The North Pole’s perpetual night was darker than usual. Thick clouds blotted out the auroras, and the stars were swallowed by the void. The air seemed heavier, colder, and even the reindeer were restless in their stalls, stamping and snorting as if sensing an unseen predator.
Santa Claus sat alone in his study, the fire casting long, flickering shadows across the room. His usual cheer had faded over the years, replaced by a lingering unease. Something wasn’t right, though he couldn’t place what. The elves had grown distant, their once bright laughter replaced by murmurs in the dark corners of the workshop.
Tonight, those murmurs were gone entirely.
The Silence
Santa pushed back from his desk, his boots crunching on shards of peppermint brittle he'd spilled earlier. “Elsa!” he called out, his voice booming through the halls. No reply. He stood and grabbed his cane—a sturdy, candy-striped staff enchanted with protective magic—and made his way to the workshop floor.
The silence was suffocating. The conveyor belts stood still, the tools untouched. Half-finished toys lay abandoned on the tables, their eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The air carried an odd metallic tang, sharp and unpleasant.
Then he noticed the snow. A fine dusting of it coated the floor, but it wasn’t white. It was grey, like ash, and it carried the faint smell of burned sugar.
The Shadows Move
Santa’s footsteps echoed as he walked further into the workshop, his breath visible in the freezing air. He glanced at the walls, where shadows seemed to ripple and twist unnaturally. His reflection in the frosted windows wasn’t quite right—it moved slower than he did, its head tilting at angles his didn’t.
“Hello?” he called again, his voice breaking slightly. “Elsa? Anyone?”
From the far end of the room came a faint sound—a dragging noise, wet and deliberate. Santa’s grip tightened on his cane as he turned toward it.
“Who’s there?” he demanded. His voice seemed to dissolve in the air, swallowed by the dark.
The Warning
As he approached the source of the noise, he saw a figure slumped against one of the workbenches. It was an elf, but something was wrong. Its limbs were too long, its head tilted unnaturally, as though its neck couldn’t support the weight. Its face was hidden beneath its hat, but Santa could see that its fingers were bent backwards, the joints twisted.
“Elsa?” Santa whispered, stepping closer. He reached out with a trembling hand to lift the hat.
The elf’s head jerked up, revealing hollow eye sockets, pitch black and oozing with a thick, tar-like substance. Its mouth was stretched into a grotesque grin, far too wide, the skin cracked and bleeding.
“It’s too late,” the elf rasped, its voice a choked gurgle. “We let it in.”
Santa stumbled back, his heart pounding. “What... what did you do?”
The elf tilted its head, its smile widening impossibly. “We opened the door.”
The Entity
The lights flickered violently, plunging the workshop into intermittent darkness. With each flash, Santa saw movement—shapes darting through the shadows, too fast to be seen clearly. The air grew colder, and the metallic tang was now overpowering, making him gag.
Then, in the centre of the room, it appeared.
The thing was massive, towering over Santa, its form barely comprehensible. It seemed to shift and writhe, its edges blurred as though reality itself couldn’t contain it. Its body was made of countless limbs—arms, legs, fingers—all tangled and moving independently. Faces pressed against its surface, screaming silently, their mouths frozen in eternal agony.
Its eyes—two burning red voids—locked onto Santa.
“You,” it said, its voice a deep, guttural growl that reverberated in his chest. “The bringer of joy. The thief of magic.”
Santa raised his cane, the enchanted stripes glowing faintly. “I don’t know what you are, but you have no place here.”
The entity laughed, a sound that grated against his ears. “Your elves brought me here. They were tired of your lies, your endless toil. I am their gift to you.”
The Devouring
The creature lunged, its many limbs stretching toward Santa. He swung his cane, the magic crackling as it struck one of the arms, severing it. Black ichor sprayed across the floor, sizzling like acid. The creature howled, its form flickering.
Santa turned and ran, his boots slipping on the ashen snow. Behind him, the entity pursued, its limbs crashing against the walls and ceiling, tearing chunks of the workshop apart. The faces on its body screamed, their mouths forming words Santa couldn’t understand.
He reached the main hall, where the giant Christmas tree stood. The star on top glowed faintly, its magic diminished but still present. Santa grabbed it, feeling a surge of warmth as the magic coursed through him.
The entity burst into the room, its form expanding to fill the space. “You cannot stop me,” it roared. “Your time is over.”
Santa raised the star. “This isn’t just my magic. It’s theirs—the children, the believers. It’s stronger than you.”
The star blazed with light, a beam shooting out and striking the entity. It shrieked, its form convulsing, the faces on its body melting into the black ichor.
The Aftermath
When the light faded, the entity was gone. The workshop was in ruins, the once-vibrant colours dulled and lifeless. Santa stood alone, clutching the star, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
But the elves were still missing. And the shadows on the walls... they weren’t quite right. They moved when they shouldn’t, their shapes wrong. And from the farthest corner of the room came a faint, familiar sound—the dragging noise, wet and deliberate.
Santa turned, his grip tightening on the star. The darkness seemed to ripple, and the voices began again, faint whispers that grew louder with each passing second.
The workshop wasn’t empty.
And Santa wasn’t alone. 🎅🏻
2 comments:
Ooooohh, good and creepy story, Wizard!
Gail, I am heartened that you like my creepy short stories. Thanks for reading and commenting
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