Santa's Helpers
The Truth
I was nine years old this one Christmas evening. Most of my friends talked about how Santa wasn't real. They either found out their selves or their parents told them. But after this incident I knew better.
I didn't really believe anymore after the stories I heard. About two weeks before Christmas mom asked me if I was ready for Santa to come. I said no and that I knew he wasn't real. My dad walked in just then and instead of talking about how they were sorry for practically lying to me and how I was growing up like I had imagined, they gave each other a nod which I assumed was a mutual understanding.
I didn't have any brothers or sisters so they didn't tell me not to burst a sibling's bubble or anything. I was still going to go to bed early for my parents to put the presents around the tree though, just to keep some of the tradition. But since I knew there wasn't anything special to wait for, I didn't force myself to go to sleep like I previously would have.
For the first time on a Christmas eve, I couldn't sleep. I decided to quietly walk to the kitchen, knowing I wouldn't accidentally walk in on something exciting. But boy I was so wrong. In my home, my room was at the end of a hallway and the opposite side of that hallway led to a den with two doors leading to a kitchen and then a living room.
I slowly walked past my parents room, drawing my ear towards their door, listening. The air fan was on so I assumed they were in bed. I made my way into the den and was about to enter the kitchen, not curious to look into the living room, until I heard a noise.
My eyes shot wide open as I froze in shock. Coming down from the chimney was a overweight man who looked like the idea of Santa Claus, white beard and all. Over his shoulder was a huge bag. I was about to run until I saw my dad come out from behind the couch with a razor in his hand. He ran up to the jolly man and slit his throat. The man turned and saw me standing in the doorway, blood seeping from his gaping throat.
Luckily dad didn't notice me. I silently ran to my room and locked the door. Hiding under my covers, horrified, crying... I figured I was delusional, but definitely not dreaming. Christmas day was perfectly normal, my dad showing no sign of what I had previously seen that night. I never asked my parents about it, ever.
Years later I discovered a shocking truth that explained that one terrifying Christmas eve. Every time a couple's first born child has their first Christmas, a Santa, more easily explained as a Santa's helper, appears in their home that Christmas Eve, introducing himself as that family's Santa Claus and explaining that once their child/ren does not believe in him anymore, one of the parents must kill him to avoid over populating the earth of this somewhat universal, supernatural being.
It's a sick, sacred tradition that may never be revealed. I now have children of my own, old enough to know the tru... Shh, there's a noise coming from the living room. I must now do what has to be done.
I didn't really believe anymore after the stories I heard. About two weeks before Christmas mom asked me if I was ready for Santa to come. I said no and that I knew he wasn't real. My dad walked in just then and instead of talking about how they were sorry for practically lying to me and how I was growing up like I had imagined, they gave each other a nod which I assumed was a mutual understanding.
I didn't have any brothers or sisters so they didn't tell me not to burst a sibling's bubble or anything. I was still going to go to bed early for my parents to put the presents around the tree though, just to keep some of the tradition. But since I knew there wasn't anything special to wait for, I didn't force myself to go to sleep like I previously would have.
For the first time on a Christmas eve, I couldn't sleep. I decided to quietly walk to the kitchen, knowing I wouldn't accidentally walk in on something exciting. But boy I was so wrong. In my home, my room was at the end of a hallway and the opposite side of that hallway led to a den with two doors leading to a kitchen and then a living room.
I slowly walked past my parents room, drawing my ear towards their door, listening. The air fan was on so I assumed they were in bed. I made my way into the den and was about to enter the kitchen, not curious to look into the living room, until I heard a noise.
My eyes shot wide open as I froze in shock. Coming down from the chimney was a overweight man who looked like the idea of Santa Claus, white beard and all. Over his shoulder was a huge bag. I was about to run until I saw my dad come out from behind the couch with a razor in his hand. He ran up to the jolly man and slit his throat. The man turned and saw me standing in the doorway, blood seeping from his gaping throat.
Luckily dad didn't notice me. I silently ran to my room and locked the door. Hiding under my covers, horrified, crying... I figured I was delusional, but definitely not dreaming. Christmas day was perfectly normal, my dad showing no sign of what I had previously seen that night. I never asked my parents about it, ever.
Years later I discovered a shocking truth that explained that one terrifying Christmas eve. Every time a couple's first born child has their first Christmas, a Santa, more easily explained as a Santa's helper, appears in their home that Christmas Eve, introducing himself as that family's Santa Claus and explaining that once their child/ren does not believe in him anymore, one of the parents must kill him to avoid over populating the earth of this somewhat universal, supernatural being.
It's a sick, sacred tradition that may never be revealed. I now have children of my own, old enough to know the tru... Shh, there's a noise coming from the living room. I must now do what has to be done.
♠ ♠ ♠
:D