Whiskey Santa Part 3: Santa Goes to Hell

Mr. Waterson lay low in his study, upstairs. His shotgun was trembling in his sweaty palms as he waited for Santa to come howling through the night again. “Come on, you bastard!” he muttered to himself.

“Ho-Ho-Ho…Merry Christmas!” said a surprisingly jolly voice. It sounded like how the true Santa Claus should sound like.

Mr. Ian Waterson turned around like a guerrilla fighter getting ready for an ambush. He pointed the shotgun’s barrel at his office door. There was a muffled thud from downstairs. “Come on out! I know you’re here, you son of a bitch!” When nothing happened, Mr. Waterson slowly made his way downstairs. The stairs creaked loudly, announcing his arrival, but he didn’t care. He didn’t have anything left anymore. “Turn around! I wanna see your face as I pull this trigger!” yelled Mr. Waterson, as he caught Santa placing presents by the fireplace. There was no tree or decorations this year. Only a wild man patrolling an empty house with a shotgun.

Santa turned around. To Mr. Waterson’s surprise, he looked jolly and fat, and sober. “Hey, Ian…” said Santa. “I got you a new present. If you want to pull that trigger, then pull it. God knows I deserve it.”

The shotgun trembled in Ian’s hands as tears streamed down his cheeks. He couldn’t kill this jolly man standing in front of him, behaving as innocent as a newborn fawn. “You! You took everything from me! Everything! And now you come strolling in here all proper, for the first time in your fucking life…and you expect me to just forget the past? That little demon that you summoned, that you forgot to take back with you last year, has taken my family! I haven’t seen them for months! I know in my heart that they’re dead, and it’s your fault!” Mr. Waterson’s index finger began to tighten around the trigger.

“You’re right. It is my fault…but they are not dead. They’re simply, in another world with different rules and values,” replied Santa. “I’ve decided to quit drinking. It’s been three-hundred and sixty days since my last swig of whiskey. Mrs. Claus arranged an intervention with the help of the elves, and they convinced me that I need to lay off the sauce. Too many people get hurt whenever I drink, and being Santa Claus and all, that ain’t a good look.”

Mr. Waterson’s index finger moved away from the trigger. “You’re going to make this right. Use your ring, or whatever it is that you need to use, and give me back my family.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” replied Santa.

“To Hell with you and your ‘recommendations.’ You’re doing it, and afterwards, I’m gonna take you out into the woods, and put you down once and for all, you son of a bitch!”

Santa exhaled sharply. “Fine. I owe you that. But just be warned, your shotgun isn’t going to do anything inside the realm of demons. As I said, it’s a different world with different rules and values.” Santa took out his ring and extended his gloved hand. “Take my hand, and I’ll teleport us to the realm from which I had summoned the imp. I’ll show you your family, even if it is the last thing that I do.”

Mr. Waterson took his hand, while holding the shotgun in his other hand. He’d made sure to pack plenty of shells. “What now?” he said, when nothing happened. Santa was holding his hand tightly. Mr. Waterson could feel Santa’s strength radiating through his gloved, sausage fingers.

“Now, we burn.” Santa picked Mr. Waterson up and threw him into the fireplace. With a twist of his ring, the flames engulfed Mr. Waterson’s body, burning him hot and cold. Before Mr. Waterson could let out a scream, Santa jumped on top of him with all his weight. They burned together until the light of this world turned into shadow, covering their eyelids like a blanket of decay.

Mr. Waterson inhaled deeply and rubbed the soot off his skin. “What? What the hell was that!” he frantically yelled.

“Quiet! They’ll hear us. We have to whisper. We are in their world now, remember? If they catch us, they’ll skin us alive.” Santa stood up and extended his hand again. Mr. Waterson took it, and together, they slowly made their way through the dark cave.

The cave walls were scarlet and covered in something shiny and flexible, yet hardened. “What is this stuff?” asked Mr. Waterson, as they continued their journey through the endless cave. They seemed to be going down, instead of up…though Mr. Waterson couldn’t be sure. The concept of up and down was skewed by sensory deprivation.

“Human skin,” replied Santa, unfazed.

Mr. Waterson stopped in his tracks. “Human skin?” he repeated with a gulp. “Where are we?”

Santa scoffed. “In Hell. I thought that that would have been self-explanatory. Demons come from Hell, including little imps. Come, we have a long way to go.” The cave grew narrower and narrower, until the two bewildered men were forced to crawl on their knees. “You know, this is good. Mrs. Claus would be proud of me for going out while helping a friend.”

“I’m not your friend. And what do you mean, ‘going out?’” Mr. Waterson snapped back.

“Well, you got to realize that you and I are doomed. We are in Hell. There’s no leaving this place.”

Mr. Waterson grabbed Santa’s leg and the duo stopped crawling through the narrow cave. “You didn’t tell me that before I agreed to tag along with you.”

“Let go of my leg, Waterson…something is coming!” Santa was suddenly plucked out of the hole like a helpless gopher. “Let go of me, you satanic, demonic, miserable abomination!” yelled Santa at the tall creature, carrying him by his right arm. He punched the demon with his free hand as hard as he could. The creature reacted by flinging Santa across the room. Santa groaned as he tried to stand up.

“No. I much prefer you on all fours, like the lesser beasts that you are. Bring the other one too!” shrieked a terrible, high-pitched woman’s voice. Mr. Waterson was plucked out of the cave and forced to kneel next to Santa, in front of what appeared to be a throne made of human remains and animal horns. On top of the throne, sat a beautiful woman with horns growing out of her temples.

“Who is this woman? What’s going on?” whispered Mr. Waterson.

“Silence!” she screamed, offering the side of his face a swift and powerful kick. “One more word out of either of you, and I’ll add your skin to my personal collection…”

Mr. Waterson grabbed his swollen cheek and looked up at her, confused. Her personal collection? What the hell did that mean? he thought to himself.

“So, you are back after all these years,” said the woman, getting up off her throne and moving slowly towards Santa. She pushed his chin up with her foot and peered into his grey-blue eyes. “What are you doing here? Have all the mortal women up above dried up, unable to quench your thirst?”

Santa pushed her foot off his chin and exhaled sharply. “I’m here to bargain, Lilith, Queen of Succubi.”

The room fell silent. Lilith and her demonic guards burst into laughter. “Bargain?” said Lilith, her sizable breasts moving freely beneath her robe of freshly butchered, virgin’s skin. “And what do you have to bargain with? Your beard?”

“Me” replied Santa, causing Lilith and her demonic guards to stop laughing.

“I’ve already got you…right here at my heels, begging.”

“Yes, but you don’t have my soul. I’ll offer it to you willingly. We can skip the thousand years of never-ending torture, and you can have my prized soul now…today.”

Lilith walked back and forth in front of her throne. Her footsteps sizzled as they dug into the freshly crusted ground, burning hot like a lake of magma. “Tempting. But I have to admit that part of me was looking forward to torturing you for a thousand years…watching until there was nothing left in your pupils anymore…until all the hope had been drained and you had accepted your grim fate.” Lilith grabbed Santa by the beard and lifted him up to his feet with superhuman strength. She peered into Santa’s eyes with her burning, blue and yellow eyes with delight. The delight was quickly drained from her eyes when she saw the truth in Santa’s expression. She threw him to the ground with a grunt and exhaled with pure anger. “Looks to me like you’re already there. You look like you’ve already been tortured for a thousand years and want a sweet release. Suicide by cop…or in this case…by demon.”

“Can we bargain now?” said Santa, growing impatient and getting up to his feet. The tall demonic guards stepped forward with their axes and swords drawn, but halted when Lilith put up her hand. Her fingernails were long and red, and looked more like claws, adept for disemboweling large game.

“What are your terms?” she said, sitting back down on her throne.

“One of your demons, an imp, dragged this innocent man’s family to Hell without purpose or permission. Release them, and you can have me all to yourself to do whatever you wish, for all eternity.”

Mr. Waterson looked up at Santa with utter confusion. Had Santa suffered a stroke or something? This was not the Santa that he remembered.

Lilith sat there, tapping her fingernails against the bony armrests of her throne. She thought about it for a good five minutes, though time seemed to slip by at an unnaturally slow rate in Hell. “Fine! It will be so. Their cages will be unlocked, and the doors made of human bones, tied with sinew, will spring open, giving them an opportunity to escape…if this dedicated husband and father can find them in time, of course. They will have…six minutes to escape, a timeframe honoring the number of the beast. Deal?”

Santa nodded.

“Then kiss me, and seal the deal.” Lilith got up and walked over to the jolly man, her hips swaying seductively. She kissed Santa as though they had a passionate history full of love and broken hearts that hadn’t quite mended. Santa groaned when she bit his lip just hard enough to draw a few drops of blood. He looked away, frowning. “What? Don’t tell me you’ve grown that soft. You used to love the kinky roughness, remember?” Lilith parted her lips and a slithering demonic tongue gently licked Santa’s ear. Her eyes shot down to Mr. Waterson who was looking on with pure disgust. Lilith smiled and laughed, exposing her vampiric fangs. “You have six minutes, starting…now!”

The guards grabbed Mr. Waterson and threw him out of the room, back into the narrow cave.

Before he was cast out to try to fulfill the challenge of retrieving and leading his family out of Hell, Santa threw something at him with such speed that it almost knocked him out. Something grabbed a hold of Mr. Waterson’s ankle, and he was dragged down a new opening of the narrow cave, like a rat being flushed down a sewer system, forked into two distinctive pipes.

“Fuck! Hello! Anyone?” yelled Mr. Waterson, finding himself in a pitch-black, musky cave. He felt around on the sticky ground that smelled of iron, for the object which Santa had thrown at him, almost knocking him out. He touched his brow and winced. There was a cut above his eyebrow that throbbed wet with a small stream of blood. “Hello!” he yelled again into the darkness.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’ll draw his attention…the torturer,” said a man’s raspy voice from the corner of the cave.

“Who’s there?” said Mr. Waterson, finally pulling himself up to his feet.

“What did I just say? Shut the fuck up! The torturer will hear you, and as the fucking name suggests, he tortures souls! You want that? You want him to finger your fresh wounds while you howl for help, like a little bitch?”

Mr. Waterson’s foot kicked something, clattering it across the cave’s sticky floor.

“Boy, if I ever get out of these chains, I’m gonna personally silence you in every single way known to Man!”

There was a terrible growl in the distance. It sounded like a bear mixed with the double-layered voice of a demon.

“Oh, fuck! You’ve done it now! You’ve fucked us both! He’s gonna slice us into little ribbons!” moaned the old man, chained and nailed to the wall.

“Can you shut the fuck up? I haven’t said shit. You’re the one that’s going on like an old, demented woman!” Mr. Waterson snapped back.

“Fresh meat!” said the demon-bear voice. “Who enters my domain with such anger in his voice? I love a feisty one!” A huge demon with a stitched, fat belly walked in. The cave instantly lit up due to the high flames dancing on top of its exposed skull. It had two giant horns growing out like straight swords from its temples.

Mr. Waterson’s heart began to beat in his ears. He winced when he felt a sharp pain in his palm. He looked down. A deep cut, in the shape of a perfect line, had magically been sliced into his hand.

“Ah, it’s you. Mister six minutes himself. She was naughty for dropping you off here. I can smell your blood. That fresh cut means that one of your minutes is up. These are not the minutes that you’re used to back on Earth. Time is fluid here.”

Mr. Waterson crawled as quietly as he could, like a soldier behind enemy lines. He found the round object which Santa had thrown at him. It was a Christmas bulb…a red one with sparkles on it. On it, the name Waterman was etched into the glass. The Christmas bulb suddenly grew as hot as a volcano, forcing Mr. Waterson to drop the bulb, shattering the glass.

“There you are!” growled the demon. It charged Mr. Waterson from the other side of the cave. Mr. Waterson looked down at the shattered remains of Santa’s gift to him. Amongst the broken bits of glass, he could see Santa’s ring of chaos, glowing slightly metallic and brown. “That shiny thing, it’s mine!” yelled the demon with a booming voice.

Mr. Waterson instinctively palmed the ring and slipped it onto his finger. It magically recalibrated its size to accommodate Mr. Waterson’s finger size. He twisted the ringer, displaying all the colors. It hummed on his finger, burning hot and cold with power. “S-Stay back!” said Mr. Waterson, backing up to the wall that housed the chained old man.

“I got him! I trapped him for you, torturer…my master!” The old man wrapped his legs around Mr. Waterson’s waist.

“Let go of me, you demented, old fuck!” Mr. Waterson turned around to punch the old man. His face sank with confusion when he peered into the man’s eyes. It was him…an older and beat-up version of himself. “Who are you?”

“I am you. The version of you who doesn’t find his wife and children…forever trapped in Hell. See?” The old man showed Mr. Waterson his palm. There were six distinct lines covered by scar tissue. “This is what you’ll become! The torturer will make sure of it!”

Mr. Waterson wriggled his way out of the old man’s grasp and punched him with all his strength on the jaw. The ring lit up like a meteor, splattering hot blood, bits of bone, and bits of brain all over his face. Mr. Waterson spat out the old man’s fresh biology, and gagged. “What the fuck…” he whispered to himself, looking upon the gore in horror. The ring had amplified his punch by a million. The old man’s limp body hung there on the wall, headless, lifeless.

The torturer huffed with delight. “Can you feel it? The power radiating from the ring? I can taste it from here! I want it…and I always get what I want, always.” The demon quickly made his way over to Mr. Waterson, and extended his terrible claws.

“Stay back! I-I’ll punch you to pieces, just like I punched him! I swear I’ll do it!” Mr. Waterson’s voice quavered.

The demon cackled, causing the flames dancing on his head to ignite further, changing to a dark blue color. “You reek of fear! No mortal can harm me!” The demon leapt forward, grabbing him by either side of his ribcage. He sunk his claws in between his ribs, causing Mr. Waterson to let out a terrible scream of agony. He grabbed the demon’s face with both hands, and plunged his thumbs into its terrible, glowing eyes…pushing until he could feel its eyeballs stressing beneath the pressure like grapes that were about to burst. The demon let go of him, cursing, swearing, and flailing its claws around blindly.

“I want out of here…I need to get out!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. The ring on his finger responded to his energy. A beam of light was born from it, aimed at the wall. It sliced the cave in two, offering Mr. Waterson an escape route. Before the torturer had a chance to deliver any more fatal swipes, Mr. Waterson, half-hopping, half-walking, made his way out of the cave. He let out a deafening scream when the ring shot another ray, which was aimed at his ribs. It healed him, cracking them painfully back into place, and ridding his bones of any fractures. Once the pain had faded, his attention was immediately drawn to the people walking around. There were hundreds, thousands of people walking around in what appeared to be an endless corridor. It looked similar to the corridor seen in a large church. They were the souls of the damned, locked in an endless loop, wandering around, trying to find a purpose in Hell…a purpose which would never present itself. That was one of the many punishments available to the souls trapped within the layers of Hell. “Lisa! Cindy! Marvin!” yelled Mr. Waterson at the top of his lungs. It was hard to make out the features of the wandering souls from one another. They were grey, lifeless, and uniform, as if possessed by the mundane task of never-ending repetition. They had no hair or eye color. Their stride was the same: slow and disorientated. “Lisa! Are you here? Answer me!” Mr. Waterson winced when he felt the second cut slicing through his palm. He screamed louder. His heart began to race as he began to realize that it was hopeless. “Ow!” he screamed, when he felt another sharp cut on his palm. It hadn’t even been a minute since the last cut! Time is fluid here, he remembered. The more he panicked about finding his family, the quicker his six minutes would expire.

After searching to his limit, Mr. Waterson used the ring to slice another hole in the wall of the endless corridor. He crawled through the hole, stumbling into a deeper layer of Hell. Here, souls were being forced to carry large stones up a hill, which grew steeper and steeper with each step. No one was able to accomplish the task, and they would all inevitably fall back down the hill, with the stones chasing after them…crushing them to death in terrible agony. A demon would then walk around and bring each splattered soul back to life, only to repeat the task. He knew in his gut that his family wasn’t there.

Next, Mr. Waterson visited another, deeper layer of Hell. His hopes of finding his family were quickly running out. This layer wasn’t so much a room or a cave, or corridor. Rather, it was a barren wasteland filled with lakes of blue flame. Mr. Waterson walked around aimlessly. There was no direction or path to follow. There were bodies, which were coupled with the scorched blue-black earth. They had molded with the black rocks, like molten glass.

“Help us!” a woman’s voice cried out.

Mr. Waterson looked down at his feet. There was a woman whose face looked like a freshly cracked egg with a broken yolk. “I will help you, but only if you help me first. Where is my family? Lisa, Cindy, and Marvin Waterson…are they down here?”

“Help us!” she repeated with agony. She lifted her arm up as far as she could, and tried to grab Mr. Waterson’s ankle.

Another man joined in. “Help us!” The rest of the souls, molded into the earth, moaned and groaned in unison. “Help us! Help us!”

Mr. Waterson ran as fast as he could, his heart thumping in his ears. He felt two more cuts slicing across his palm. “Shit! Fuck!” he howled into the darkness. It was an impossible task. He could hear an ethereal woman’s laugh, bouncing off the sky, and inside his head. It was Lilith. She loved to toy with her food before feeding. Mr. Waterson looked down at the ring. “Find my family, you piece of shit ring!” he growled at it, through clenched teeth, that allowed his dehydrated, sticky spit to pass through like a volcano of dripping anger. The ring abandoned him, as it violently ripped off his finger, disappearing into the darkness like a rabid firefly. Mr. Waterson felt the last and final cut, crossing his palm.

“Time’s up. You’re mine!” yelled Lilith with incredible delight in her tone. The darkness encompassed Mr. Waterson’s entire body in cold, silver glass. When he opened his eyes, he was tied to the wall of the torturer’s cave, exactly where the older version of himself had been. Next to him, he saw Santa’s fat belly, hanging dangerously low. The jolly man was snoring.

“Hey! Santa! Wake up!” hissed Mr. Waterson. Santa snored away as if he hadn’t slept in years. “Santa!” Bare footsteps slapped the floor, growing closer and closer. It was Lilith. Mr. Waterson instinctively closed his eyes and pretended to be fast asleep, like Santa.

She laughed when she saw her two prisoners, back in her lair after losing fair and square. Demons are not exactly the most trustworthy creatures, but there are rules which govern them…especially when it comes to the dealings of souls. “Well, well, what have we here? Santa and his poor, mortal friend…back for more.” She leaned in close to Mr. Waterson and ran her sharp fingernails across his right cheek, causing him to clench his teeth. “I know that you’re awake, and that you can hear me. Open your eyes, or I will remove your eyelids with my bare hands.”

Mr. Waterson immediately opened his eyes and stared up at the queen of the succubi. He instinctively tried to wriggle himself loose, but the chains were fastened perfectly.

“You had your chance, to find your family, and in a way, you did. You are all reunited in Hell, though you won’t ever see each other again, except as part of your torture. Maybe you’ll spend eternity watching your family get hacked to pieces, over and over again, while you watch…helpless…paralyzed…unable to do anything. How does that sound?”

Mr. Waterson spat in Lilith’s face. “Fuck you!” He was met with a slap across the face that not only left a huge gash, but almost knocked him out cold. “Santa…” Mr. Waterson drawled, with blood and spit dripping from his dry lips. He stared at him with utter defeat in his eyes.

Lilith cackled like an evil witch, who’d just trapped a bunch of children, ready to be eaten. “You think that he will help you? He’s the reason that you’re here! He betrayed you, just like he betrays everyone who gets close to him!” Lilith grabbed Santa’s beard and pulled on it as hard as she could. Santa groaned and slowly opened his eyes. “Wake up, you fool! Tell Mr. Whateverson over here what a pathetic little shit you are!”

Santa yawned and looked at Mr. Waterson, and then at Lilith. “Huh?”

“Tell him!”

“Oh, right. I am a pathetic little shit, but you already knew that, didn’t you, Mr. Waterson?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” whispered Mr. Waterson. “When did you become so…soft! Do something magical! Get us out of here!”

Lilith laughed again. “He isn’t going to do anything. He’s been neutered of his power and purpose. He’s just another addition to the list of Santa Clauses that have come and gone. His time’s over.” Lilith’s smile grew into an ear-to-ear grin, when she saw Mr. Waterson’s twisted expression of confusion. “You look like a little boy again, believing a fairy tale filled with wonder. When Santa Claus has had enough of bringing and delivering presents from the North Pole, he will simply be replaced by a new Santa Claus. No one, except the elves, know how the new Santa is chosen. This one, your friend, is at the end of his line…” Lilith thought for a second and then nodded. “Makes sense. I mean, think about it. Santa Claus is basically a glorified UPS man. Must be a miserable existence! And have you seen Mrs. Claus? Not exactly a looker, that one.”

Mr. Waterson looked over at Santa. The jolly man had clenched his fists when hearing that comment. He didn’t like anyone who disrespected his wife…especially sniveling demons.

“Well, you two enjoy each other’s company. I’m sure there’s plenty to talk about, before you’re placed inside your individual Hells…tailored for your individuality.” Lilith yanked on Santa’s beard again, and gave him a kiss on the forehead, before she scurried out the room.

Mr. Waterson sat there with his hands tied against the wall, above his head. He looked around the room one last time before closing his eyes.

“You must hate me even more now,” said Santa with a sharp exhale.

“I don’t hate you. I’m tired of hating you. It is literally exhausting in every sense of the word. Disappointed? Yes. But, that doesn’t matter anymore. We failed.”

Santa looked over at Mr. Waterson. “Hey. Hey! Wake up. It’s not over for you. You can still make it out of here. You haven’t made a deal with her. If you can just make it to the top, there ain’t nothin’ she can do.”

“My family is here. She’ll torture them, and take out the anger she has for me on them. I can’t just leave.”

“Did you use the ring? Did you ask it to show you the way out, while offering it a little blood, like I showed you over the years?” Santa twisted his neck up as far as it would go. He couldn’t see the ring on any of Mr. Waterson’s fingers, which were slowly turning purple due to a lack of circulation. “Where is it? Where is the ring?”

“It’s gone. It flew away into the darkness somewhere,” replied Mr. Waterson, uninterested.

“Where? Goddamn it, Ian. Answer me! Open your eyes! Which layer? What did it look like?”

“Blue flames. What does it matter anyway?”

“Oh, you fuckface…you fucking fuck fucker, you little shit!” Santa murmured beneath his breath. Sweat started to form in beads on his forehead.

“What is that? What are you doing?” said Mr. Waterson, looking at Santa with great concern, as the jolly man started to shake in his own boots, mumbling incoherent slurs that sounded tribal.

Santa then pointed his lips up at the ceiling and howled like a werewolf. “Come back, or I swear…I’ll send elves to undo your essence! You’ll turn back into a hunk of valueless metal!” Santa then stopped and held his breath.

“You-You’re crazy, right? You’ve completely lost it? I mean, you were always a crazy bastard, but this…howling? Fuck!”

“Quiet! Listen.” The two men listened intently, hearing nothing but their heartbeats.

“What are we listening for?”

“I said, quiet!”

Mr. Waterson was about to lose his patience, when a high-pitched gliding sound took him by surprise. The sound caused a lot of turmoil in the adjacent caves and dungeons, as demons screamed with horror and confusion as to what was going on. “Oh, shit!” said Mr. Waterson, as the high-pitched cutting sound grew closer. It was headed straight for them, like a locked-on torpedo. The ring shot through the wall, faster than a bullet, and hit Santa square in his fat belly. Santa let out another howl, though this time from pain. The howl ended when Santa’s head hung off his neck, lifelessly staring at the ground. “Santa? Are you alive? Shit!” exclaimed Mr. Waterson, as his attention was drawn to the door.

“What in the six-hundred and sixty-six layers of Hell is going on in here!” screamed Lilith. She’d brought an army of guards with her.

“I-I don’t know!” said Mr. Waterson, very convincingly. He wasn’t lying. Whatever had just lodged itself inside Santa’s belly had moved with such great velocity, that he hadn’t seen a thing…except for a flash of bright light.

“Is he dead?” Lilith felt his neck for a pulse. “How is that possible? This is Hell…nothing really dies here, not unless we want it to.” Lilith nervously rubbed her hands together. “No…he doesn’t get off that easy.” Lilith tried everything to revive the fat man, but nothing seemed to work. He was dead. Lilith turned and met with her guards in secret, while giving Mr. Waterson glares of suspicion. They came back and felt every pocket and hiding spot he had.

“Get off me, you sad fucking demons!” he yelled, as he was invaded in too many ways. They bombarded his face with punches when he wouldn’t stop resisting. Mr. Waterson was seeing double. He was a drooling mess of blood and spit.

Lilith grabbed him by the throat, sinking her nails through the first layer of skin. “Tell me the truth! What killed Santa Claus? What was that hot ball of energy that has all my demons on red alert? Tell me!”

“Fuck…you…” was the last thing that Mr. Waterson managed to utter before he was choked out cold. When he came to, Santa was still lying down on the floor in front of him. “Wake up, you asshole,” Mr. Waterson uttered to both himself and Santa. When nothing happened, Mr. Waterson closed his mouth and sucked on his gums. He collected as much blood as he could, and spat it perfectly into Santa’s open belly wound. “God, I wish that I had some whiskey to numb this pain away,” he said. At that moment, Santa’s belly wound began to gleam yellow. His body shuddered and convulsed on the ground.

“Oh yea, baby!” said Santa, his eyes still closed. “Oh, how I’ve missed you! How I’ve been aching for that aroma, that taste…that feeling!” He pulled himself up to his feet with a grunt. His belly wound was completely healed. He then keeled over again, gagging and retching. The ring flew out of his mouth, magically slipping itself onto his thick sausage finger. “Mmm…” moaned Santa. He twisted his ring of chaos, and a full bottle of whiskey appeared in his hand. The label read, Fuckboi, an Elven Distillery, brewed with passion and hardened love.

“Santa? Are you okay?” said Mr. Waterson, as he watched the jolly man chug the entire bottle of whiskey.

Santa stumbled around and squinted at Mr. Waterson. “Waterman, is that you?”

The hope in Mr. Waterson’s heart slowly began to rekindle itself. “Yes, dickhead…it’s Waterman. Get us the hell out of here!” Mr. Waterson wriggled his wrists in an attempt to draw Santa’s attention to his bonds.

Santa stumbled around and let out a belch that echoed loudly. It was so loud that it must have been heard in every single layer of Hell. “Where are we? This place looks…familiar.” He then squinted at the woman, who’d just walked back into the room with her guards. “Oh, shit! Lilith, you young thing…is that you?” Santa moaned seductively at her…or at least, he thought he did. “You want more of daddy, don’t you, you spicy, demonic, swallowing — ”

“That’s enough!” yelled Lilith, stomping her foot. Her guards stood in front of her with raised axes, that looked as though they could cleave through an entire moose with one swing.

“Mmm…that fire…I missed you, sweetie. See that, Waterman,” said Santa, wrapping his big arm around Mr. Waterson’s neck. “There’s nothing like a hellspawn woman’s fiery passion. Nothing like it. Nothing can warm your loins like — ”

“I said that’s enough!” Lilith’s eyes had changed to a fiery yellow color. Her guards moved in formation, creating a crescent around Santa and Mr. Waterson to block their escape.

“I love it when you talk to me like that, but no one tells me what to do, baby.”

“Who the hell do you think you are? Are you drunk?” Lilith looked at the empty whiskey bottle on the ground.

“I’m Santa Claus, bitch! And y’all won’t be stoppin’ us with your little axes and demonic trickery!” Santa twisted his ring until something brown and metallic appeared from it. He grabbed it and cocked it. It was a Chicago typewriter. Before Lilith and her demons had a chance to say anything, Santa opened fire on the lot of them. He cackled like a maniac as magic bullets sprayed the demonic guards, forcing them to take a knee. They began to retch and vomit up elf after elf.

“Cut that ring off his finger, now!” commanded Lilith, as a whole new wave of demons showed up behind her to see what the commotion was all about. Frenzied gargoyles flew at Santa with extended, razor-sharp claws.

“Oh, baby…you outta time!” yelled Santa, as he twisted his ring again, summoning a fully-loaded shotgun. He blew the screeching gargoyles to pieces with deafening twelve-gauge shots. He pulled a knife out of the strap on his boot, and sliced through Mr. Waterson’s bonds with one swift strike. “Take it, Waterman! It’s a shotgun, your favorite!”

Mr. Waterson grabbed the shotgun and cocked it without any energy left in his fingers. He moaned, on the verge of passing out.

“C’mon Waterman! Where’s the fight in ya? Think about Cindy. Think about that beautiful, sexy woman…Lisa was her name, right? Your beautiful wife? Mmm…Waterman, you gotta save her. She’s still got so much life inside her.”

“You son of a bitch!” screamed Lilith, as she raised her hands into the air. Two giant red circles appeared in either palm, and when she brought her hands together, the circles exploded and fell to the ground. From their remnants, two beautiful women were born, like the opening teleportation scene from Terminator. They stood there, big-breasted and as naked as the day they were born.

“Good God!” exclaimed Santa, his jaw dropping instantly. “And where did you two beautiful women come from?”

Mr. Waterson tugged at Santa’s arm. “It’s a trick, she’s playing you!” he hissed, as he tried to lift the shotgun. His strength was utterly spent, and his various wounds and gashes were rendering him weaker by the second.

Santa lowered his Chicago typewriter, and grinned wickedly at the two women, who were giggling at him seductively. “Oh, you two remind me of Jill. You look…ravishing.” Santa dropped the Tommy gun, and stepped in between the two women. He placed his arms around their shoulders, and leaned in for a kiss. The moment he did, the woman closest to him exposed her sharp fangs and went for his neck.

“No!” screamed Mr. Waterson, finally finding the strength to be able to lift the shotgun with the added adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“Oh! You call that biting my neck and sucking me dry? I’ve met mosquitos tougher than you!” yelled Santa, as the second succubus joined her sister, to feast on this jolly, demented man.

Mr. Waterson closed one eye and aimed down the barrel of the shotgun. “Stop moving! I can’t get a clear shot.”

Santa wrestled the naked succubi to the floor, like Hercules wrestling a pair of poisonous serpents. He was laughing as he did it, causing the succubi to look at each other with terror. This wasn’t the demented, plastered reaction which they were used to receiving when preying on weak men. “That’s it! Drink my blood! All of it…every last drop!”

The succubi became enraged when Santa taunted them, and threw them around the ground as if they were rag dolls. Lilith was about to join in to put an end to it, when she noticed something that drained the queenly confidence from her eyes. Her loyal sister succubi had started to foam at the mouth. Their veins had started to turn purple and protruded through their fair skin. “What did you do to my sisters!” snapped Lilith, walking over and giving Santa a swift kick in the face.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“What did you do!”

“It’s not my fault that they drank my blood, after I downed an entire bottle of Elvish Fuckboi whiskey! Your greedy sisters got what they deserved!” said Santa with a pronounced slur.

“Oh, I’m going to rip your arm — ” yelled Lilith, but her sentence was cut off by a loud pop from the shotgun in Mr. Waterson’s hands. He pumped the shotgun, clattering the spent shell onto the ground, and fired again, ripping Lilith’s entire body to pieces. He fired again and again, until she looked like a freshly hacked sausage without the casing.

Santa got up off the ground and twisted his ring again. “Oh, fuck! Wrong turn!” he exclaimed.

Mr. Waterson gave him a look. “What do you mean? Whenever you say that, somehow, our situation goes from bad to worse. What’s worse than Hell?”

“Relax, Waterman. Hell is…a freak show. Trust me, it ain’t the worse thing out there.” An elf climbed out of Santa’s ring and landed loudly on the floor. This didn’t look like any elf that Mr. Waterson had ever seen. Even Santa was taken aback by what he had just summoned from the North Pole. The elf spat on the ground. He had a scar running down the entirety of his grimacing face. His arms, legs, torso, and neck were buff beyond belief…as if he had been born with dumbbells in each hand. “Be careful, Waterman. Don’t say anything to piss him off. This elf…is not like your typical elf.”

“Yes, I can fucking see that,” Mr. Waterson mumbled under his breath. The elf growled and peered at him with eyes that would scare even the demons of Hell shitless!

“This is Kane. He used to be the leader of the North Pole Special Forces…before the incident,” said Santa, twisting his ring again. Another bottle of Fuckboi Whiskey appeared out of thin air. Santa skillfully broke the bottle’s seal with his teeth and took a gargantuan sip.

“What incident?” said Mr. Waterson, not sure if he was being trolled by Santa. “North Pole Special Forces?”

“Yes, Waterman, NPSF for short. The incident…you know, the incident. I-I don’t think that Kane would want me to bring up such a sore subject again, especially in front of strangers.”

“All your sweet words, Santa, will not save you from my blades. I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment. I’ve dreamt about it, imagining what your half-dried blood would taste like, as I ran my tongue along my blades.” Kane reached inside his pockets, and pulled out two phallic weapons.

Mr. Waterson raised an eyebrow. “Are those…two dildos?” he said, barely able to contain his giggles.

Kane gave him a death glare. “Don’t worry, I’ll get to you later! But first, the fat man must die!” Kane leapt into the air and did a somersault, before landing in front of Santa. He poked the jolly man in his fat belly with his off-hand dildo. With his main-hand weapon, which was slightly longer and had more girth to it than his off-hand dildo, he slashed Santa across the chest. The head of the dildo was so sharp that it sliced clean through Santa’s thick beard, causing the strands of white hair to fall to the ground.

Mr. Waterson shot a shell into Kane’s back, causing the elf to fly into the wall. “C’mon!” he yelled, as he grabbed Santa, and together, they fled the room. “What the fuck kind of Special Forces is he? Dildos?”

Santa looked at Mr. Waterson with a beard that now resembled a freshly trimmed Amish beard. “How the fuck should I know what kind of Special Forces spawn out of the North Pole? I just live there. These elves…they are from there. Their evolution of late has been…interesting to say the least.”

“I’m going to skull fuck you both! You hear me! There ain’t a layer that can hide you from me…not in Hell…not anywhere!” yelled Kane. They heard rustling inside Lilith’s cave.

Mr. Waterson and Santa ran for their lives, passing different types of demons left and right. The demons were confused as to why these two men were not afraid of them. “Help us!” said Santa, grabbing a demon that looked like a flayed minotaur by the horns. “He’ll kill us all!”

The demon pushed Santa back with a roaring growl, and stomped its hooves against the ground, getting ready to charge and run them through with its horns. Sparks flew from its hooves that screeched against the blood-soaked stone, like chalk against a dry chalkboard. Right before it was about to charge Santa and Mr. Waterson, its attention was drawn behind it. Kane barged into the corridor of demons without a shirt on. His chest and back were riddled with buckshot, but it didn’t seem to hamper him, or slow him down in any way. If anything, it had fed the fury which kept him on course. Much like his face, his chest and back were covered with scars from previous encounters.

Santa and Mr. Waterson ran in the opposite direction and strutted down a flight of stairs, which led to one of the lower levels of Hell. The last thing they heard in the corridor was the minotaur-like demon charging Kane, and letting out a deafening squeal of defeat as the snap of its neck echoed throughout the corridor. “Shouldn’t we be going up?” said Mr. Waterson, panting as he made his way down the stone steps as quickly as he could.

“You want your family, don’t you? If I know Lilith, and demons in general, they imprisoned them in the very belly of the beast. We will need to go all the way down, Waterman…all the way down to the abyssal layer of Hell.”

“Who dares enter, reeking of fear!” hissed a blubbering voice, that sounded as though it came from someone who had drowned ages ago. In the middle of the dark room, there was a pond filled with black water. Tentacles as large as those of a kraken, peeked out over the surface of the water, like an alligator patiently tracking its prey. Each tentacle was lined with dozens of black eyes. “I knew that this would happen,” continued the tentacled demon. “I told Lilith that it was a bad idea, bringing you here…especially after all those years that you spent together. She’s too close to it all! It blinds her.”

“She’s dead. I killed her,” said Mr. Waterson, the shotgun still rattling in his sweaty palms. “Do you have any more shells?” he whispered to Santa.

“You don’t need any. It’s a self-reloading shotgun. It can also fire whatever you want, as long as you completely believe in what you are letting loose through its barrel,” Santa whispered back, his breath reeking of whiskey gasoline.

The demon cackled, as it wrapped its tentacles around the edges of its pond, and pulled itself out. It looked like a giant octopus with no eyes, except for on its tentacles. Where its eyes would have normally been, there were two giant mouths instead, lined with shark-like teeth that lined the entirety of each mouth in a perfect circle. “You can’t kill a demon, not in Hell. They will be reanimated, no matter what. All you did, was piss her off.”

There was a loud clattering noise growing closer from the stairs. “I got a question for you, my octopus teacher…do you like sashimi?” said Santa, grabbing Mr. Waterson by the shoulder. The demon looked at Santa, confused. Santa pulled out a grenade from his pocket and threw it into the octopus demon’s pond. The demon screeched loudly and jumped out of its pond entirely. Right as the explosion sent black water up into the air, Santa pushed Mr. Waterson with tremendous force, and they both jumped into the blackwater pond. “Hold your breath, we’re going to swim down. Eat one of these if you start feeling like you’re gonna pass out.” Santa twisted his ring and handed Mr. Waterson the candy that came from it, before pushing his head down beneath the depths. The water was as black as ink, with a slimy thickness. They headed down blindly…all the way down into the circular pond, without any idea of its true depths, or where they would end up. They could hear the sounds of fighting and demonic screeches coming from the top, as Kane dismembered the octopus demon without any difficulty or remorse.

Santa and Mr. Waterson swam down into the abyss, until their ears swelled with an unbearable buildup of pressure. They had swam so far, that they didn’t need to swim anymore. Their body weight was enough for them to start sinking. Mr. Waterson tried his best to eat the peppermint candy, which Santa had conjured for him. He gagged, as the octopus demon’s black ink seeped into his mouth. Mr. Waterson chewed the candy, and nothing happened. It tasted like stale peppermint candy, probably stolen from a restaurant.

“Help!” screamed Mr. Waterson into the black goo. He’d spent all of the fading oxygen in his lungs. He watched as the thick bubbles struggled to creep upwards, through the darkness. This was it. This was the end. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and inhaled the black goo as deep as he could. He had accepted his fate, and was surprisingly calm, as he unclenched his fists and allowed his spirit to leave his body.

“Wake up! Waterman, wake up!” cried Santa, delivering slap after slap across Mr. Waterson’s frigid, pale face. Ian opened his eyes, like an undead corpse opening its eyes during a horror movie. He opened his mouth and coughed up gallon after gallon of black goo. “Good, you’re awake. This won’t work if you failed to wake up,” said Santa, twisting his ring and turning it into an extremely bright flashlight. They were in some sort of stone temple with satanic markings all over the stone floor, walls, and ceiling.

“Where are we?” said Mr. Waterson, barely able to pull himself up to his feet. His body had never felt this heavy before.

“We, my friend, are in the last layer of this forsaken place. Welcome, to the entrance of layer six-hundred and six!” Santa shined his flashlight ring on the giant stone doors in front of them. “That is where your family is safely tucked away.”

Mr. Waterson grabbed his head in an attempt to soothe his throbbing headache. “What happened? Where’s Kane? Where’s the black goo?”

“Kane is somewhere up there, still slicing and dicing demons in an attempt to find us. The black goo is also somewhere up there. You died, Waterman, like a man. I’m proud of you. You didn’t thrash around or anything. You actually died! Then, I used a loophole in Hell,” said Santa, rubbing his hands together with a large grin hidden behind his unevenly sliced beard. “No one really dies down here. I snatched your soul with my ring, on its way to being condemned eternally to Hell…and I carried your stiff body here. Then, I simply slipped your soul back into your dead body, and voilà, here you are! Eh? Eh? Pretty clever, eh?” Santa raised his arms as if he wanted a hug or some kind of recognition for what he did.

“Just give me my family back, so that we can get out of here,” replied Mr. Waterson, weakly.

“Only you can open the doors.” Santa pointed at the stone doors, covered in satanic symbols. There was a medium-sized hole at the center of the door.

“What do I do?” said Mr. Waterson, looking up at Santa blankly.

“Well, I thought that that would be obvious. You need to stick your key inside the hole, and if it’s long and girthy enough, the doors will open.”

“What key?”

“Your ‘family making key,’” said Santa, with air quotes.

Mr. Waterson raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying, that you want me to stick my…johnson inside that hole?”

“Your johnson that is givin’ the good ole’ salute, rather, yes. Is that a problem?”

Mr. Waterson shook his head and smiled. “With you? No. Random, perverted shit like that is to be expected whenever we hear your sleigh bells in the sky.” Mr. Waterson unbuckled his pants with a loud sigh, mumbling angrily to himself.

Santa waited for a while, and then burst into laughter. “You should have seen your face! You were actually gonna do it too! No, Waterman, pull your pants back up.”

“So, where’s the key?”

Santa twisted his ring, and pulled out a giant rocket launcher that was covered in red and white stripes, to commemorate the Christmas spirit. “Say hello to my little friend!” he yelled in a terrible American-Italian accent, before pulling the trigger. The smoke and fire coming out of the rocket launcher was blinding. Mr. Waterson was coughing and choking loudly on the ground, trying to swipe at the smoke to make it disappear. The stone doors leading into the last layer of Hell had shattered, and Santa’s thick boots stepped over him loudly, as he charged inside, yelling like a madman. In mid-charge, he pulled out another bottle of whiskey, and chugged it with such intensity, that Mr. Waterson was afraid that Santa was going to blow up from the still-smoking rocket launcher clasped in his gloved hand. Mr. Waterson pulled himself up to his feet for the fiftieth time in Hell, and walked through the shattered stone doors.

“Lisa! Cindy! Marvin! Where are you!” he shouted through the confused shrieks and growls. The demons had assembled a little army, in preparation for Mr. Waterson and Santa. Mr. Waterson froze in his tracks when he saw the giant demon army which had gathered in vast numbers on the other side of the stone doors. A towering abomination charged Mr. Waterson, but was blown to pieces by Santa’s trusty rocket launcher. Black, demonic blood splattered all over Mr. Waterson’s face, stinging his eyes and mouth. It was still hot from the powerful rocket which had disintegrated it.

Santa grabbed Mr. Waterson, and twisted his ring, summoning a tall and wide shield made of thick ice, for them to hide behind. “What do you say we take this puppy for a drunken ride, like old times?” said Santa, pointing at his ring, and holding out his hand.

“Chaos?” said Mr. Waterson, with a slight smile developing on his blood-covered lips.

“Chaos” Santa assured him. Mr. Waterson grabbed his hand and shook it. Santa ran his gloved hand across Mr. Waterson’s bloody lip, as well as the deep scratches in his cheeks, collecting all the blood.

Santa twisted his ring, summoning a three-headed hound. “Go! Find Cindy, Marvin, and Lisa!” He twisted his ring again, and summoned a snowman. He kept twisting his ring, summoning snowman after snowman, until he had an entire army of growling snowmen. They charged without fear into the front line of the demon army, composed primarily of little imps wearing hell-forged armor. Santa doused his snowmen in whiskey, so that the imps’ fireballs would ignite them. “Take cover!” he yelled at Mr. Waterson. “They got some kind of…bomb in their chests…I think? I don’t remember what kind of bomb I — ” An explosion that rattled the entire underground cave, and last layer of Hell, spewed out flames that frightened even the imps, which were supposedly immune to fire. The imps were blown to pieces, along with the snowmen. Santa’s shield made of ice was barely able to hold on, as it cracked down the middle. He twisted his ring again, summoning a bunch of rectangular things, that rained down from the ceiling. They were giant presents, wrapped in beautiful wrapping paper. They slammed into the heads of all the demonic guards, Lilith and her succubi, and a handful of demons, which both Santa and Mr. Waterson, were seeing for the first time. The presents rained and rained, like an endless storm, infuriating the demons. They thought that they were being mocked by the jolly man and his mortal, who had been nothing but a terrible pain in their asses, so far.

“Surrender now, and we will let you live. We’ve had enough of both of you. You are hereby banished from Hell!” screamed Lilith at the top of her lungs. The presents began to shiver, as if they were alive. Antlers poked through the wrapping paper, but the sounds that were coming from inside the presents were not the sounds of peaceful reindeer. They were the sounds of agitated spirits, suffering to be alive again. Half-rotten, undead reindeer climbed out of the presents in vast numbers.

Santa turned his ring again and a toy appeared in his hands. Mr. Waterson looked at it, and then back at Santa. “Isn’t that the T-Rex that you’d brought Marvin, during the Christmas of 2020?”

Santa nodded and smiled. “Remember how tall it grew with one wrong turn of this ring?” Santa stepped out from behind his ice shield, and threw the plastic T-Rex far behind the demon army’s lines, like a very adept quarterback. He then twisted his ring left as far as it would go. The dinosaur grew and roared loudly, as it too was reanimated. The roar from the behemoth was enough to send the undead reindeer into a feeding frenzy. They impaled, bit, and kicked the demons with unholy strength that the demons could not counter. Lilith, as well as the other demon lords were losing. Only a few had shown up, notably…Beelzebub, Asmodeus, and Mammon. Beelzebub sat in the very back with Asmodeus, trying to avoid the T-Rex and its powerful bites and stomps. Beelzebub’s belly dragged on the ground, filled with enough food to feed a starving country. He was an old, hairless man, trying his best to catch the attention of Asmodeus. Asmodeus was a genderless creature, that took the gender of whatever its onlooker desired. However, in this instance, Asmodeus herself was lusting after Lilith and her beautiful succubi. Mammon seemed to be the only real threat, as he greedily ordered his demons to charge in with no second line to spare. It was all or nothing…it was…everything.

“How are we going to get past all of those demons? We can’t kill them, remember? Nothing that dies here, really truly dies. These demons will just get recycled over and over again.”

Santa thought for a second. His shield made of ice was rapidly melting, drenching them both in soothing, cold water. Mr. Waterson drank the water, licking it like a dog tied to a tree outside during summer. He got more blood from Mr. Waterson’s wounds, and twisted his ring. The ice shield immediately collapsed to the ground with thunderous glory, sending bits of ice everywhere upon impact. Each bit of ice in turn grew tall and wide…taking the shape of a large man. They shaped themselves, until they looked exactly like a giant, ice version of Santa Claus. There must have been hundreds of them. They all opened their frozen mouths and began chanting in unison.

“Jill? Where’s my sexy Jill? I’m cold! I need your woman’s warmth, where are you, sweetie? Jill?” The ice giant duplicates of Santa Claus looked at each other, confused. “Hey! You’re me. Where’s the whiskey?” They seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact that they were in the middle of a war. “Oh, you fucking imps! I’ll eat you! Come here!” they yelled in unison, after the first fireball struck the ice Santa standing at the very front. The Santas took turns grabbing the imps and swallowing them whole. They each looked at their fingers, and twisted their giant, identical rings…summoning everything from zombies to animated nutcrackers.

“They each have their own ring!” hissed Mr. Waterson at the true Santa. “Why’d you do that?”

Santa shrugged. “When have I ever known how to truly use this ring?”

“This is bad. This is really bad! We need to get out of here before this gets out of control!” Mr. Waterson and Santa slipped past the ice giants, unseen. The demons and their leaders were busy combating the uncontrollable gang of Santas, who’d all now summoned giant bottles of whiskey, and were belching fire like dragons, as the imps inside their bellies ignited the alcohol.

“Mmm! Love the taste of these little fuckers! Really brings out the peated flavor of this whiskey, eh?” they all called out to each other in unison. The Santas were making each other giggle and laugh. The demon’s fire was unable to melt their exoskeletons made of ice.

“This way!” hissed Santa, dragging Mr. Waterson past the demons and ice giants, locked in their perpetual battle. Lilith frowned when she saw what they were doing, and moved to the back of the demon army, with scarlet rage burning in her pupils. Santa and Mr. Waterson snuck in through the back, down a tunnel that led away from the battle. Mr. Waterson groaned and retched when Santa let out a drinker’s fart, right in his face.

“Oh, good fucking God…what the actual fuck is that smell coming out your ass? Are your organs rotten or something?” said Mr. Waterson, groaning and moaning. His eyes were watering.

“Quiet! We are here.” Santa looked through the small gap at the end of the tunnel. “I can see them. They’re tied up in the corner…your family.”

“What! Let me see.” Mr. Waterson pushed past Santa to get a glimpse of his family.

“Waterman! Wait!” It was too late. The tunnel collapsed, and out fell Santa and Mr. Waterson, crashing loudly to the ground. Santa groaned as Mr. Waterson landed perfectly on his belly, bouncing off it as if it were a jolly trampoline.

“Don’t move!” yelled Lilith. Her resurrected succubi were standing by Cindy, Marvin, and Lisa, with their claws pressed against their throats.

“Lisa!” yelled Mr. Waterson.

“I said, don’t move! I’m not fucking around anymore! One more step, and we will slit their throats!”

Mr. Waterson looked at Santa, who was stumbling around like a drunk fool. “No one can truly die down here, right?” he whispered to Santa.

“That rule applies to creatures that have spawned from Hell. You can die. Your family can die…but for you, we will make an exception. We will resurrect, torture, and kill the Watersons over and over again, until the end of time…unless, you hand over your ring,” said Lilith, giving Santa a stern look.

“What ring?” replied Santa, nonchalantly.

The top of Lilith’s head exploded with blue flame. “The ring that you used to single-handedly cause all this chaos! I like my Hell to be in order! There are rules that need to be in place, always! My Hell — ”

“Your Hell?” said an extremely deep voice, coming from somewhere behind where the Watersons were tied up. A tall man stepped forth from the darkness, his eyes glowing red. He was clean-shaven and properly groomed, wearing a white suit. He had tattoos all over his neck and hands that danced and moved, depicting stories of an angel cast down from Heaven.

“Forgive me, my Lord. I was merely speaking on your behalf, and trying to put an end to this ruckus!” Lilith stumbled as she bowed down and took a few steps back.

The man looked at her without offering her a response.

“Oh! Forgive me too, baby boy Lu…but this whiskey got my bladder puffin’ up like your wife’s belly after nine months,” said Santa, as the sound of piss spraying the stone ground filled everyone’s ears. “Oh, fuck! That needed to come out. You know that feeling, don’t you, Lu? The need to come out? Like being trapped in a cage?”

Mr. Waterson looked down at Santa’s lap, and then looked up at his family. Lisa looked on with horror at the drunk, jolly man’s exposed manhood. Thankfully, the children were too short to peek above the boulder, which they were tied to. I’m so sorry! he mouthed to his wife, who was staring at Santa with the most intense rage he’d ever seen in her eyes.

Lucifer cleared his throat and smiled. “Have you finished, urinating?” he said, in an impressively proper manner of speaking.

“Oh! Oh! There, now I’m finished,” said Santa, giving it a few shakes, and tucking it back in his pants where it belongs.

Lucifer smiled at him again. “So, what can we do for you, Santa? You are a long way from the North Pole, my friend.”

“Yes I am. How ‘bout we keep this simple? Give us that fine looking family over there, and we will be on our merry way, what do you say?”

Lucifer’s smile turned into a grin. “Well, we could do that, but that would be rude, don’t you think? After all, it is you and your friend who came here uninvited. What do I get in return, for reparations for your actions in my domain?”

“What would you like, oh dark lord?” replied Santa with a ridiculous bow. He then twisted his ring again, and pulled yet another bottle of whiskey out of thin air.

“That ring. If you give me the ring on your finger, I promise you that you and the Watersons will all walk out of here unharmed and under my protection. You have my word.” Lucifer’s grin had completely disappeared, and he had locked eyes with Santa, as best as he could. Santa’s eyes weren’t exactly able to focus on anything anymore.

“Why do you all want this ring so badly? This isn’t Lord of the Rings, ya know? Well, I guess it kind of is. The one ring answers to me alone. It has no other master!” Santa then looked at Mr. Waterson. “And what would a ranger know of this?” He then changed his voice to a higher pitch and tried to do a failed British accent… “He is no mere ranger. He is Waterman, son of Waterman. You owe him your allegiance.”

Lucifer exhaled sharply and cracked his neck. The grin and smile had now been inverted on his face.

“There he is,” said Santa. “There’s the Lu I remember. There’s the face you’d made, when you caught me in bed with Lilith.”

“That is enough!” Lucifer’s deep voice boomed through the entirety of Hell, frightening every soul trapped within its layers…even the demons. The only creatures who weren’t affected by the King of Hell’s scream were the ice giant Santas, who were still stomping and belching fire at the demon army. “You’re going to hand me the ring, and teach me how to use it. Fail to do so, and I will send the Watersons to a place worse than Hell. I’ll send them to purgatory, starting with little Cindy here.” Lucifer’s back cracked and ripped, letting loose two giant, veiny, bat-like wings. He flew over to Cindy and held her, without breaking his gaze with Santa.

“No, please!” begged Mr. Waterson, falling to his knees.

“Fine, you win,” said Santa, pulling the ring off his finger. He then threw the ring in the air at Lucifer. “Go on, put it on. It’s yours!”

Lucifer greedily grabbed the ring, and looked at it, as it changed colors to match the energy of its new owner. It found a chilling dark red and yellow color, caked in darkness and shadow. “That was much easier than I thought it would be,” said Lucifer, looking suspiciously at Santa.

“What can I say? I’m drunk. When I’m drunk, I get generous. Everyone is on the nice list when I’m drunk, including the King of Hell himself! Go on, let me see you put it on.” Santa tried to step closer to Lucifer, but was instantly stopped by Lilith and her succubi. Santa sighed. “I thought that we were going to keep this cordial and nice. This doesn’t seem very nice. I gave you what you wanted, and I’ll even show you how to use it. Now, it is your turn to give up the Watersons.”

Lucifer’s smile came back, quickly turning into a grin. He began to laugh and cackle. Lilith and her succubi joined in. “That’s cute of you to assume that I would not lie. You’ve lost a step, Santa Claus. You used to be sharper in the mind. Maybe, lay off the booze for a while.”

Santa shrugged and walked back to Mr. Waterson.

“Was this part of your plan?” said Mr. Waterson, his eyes tearing up.

“Plan? No plan. I never have a plan.” Santa tapped his foot, patiently. “Just wait, Waterman. The cavalry is coming.”

“The cavalry?” reiterated Lucifer with a raised eyebrow. “What cavalry?”

“You’ll see. You will see.” In the distance, a tapping sound could be heard, followed by frenzied breathing and growling. The ice giant Santas and the demons’ battle grew to a sudden halt. Each side let out cowering screams and terrified screeches. All was silent again, and the tapping sound, accompanied by frenzied breathing, continued. Even Lucifer had a look of panic on his face, which he was unable to hide. “Meet the interdimensional menace himself. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Kane, the legend, the myth, the best warrior the North has ever seen! Kane, The Unstoppable!” Santa was the only one clapping as the elf walked in, covered in black, demon’s blood. Santa had even removed his gloves in order to give the elf the respect he deserved, even if he was trying to kill the jolly man.

Kane looked at Santa Claus, equally confused as to why he was clapping or happy to see him. He charged the fat man with the golden dildos, which had grown in size with each victim they had claimed…and in Hell alone, the numbers were staggering. Right before attacking the jolly man’s bum, Kane stopped and sniffed him. “You…are not Santa Claus. You look like him, but you do not possess his power.” His elvish eyes then turned to Lucifer. “You! You have the power!”

“Me? No, I am Satan…spelled slightly different than Santa. I can understand and respect the confusion.”

“No, you have the power.” Kane began to slowly walk towards Lucifer, dildos raised and ready.

Lucifer let out an uncomfortable chuckle. “I am telling you, you’ve got the wrong guy. You are making a big mistake.” When Kane continued his intimidating approach, Lucifer winked at Lilith, letting her know that she had his permission to attack.

Lilith cleared her throat and commanded her three succubi to attack, while trying her best to hide the fear in her voice. The succubi looked at each other, and then at the dildos clamped in the battle-hardened elf’s hands. That wasn’t all that was hardened in that moment. Kane attacked them with a grin on his face. To Santa’s and everyone’s surprise, Kane turned out to be a gentleman. He didn’t do anything but wrestle the demonic women to the ground, subduing them, one by one. They even smiled at him, impressed by the short elf’s towering strength.

Lucifer cleared his throat again, letting Lilith know that it was now her turn to finish the job, which her succubi were unable to finish. Lilith cleared her throat, and stepped forward.

“No, my dear, you shouldn’t have to face this impossible elf. No one can defeat the might of the leader of the North Pole Special Forces. I know his force. He has anointed me with his thrusts many times, trust me, I know what I’m talking about.” Santa grabbed Lilith and pulled her to his side. Lucifer looked annoyed but not shocked. Demons are mischievous beings with their own personal agendas, after all.

Kane looked at Lucifer like a dog looking at a lamb chop. He licked his lips and attacked the King of Hell himself. Lucifer held up his hand, and twisted his own hellish ring. He turned into a towering demon, and blocked Kane’s attacks, which the elf himself had used the word “dildonic” to describe. He sliced Satan’s arms with the sharp edges of his golden weapons, and tackled him to the ground.

During the confusion, Santa gave Lilith a big kiss on her lips, and ran over to Satan and Kane, who were still locked in their endless wrestle. “I’ll be takin’ that, thank you very much!” said Santa, grabbing Satan’s hand and taking his ring back. He then used the ring to slice through the Watersons’ bonds and pushed them towards Mr. Waterson. “Hold hands, quick!”

The Watersons obeyed and closed their eyes, as a blinding flash lit up their retinas. When they opened their eyes, they let out a scream of happiness. They were back inside their house, which had magically been restored back to its former glory, without any damages.

“Oh, fuck!” groaned Santa.

The Watersons all stopped laughing and hugging each other at the same moment. “What? What happened?”

“It’s January! I didn’t deliver the presents. For the first time ever, I did not deliver the presents!” Santa paced around the room, running his fingers through his unkempt hair. “Oh, shit! This ain’t good. This ain’t good at all!”

Mr. Waterson walked over to him and grabbed both his arms. “Calm down! Deep breaths…”

Santa’s nose whistled loudly, as he tried his best to inhale deeply through his dried-blood clogged nostrils. “Waterson…I don’t think that you understand what this means for your world. There is a law, an ancient law, that states that…if I should, for any reason, fail to deliver presents, my dark counterpart will assume the throne. Krampus! I’m talking about Krampus, Waterson! Do you understand? You thought I was dark? Wait until you see Krampus, and what he will do to your beloved Christmas.”

Mr. Waterson unstrapped the shotgun from his back, and pointed it at Santa. He then twisted the gun around and handed it to Santa. “You are gonna make this right! You’re going to go to the North Pole, and you are going to fix this!”

Santa twisted his ring, summoning another bottle of whiskey. He drained half the bottle in one gulp, and then let out a loud groan, as if his insides were on fire. “Rudolf!” he called up at the ceiling. “Oh, Rudolf!” From the distance, sleigh bells could be heard, as something whooshed through the sky. Mr. Waterson looked out the window. It was Rudolf…only Rudolf. Santa’s sleigh was nowhere to be seen. “It’s as I expected. That sleigh now belongs to Krampus. Poor Mrs. Claus. She wanted an open relationship, but I don’t think she wanted to be with something so…hideous and evil. She’s not into the dark, kinky shit that I’m into. I can be happy with a demon. Hell, you could give me ten demons and I would — ”

“Santa…” Mr. Waterson cut him off. “Focus on the task at hand. Go and reclaim your home.”

“You’re a good man,” said Santa, shaking Mr. Waterson’s hand one last time, before climbing on top of Rudolf. The reindeer huffed and puffed when he felt the weight of the jolly man stretching his spine. “Up we go, baby! Let’s go!”

Rudolf rolled his eyes and took off with added intensity. Santa almost fell off his back, dropping the whiskey bottle into Mr. Waterson’s snowy driveway. Mr. Waterson picked up the undamaged bottle, and looked up one last time, as he watched Santa fly away into the rainbow colors of the sky.