face wasn’t very
attractive either. On his left cheek a piece of spagetti attached to his skin
dangled and dried mucus flaked off his upper lip. Joe leaned back in remorse
wishing this was all a long terrifying dream.
The kid hopped on his lap and in a happy voice said,
“Hi Mr. Santa Clause, can I tell you what I want for Christmas?”
“Ya sure kid, go ahead.” Joe replied.
As the child dragged on about his stupid toys and things he wanted, Joe
thought about something else, his revenge.
Revenge to get back at all these little punks who have annoyed him ever
since he got the job. He wanted revenge……….badly.
Joe had an idea.
“Hey kid, can you shut-up for a second.” Joe sternly asked.
“Okay” The child answered.
“Since I think you’re my favorite kid of all,” Joe praised, ” I’m going
to give you a special present.”
” What!?!? Tell me! Tell me!!” The kid excitedly asked.
“Something you’d never guess.” Joe answered
” Just come with me after all the kids are gone.”
Joe pushed the kid off his lap before he could answer and the next kid
jumped on his lap.
Joe quickly finished talking to the rest of disgusting, impatient kids,
and turned to see if the kid in the navy blue overalls was still waiting. The
kid stood next to Joe with a selfish, happy, but disgustingly wide grin attached
to his face, stretching from ear to ear.
” Ya ready?” Asked Joe.
“Yippee!” The child screamed. “I’m going to get a present! I’m going
to get a present! I’m going to…….”
“Shut-up kid!” Joe yelled becoming very impatient and irritated. “Now
Joe led the brat into his dressing room and told him to sit by the
closet as Joe shut the door. Joe opened a drawer and pulled out the surprise.
A few minutes later Claire walked into the dressing room, but stopped
dead in her tracks. She screamed. It was too late, Joe had gotten his revenge.
In Joe’s hand was a knife, soaked in blood that was dripping in a rhythmic
pattern to the floor. And on the floor was a child laying in a pool of blood.
His navy blue overalls were stained to the color maroon from the blood and a
piece of spagetti dangled from his left cheek.
you may have the honor of taking the copyright into your own hands.-Jay June