Silent Night, Sinister Night | Brick of Fiction

Flash Fiction Story | What if Santa coming to town was a bad thing?

Photo by Nik on Unsplash

Welcome to the second of three Christmas tales I’ve cooked up for the Christmas season! Which came to me by asking a question, what would happen if Santa Claus coming to town, was not a good thing.

---

Silent Night, Sinister Night

The night of the 24th befell the town of Hull. And just like every year, the citizens anxiously ran around their kitchens. The preparations for the grand feast were nearly done at the Chester’s.

Mr. Chester was putting together an enormous mountain of food on the table. He looked at his watch and let out a deep sigh. The smells made his stomach rumble and mouth water: the blistering crusty skin of the turkey, the golden potatoes, and the perfectly cooked duck.

So much food—more and more every year—it all started with goddamn cookies and milk.

The kids came running from the living room, their eyes glittering with excitement, but before they reached the food, Mrs. Chester hushed them away.

“The food isn’t for us! “she waved them away, shooting a glance at the clock and then at her husband.

He nodded at her. “There is still time,” he said, his voice hardly making its way through the tightened neck.

The kids kept switching their eyes from one parent to the other. “Why can’t we eat?” one of them asked, caressing his tummy.

“We are hungry, mama!” said the other.

“So are we, honey,” said Mrs. Chester, running a hand through his messy hair. “But the tradition dictates that we fast today,” she said, glancing at the clock again. Half past nine. “It’s close to your bedtime. Go get ready now!”

“But!” the older one began.

“No, buts. Get to your beds!” Their puffy cheeks twisted in a sad expression and Mrs. Chester softened a bit. “We will be right behind you, “she said which made them smile, stomping their feet they ran upstairs.

Mr. and Mrs. Chester, watched them with tears slowly escaping them. They hugged. “We will make it, right?” she asked.

Mr. Chester didn’t answer; he just held her. Like every year, anything could happen; they both knew that.

The night was deep and dark; he was coming.

“We need to finish up,” Mr. Chester said, checking his watch.

She nodded, her hand sliding off his shoulder and together they set up the last touches to the feast, empty stomachs rumbling in synchronous agony. Silent prayers escaped their lips. It was enough; they promised each other. It had to be.

The clock struck eleven and they rushed to the bedroom. The boys were too young to remember the years prior, so they were sleeping calmly and peacefully. Fortunately neither of them questioned why their beds were moved to the parent’s bedroom. Mrs. Chester kissed them on their foreheads, savoring the moment of peace they shared.

Mr. Chester locked the door, and together they sat on the bed, holding hands and praying.

A blanket of silence spread over the town, all lights shutting down at the same time. A single thought went through the minds of every citizen : Will we make it this year? For HE was coming to town.

Lazy snowflakes slowly covered the empty streets with a fresh, crunchy dust of snow. The night was silent, disrupted only by the wind making its way through creaky houses and narrow streets.

It seemed as if the town itself held its breath—waiting.

---

It didn’t have to wait for long before a loud jingle spread through the night. A jolly sound perhaps, yet sinister for the citizens of Hull. The air was filled with jingling, huffing of beasts, and loud cracking of a whip as a sleigh pulled by nine monstrous deer-like creatures rocketed through the sky towards the town.

Eighteen sets of hooves drummed on the ground, creating a small earthquake, the battered sleight landed behind them with a loud smash. The deer monsters let out a growl from their sharp teethed, rotting mouths.

A heavy boot stepped out of the sleigh, crushing the fresh snow under it. A figure dressed in dirty all-red clothes walked around the deer, its hand caressing their curved horns covered in dark steins. The creature put on a red cap with a pom-pom at the end. It used to be white, but it was a shade of faded pink now.

It inhaled the chilly air, savoring the smells of food escaping from the houses around. Its lips twisted in a gruesome smile, and with a satisfied groan it approached the first door. Jingle followed its every step, soon drowned out by the screams. In a moment, the Monster stepped out of the door whistling a carol and moving down onto the next house and the next, leaving red footprints in the white dust.

---

The Chesters listened to the cries outside. Counting the voices they recognized, there was a lot. The Monster usually visited a couple of houses, then left. Maybe it would sate its blood lust before reaching the Chester’s house.

The Chesters held their children clutched to their chests, with hands covering their mouths. Quiet sobs escaped through their fingers.

The snow crunched below the Monster’s feet, every step sending a wave of shivers down their spines.

It stopped in front of their door, smelling the food they prepared; not moving for a tortuous minute. Mr. Chester could hear his heartbeat hammering in his ears. Counting seconds until the Monster would enter.

Nothing happened. It moved, walking away towards the house across the street.

A wave of relief washed over Mr. Chester. He let himself breathe out, his wife mirroring his reaction. They have gone through this many times before. Holding hands they looked into each other’s eyes sharing a thought: once it moves, it doesn’t come back. We are going to be okay.

A loud bang and sounds of shattering wood filled the street; followed by a brief moment of silence before tortured shrieks tore the night, children crying, and above all of that a raspy “Ho…Ho…Ho…” followed by wet tearing, squishes, and sounds of breaking bones.

Mrs. Chester gagged as the sounds reached them. The kids let out muffled cries through Mr. Chester’s fingers. He was frozen. Those people across the street were good neighbors, good friends even, but that was not enough; only the feast mattered before the Monster’s judgment.

The eerie silence came back after the massacre stopped, interrupted by crunchy steps again. The hearts of the Chester family stopped beating as the steps grew closer, closer still. The wooden stairs in front of the house creaked loudly.

Bang—the front door exploded.

The overwhelming smell of food from the kitchen was suddenly drowned out by the stench of fear. Blood froze in all members of the Chester household. Paralyzed, they sat waiting. The quite house got filled by wet smacking of lips.

The food, yes, the food, could save them.

A loud growl echoed from the kitchen, followed by the sounds of shattering plates and scattering cutlery.

The terror overtook the Chester family, prayers frozen on their lips. No god was listening.

The staircase creaked, as the Monster moved from the kitchen. Mr. Chester hugged his family, tears rolled on their faces, as he muttered silent pleas. It loomed at the door of the bedroom now. The smell of blood seeped in under the door.

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

The door gave in, revealing a towering figure. On its red clothes, the blood stains were barely visible, unlike the dirty white beard.

The Monster stepped closer, its glowing ember-like eyes sliding from one member of the Chester family to another. A crooked, sharp-toothed smile shone from its grayish face. It tapped its barrel-like chest and spoke in an otherworldly voice.

“Ho…Ho…Ho…a great feast you’ve prepared,” it said, taking a step closer, “truly delicious.”

The Chesters shook in fear. The Monster’s massive nostrils spread as it inhaled. “but I still have room for a dessert.”

☠️ Happy Chrismassacre ☠️

---

If you enjoy the Fiction Dealer consider supporting with a sub, coffee or by buying my book!