The North Pole wasn’t what the stories claimed. Sure, the workshop hummed with productivity during the day, and the elves wore cheerful smiles, but once night fell, the magic twisted into something darker. Santa had always known there were rules—ancient, unspoken laws that kept the North Pole and its magic intact. For centuries, he followed them. But tonight, the rules broke.
The Warning
It began with a noise—a low, mournful wail that echoed through the empty halls of the workshop long after the elves had gone to bed. Santa was in his study, poring over the Naughty and Nice lists when the sound reached him. It made his chest tighten, his breath hitch. He set the list down, adjusted his spectacles, and rose.
“Elsa?” he called, his voice steady despite the unease prickling his skin. The wail ceased.
Then came the scratching.
It started faintly, like a rat in the walls. But it grew louder, more deliberate, as if something sharp was carving through wood. The sound came from the workshop floor below. Santa grabbed the enchanted lantern from his desk and made his way downstairs, the light casting long, flickering shadows.
The Silent Workshop
The workshop was wrong. The air was heavy, thick with a metallic tang. The conveyor belts stood still, their gears creaking faintly in the oppressive quiet. Half-finished toys littered the tables, their painted faces smudged and distorted, their smiles eerily crooked.
In the centre of the room was the sleigh.
It gleamed under the dim lantern light, but something was off. The wood wasn’t its usual polished mahogany. It was darker, almost black, and streaked with crimson veins that pulsed faintly as Santa approached.
A sound made him stop—a soft, wet dripping. He glanced down and saw it: a pool of viscous red spreading across the workshop floor, leaking from the sleigh.
Santa stepped closer, his boots sticking slightly to the floor. “What in the world…”
The scratching resumed, louder now, coming from inside the sleigh. Something was moving.
The Unseen Passenger
The sleigh’s crimson veins pulsed harder as Santa approached, his lantern trembling in his grip. He leaned forward, peering into the dark interior. At first, he saw nothing but shadows.
Then a pair of eyes opened—two pinpricks of glowing red that pierced the darkness.
“Who’s there?” Santa demanded, stepping back. His voice wavered. He hadn’t felt fear like this in centuries.
The eyes blinked slowly, and a voice whispered, low and guttural: “You made me.”
Santa froze, his breath catching. The voice was familiar, yet wrong—twisted, corrupted. It was deeper than any elf’s voice, with an edge of something inhuman.
“I don’t understand,” Santa said, gripping his lantern tightly. “What are you?”
The thing in the sleigh chuckled, a sound like dry leaves scraping against stone. “Your mistakes. Your greed. Your broken promises. We’ve been waiting.”
The Elves' Betrayal
From the shadows around the workshop, movement stirred. Santa spun, raising his lantern high. Shapes emerged—small and hunched, their silhouettes unmistakable.
“Elves?” Santa called, relief momentarily flooding him. But as they stepped into the light, his heart sank.
Their faces were gaunt, their eyes sunken and blackened, weeping trails of oily liquid. Their mouths stretched into grotesque grins, their teeth jagged and yellowed. Their once-bright uniforms were torn and stained, their hands clutching jagged tools and splintered candy canes fashioned into crude weapons.
“We’re tired, Santa,” one of them rasped, their voice hollow. “Tired of your endless demands. Tired of giving everything while you take.”
Santa backed away, his stomach churning. “I never meant to—”
“Lies!” another elf shrieked, stepping forward. “You sit in your grand chair, while we bleed for your holiday!”
Behind him, the sleigh groaned, the pulsing veins intensifying. The thing inside laughed again. “You see, Claus? They summoned me. They wanted me.”
Santa turned back to the sleigh, dread pooling in his stomach. “What do you want?”
The creature’s glowing eyes narrowed. “To end you.”
The Pursuit
The elves surged forward as the creature inside the sleigh began to rise, its form unfolding unnaturally. Long, spindly limbs clawed at the edges of the sleigh as it pulled itself free. Its body was a grotesque mockery of Santa himself, dressed in a tattered red suit soaked with blood. Its beard was long and matted, and its mouth was a jagged maw, dripping with black ichor.
Santa swung the lantern as the elves closed in, the enchanted light flaring brightly and driving them back. He ran, his boots pounding against the wooden floor, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Behind him, the creature howled, its voice shaking the walls. “Run, Claus! Run from what you’ve made!”
The workshop twisted around him. Corridors that should have led to safety stretched endlessly, their walls closing in. The lantern flickered, the light dimming with each step.
The Final Confrontation
Santa burst into the reindeer stables, slamming the door shut behind him. The reindeer were frantic, their eyes wide and rolling as they kicked at their stalls. He turned to face the door, raising the lantern as the howling grew louder.
The creature burst through, its antlers scraping the ceiling, its clawed hands reaching for him. “You can’t escape,” it growled, its voice layered with countless others. “You’ve fed me with your neglect, your greed, your lies.”
Santa gritted his teeth and raised the lantern high. “I’ll stop you. I’ll fix this.”
The creature laughed, a deep, mocking sound. “Fix it? It’s too late.”
The lantern flared one last time, blindingly bright. The creature shrieked, its form flickering and dissolving like smoke. The elves screamed, clutching their heads as the magic overtook them.
The Aftermath
When the light faded, the workshop was still. The elves lay unconscious, their grotesque forms reverting to normal. The sleigh was gone, its crimson veins replaced by smooth mahogany. But the air still felt heavy, oppressive.
Santa staggered to his desk, his hands shaking as he clutched the Naughty and Nice lists. The names had changed. Written in black ink, scrawled in an unfamiliar hand, were the words:
YOU’RE NEXT.
From the shadows of his study, something chuckled.🎅🏻
1 comment:
Another good and creepy story, Wizard.
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