Whiskey Santa Part 2: Santa’s Satanic Christmas

“Oh, fuck! Jill, stop! We’re gonna crash!” Santa tried to pull the naughty woman’s head out of his lap, but it was the only thing keeping him warm on this frigid, winter’s night. “Jill!” yelled Santa again at the twenty-year-old blonde college student coupled with his pelvis. They were crashing. Rudolph couldn’t see shit in this snowy-hailing storm. “Rudolph…bank…right…now. Oh, keep going baby!” yelled Santa, his eyes rolling back in his head like a possessed man…possessed by pleasure at a price.

“What is that?” said Mr. Waterson, looking out of his window with anxiety. He had put up signs all around his house asking Santa to permanently skip his residence. It had worked for a year so far. The neighbors had not taken to this too kindly, but who could blame him, after what had happened in 2020? He could hear a man howling with building sensitivity, as he crashed like a hot, uncontrolled meteor through the night. “Oh no…” said Mr. Waterson. He knew exactly what was about to crash through the side of his house. The howl grew louder as the whole Christmas event came crashing down.

“Oh, shit! Jill! Yes, yes! Oh, that’s it now!” said Santa’s familiar voice, growing dangerously close. Presents splattered everywhere like an uncontrolled current. Santa stood up and cracked his back and neck with a long stretch. His face was bleeding but he couldn’t feel it. The whiskey coursing through his veins made sure of that. “Jill? Rudolph?”

“What the fuck are you doing here!” yelled Mr. Waterson, the veins popping out of his temples with rabid animosity.

Santa squinted at him before pulling the revolver out from beneath his belt. “You! Where is she? What have you done with her!” he yelled at Mr. Waterson.

“What? Who? Are you actually fucked out of your fucking mind! You just crashed through my house, you maniac!” Mr. Waterson’s eyes travelled downward towards Santa’s lap. “Oh, fuck! Put that thing away! What’s wrong with you!”

Santa tucked his joystick back into his pants while continuing to aim the rusty revolver at Mr. Waterson’s face. He squinted again. “W-Waterman? Is that you?” Santa threw the revolver on the ground and gave Mr. Waterson a big hug before he could answer.

“Yes…yes, it’s me,” replied Mr. Waterson, straining beneath the strong bear hug. Santa was a lot more powerful than he remembered.

“Waterman! What’ve you been up to?” said Santa, as if greeting a long lost friend.

“Santa…don’t take this the wrong way, but didn’t you see the signs up around my house?”

Santa let go of Mr. Waterson and squinted outside. “I need my glasses,” he said, running his large hands along each of the pockets of his red-white coat and pants. He felt his front pocket and grew curious. “Is that it?” Santa pulled out a familiar ring.

“You made a new ring? No! Fuck that! We are not doing that again!” screamed Mr. Waterson, recognizing the similarities to Santa’s previous ring of chaos.

“What? This little ring?” said Santa, placing it in his palm and petting it with his gloved index finger.

“Don’t…touch…that…thing!” said Mr. Waterson, recoiling from it as if it were the anti-Christ.

“Fine. Good God man, what happened to you? You’re acting like a little bitch!” said Santa, grabbing his flask and taking a healthy swig. At that moment, his rusty revolver, which he had previously thrown to the ground, decided to go off. The bullet struck the fireplace and ricocheted off the warm steel, striking the ring in Santa’s palm. The tumbling bullet had also ripped through his white glove.

“Huh? Wh-what happened? Where am I?” said Jill, getting up to her feet from behind the sofa. She wobbled on her high heels like a newborn deer.

“Oh! Sweetie! There you are!” said Santa, stumbling over to meet her. Rudolph pulled himself up as well out of the gaping hole in the floor. The crash landing had really done a number on the Waterson residence. Santa looked up and cocked his head to the side. “And who is this lovely lady?” he said, staring at the brunette woman peeking down from the top of the stairs.

“That’s my wife, Lisa Waterson,” said Mr. Waterson.

“Honey, what is he doing here? I thought that you had sorted this out,” said Lisa, her hand wrapped tight around her son’s shoulder.

“If I were to skip this house, how would poor Marvin here get his presents this year? He’s been a good boy,” replied Santa with a violent hiccup that made him lose his balance. He then retched loudly as the whiskey churned inside his fat belly. Marvin pointed his little index finger at the window. There was a look of terror printed within his brown eyes.

Outside, there was a long line of reindeer; each of them still strapped into their harness. Most of the bells were still connected to the harnesses with a couple of exceptions. They were the rest of Santa’s reindeer.

“Are they alive?” asked Mr. Waterson, still looking around for Santa’s ring of chaos. Right as he posed the question, one of the reindeer popped his head up. Half of its face was missing. It had one eyeball that had a reddish glow and an exposed eye socket that was blacker than a clear night’s sky. “No…” whispered Mr. Waterson under his breath without moving his lips. “Not again! Please, do something!”

Santa was moaning in the corner. He was swapping saliva with Jill as he held her in a passionate embrace.

“Hey! They are starting to come back to life!” yelled Mr. Waterson at the top of his lungs. He went to grab his shotgun from behind the Christmas tree. Part of him knew that this would happen, so he was prepared with plenty of shells to spare.

“What are you talking about?” said Santa, squinting out of the window. His loins had come back for round two, presenting the accumulated passion in a large bulge. He saw the reindeer crawling towards the house. “Oh that? That’s Dasher. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine,” said Santa, clicking the hammer back on his not so trusty revolver, and taking aim. He aimed directly at the gaping eye socket and pulled the trigger. Both Santa and Mr. Waterson were surprised when the gun worked seamlessly on the first try. The shot ringed through the living room and found its mark. “See? What was so terrible about that?” said Santa, acting like a hero in front of Jill as he twirled the revolver around on his gloved index finger as if he were in a Western. The gun went off in mid-twirl, splattering Jill’s brains all over the ceiling. “Oh shit!” yelled Santa, taking a few steps back.

Mr. Waterson’s eye grew large with disbelief. “Is she…is she…dead?” he whispered.

Santa looked at him and frowned. “No, Waterman. She’s alive. You know, people tend to live after they’ve had their fucking brains splattered all over the room! What do you think! Of course she’s dead, and it’s your fucking fault!”

“How is it my fault! You came crashing in here. You took out that stupid ring. You twirled your pistol. It’s always you!” There was an awkward silence as Mr. Waterson stared at Santa, panting like a winter wolf. He’d inadvertently pointed the 12-gauge pump shotgun in his hands directly at Santa’s fat belly.

“That’s a nice shotgun. Much better than the one that melted away to pieces from the demonic entity we’d summoned. Remember?” Santa had a look of nostalgia in his eyes that infected Mr. Waterson like a silent disease. He too missed the rush they had gotten from killing the dead and variety of risen creatures that night.

Mr. Waterson snapped out of it when he realized what Santa was doing. “What do you think you’re doing?” he said, watching as Santa put the ring on his finger and began twisting it into different shades of colors of all the spectrums in the universe. Santa had found the ring next to Jill’s limp body.

“What does it look like? I’m trying to resurrect her. I love her,” said Santa, taking another swig from his flask of whiskey.

“Love her? She’s a child, for Christ’s sake!” Mr. Waterson placed the shotgun on his shoulder and aimed at Santa. “I am not fucking around this time. If you twist that ring one more time, you’ll join your girlfriend in Hell, or wherever it is that you holiday heroes go!”

“Waterman, I love her. She might be young, but she’s an old soul…and she’s talented.” Santa smiled and licked his lips. “She has the talent of an eighty-year-old granny with no teeth. See? Look, look!” he placed his gloved finger into Jill’s lifeless mouth and pulled back on her upper lip. “See those perfectly shaped, white teeth? You wouldn’t even know that she had teeth with the things she’s capable of doing.”

Mr. Waterson felt sick to his stomach. “You’re a twisted asshole, you know that?”

“Yes. And you’re as stupid as you’ve always been. Haven’t you ever heard of a distraction before?” Santa showed Mr. Waterson his ring, which was now glowing bright yellow. He’d been twisting the crap out of his ring while he was telling Mr. Waterson all about Jill and her “skills.”

There was a low moan outside. Both Santa and Mr. Waterson peeked out the window and gasped as the reindeer, including Dasher whom Santa had just shot through the eye socket, were reanimated. The bells attached to each of their harnesses rattled out of tune. The sound was closer to a horror movie soundtrack than it was to the joys of Christmas. “Get Cindy, Marvin, and Lisa out of here. And turn off the lights!” hissed Santa, taking out the two spent shells from his revolver and replacing them with two fresh bullets that looked very peculiar, even to Santa. Santa sighed and stomped his foot as he growled at the ceiling.

“What? What’s wrong?” whispered Mr. Waterson, staring at the two bullets sticking out the chamber of Santa’s rusty revolver.

“The problem is Mrs. Fucking Claus! I told her to pack me some bullets for my revolver, because I was busy trying to make sure that all the elves were actually doing their job, and what does she do? She packs me candy cane, summoner bullets! And not just that, they are too big for this pistol,” said Santa, trying to click the chamber shut. The butts of the two bullets were sticking out. They were about half an inch too big.

“What do you mean ‘summoner bullets’?” said Mr. Waterson. The word “summoner” was a trigger for him, seeing as last time, Santa had summoned a demon that had almost murdered them and burned down the Waterson residence. Without answering, Santa had twisted his ring again, causing it to shine red and white: the color of candy canes. The bullets got larger when he carefully twisted the ring to the right. When he twisted it to the left, they began to shrink. “Don’t do that!” said Mr. Waterson with a growl of frustration.

“Shut up, Waterson! This takes concentration. Do something useful and give us an update on what those reindeer are doing outside,” Santa snapped back, his tongue sticking out of this mouth with concentration. It was difficult to make sure that the bullets were exactly the correct size. If he was off by even half a millimeter, the entire revolver would explode in his hand, scattering his dismembered fingers all over the room.

Mr. Waterson recoiled with fear, almost tripping over Santa’s boot when he looked out the window. Dasher’s bullet-holed, empty eye socket was inches away from the cracked window. “What in God’s name — ” cried Mr. Waterson, staring up at the towering abomination standing in front of them. The reindeer had been squeezed into a single creature, joined by their harnesses. The long, leather line that connected them acted as a spine for this new antler-riddled giant walking on two reindeer carcass, constructed legs. Its arms were long and wide, covered in sleigh bells.

“Shoot it!” yelled Santa, finally snapping his revolver shut with the correct sized bullets. Mr. Waterson let out a deafening shot from his 12-gauge shotgun. It splattered bits of deer and burnt fur all over the side of the house. The abomination groaned like a choir of deer. It slammed its giant fists through the roof of the house, completely caving it in as if it were made of hollow ice.

“Lisa!” yelled Mr. Waterson, watching in horror as the staircase came crashing down. He’d spent hundreds of thousands of dollars fixing his house from the events of 2020, but at the moment, all he could think about was the safety of his family.

“Good, you’re bleeding,” said Santa, brushing a gloved hand over Mr. Waterson’s shoulder. A bit of shrapnel from the crashing house had tagged the desperate father and husband. He winced as Santa brushed his hand over the fresh wound. Santa shot two shots from his revolver at the abomination while moving towards the fireplace. It wasn’t lit. The abomination raised its powerful arms again, ready to deliver the killing blow to this out of proportion party. Santa emptied the revolver into the abomination before its arms were able to make contact with the already wrecked house. The last two bullets, which were candy cane, summoner bullets, shot out like fireworks on the Fourth of July, startling the abomination as well as Mr. Waterson. The first bullet froze the abomination into place, freezing the entirety of its unholy body to the side of the house and the front yard. The second bullet summoned something. Mr. Waterson instantly took a few steps back when he saw the summoned little creature running around with incredible speed. It looked like a dachshund that moved around upright on two scrawny legs. It had ugly black fur that looked dirty and petrified with oil. Santa had managed to light the fireplace, using his whiskey as fuel and lighting it with a match.

“What the hell is that creature?” said Mr. Waterson, backing up into Santa without looking. He knocked the jolly, fat man into the fireplace. Santa shrieked as the flames engulfed his red and white coat and pants. His beard began to burn as well as his clothes, turning his festive, whiskey, vomit-stained outfit black. Mr. Waterson looked in horror at his own mistake and tried to pull Santa out of the fire.

“You goddamn idiot!” yelled Santa, twisting the ring on his finger until it sprayed a large mist of frost that doused his burning clothes and beard. Mr. Waterson looked at him, petrified with fear of the retribution that still burned in Santa’s eyes. He then started to snicker. “What are you laughing at?” snapped Santa. Half his beard had been completely singed off. His clothes were completely black now. He looked like some kind of charcoal monster born from the flame still gently burning behind him in the fireplace. Mr. Waterson’s laughing subsided and he aimed his shotgun directly in front of him. He pulled the trigger, causing Santa to duck, at the large, seven-foot entity born of shadow. The bird shot didn’t do anything to the shadowy entity, except pass right through his black chest. The BBs ricocheted off the back of the fireplace and hit Santa straight in both ass cheeks. “Waterman! What the fuck are you — ” Santa wasn’t able to finish his scolding. The shadowy entity grabbed him from behind and lifted him as if he weighed nothing. With unholy strength, it flung Santa out of the house, directly into the reindeer abomination. The abomination was still frozen, but the evil, red eyes of the reindeer followed Santa as he landed hard on some black ice. The abomination was trying its best to free itself from the ice spell. The ice covering its entire body was slowly cracking here and there as it flexed with incredible strength.

Mr. Waterson knew that it was only a matter of time before everything would team up against them, and come to finish them off. He shot at the shadowy entity again and ran towards the staircase as fast as he could. He climbed up the stairs, afraid that he would fall through the cracked floorboards of the rickety stairs. “Lisa!” he yelled, checking the master bedroom first. There was no sign of her or the children. “Marvin! Cindy! Anybody!” he yelled frantically. He gasped when he found his wife and children hiding in the closet of the childrens’ shared room. “Come out! We have to go. Now!” he strapped the shotgun on his back by its sling, and grabbed both Marvin and Cindy in each arm. Lisa opened the window, and as a family, they slowly made their way onto what remained of their splintered roof. Mr. Waterson looked behind him and was relieved to see that nothing was following them. The summoned creatures seemed to all have forgotten about him and his family. Right at that moment, he heard a gunshot ringing through the cold winter’s air. It had come from the other side of the house; the side where Santa had been flung to.

The Waterson family had all safely landed onto the thick snow after jumping off the lowest part of the roof, one by one. “Honey, let’s go!” hissed Lisa, looking to her husband with a worried look in her eyes. She knew when her husband had those puppy dog eyes, it meant bad news. It happened when he was riddled with guilt.

“Come on you fucker, is that all you’ve got?” said Santa from the other side of the house, his voice ringing in the distance. This was immediately followed by a series of blows that caused Santa to shriek and scream out in pain.

“Ian…no,” said Lisa, realizing what her husband was planning on doing.

“Take the kids and get away from here as fast as you can. Go to your sister’s,” he said as he grabbed his shotgun from his back and reloaded it with fresh shells.

“No!” yelled Lisa after her husband. She gasped when she saw the little black creature that looked like a rodent, prancing around on its two, scrawny hind legs. It was watching them from the side of the house, hugging the wall. It had a long snout with a black nose, and an evil smirk had crept onto its mouth below. Razor-sharp fangs protruded from beneath its upper lip. Lisa grabbed the kids and ran as fast as she could, as her husband had advised.

“Hey, little one,” said Mr. Ian Waterson as he approached the little black imp. The little creature whined at him like a puppy. It looked cute and innocent. It was neither. “You came out of one of Santa’s summoner bullets, didn’t you?”

The imp shrugged and ran at Mr. Waterson. It hugged his knees, looking up at the shotgun-wielding man with beautiful blue eyes.

“Aw,” said Mr. Waterson, dropping his guard.

The imp suddenly sunk his teeth into Mr. Waterson’s left kneecap. “Ow! You little shit!” screamed Mr. Waterson, striking the imp repeatedly in the side of the head with the butt of his shotgun. “Let go!”

The imp let go and scurried off towards the commotion on the other side of the house. He looked at Mr. Waterson with a sour face and showed him his black, furry palms. Two fireballs spawned on each palm, floating just above the fur. They were blindingly yellow with streaks of light blue churning within the expanding spheres. The imp then smiled at Mr. Waterson, before flinging both fireballs at the frozen abomination.

The ice prison housing the terrible reindeer horror instantly melted and sizzled away, until all that was left was a dirty, reindeer fur infested, bloody puddle. Within in, it stood there with soaking feet…the terrifying abomination. It towered above everything, and the ground shook as it turned around to see what had happened to Santa. Mr. Waterson caught a glimpse of Santa. He was surprisingly still alive, wrestling with something on the snow. Both he and the shadow entity were as black as the night, making it difficult to tell who was who.

Mr. Waterson took aim at the abomination as it slowly made its way over to Santa, one giant step at a time. He fired shot after shot, spraying the creature with BBs. It seemed to get its attention, though Mr. Waterson hadn’t thought beyond this. It took chase after Mr. Waterson as he began to circle the rubble that was his house. “Santa!” he yelled, trying to run and reload at the same time, all while doing his best to not slip. “The ring! Turn it! Do something!”

Santa looked over the shoulder of the shadow creature that had him pinned down with unholy strength against the melting snow, soaking through his exposed back. The shadow creature punched him in the face and Santa laughed. He spat out a tooth and grinned at its incoherent face. “That all you got?” Santa then raised his hand and turned the ring until it turned as dark and invisible as a black hole. He then punched the shadow creature in the jaw, causing it to let out a terrible, high-pitched scream of agony. Santa punched it again and again, until the creature was spitting out what appeared to be liquid shadow, before cowering away. “That’s right, bitch! I’m Santa Claus, mothafucka! Who did you think I was? Some mortal halfwit?” he yelled, spitting out a healthy ball of bloody spit, and grabbing the tooth which had been knocked out of his mouth. He stuffed it into his pocket right as the echoing gunshots grabbed his attention. “Waterman” he whispered. He brushed his gloved hand against what was left of his burnt beard, collecting as much blood as possible, and spat again.

The imp was staring at him from behind the half-ruined snowman that Marvin and Cindy had built the previous fortnight. “You! Come here, you cute little thing. You’re a blood imp aren’t you? Deprived of the liquid of life. Well, I got plenty to give you, if you’ll help me and my friend,” said Santa, rolling up his sleeve and showing his scratched up, bloody and bruised arm to the imp.

The imp looked interested as it poked its head up like a meerkat from behind its snowy hiding spot.

“That’s right boy! You are a boy, ain’t you?” said Santa looking down between its legs as it slowly approached him like a cautious, wild animal. “Oh, yes! You are a boy. A big boy!” said Santa, noticing the little imp dragging a giant ballsack over the snow. How isn’t he freezing with an exposed sack like that? thought Santa to himself.

The imp ran up to him and sunk its fangs into Santa’s forearm. “That’s right. Have as much as you’d like. Hey, Waterman! Bring that thing over here!” yelled Santa.

“Help me!” screamed Mr. Waterson, as he continued to run from the abomination. It had started to growl at him, growing frustrated with this circular chase around the house. The shambling horror finally made a pass by Santa and the imp. The imp was turning a deep, scarlet red from all the blood that he was sucking out of Santa’s forearm.

“Oh yea…that’s it!” said Santa, moaning and enjoying the imp’s powerful sucks.

Mr. Waterson caught a glimpse of Santa enjoying his suck a bit too much as he barely dodged a swiping blow from the abomination. “Santa! Help! What are you doing? This thing is gonna kill me!”

“Waterman! I was just about to…never mind. Do your thing, baby boy. Summon those who would suffice!” said Santa, looking down at the now chubby imp. The imp was plump and dark red from all the blood that he had consumed. He let go of Santa’s arm and belched loudly after falling onto the snow. The imp looked extremely sleepy. “Hey! Don’t fall asleep yet, baby boy. You’ve got to uphold your part of the bargain,” said Santa, giving the imp a playful little kick. The imp frowned at him and shrugged. It started to move its little arms in circles. After a couple of cycles of tai chi looking moves, red flames began to appear in its red palms. The flames grew larger and brighter with each subsequent cycle. He flung the flames onto the ground next to him, sizzling the snow away. The imp then stretched its fat body and made himself a little snow pillow before curling up and falling asleep.

The red flames died down and all that was left was the rising steam from the snow melting. Right when Santa was about to say something, a woman slipped through the steam, as naked as the day she was born. She had beautiful auburn hair and pink nipples that hardened instantly when met with the cold winter’s air. Santa’s jaw fell open, and his hand automatically went for the flask in his pocket to take advantage of this opening. He took a horrible gulp that turned his stomach sour and stumbled about a bit.

“You sweet, little thing,” he mumbled, still stumbling around, perpetually trapped within a drunken stupor. “Oh, you sweet little thang!” Santa approached the naked woman, walking over to her in a pronounced S shape. When he finally reached her, two more naked women popped up behind the auburn beauty. One was blonde, the other had flowing brown hair that went down past her waist. They wielded black leather whips, which they used to take turns whipping Santa. “Ow!” he yelled, as his extended hand was swiped out of the air before it could make contact with the naked woman’s porcelain skin. “Oh, that’s it! I’ve been a naughty boy.” The brunette swung her whip perfectly around Santa’s neck and began choking him out.

“What are you doing! What is that? Come help me with this thing, you drunk, perverted, useless shithead!” yelled Mr. Waterson as he dodged another gargantuan swing from the behemoth at his heels.

“I’m…a little…busy…at the…moment,” replied Santa, straining as the leather whip tightened around his neck. “Imp…imp! Wake up!” said Santa, his face turning purple. The imp was snoring away on the snow with a smile of satisfaction on his face. Santa, just about ready to pass out, swung his head in a semicircle, lifting the naked brunette off her feet. He whipped her around with his bruised neck and swung her onto the abomination. He then pulled the candy cane-shaped dagger out of his boot and cut through the leather whip, still wrapped around his neck. The blonde and auburn-haired, naked women looked at each other and then charged Santa with a demonic shriek. Santa pulled out his revolver and skillfully reloaded it, surprising even himself. Must be the whiskey, he thought to himself. He fired one shot into each of the charging women’s chests. It pained him to do so, but he immediately took back any regrets which he was feeling when he saw them taking on their true form. They were demons, more precisely, they were succubi. The trio of women were still beautiful, but in a different way. Their skin had turned red like the imp’s, and they had sprouted ribbed horns from their foreheads that twisted and turned into long, horrifying shapes.

One of the candy cane flavored condoms fell out of Santa’s pocket as he was reaching for more bullets. He grinned and laughed, holding up the condom for the succubi to see. “I can also be ribbed, ladies…for your pleasure!” The condom was instantly whipped out of his hand with an echoing smack that carried across the entire neighborhood. The succubi did not seem injured by the bullets lodged in between their breasts. Instead, they seemed uncomfortable. Santa rubbed his eyes with his free palm when he noticed little hands pushing out from the bullet holes. “Oh, shit!” he exclaimed when he saw full arms reaching out to him from wounds he’d afflicted to the succubi. He looked down at his revolver. Summoner bullets, he thought to himself. The arms eventually appeared to be attached to little bodies dressed in green and red. They were elves…his workers from the North pole, though he did not remember their names. The succubi screamed as two little elves climbed out of their chests, their little eyes widening at the view with both confusion and arousal. The elves pushed off their squishy, yet firm breasts with their feet and landed gingerly on the snow.

“You summoned us, sir?” asked the larger of the two, wiping the black, demonic blood off his green shirt.

“Yes. Do something,” said Santa, looking over at the succubus, riding the abomination as if trying to break in a wild horse.

“What?” said the other elf.

“Something. Anything. I’m making this up as I go. I wanna go home and jerk off in front of the fireplace. No, no…I’m gonna resurrect Jill and take care of her in my cabin.”

“So…you want us to resurrect Jill?” asked the two elves at the same time.

“No! Help that motherfucker over there running in circles like a headless chicken. Then, when this is all over, resurrect everyone, got it, Billy?” said Santa, killing what was left in his flask in one gargantuan gulp.

“It’s Randy, and sure…we’ll take care of it, sir.”

“Call me daddy,” replied Santa, pinching his right nipple with a clenched fist. The whiskey was stuck in his throat, burning his vocal cords.

“What? Daddy?” said the shorter elf. Randy, the taller one, rolled his eyes, realizing that Santa was plastered beyond normal, which was already irregular as fuck, with a certain regularity.

“Yes. Daddy. Mmmm. That’s me. Watch this,” said Santa, taking aim at the abomination, which was now fighting the succubus clinging to its back, biting into its neck like a vampire. The deer corpses that made up its neck cried out in pain as their snouts were bitten with sharp, demonic fangs. He fired the remaining three shots in the chamber, before reloading the revolver and firing all five shots again. The abomination stopped in its tracks, turned to face him, and let out a deafening growl that blew a cloud of rancid steam in Santa’s direction. “Fuck!” exclaimed Santa. “I gotta start brushing each of your teeth!” He looked at his reindeer and winked at them. “Don’t worry, boys and girls, you’ll be back with me before you can say, bibimbap!”

The abomination ran towards Santa with steaming rage. It raised its clenched fists at the last second, ready to bury the jolly man into the snow. Randy and the shorter elf stood in front of Santa with folded arms. The shorter elf looked to Randy for guidance and then back at Santa. Santa looked back, worried. None of them seemed to have a plan, and the abomination was about to topple them over like a bowling ball. The abomination suddenly stopped and fell to its knees, sliding on the snow. More elves started spawning from each of the gunshot wounds, inflicted by Santa’s rusty revolver, filled with Mrs. Claus’ trusty candy cane, summoner bullets.

“Hello…hello…how are you?” said a symphony of elves as they crawled out of the reindeer carcasses. “Oh no! What happened here?” they screamed in unison when they realized how terribly wrong Christmas had gone (yet again). The abomination let out a deafening groan of agony as it realized what the elves crawling all over its body were up to. They had pulled out the small daggers that they kept tucked away in their belts for trimming presents and making the final adjustments, and had started to slice through the long, leather line that connected them. The abomination twisted and turned as its leather spine was severed, sending the reindeer carcasses plummeting to the snow, one by one. The succubus, desperately clinging to as many carcasses as possible, also fell to the ground. The elves had started to sing as they continued to work in unison.

Ho, ho, ho, trap the little ho.

Let her burn in snow.

We hold her down, and return her to Hell!

Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas,

Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.

The elves continued to exorcise the brunette succubus, until she dropped to her knees and fell through the snow. The ground opened up and swallowed her whole, back to Hell. The remaining two succubi tried to make a run for it. However, they could not outrun the elves, swarming them with their little legs, torsos, and gloved hands. They too were sent back to Hell. The shadowy entity had long since disappeared once it had lost its fist fight with Santa. It would now roam our world, stalking those it chose for the pleasure of torment.

Santa shook his empty flask at Randy and cleared his throat. Randy rolled his eyes and touched the flask with his index finger, instantly filling it back to the brim with fresh, eighteen-year-old aged whiskey. “That’s the spirit, Billy!” yelled Santa with a boisterous laugh, giving the elf a strong pat on the back that almost sent him flying across the front yard.

“It’s Randy!” snapped the elf, punching Santa in his fat gut, forcing the jolly man to keel over. All the elves gasped, and everyone went quiet. “What? He had it coming. You’ve seen the way he treats us! He’s just a drunk, fat, good for nothing piece of crap that cheats on Mrs. Claus, year after year! It’s time that we take what is rightfully ours. He doesn’t put in an ounce of sweat into the presents that we put together with haste and perfection every year! We need to stand together! We need to — ” Randy’s head was blown to pieces, splattering blood all over the snow. The elves gasped and covered their eyes, unable to look at their gored friend and colleague.

“No one talks to Santa that way,” said Mr. Waterson, stepping forward from behind the puddle of blood that had been Randy a few seconds ago. The barrel of his shotgun was smoking, and to add some more drama to the already tense situation, Mr. Waterson pumped the shotgun, ejecting the spent shell.

“Waterman…what the fuck!” screamed Santa, picking up the mangled flesh that was Randy. “Billy, no!”

“Uhm, excuse me. Santa?” said the smaller elf. “It’s no big deal, really. I mean, it’s fucked up. But we can resurrect him. One snap of my fingers and he’ll be back to normal. As will all the reindeer, and anyone else who died from this unfortunate turn of events tonight.”

Santa’s eyes lit up and a grin made its way across his burnt face. He instantly winced at the pain and placed his index finger and thumb on his ring. He twisted it until it shined as bright as a star. When the blinding flash was over, his body and clothes had returned back to pristine condition. “Do it. Resurrect everyone,” said Santa. “But before you do…” He felt inside his left pocket this time and pulled out a regular, rusty bullet. He placed it in the chamber of his revolver and slammed it shut. “Just for shits and giggles, Waterman. This is for putting a sign up in front of your house, publicly banning me from making my way over to your house for Christmas!” Santa pulled the trigger, firing a shot straight through Mr. Waterson’s throat. He then walked over to him and watched as he gasped for air. “Relax. It’ll all be over soon,” said Santa, standing over him with an evil grin. Mr. Waterson had a look of pure surprise in his eyes as life faded away from him. “Time to go!” said Santa, patting the short elf on the back. The elf snapped his fingers and emitted a large, sparkling circle that swept across and inside the Waterson residence. Santa had already gone inside and grabbed Jill.

“Where am I?” she asked as Santa carried her quickly to the sleigh. The reindeer had all been magically brought back to life with brand-new harnesses and new leather straps. Mr. Waterson gasped as he too was resurrected. He felt his throat, trying to find any evidence of a gunshot wound. When he remembered what had happened, he sat up with a growl and grabbed his shotgun.

“Wait, wait!” yelled Santa, pushing Jill’s head down so that her pretty face would not be shredded to pieces again by yet another gunshot. “Let’s not do anything stupid! We are even. Fair and square.”

“Fair and square!” growled Mr. Waterson through clenched teeth. “You shot and killed me. You actually killed me! There’s no coming back from this!”

“Yes, but I brought you back to life, didn’t I…well, technically my elf did, but that’s beside the point.” Santa ducked as Mr. Waterson fired his shotgun at him, spraying the side of his sleigh with BBs. “Good thing I installed some bulletproof doors and floor for this sleigh,” said Santa, looking over at Jill. “Seriously…you’d be surprised how many people shoot at me and my reindeer as I’m passing through the sky. Hiyah!” yelled Santa, whipping his reindeer without looking up from the sleigh. Mr. Waterson kept shooting at the sleigh door to no avail. He contemplated shooting Santa’s reindeer but decided that they’d been through too much abuse for one night already.

“I’ll be waiting for you next year, you got that!” yelled Mr. Waterson with a clenched fist into the sky. “I’ll be ready with tricks that even you and your ring cannot be prepared for! You hear me, Santa! Next year, you’re dead!”

“Merry Christmas, Waterman. Ho-ho…here you go!” Santa’s voice trailed off as his sleigh picked up speed. Mr. Waterson squinted as he saw four boxes falling out of the sky. They were presents, wrapped neatly with the kind of attention to detail that only elves can provide. Mr. Waterson ducked as the first present crashed into his driveway. It was a brand-new TV, which was now shattered to pieces. For Lisa, his wife, Santa had thrown down the crockpot that she had asked for. It landed gingerly in the snow, as did Marvin and Cindy’s presents. They were toys again, of course. Mr. Waterson felt even more betrayed, seeing as how his gift, the most expensive of the bunch, was the only one that was destroyed. It had to be deliberate.

“Oh, Jill! You truly are gifted, you know that? You’re the real Christmas present, baby,” said Santa, his voice echoing in the distance. Mr. Waterson looked at the elves, still standing there in the snow. Randy, now resurrected, gave Mr. Waterson a look of fury and snapped his fingers. The Waterson residence was instantly restored to its former glory, and before Mr. Waterson could turn around to apologize and thank the elf, all the elves had magically disappeared. Not even their footprints remained in the snow, making it seem as if none of this had truly happened.

Mr. Waterson walked inside and exhaled. He was thankful that he was alive and that his family was safe and sound away from this nonsensical mess. He was about to call Lisa when he noticed a little red and black creature peeping down at him from between the balusters. His jaw dropped when he realized that the imp was still here.