Christmas Scary Stories Vol. 2 - Seven Holiday Horrors to Hear by the Fire!

Abridged compilation transcript prepared from a new automatic transcription of this episode’s released recording. An intimate passage in Lady Frankenstein is replaced by a brief non-explicit editorial summary in square brackets. Separate opening and closing host segments are omitted; introductions between stories remain. Automated punctuation restoration was checked to preserve the remaining words. Not checked word for word by a human against the audio; transcription errors may remain.

The weather outside is frightful By Shane Migliavacca It was the worst blizzard the city had seen in over a decade. In time, the storm would be known as the Christmas Eve blizzard of 73. But tonight, it was just the storm. Patrolwoman Halsey Stone strained her eyes scanning the sidewalk as the radio car crawled down the street. partner, Officer Roy Sockersow at the wheel.

This part of the city had been hit hard by the country's current financial stagnation. Decaying buildings, junk piled on the side of the street, broke down cars left to rot and open lots. For Stone, this was too much like the poverty she'd grown up around. Many of the large buildings were seemingly abandoned, but in truth, whole families lived within their walls, as did the normal cast of junkies, drunks, and other shady characters.

An anonymous caller had reported a woman screaming for help. They'd circled the block a few times, but come up with nothing. The blizzard had driven everyone indoors. Between the strong gusts of wind and the visibility being shit, nobody in their right mind would be out here. But here they were, on Christmas Eve no less. Not that either of them had anywhere else to be.

Stone had left her family behind when she'd moved to the big city, and her partner was estranged from his wife and daughter. Stone's left hand clasped and unclasped her holster, almost keeping a steady rhythm. Enough snapped soccer. So what with the holster? Kid shit, she hadn't realized she'd been doing it. She could get lost in thought sometimes. Sorry, this is just a bullshit call, kid sure.

Stone took off her uniform cap. She smoothed back some of her long blonde hair that obstinately refused to cooperate. What? You think there's something to this call? Probably just some junkie trying to steal a few bucks or some asshole trying to stay warm by raping a... He stopped himself. His face reddened a little. Sorry, kid. Stone adjusted her dirty blonde ponytail. Maybe he was right.

How long do you want this to go on? Sockerso said. What, your shitty attitude? No, Oki. Looking for our phantom suspect. God, she hated that. When somebody back at the precinct found out about her family coming from the ozarks, one of the assholes had started calling her oaky. They'd got it from some old song and it stuck like glue. You got somewhere to be, she said, somehow making it sound like fuck you.

He shot her a look. No, just think our time could be spent better. She drummed her fingers on the dash. All she wanted to do was bounce Sockerso's head off the dash. The anger was always there, had always been there. Once it scared her, now it was a friend. You know what, Oki? I'm gonna make it your call. Do we continue looking?

Stone took a deep breath. My choice? No bitching? Your call. Since she'd been a kid, she'd had a feeling. She could always tell when something bad was coming. Stone had that feeling now. Another time around, if there's nothing, we go. Okay, fair enough. Socker so turned the corner as outside the wind gusted. Stone could feel the car move a little, pushed by the wind.

We've been at this dance for almost a month now, kid. I'm supposed to be training you, be your partner, and I know jack and shit about you. That was the way she liked it. There was too much in her past. What's there to know? I'm from Missouri. You should open up more, hang out with some of us. Why? You guys constantly make fun of me and where I came from.

That's just ribbing you. No different than any other rookie. You make it harder on yourself anyway, acting like a brat. Sorry, I'm just not miss fun and games. A woman came out of the blanket of falling snow, running at their car, screaming. There was blood on her hands and jacket. Soccer so swerved the car and ended up in a snowbank, Stone was already undoing her seatbelt.

Fuck! You okay, kid? Yeah. The woman came running towards them. Stone started to open the door. Oh god, officer, I'm so sorry. Ma'am, take it easy. Is that your blood? Are you injured? She shook her head. No. The woman was shaking. His blood. Sock or Sock tried getting his door open, but the snowbank wouldn't give as he slammed the door repeatedly against the packed snow.

Stone took the panicked woman towards their car. What's your name, ma'am? Dorothy. It's Dorothy. Okay, Dorothy. I need you to get in the back of the car. Dorothy hesitated. What? Why? Hi, you'll be safe until we can get somebody to look at you. Sockerso finally gave up on getting his door to open. Dorothy slid in and sat in the middle of the back seat.

A steel mesh separated Dorothy from Sockerso. You'll be safe here. Now can you tell me what happened, Dorothy? Dorothy told her how she'd been cutting through the alleyway on her way home from the corner store when a large man had come out of a nook in the alley and chased after her. When she fell on the icy ground, he grabbed her. Terrified, she pulled a metal nail file from her purse, stuck it into his leg, and made her escape.

Dorothy pointed to the alley across the street a little ways back. It was there. Thank you, Dorothy, Stone said. You're very brave. My partner will take care of you until an ambulance arrives. I will? Dorothy looked up at Stone, perhaps sensing what was about to happen. I looked into his eyes, officer. There was nothing inside. Stone tried to reassure her. It's going to be okay.

Kid, don't even think, Sakurso said. She cut him off. Call it in. Get back up. Stone slammed the door shut before he could protest anymore. She took off down the street towards the alley Dorothy had indicated. This was it. That feeling of dread that she'd felt. Her heart felt like it was going to break free from her chest. She'd made it to the alley.

He could still be here, nursing his wound, she thought. Ultimately, he wasn't in the alley. But something was. The nail file. He'd pulled it out. Now he'd bleed more and make her job easier. Stone followed the blood down another alley and out to a deserted street. She had never been much of a hunter. Her dad had tried to teach her, but her patience was lacking.

He'd seemed so disappointed in her. But those times out in the woods with him, just walking, those were some of her favorite memories of growing up. But now her father was spending another Christmas in prison, she sighed. From somewhere above, Christmas music drifted down. Hark the Herald Angels. The heavy snowfall was quickly covering the blood. Stone came out of the alley. She heard voices in a door close.

She spun around, her gun at the ready. A young couple stood there, holding Christmas gifts. A look of shock etched on their faces. Their little dog on a leash yelped at her. The man raised his hands, dropping the gifts. Have you seen anyone suspicious? Other than me? Maybe bleeding? The dog continued yelping. The man pulled hard on its leash. Shut up, Mitzi.

Stone wouldn't mind slamming the guy against the wall. No, officer. I need you both to go back inside. dangerous and wounded man in the vicinity. Stone crossed the street. The trail continued down, past a large abandoned building. Then it stopped. Ahead of her, Stone heard a loud metallic clank like a metal door or lid closing. She regretted leaving Sockersow behind. No, Stone thought.

This is where I show them what I can do. She crouched. Slowly, she peeked around the corner of the building until she had a full view of the small street that lay beyond. There, next to an abandoned theater, was a metal hatch set in the ground. Those led to basements, Sock or So had told her. Stone, gun at the ready, inched towards it.

Snow had been brushed off, very recently. And there was a bloody handprint on the hatch. Got you, bastard, she thought. She pulled a rag from her jacket. There was no way she was taking a chance of fucking up the evidence. Her service pistol ready, Stone pulled on the latch. Locked. Of course. She'd have to find another way in. Then, she heard it.

The rustle of wings. Stone looked up. Perched on a rusty metal railing was a large, white owl. It stared at her with its large, luminous eyes. eyes that looked into her. She stared at it, transfixed. Then it struck her what it was sitting on. The railing of a fire escape. She ran over and discovered the bottom of the escape's ladder was just out of reach.

Frantically, she looked around for something she could use to get up there. And there it was, sitting against the far wall of an adjacent building. An old, plastic chair. She carried the chair over, and on tiptoes, she reached and pulled herself up. All that tree climbing as a kid paid off. The fire escape led to a locked second-story metal door. Not far from it was a window set above a narrow ledge.

She stepped over the metal railing and onto the ledge. The wind howled. She feared a really strong gust might blow her off her perch. Her feet knocked snow free as she inched towards the window. Finally, she made it. Using the flashlight from her belt, Stone smashed through the glass and climbed through the window into the dark interior. She played the beam of the flashlight over the floor and walls of what had once been an office.

The broken glass crumbled underfoot as she made her way through the room. Stone crept into the hallway and soon entered the main theater area. Paint was chipping off the walls. The seats that hadn't been ripped out or defaced in some way were covered in years of dust. She headed towards the stage area. Her snow-covered boots kicked up dust as she moved, leaving wet tracks on the dirty floor.

Stone climbed onto the stage. An ugly-looking green couch sat by itself at the center. The curtain pulled shut behind it. She opened the curtain and entered the backstage. Stone's flashlight beam caught a blank white face. She almost pulled her trigger before she realized A mannequin stood before her. She walked past the expressionless figure. Fuck you, asshole. There was a long dark hallway That led off the backstage area.

Old mattresses were stacked in a haphazard pile, Stained with God knows what. A musty smell permeated the air. A large wood wardrobe sat in the middle of the hall, rotting. Stone raised her weapon in her left hand and reached out with her right. She yanked the door open, causing it to fall off in the process. Stone backed up. It was empty. Continuing on, she passed a pile of broken props and raggedy costumes on racks, before arriving at a metal staircase leading to the basement.

She headed down, the metal clanking under her boots. The basement hallway was lined with brick and appeared to be in better shape than the walls above. Another foul smell filled the air down here. The smell of something. Rotten. A mattress lay on the floor. Next to it sat stacks of books and empty soup cans. Someone was living here. Taped to the wall were newspaper clippings and excerpts from books and magazines.

all concerning axe murders. Above them, scrawled in blood read, The Axeman cometh. Oh, great. He's got a secret identity. At the far end of the room was a metal door. A large, rusty chain was wound through the handles and secured with a padlock. Before she could reach the door, something wet hit her face. Stone turned her beam upwards to see multiple severed arms, hanging from large strands of butcher's twine.

Not thinking, she bolted forward and crashed into the metal doors with all her might. The doors tore from their rusty hinges and crashed to the floor with stone in tow. She quickly sprung to her feet and swung her flashlight around the new room. Taped to the walls in various sizes were crosses made out of paper. She inspected one of the crosses on the wall closest to her to find it was made from Bible pages.

At the far end of the room was some kind of demented altar made primarily of lashed-together bones. A large metal cross stood at its center, surrounded by a multitude of crimson candles which filled the surrounding air with acrid smoke. I've taken their sin, a deep voice said from behind her. Startled, Stone spun around to see a brood of a man, covered in shoddy, bloodstained clothes standing in the doorway, cradling an axe in his arms as if it were a newborn baby.

Around his right leg, a rag was tied where he'd been stabbed by Dorothy. I cut it from their bodies. You killed them. Freed them. They died without sin. He walked forward, towards her, with a limp. Freeze, you motherfucker! Stone barked, her voice trembling. He stopped in his tracks. I was chosen. He held out the axe. It chose me. Shut up. She didn't want to hear his psycho sales pitch.

Put the axe on the ground and place your hands behind your head. He stared at her as if not comprehending. I've been to another plane, ascended. I was sent back to do their work here. Do it, fucker! Stone screamed, her anger getting the best of her. He set the axe down, tenderly, putting his hands together behind his head. Kneel! He did as he was told, with some effort.

She moved forward and kicked the axe away. She noticed before its flight that it was covered in strange symbols. The wind outside sounded like whispers in the air. calling her. I can't help but notice you're left-handed, he said. This caught her off guard enough that the man was able to lunge at her legs with a pocket knife, catching her in the side of her right leg.

The .38 in the flashlight fell from her hands as she instinctively grabbed her wound. Stone retreated as painfully he stood and retrieved his axe. Do you know what it's like to die the painful death of a million screams in silence? every day. Stone fell against the wall, leaving a trail of blood in her wake. Then they came to me. Angels took my pain, gave me this axe.

God teaches us with pain. That's how we become worthy of his love. Through pain. He limped forward. Stone's head began swimming wildly. Would you like to meet God? He asked, raising the axe. She felt the cold metal sticking in her leg. With all her remaining strength and channeled anger, Stone pulled the knife from her wound. The pain was immeasurable. You first, Stone screamed.

She plunged the blade deep within his breast, causing him to howl in agony. Stone pulled out the blade and brought it down again and again and again until blackness took her. She awoke to find the man in a fetal position, sobbing loudly. Stone crawled forward and found her 38. The man started to slowly rise, using the axe to prop himself up. Don't you move, Stone said hoarsely.

I could have helped you. He stood fully on shaking legs. I said, don't move. She took aim. Her arms felt like rubber. Cleanse the world of sin. He limped towards her, dragging the axe along the ground. Stop, she said, her voice breaking. You see it, don't you? See them. It's in your eyes. In your soul, he said, reaching out for her with a bloody hand.

Stone squeezed the trigger, firing a round into his chest and another into his forehead. His brains exited in a geyser of gore. He fell to his knees, the axe clattering to the ground. Then he fell forward, his body shuddered, and lay still. The darkness took her once more. Stone saw her parents playing with her as a child. followed by the great white owl swooping down from the sky.

It landed in a tree. Watching her, it spoke to her. Oki, Oki, Oki, Oki, Sockerso called from somewhere out in the hall. Here, she said. Stone wasn't sure if he'd hear her. He stumbled into the room. Hang on, kid. He put a hand over her wound, pressing tight. Backup's coming. Stay awake, okay? She grabbed his arm. God, my corns are killing me after tracking your damn ass all over town.

I'm dying, and you're bitching about your feet? Shut the fuck up. You're not dying. They make them tough where you're from, right, Missouri? She nodded and smiled. Well, Merry Christmas, Missouri. Doesn't that just make you feel warm and fuzzy inside? No? Well, good. Because it really isn't meant to do that. And if you said it did, I would honestly be pretty worried.

The tradition of horror stories at Christmas has been a major part of many European countries, but it never really truly caught on in America. Well, unless you count the plethora of terrifying horror films and killer Santas in popular culture, such as the legendary Silent Night, Deadly Night, just to name one of many. Many blame Halloween because it's the spookiest time of year for kind of siphoning the fear off of Christmas.

But I say, let's bring it back. That's why I have this story for you from Keith Tomlin called Satan Claws. Because, you know, it's not a coincidence that Santa, well, is really close to the spelling of Satan. So enjoy this after a quick word from our sponsors. Satan Claws by Keith Tomlin December 25th, 1998, 1.45 a.m. Edward burst out of the back door of his house.

His foot missed the second step of the concrete stairs, and he went sprawling, landing hard on the neglected wooden deck of his back patio. Gasping for breath, he struggled to his feet, losing one of his slippers. After a few tries, he regained his balance and raced off into the woods that edged his backyard. Burrs and thorns tore at his skin and clothing as he plunged into the darkness.

As Edward ran, he heard a loud crash as something large and powerful followed after him. An unearthly roar filled with hate and rage rang through the night. Edward pushed himself harder, charging faster into the forest. After a few minutes of running in a blind panic, Edward felt a sharp pain run from his chest down his arm. He gasped and dropped at the base of a large elm tree.

Sobbing, he worked himself into a sitting position, trying to breathe through the pain. He wiped blood from his face, some his, some from his wife. Hearing a branch breaking, Edward tried to push himself up, but the pain in his chest nearly caused him to black out. Fighting unconsciousness, he felt hot breath on his face as he fought to open his eyes. When he did, Edward saw yellow, bloodshot eyes staring into his as the creature snorted, sending its moist, rancid breath into his face.

It let out a blood curdling scream as it reached for him with long arms, ending in razor sharp claws. As the creature tore Edward apart, his last thought was not of the intense pain or the realization that his life was over. It was a question: Is that thing wearing a Santa hat? Edward thought as he passed into darkness. December 24th, 1999, 1115 AM.

Emily looked incredulously at her 13-year-old brother, Tyler. Satan Claus? Are you fucking serious? She said. Well, yeah, I mean, it's real. Well, not real, but they think it's real, Tyler said, trying to gather his thoughts. So we're going to summon a pretend demon dressed like Santa Claus to take care of our stepfather, Emily said with scorn. Well, sorta, Tyler sighed, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out.

Okay, so take the legend of Bloody Mary. The story goes that if you look in the mirror and say her name three times she'll appear and start killing people. Now, everyone knows that's not real. If you're having a sleepover with friends and they dare you to look in the mirror and say her name, you will. You know it's not true and nothing will happen.

But, he said excitedly, if it's night and you're alone in the house and you're standing in front of a mirror when the thought crosses your mind to say her name three times, will you do it? Without waiting for an answer, Tyler went on. No, you wouldn't. And why not? The logical part of your mind will say, surely it's not real, it's just crazy talk.

But on a primal level, you know that if you say her name three times, she may appear. This belief is what gives these creatures their power. Tyler paused, slightly out of breath. You are one weird kid, Emily said. Yeah, well, you know, growing up in this house does tend to make one unusual, Tyler replied solemnly. Emily shook her head. Okay, I'm still confused.

What creatures are you talking about? Tyler looked Emily in the eyes, something he rarely did with anyone. To be honest, I don't know. I just know they exist. Throughout history, different cultures had legends of horrific creatures that terrorized the common folk. I think that these were all some kind of a supernatural force that draws power from the beliefs and fears of the people.

If enough people believe in them, then these ghosts, demons, or whatever can draw strength and life from these beliefs that will actually become these creatures. Wow. I think this is insane, said Emily, speechless. I know, and I accept that, but I need your help. For you, this is a win-win. and it works, we'll be rid of that asshole forever. Tyler looked at Emily, who nodded emphatically.

If it doesn't work, then you have something else to make fun of me for. Not that there's any lack of material for that, Tyler said, pointing to the piles of role-playing manuals and superhero comic books stacked around his bedroom. Not for the first time, Emily was amazed at how smart her brother was. Naive and childlike, but also so goddamn smart. She had sworn to herself to do whatever she had to do to make sure that he reaches adulthood without life crushing his soul.

She was only a year older than him, but she was a survivor. She could take all the pain and suffering that life and her stepfather could dish out. Tyler, however, was a fragile soul. If this helped him deal with all the bullshit, then she was willing to go along with it. Fuck it. I'm in, she said. Consider it your Christmas present. Well, really?

Tyler said, clearly expecting more resistance. Emily continued. Look, this is the most batshit crazy thing I've ever heard, but you're my brother and I'll do anything to support you. So Satan Claus? Tyler took a few seconds to blink some tears away. Okay, so Satan Claws is an urban legend that's been around for at least 15 years. Basically, it's a story of a department store Santa that was beaten to death by a gang of kids and his wife got her revenge by baking cookies with her blood.

She tricked the kids into eating them, which caused her husband to come back from the dead and kill everyone. Tyler finally paused to take a breath. At least nine times in the last seven years, there have been a series of gruesome deaths on Christmas Eve brutal that the police have suspected it was either the work of a satanic cult or some kind of huge, unidentified wild creature.

I disagree. I think it was the legend of Satan Claws that killed them. And that's what I want for dear old Frank, Tyler said, referring to their stepfather. He deserves to die, Emily said in a cold, hard voice for what he's done to mom, you, and for what he tried to do. Emily trailed off. Tyler awkwardly reached out and patted her hand.

I know. He'll pay for all of it. So, all we need to do is get Frank to eat some cookies? Emily asked. Tyler nodded. What do you need from me? Emily finally asked. December 25th, 1999. 12.36 a.m. Emily rubbed the band-aid covering her finger, thinking that only her brother could talk her into using her blood as an ingredient in a cookie recipe.

If she had to be honest, she enjoyed cutting her finger a lot more than baking the cookies. The first batch ended up a burned, smoking mess, and she had to mix up and recut a second batch. She shook her head thinking about the things that people do for family. Emily looked down at her brother, asleep on the couch next to her, and sighed.

She loved that crazy little bastard. She turned back towards the large picture window to keep up her vigil on the dark street outside. After a minute or so, the lights from an approaching car lit up the neighboring houses. Emily leaned further over the back of the couch, face pressed against the window to get a better look. When a familiar car pulled into the driveway of the house across the street, Emily grabbed her brother and shook him awake.

Tyler, Frank just pulled into our driveway, Emily whispered loudly. Tyler sat up, rubbing his eyes, looking around. He asked, Where's Mrs. Patterson? Mrs. Patterson is in bed. It's past midnight, Emily said. Mrs. Patterson was an elderly woman who lived across the street from them and, understanding their volatile family situation, often let the kids spend the night at her house while their mom was working the graveyard shift at the nursing home.

Grab the binoculars and keep your voice down, Emily commanded. Tyler's eyes popped open as he suddenly remembered what they had planned for Frank. He grabbed his cheap pair of binoculars from the coffee table and joined his sister, leaning over the back of the couch. Frank pulled into the snow-covered driveway, his ragged old Ford sliding to a stop, almost hitting the garage door.

He opened the car door and stumbled out. Frank was a tall, lean man, what some may call wiry. He had a face that used to be quite handsome, and may still be to some, hidden under the years of hard living and even harder drinking. Frank lived to drink, and spent most evenings complaining about his miserable life to the regulars at Whitey's Tavern, a dive bar a few blocks from his house.

He would usually come home shit-faced. Tonight, however, he was well beyond that. One of the bar patrons, a well-to-do businessman that liked to flaunt his success, kept buying drinks for the house. Frank kept drinking, and he kept getting angrier. Frank's past kept rolling around in his head. Why has his life turned out like shit? Why is everyone against him? Why did that bitch of an ex-wife keep hounding him for money to buy gifts for a bunch of ungrateful little shits?

Why did his current wife keep picking up extra shifts when she should be home taking care of him? Why do her fucking brats show him no respect in his own goddamn house? Frank shut the car door and made his way up the icy walkway to the front of the house, swaying as he opened up the front door and walked inside. Hey, anyone here?

Frank bellowed, slamming the front door. Where the fuck is my dinner? Frank listened to the sounds of an empty house as he remembered that his bitch wife was working tonight. Frank mumbled curses under his breath as he walked across the small living room to the kitchen. Seeing a pizza box on the counter, he opened it up and grabbed a slice. Chewing on the cold pizza, he walked over to the fridge and grabbed a beer.

He was walking back to the living room when he noticed a plate of cookies with a note under it. Squinting, he picked up the note and read it. Frank, I know we've not gotten along, but for mom's sake, I want to try to fix that. Please accept these cookies as a peace offering. Merry Christmas, Emily, the note said. Frank picked up the plate with the cookies and turned back to the living room.

He paused at the end of the counter and dropped the cookies, plate and all, into the trash can. Tyler reached out and grabbed Emily's arm. He picked up the cookies, he said excitedly, looking through the binoculars. He's walking. Wait. Oh, no. He threw them away, Tyler said quietly as silent tears began to roll down his face. Give me those, Emily said as she grabbed up the binoculars.

She brought them up to her face and pointed them at the rundown house across the street. Because a particularly violent outburst from Frank last week resulted in the curtain rods being ripped down, she had a good view of the living room and most of the kitchen. Emily focused on Frank, sitting in an armchair, drinking a beer, and watching TV. Emily sighed, lowering the binoculars.

Damn. Oh well, we tried. She turned to her brother, and her heart broke when she looked upon his face, wet with tears. Hey, don't worry, we'll get through this. Emily reached out and hugged Tyler, who began to sob louder. Okay, it'll be okay. Emily leaned back and looked Tyler in the eyes. You know that this wasn't going to actually work, don't you?

Tyler shrugged, wiping at the wetness on his cheek. Emily sighed: okay, fine, I still owe you a Christmas present. I'll go over there and try to get the asshat to eat a blood cookie, even if some creature doesn't rip him a new asshole. It would be fun just watching that. Tyler hugged her tightly. For a few seconds, Emily hugged him back. She then stood up and looked at Tyler.

You stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes. Walking away, Emily thought once again. The things you do for family. Emily stood on the front stoop of her house, shivering in her thin jacket. She took a few deep breaths, trying to build up her courage. Damn it, why did I agree to do this? Emily thought. Exhaling. She turned the doorknob and walked inside.

Oh hi, frank. She said as she shut the door. Where the fuck have you been? Frank said, without taking his eyes off the tv set. Oh, I'm staying at a friend's house. I just stopped by to pick something up, I forgot. Emily answered: where's your retarded brother? Frank said, still watching tv. Emily ignored the insult. He's staying with them too. Mom knows, your mom doesn't tell me shit.

I never know what the fuck is going on in my own house. Frank said, raising his voice. Oh, I figured she would, Emily said. A silence fell over them, only broken by the muted sound of the television. Uh, did you see the cookies I baked you? Emily asked, hesitantly. Frank tossed an empty bottle across the room. It landed on the bare wooden floor and rolled to a stop next to a table lamp.

Get me another beer, Frank said. Emily stood still for a few seconds, trying to keep her temper in check. She then walked to the fridge and grabbed a beer from a half-full six-pack. She paused and grabbed a cookie out of the trash can before moving to the living room. Here's your beer, Emily said, trying to sound cheerful. She sat a beer on the end table next to Frank's prized recliner.

Also, here's one of the cookies I made for you, she said, sitting a cookie down next to the bottle of beer. Frank's hand shot out and grabbed her by the arm. He began moving his index finger, lightly tracing circles on the inside of her wrist. He looked up at her, sneering. Emily pulled out of his grip. She glared at Frank, struggling to hold her temper.

Look, I'm trying to be nice. I made you some cookies as a peace offering. The least you could do is try one, Emily said through gritted teeth. Frank opened the beer and took a long pull from it. He slammed it down on the end table, smashing the cookie. If you want to be nice to me, he said sarcastically, you could make me a sandwich.

After a few moments, Frank looked over and noticed that she was still standing there, staring daggers at him. Look, women are only good for two things, he said. Cooking and fucking. It's your choice. Balling her hands into fists, Emily turned and walked back to the kitchen. After taking a moment to calm herself down, she opened up the fridge and grabbed some bologna and a jar of mayonnaise.

Hearing the fridge door open, Frank yelled, Get me another beer, too! Emily ignored him and grabbed a butter knife from the utensil drawer. She slapped the bologna on a piece of bread and smeared a generous portion of mayo on top. Reaching back into the trash can, she grabbed another cookie. She rolled the jar of mayonnaise over the cookie, reducing it to crumbs.

Scooping up the crumbs, she tossed them on the sandwich and smashed the second piece of bread on top. She turned around and dropped the plate as she ran into Frank, who had walked up behind her. Taking advantage of her surprise, he reached and pulled her close to him, the alcohol from his breath burning her eyes. I decided that I'm not hungry, which only leaves one option, Frank said.

Emily growled with rage, bringing her knee up with all of her might, swinging towards his crotch. Frank laughed as he turned slightly, taking the blow on his upper thigh. Darling, you ain't gonna catch me with that move again. Emily started to reach up towards Frank's face, her fingers curled into claws. Frank's hand shot out and grabbed her by the neck. Stop fighting or I'll crush your fucking throat, he growled as he squeezed her neck.

Emily began to panic as Frank squeezed harder. was swinging her arms wildly, trying to knock his hand loose. Frank wasn't a large guy, but he possessed an unexpected strength. He used that strength to lift her up by the neck and slam her down on the counter. Emily's head hit the formica hard enough to cause her to briefly lose consciousness. She woke up to fingers tugging at the buttons on her shirt.

She tried protesting, but it felt like she was moving in slow motion. A slap stung her cheek and threatened to send her back into darkness. Frank pulled his hand back and slapped her again. Little Miss Cocktease, Frank said, leaning over her. As he brought his hand back to hit her again, something flew by his head. He looked up as a pair of binoculars hit the front door and shattered.

What the, Frank said, as something leaped on him from behind, arms reaching around his face. Frank laughed as he realized who'd attacked him. It's the little fucking retard coming to rescue his sister, Frank said, grinning like a madman. Frank reached back and grabbed Tyler by the back of the shirt and tossed him into the refrigerator door. Tyler slid down and hit the ground hard.

With Frank's hands off her throat, Emily was able to catch her breath. As she coughed and struggled to clear her head, she reached out with fumbling hands, trying to find something, anything to help her. When she felt a cold metal handle. She grabbed it and swung it blindly at Frank. The mayonnaise-covered butter knife slammed into Frank's upper arm, burying itself deep enough to hit bone.

As Frank screamed and ripped the knife out of his arm, Emily began rolling around the counter, hitting the edge she fell off, landing on the trash can and sending it crashing across the floor. The noise jolted Frank into action and he leapt forward, trying to grab her ankles as she scrambled across the cracked linoleum onto the cheap, threadbare carpet of the living room.

Emily crawled toward the front door but stopped when she looked back and noticed Tyler, who was beginning to stir on the kitchen floor. She tried to yell for her brother, but her bruised and swollen throat could only manage a weak moan. Frank stormed into the living room. As he approached Emily, she cocked her leg back and aimed a kick at his knee.

He jumped to the side, avoiding her strike, and pounced on her, pinning her to the carpet. He leaned forward inches from her face and said, in a quiet, rage-filled voice. Merry Christmas. Frank leaned back and started swinging his fists at Emily's head. She did her best to block the blows, but he kept on swinging, unleashing the rage upon her. After a few moments, he stopped out of breath and looked back toward the kitchen.

Tyler was standing there, holding something triumphantly in his hand. Frank, let her go. I'll do it, I swear, Tyler yelled, his hand out. Emily looked up, her face already starting to swell, and tried to focus on Tyler. When she saw what he was holding in his hand, a realization hit her like a bucket of cold water. She knew what he was about to do.

She knew, and she believed. Emily tried to yell at him to stop, but all she could do was lay there and watch. Frank, looking confused, stood to face the youngster. Tyler held up a cookie for a few seconds and then yelled, take this, you son of a bitch. He then shoved the whole cookie in his mouth and started chewing vigorously. Frank shook his head and said, you are one fucking weird kid.

As he began to move, Tyler stood there defiantly chewing as Frank closed in on him. Just as Frank crossed over into the kitchen, a loud thud shook the house. At first, Emily thought a car hit their house, but as a thunderous roar pierced the night, she knew that Tyler had been correct. Satan Claus had arrived. Frank, who had his fist raised to strike Tyler, turned and took a few steps toward the door, holding his ears.

The scream suddenly stopped. There were a few seconds of silence. Dead silence, where the only sound you could hear was the beating of your own heart. and then the front door exploded. Fragments of wood, glass, and metal shot through the air, revealing a gruesome creature. The creature filled the doorway, ducking down to enter the room. It had a vaguely wolf-like face and large pointed horns.

It wore a tight, dirty red jacket trimmed in white fur on its ape-like torso. It stood on two massive legs that ended in cloven hooves that caused the ground to shake every step. It had long, wicked claws at the end of its elongated arms. The strangest part was the almost comical, undersized red hat that sat on the creature's head. Frank appeared dazed, dozens of small cuts along his face and arms.

He staggered forward as if he were going to push by the creature to leave. The demon looked down at Frank as if amused, then grabbed him by the neck. It raised Frank high and then slammed him to the floor. Emily stumbled to her feet and ran to Tyler, who was slumped against the fridge. The creature roared as it began to tear Frank's chest open.

Emily grabbed Tyler by the shoulders and turned toward the back door, when a body part, probably a leg, flew across the room and slammed into the wall next to it. She then gathered up Tyler and ran down the hall to her mom's bedroom, the only one with a lock on the door. Emily laid her brother on the floor, then she noticed. He was gasping for air.

she looked down and saw blood pouring from a wound on his chest where a large piece of wood was protruding. Sobbing, she cradled him in her arms, listening to the blood rattle in his chest with every breath. The house shook as the creature walked down the hall. It stopped in front of the bedroom door and kicked the door off of its hinges.

It took two long steps and stood over the two siblings. Leaning down, it took in a deep breath and seemed to shiver with anticipation. Emily held her brother tight and closed her eyes. The creature reached forward, a single talon waving in the air, teasingly. All of a sudden, the creature stood up straight, whipping its head around like it heard something off in the distance.

It turned and bolted out of the room. Emily sat there, in a state of shock, convinced that any moment would bring the creature back. When the phone rang, Emily's heart jumped. She reached with one hand to the nightstand and grabbed the receiver. She tried to say something, but could only produce a weak, raspy grunt. Hello? Emily? This is Mom. Emily managed to croak out.

Mom? Yes, honey, it's Mom. You sound sick. You better go get some sleep. I just wanted to call and thank you for trying to make nice with Frank. I know it's been a hard year, but I think things will get better. It was a nice gesture to bake him some cookies. He doesn't have much of a sweet tooth, so I hope you don't mind that I brought some to work.

I've been passing them out in the break room, and they're a huge hit. Everybody just loves them. Emily's mom paused, as loud noises and screams can be heard. Oh my, something is going on down the hall. I better get off here and see if I can help. You get some rest. Merry Christmas, sweetheart. The phone went dead. Ah, nothing like a classic.

Of course, sick spelled S-I-C-K. Are you comfortable? Are you afraid? Are you feeling holly and or jolly? I sure hope so. because this next story really creeped me out when I read it. And I know, I know, that's probably surprising. You'd think my tolerance would be pretty high. But it's called Christmas Cranberries by L.F. Falconer. And it's the first story of hers we've ever featured on the show.

And boy, did it leave an impression on me. I was shocked, scared, and completely enamored. It's a great tale of truly twisted holiday horror, and I know you're going to enjoy it a whole hell of a lot. So let's listen together after this quick word from our sponsors. Christmas Cranberries by L.F. Falconer Ronnie was no longer content with pulling the legs off of crickets.

That bored him anymore. As did wingless dragonflies and tailless lizards. So today, it was Fluffy, the long-haired tabby with the blue collar that jingled softly with the cat's subtle movements. To protect the birds, Fluffy's owner, Mrs. Kent, from the neighboring house was often known to say. Fluffy was Mrs. Kent's favorite, and Ronnie did not like Mrs. Kent, for Mrs. Kent was mean.

Her mouth was always turned down in a frown, and her eyes glinted like a pirate's. She never missed the opportunity to complain to Ronnie's mom when he'd picked the apples from Mrs. Kent's tree off the single branch that overhung the back fence, and she refused to return any balls that accidentally ended up in her yard. Yes, Mrs. Kent was a mean old bitty, so this day, Ronnie thought, when he caught Fluffy trespassing, was to be Fluffy's last.

Ronnie's eyes gleamed as he firmly held the writhing cat beneath the water of his wading pool. He imagined the cat to be Mrs. Kent as he kept holding her down, tighter and tighter, until she was quite dead beneath the shallow water. He smiled. A sweet tang like cranberries filled his mouth. He savored the taste as he shoved the wet, dead cat into a garbage bag and stuffed it into the trash can in the alley.

For a long time, Ronnie stared at the trash can, reveling in satisfaction, relishing the taste of cranberries. In all of his six years of life, he could never remember feeling so good. That was in June. By the first of September, just one week before his seventh birthday, Ronnie was beginning to hunger with the need to feel good again. He began to crave the cranberries.

For his birthday, his father brought home the puppy, a happy, eight-week-old lab border collie mix. At his mother's suggestion, the boy named the dog Susie, and within a few days, Susie was fetching the ball Ronnie would toss. Very few were lost to Mrs. Kent's yard anymore. At night, Susie would curl up in her crate at the footboard of Ronnie's bed, and she rarely woke before daylight.

In the morning, she would follow Ronnie like a shadow, and wait patiently outside the closed bathroom door until he would let her out in the backyard to tend to her own duties. When Ronnie would come home from school, Susie would brim with joy and exuberance, wagging her entire hindquarters. quarters. Four weeks after Ronnie's birthday, Susie disappeared. Ronnie knew where the dog had gone.

Though Susie had done nothing to set Ronnie into a fit of anger, the boy had simply wanted to feel good. He had been hungry. He'd wanted to taste the cranberries. He had taken his father's claw hammer out of the garage. He'd bashed it against Susie's head. He'd bashed again and again, each blow feeding his hunger, filling his mouth with tang until cranberry drool overflowed and dribbled onto his chin.

The hunger was sated. He'd tossed the hammer behind the rosebush, unlatched the alley gate, and shoved Susie's little body into a box in Mr. Phipps' trash can at the end of the block. He would be full for a while. Ronnie felt good. Ronnie's mother and father posted the reward flyers around the neighborhood in hopes of inducing the return of the missing pup.

Five days after he'd put them up, Ronnie's dad took the flyers down even though the lost puppy had not been found. A week before Halloween Ronnie was blessed with a new sister. His mother had gone to the hospital and came home two days later with baby Elizabeth wrapped in her arms. Grandma Rose and Grandpa Sig and Grandpa Paul all came for the Thanksgiving holiday dinner with much fuss and ado over baby Elizabeth.

Grandma Rose clicked her favorite photo, so she said, of a smiling Ronnie lovingly holding his new one-month-old sister in his arms. Little did Grandma Rose know that when she posed the children for that shot, how hungry Ronnie was growing. How Ronnie's bright smile was merely instigated by his inner anticipation and his knowledge of how to feel good, how to taste more cranberries.

He tried to fill his hunger at the Thanksgiving feast, but the ones from the can were too sweet. They weren't the same. They did not make him feel good. After dinner, the women gathered in the kitchen for the cleanup, and the men retired to the living room in front of the TV. So Ronnie, Grandpa Paul asked as he settled upon the sofa, what do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas this year?

Ronnie scooted forward in his seat. A baseball bat would be nice. He had no desire for a ball or a glove. A shiny red baseball bat, red like cranberries. His grin was as wide as his eyes. It made Grandpa Paul smile. I always loved baseball as a boy, Grandpa Sig said, loosening his tie. Grandpa Sig always wore a tie. You never know when you'll need to make a good impression, he always said.

Ronnie's dad, Jim, leaned back in his recliner. Santa might not come this year. Why not, Jimmy? Grandpa Sig asked. He's not short of cash, is he? No, but sometimes it's just best if he stays away. Ronnie's dad muted the TV and set the remote aside. Dad, why don't you tell Ronnie about the Santa you knew as a boy? Are you sure? Grandpa Sig ran his tie back and forth through his fingers.

Times are different, and here in America, Santa Claus has changed his M.O. a little. He's changed his M.O. a lot, Dad, so indulge me and help me teach the boy a little folklore from his heritage. My Ronnie's old enough to know there's more than one Santa in the world. He looked over at his son and winked. Aren't you, son? Ronnie sat up proudly.

Yes, I am. And the boy listened in rapt awe as his father's father began the tale. Well, here in America, Santa Claus might come accompanied by a red-nosed reindeer, Grandpa Sig intoned. But back where I come from, Santa, or Sammy Claus, as he's known, makes his rounds with Schmutzi. Ronnie giggled at the sound of the name, spoken in his grandfather's residual German accent.

Is that a Swiss reindeer? he asked. Grandpa Sig shook his head solemnly. No, Schmutzi is Samiklaus' evil altar. While Samiklaus wears a red cloak and a tall red hat, Schmutzi dresses in sooty gray. Samiklaus has a long white beard, and Smutsi is black as coal. Schmutzli's face, too, is black as an inkwell, and his eyes glow red as embers in a fire.

Samiklaus leaves treats in the shoes of good little children, while Schmutzli beats the naughty children with his broom, and with those boys and girls who've been truly, truly bad. He sweeps them into his sack and spirits them away deep into the wilderness to be eaten and never seen again. Ronnie stared, wide-eyed. Why are you telling the boy that horrible tale? Grandma Rose asked, coming out of the kitchen with a handful of fresh-washed china for the cabinet.

There's nothing wrong with Ronnie knowing the folklore of his heritage, Mom, Jim said. After all, I grew up with it, and look how sane I turned out. Well, I didn't approve of your father telling you those stories then, and I don't approve of you scaring my grandson with them now. It's too late, Jim said, reaching for the TV remote. The tale of Schmultzy has been told.

I'm not scared, Grandma, Ronnie lied. After all, this is America. Santa's changed his M.O. Grandpa Sig and Grandpa Paul both laughed. Grandma Rose shook her head and returned to the kitchen. Ronnie stared at the TV. The sound was reinstated, but Ronnie didn't hear it. All that filled his mind was the picture of glowing red eyes on a black face, and the hunger for cranberries faded into the background.

When Ronnie relayed the story of Samiklaus and Schmultzy to his friend Jason at school, Jason just laughed. It's not real, Jason said. There's no such thing as Santa anyway. It's only your parents. And that is what Ronnie wanted to believe. Or at least that in America there was Santa, not semi-claws. And certainly no schmultzy. And maybe he hadn't been that naughty, though he wanted to be.

He was craving the cranberries. But it would have to wait. He couldn't take any chances before Christmas. Two days before Christmas, Ronnie watched, licking the taste of cranberries on his lips as his mother bathed baby Elizabeth in the infant's tub upon the tabletop. Can I help? he tentatively asked. After a moment's consideration, Mother nodded. Of course, Ronnie. She handed the boy the soft washcloth when he stepped close.

Just gently wash her body, okay? Mother held Elizabeth securely in the tub. Ronnie rubbed the cloth over the baby's soft shoulders and belly and imagined grabbing hold of the baby's ankles, whirling her around and flinging her against the wall, then jumping up and down on her body once she hit the floor. He imagined skewering her with the fireplace poker and roasting her like a marshmallow.

He imagined taking his fingers and poking them into Elizabeth's wide blue eyes and cramming the soaking wet washcloth down her throat. He licked the tang of cranberries away. Here, Mother interrupted his thoughts. Hold her steady for me while I lay out the towel. Ronnie's hands were placed as mother's beneath Elizabeth's arms. He looked up into his mother's eyes. They were smiling. The tang in his mouth sweetened.

Mother leaned over to unfold the towel beside the infant's tub. Ronnie began to release his grip. Elizabeth slipped a bit. Could she slide all the way down until she drowned? Ronnie wondered. Not likely, but perhaps she could slip fast enough that were he to try to catch hold of her again, her tiny little neck might snap in the process. Her tiny little neck, so skinny in its frailty, trying to hold up her big, bobbling head.

And maybe her big, bobbling head just might pop right off in his hands. Pop! The cranberry tang caused a slip of drool to dampen Ronnie's chin. His eyes grew wide as he stared at his sister. He let go his grip. Elizabeth started to slide. Whoa! Mother quickly caught the baby before she slipped into the shallow water and laughed nervously. She can be a little wiggle bug, can't she?

Almost got away from you. You have to be more careful with your sister, Ronnie, his father spoke from the doorway as he entered the room. Yes, Ronnie agreed, taking a step back, relieved Mother had been so quick. Christmas was close. He couldn't be naughty before Santa came. But afterwards, afterwards, he could feel good again. On Christmas Eve, he could not sleep. His stocking was hung, but would it be filled?

Was Santa real? Would he come? And what about Schmultzy? But this was America. Of course Santa would come, Santa and a red-nosed reindeer to leave presents under the tree, not red-eyed Schmutzli. He had been being, oh, so very good, even though the hunger for cranberries was unendurably strong. Elizabeth was sleeping in her room across the hall. Mother and father were sleeping in their room at the end of the hall.

Ronnie stared out the dark window to the starlit night beyond. Please let Santa come, he whispered. He only had to wait until after Santa came. He couldn't be bad before Santa came. But afterwards, everything would be all right, and he could feel good again. After all, this was America, and in America Santa wanted little boys to feel good. Santa rewarded good with presents.

Ronnie stared at his bedroom door. Elizabeth was across the hall. Mother and father were at the end of the hall. At the other end of the hall, around the corner in the living room, the brightly lit Christmas tree cheerfully winked, awaiting its yearly night-stalking visitor. Every year it was Santa who came. Not Samiklaus. Not Schmutzli. This was America. Ronnie pulled the blanket up to his chin and stared out the dark window.

The tang was in his mouth. He just wanted to feel good. That's all. He didn't want to be naughty. And there was only one way to feel good. And here in America, Santa brought presents to the good. Maybe even a baseball bat. Bright, shiny, and red. Thunk. He could hear the metallic sound of the bat's impact. Thunk. Thunk. Hollow and resonant. red gleaming slick gosh he was so hungry he wanted to feel good to feel good for santa elizabeth was across the hall he sat up in bed and stared at the door was there truly a santa If so, was he American?

Or was he Swiss? And had he come yet? Ronnie laid back down. It was getting hard to breathe. His mouth was full. He needed to feel good. When would Santa come so he could feel good? He needed to know Santa had come before he could feel good. He sat back up and dangled his feet over the side of the bed. He stared at the door.

Elizabeth was across the hall. Had Santa come yet? Ronnie was so very hungry, starving. He could taste the cranberries. He needed to feel good. Bare feet hit the floor. He crept to the bedroom door, peeked into the hall, looked to his parents' closed bedroom door, then to Elizabeth's. His hands began to sweat. Ronnie eased his way into the hall without squeaking the door hinges and padded for the living room.

He peeped around the corner into the room, awash with twinkling colored lights, and gasped. Santa was real. He had come. The stockings were bulging, filled to the brim. beneath the tree under a big green bow was a shimmering red baseball bat the color of cranberries. He crouched to his hands and knees and crawled for the tree. Hesitantly, his hand touched the cold aluminum that gleamed beneath a barrage of twinkling lights.

He slowly lifted it up and gave the bat a loving caress. In America, Santa wanted little boys to feel good. In America, Santa rewarded the good. He rewarded the good with shiny aluminum baseball bats to enable the good never to stop. Ronnie wanted to feel good. He had waited for so, so long. The sweet tang of cranberries filled his mouth as he hugged the red baseball bat and eased back down the hall.

Turning the knob to Elizabeth's bedroom door, he gently pushed it open. He stepped inside. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. In a gleam of red, the bat hit the floor. The flyer Ronnie's father tacked to the electric pole featured the smiling face of a seven-year-old boy. A reward was being offered for any information leading to the missing boy's whereabouts. But Jim knew no reward would ever be paid out.

Jim knew Ronnie had been a bad boy. Jim had found the bloody hammer matted with dog hair and gore. He knew Ronnie had lied about the puppy running off through the open gate and Jim feared what Ronnie would do with a shiny new baseball bat. Yes, Ronnie was certainly a very bad boy and very bad boys had to be whisked away forever.

If that story left you hungry for more, well, don't worry. We have a lot more to get to tonight as we rest by the fire. Mmm, hot cocoa. Delicious. You know, I love the holidays so much, but I'm always worried. Will I wind up on the legendary, notorious, naughty list? Well, I think it's about time we listen to a story all about what happens to those damned souls who don't live up to St.

Nicholas's expectations. So let's listen to Naughty List after a quick word from our sponsors. The Naughty List by Keith Tomlin Andy Price, 12 years old, went to sleep on Christmas Eve in a dry, warm bed in the St. Luke's home for wayward youth and woke up on a cold, damp stone floor. He groggily sat up and looked around the large chamber. A dozen other kids about his age were also waking up, each looking about with the same dazed and confused look that he had.

There were three girls and ten boys, including Andy, all wearing their nightclothes. Andy stumbled to his feet, reaching out to the nearby wall to steady himself. The wall felt cold against his bare hand. He looked closer and it seemed that the walls, and even the ceiling, were made from ice. A dim luminescence emitted from the ice, creating a soft light that lit the entire chamber.

Each wall of the square room had tunnels that led off of it, and the tall ceiling had a large circular hole in the middle. Some kids began milling about, exploring the cavern and looking down the corridors. Others remained seated on the floor, unable to believe what their eyes were telling them. Andy stood apart against the wall and studied the other kids. He knew that knowledge was power, and he wanted to gain as much information as possible to ensure that he would, as always, come out on top.

As he studied the kids, he began to sort them into categories. Are they weak or strong? Are they a threat? Can he manipulate them into doing what he wants? How can he use them to ensure that he will win whatever sick and twisted game this was? All of this came to Andy as naturally as breathing. He always got what he wanted, and nothing stood in his way.

No teachers, no laws, not even his parents. Andy was born to Greg and Mary Price, a young couple living in Chicago. Greg was a junior architect, and Mary was a kindergarten teacher. They had met in a Bible study class and soon fell in love. They married, and within a year, Mary gave birth to their first child, Andrew, or Andy, as he was lovingly called.

He was a perfect baby, never crying, never raising a fuss. When he was eight and small pets and animals started disappearing around the neighborhood, no one suspected the quiet Price Kid. They put the disappearances down to rumors of coyotes roaming the Chicago suburbs. When Andy was ten and bigger pets began disappearing, some neighbors did begin to point fingers at that odd price child who always seemed to be watching them with a hint of a knowing smile on his young face.

His parents never suspected their son was anything but a perfect little angel, at least not until they brought home their second child, Susan, when Andy was 11. Little accidents began to happen to the baby. Mysterious bruises appeared and they twice found the baby choking, having somehow swallowed a marble and a coin. The final incident was when the crib tipped over during the night and the resulting injury required Susan to have surgery.

When his parents began to suspect that Andy may be behind these accidents, an electrical outlet started a fire that only Andy survived. Loud, eerie music reminiscent of the tune you would hear from a jack-in-the-box toy began drifting down from the hole in the ceiling. It slowly increased in volume until it shook the walls. This went on for so long that Andy thought his eardrums would shatter.

He pressed his palms against his ears and fell to the floor, screaming for it to stop. And suddenly, it did. A few heartbeats later, a high-pitched voice began reciting a poem in a hypnotic, sing-song voice. Judgment passed, trial done, judged naughty, every one. No games, no rules, no referee. Two choices, fight or flee. Survive the night, only two ways. Kill the monster or escape the maze.

The voice stopped, but the echoes rang along the corridors for minutes before finally fading away. Andy struggled to his feet as a grinding sound, like an old rusty gate being opened, shook the room. Seconds later, a massive creature dropped from the hole, landing heavily on the floor. The creature stood up straight, twice as tall as Andy. It had an ape-like body that was covered with long, white fur.

It roared, opening its oversized mouth to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth. The creature's long arms flexed as its powerful muscles rippled beneath the long hair. Each hand had long fingers that were tipped with wickedly sharp claws. The creature slowly swiveled its massive head to survey its surroundings. Most of the children who had been shocked by the reveal of the monster snapped to life and began running for the nearest tunnel.

This seemed to amuse the creature and it threw back its head and roared again, this time in anticipation of the hunt. When the creature first appeared, Andy had slid along the wall and ducked into a side passage. He peered out around the corner and watched the chamber quickly empty of children, except for two. One of the younger-looking kids, a petite girl dressed in a pink nightgown, had curled into a ball on the ground and kept repeating, this is not happening over and over again.

The other kid, a red-haired boy, stood pressed against the wall, his face filled with horror and disbelief. A large wet stain had appeared on his Marvel superhero pajama bottoms, running from his crotch to his ankles. The creature clicked his tongue as it walked over to the boy that was standing. It seemed to smile as it gently reached out one claw hand and slowly wrapped it around the boy's chest.

It pulled him close, and stared in his eyes before it raised his other hand, and flicked a finger out, slicing the boy's throat. It seized the boy's head in its free hand, and bent it back like snapping open a pixie stick. It raised the child above his head, and let the blood flow into its mouth, blood splattering all over the creature's face and chest.

When the blood stopped, the creature flung the lifeless body across the cavern. As the creature turned to face the girl on the ground, she began chanting- this is not happening- louder and more frantic. The creature's arm shot out and grabbed her by the ankle. In one smooth motion it whipped its arm around, slamming the girl's head into the wall. It split open and splattered blood, bone and brains all over the room.

As the creature began to feed, Andy's mind raced, searching for possibilities of how to control the situation. He had always known what to say and do to ensure that he got what he wanted. Now his mind came back with nothing except panic. This was new to him. And he had never before tasted fear. He turned and ran. The passages were wide, at least eight feet across, and not quite as tall as the starting chamber.

Side tunnels ran off of this one. In seemingly random intervals, echoes seemed to have a life of their own and reverberated all around andy. He heard the echo of the girl chanting this is not happening, as well as the wet, hollow thunk of her head hitting the ice. He could also hear echoes of something large moving quickly. Andy felt disoriented and began choosing passages at random, trying to put as much distance between him and that creature as possible.

More screams echoed through the halls as the creature found another victim. After a few minutes, Andy paused, gasping for breath. As he looked down a side tunnel, he noticed that it opened up into a room. He skulked along that corridor and peered around the corner. The room was large and had ceilings as tall as the first chamber. Along the far wall was a wooden rack with metal items arrayed along its length.

It took Andy a moment to realize what was on the rack. Swords? Andy whispered. As Andy took a few steps forward, a boy dressed in Transformers pajamas charged into the room, Run! It's coming! He yelled. Once again, Andy turned and ran. Andy didn't know how long he ran. It seemed like days. He heard screams echoing all around him. Unclear if they were old screams echoing their way back around or new ones.

He ran out of one tunnel into a larger corridor and had to immediately duck as the largest of the children tried to take his head off with a sword. You stay away! I don't trust you and I'll kill anyone that gets too close to me! The boy screamed, swinging his sword in the air as he backed away from Andy. He moved past a side tunnel when a blur of white sprang out of it.

The creature leaped at the boy, pinning him to the ground. It began to tear limbs off the large boy like a child might wings off a fly. Andy ran. After a few minutes, Andy ran into a chamber with four children standing in a semicircle, each holding a short spear. The tallest of the kids pointed to a wooden rack of spears behind them, saying, Hey kid, grab a weapon.

We're gonna kill that damn thing. Andy ran to the rack and snatched one up. Nodding at the tall boy, he walked over to the left side of the phalanx, making sure he was closest to the exit. The kids stood at the ready, watching for the creature. As ready as they were, the attack happened so quickly only the tall kid was able to bring his spear up to attack.

The creature burst out of the tunnel that Andy had come through and smashed into the circle of kids. Tall kid was able to put a spear in the side of the creature, but the powerful beast barely noticed. The creature knocked over two defenders with one powerful blow and grabbed Tallkid in the other hand. Andy turned and ran. Panting with effort, Andy ran as fast as he could.

Looking back, he saw one of the other defenders, a young girl with long hair wearing sweatpants and a shirt with a peace sign. She ran up alongside him, matching his speed, and gave a small nod. Andy nodded back. They ran together for a few seconds before he heard the creature roar and felt the ground shake as the beast pursued them. Andy didn't dare look, but he could tell the creature was gaining fast.

The girl gave him another quick look and a shrug as she increased her speed and began to pull away from him. Andy tried to dig deeper, but he had nothing left. The creature was getting closer, and he was running out of options. He then realized that he was still holding the spear, his mind started to race through the potentials. Attacking the creature with it would do nothing except get him killed.

He could drop it and hope that it increases his speed. Or as soon as his mind came up with the third possibility, he acted without even fully realizing what he was going to do. He thrust the spear forward as he ran, and just barely he was able to catch the girl in the back of her thigh with the tip. It wasn't a deep wound, but it was just enough to make her stumble and fall.

He ran past without looking down at her. A few strides later, her scream and the sound of snapping bones echoed in the hallway. The passageway led to another room. Andy ran into it and stopped for a second to catch his breath. He felt the ground shake and knew the creature was making its way down the hall towards him. Just as Andy was about to run down another passageway, the kid with the transformer pajamas came stumbling into the room.

He held a wounded arm and was panting heavily. Hey, kid, Andy said. I owe you one from earlier. This way is safe. I'll catch up to you in a second. I just need to catch my breath. Andy pointed back the way he just came. Thanks, the Transformer kid said as he started moving down the corridor that Andy just exited. As Andy turned down another passage, he smiled as he heard screams and a beastly roar of triumph.

Minutes or maybe hours later, Andy was cold to the bone and could not control his shivering, but he kept running. His feet were leaving bloody footprints with every step, but he was numb to that, as he was numb to everything else. He ran without thinking, letting his subconscious guide him through the maze. After an incalculable amount of time, he entered into a large oval room, bigger than any other he had seen so far.

He slowed down as he noticed that there were no other corridors leading off of this room. As he walked further into the massive chamber, he noticed a door at the far end. Andy approached the door. A painted sign that hung over it had a single word written. Exit. Andy reached out and placed his hand on the wood of the door. It felt real.

A tear ran down Andy's cheek as he realized that this was not an illusion. He slowly turned the door handle And the door clicked and began to open. A sharp icy breeze blew in from the outside And Andy started to take a step forward to cross the threshold. He suddenly stopped when he noticed shapes in the darkness outside. Dozens and dozens of little humanoid creatures stood around the outside of the exit door.

Andy could feel all of their eyes on him. Is this a trick? Andy yelled at them, but did not get a reply. Andy tried to think, to push back the fog and fatigue that clouded his mind. Shaking his head, Andy realized that there was only one choice and started once again to step through the door. As he lifted his foot, a powerful hand grabbed him around his waist and lifted him in the air.

He was spun around to face the creature, its black eyes drilled into his mind, his soul. It seemed to smile as it drew him closer. The thing opened its mouth and with a deep rumble croaked out a single word. Naughty. That was the last thing that Andy heard before the creature's teeth tore his head from his body. The creature greedily fed and tossed the corpse behind him as it started to move back into the bowels of the maze.

As Andy's lifeless body hit the floor, the sound of bells echoed through the maze. The creature grabbed its massive head and fell to the floor. As it slumped over, the little humanoid creatures began to flood into the room. These little creatures, known to some as elves, formed a circle around the fallen monster. When the bells stopped ringing, the elves began to chant in their high-pitched voices, chanting ancient and powerful words long forgotten by humanity.

As the chanting grew louder, the white fur that covered the creature's body began to turn black and crumble into ash. Its bare skin started to smoke, giving off waves of intense heat. The skin rippled and pulsated and soon began to flow like lava, forming a mound on the floor. As the mound cooled, the skin hardened into a shell, into a cocoon. As one, the elves stopped their chant.

They stood silent and unmoving, watching the cocoon in awe. The minute stretched on, the silence in the chamber was deafening until suddenly a large crack echoed throughout the room as the cocoon split open on top. The elves sprang into motion. Most of the elves clapped, cheered, and danced. A few ran forward with small hammers and chisels and delicately began to chip away at the shell of the cocoon, reverently handling every small piece they chipped off to the other elves who carefully carried it through the exit door.

After minutes of chiseling, the side of the cocoon burst open, spilling its contents onto the stone floor. Gallons of thick, greenish-yellow liquid poured from the hole, and, with a splash, a tall, rotund man with a long, white beard slid from the cocoon onto the floor. A large group of elves rushed forward, some cleaning up the liquid with towels, others gently wrapping the man in heavy blankets and carrying him out into the cold, dark night.

Santa Claus opened his eyes and looked around the room, stifling a yawn. His face turned from confusion to concern when he noticed that the room was filled with his little helpers. Why, hello everyone. Is something wrong? Santa said in his deep, booming voice, his hand stroking his long white beard. One elf stepped forward and gave a small bow. In a high-pitched, squeaky tone, he said, We're sorry to wake you, Santa, but it's Christmas Eve and...

Christmas Eve, Santa interrupted. He leapt out of bed, almost knocking over a score of elves. I overslept again. Prepare the sled, gather the gifts. I have millions of good little boys and girls to visit tonight. The elves cheered as Santa grabbed his black boots off the floor and rushed out of the room. The elves kept cheering as they followed Santa out of the bedroom.

All except one. This elf walked over to a small writing desk and sat down. He removed a quill pen and a parchment from a drawer. Dipping the pen into an inkwell, he wrote, Naughty, across the top of the paper in a smooth, elegant font. He then drew thirteen lines underneath it. He put the pen down and sat there, waiting. Waiting for the new list of naughty boys and girls for next Christmas Eve.

Well, I guess we can't all get exactly what we want for Christmas. But I think most of us would like to maybe make it through unmangled. Many of us don't really worry about gifts, because the holidays aren't just about receiving gifts or even giving gifts. The holidays are about being together with the ones you love and making your own holiday cheer. But what if you took it one step further and, instead of just making your own holiday cheer and spending time with your loved ones, You make your own loved ones entirely.

This naughty little ditty from Strickfield, Ohio, is all about a man who makes an attempt at just that. Lady Frankenstein is on the prowl this Christmas. So let's kick back and listen to this one after a quick word from our sponsors. Lady Frankenstein by Rob Fields December 23rd was the absolute biggest Christmas shopping day in Strickfield. Usually, most everyone was out shopping.

Strickfield Town Center Mall was even packed. The one season of the year when it usually was. However, there was one person who had other plans during the holiday season. Just outside the village limits, in an old mansion that was thought to be abandoned, Vincent Frankenstein was alone in a third-floor laboratory and working on an experiment that was on a large slab. He had just finished affixing the hands to the lifeless female body.

As he admired his work, he knew that his female creation would correct many of the flaws that had plagued his ancestor, Henry Frankenstein, many years ago. After finding Henry's thought-to-be-lost journals and studying them over immensely, Vincent had started work on trying to rediscover and harness that great ultraviolet ray that was said to have brought life to all things living. Vincent's first experiment was on a cat that had been hit by a car.

Vincent fixed the body up as best he could, he achieved success in turning the ray on the cat and restoring life to it. After he had performed many tests on it, the cat had not shown any hostile tendencies. In fact, it acted as if it had never died, and even took nourishment upon its rebirth. Vincent had succeeded in restoring a dog to life with the same results.

One experiment after another, Vincent would continue his research until he was absolutely certain that his updated process worked flawlessly. Once he felt that he had compiled enough data, he decided that he would do what Henry had accomplished on two occasions, to create a human being from dead parts and endow the amalgamation with life. Like his great ancestor before him, he secured fresh body parts for his creation, anywhere he could obtain them.

It had taken Vincent a great deal of time and a lot of preservation, but he had nearly completed a female body. All that was missing was a perfect head, and this part was where Vincent would exercise the utmost caution, for he remembered that Henry's first creation had turned out for the worst. Henry had unknowingly placed the brain of a dead criminal within the head of what became known as Frankenstein's monster.

Or simply, just Frankenstein. Yes, Henry's first creation had killed many people, including a little girl who was playing by the water near her village. Vincent could not allow such a mistake to be made a second time. Henry had also recorded in another journal that he, with the help of one Dr. Septimus Pretorius had created a female of his own to be a companion and mate for the original creation.

However, the female creation had come to reject her potential mate and was believed to be destroyed in an explosion. Vincent had thought ahead and removed his creation's reproductive system to make her sterile so that his creation could not produce potentially dangerous offspring. Vincent had read in Strickfield's local newspaper that a young woman from North Ridgeway had recently passed away due to an extreme loss of blood.

He was certain that the head would be in great physical condition and would be perfect for his creation. That night, he had gone to North Ridgeway Memorial Hospital. After disengaging the security cameras, Vincent made his way to the morgue and found the naked female body with his perfect head. When Vincent thoroughly examined the body of Annabeth Winters, he couldn't understand what had caused this once-living beautiful girl to die from such an extreme loss of blood.

His research on Annabeth Winters showed that she had been a top-level athlete from North Ridgeway University, so she was not a dangerous criminal. Vincent's creation would have the perfect head and brain of Annabeth Winters. It had taken Vincent a great deal of time to properly attach the spinal cord to the brain of Annabeth Winters. Upon successful completion, he stitched the flesh together to finish making the head a part of the body.

Vincent hooked up the completed body to the multiple machines to both inject and conduct the circulation of blood. All he needed now was the perfect storm to grant him that one jolt of powerful lightning in conjunction with his ultraviolet ray to bring his creation to life. His Christmas wish couldn't have been granted soon enough. This Christmas season just happened to be unseasonably warm, guaranteeing a green holiday.

Vincent heard the loud rumbling and knew that he needed to act quickly. After he finished wrapping the body in special bandages to help evenly distribute the forthcoming electrical current, all was ready. He threw the switches to both open the panel in the roof and send the body upward until it was outside and exposed to the storm. Vincent monitored his instruments closely. When the needles and digital displays spiked in their readings, he knew that the lightning had struck the rods at each corner of the slab and had sent millions of volts throughout the body, in conjunction with the ultraviolet ray that he had mounted just above.

Vincent brought the body back down, closing the roof panel. When the slab was back on the floor again, Vincent waited for any sign of movement. He didn't have to wait long when a hand started to move. It's alive! he gasped. It's alive! My God! I've succeeded! He took his scissors and proceeded to cut the wrappings to reveal the creation's head. Then he cut the wrappings to reveal her hands and feet.

it struck him odd that the creation's stitched areas were quickly healing up into a single unified flesh. He heard his creation moaning and knew that she was scared. He looked into the beautiful face of his creation. It's all right. You're going to be just fine. I'll take very good care of you. The creation regarded her creator for a moment and screamed. Then she started heaving.

Vincent saw that his creation was angry now. Very angry. She screamed again to show her rage. Then Vincent noticed that the creation's eyes were glowing red. It was during her third scream, one for freedom, that she broke the iron shackles that had secured her wrists and ankles to the slab. No! Stop! Vincent held out his hands to try to take hold of her to calm her down.

The creation quickly grabbed a heavy table nearby and flung it at her creator. He ducked to avoid serious injury. When Vincent got to his feet, the creation screamed with rage again. Seeing the door to her right, she proceeded to walk to it. To her freedom. Stop! Vincent yelled at her. When the creation had reached the door, she found it was locked. She smashed her fists through the thick wooden door as if it were brittle.

It was then when Vincent saw the full length mirror near the control panel. The creature had no reflection. It was then that Vincent Frankenstein had gotten his answer as to why the body of Annabeth Winters was in such good condition in spite of a loss of blood. The young woman had been sired by a vampire. In utilizing her head, Vincent had made an even worse mistake than what Henry before him had made.

No, he had not given his creation the brain of a dead criminal. He had given his creation the head of a newborn vampire. The creation easily smashed through the French doors and walked down the steps to the front yard to continue her escape. The rain poured on her seemingly mummified body. The creation relished her freedom in spite of the weather. She came to a dirt path and walked it for several minutes before she arrived at a road.

Seeing a sign with an arrow that pointed left, she turned in that direction and headed to Strickfield. The roads were deserted as she walked to her destination. When she entered the Strickfield village limits, she noticed that every house was bright, with Christmas lights and decorations. There were even houses with animatronics doing their programmed actions. As the creation stared at this winter wonderland, she started to become uncomfortable.

She growled and clutched her throat. She looked and saw a man working to replace a few bulbs in a string of christmas lights. She hissed with delight and began to make her way towards the man. When she reached him, the man saw her bare feet and looked up at her bandaged body. Listen, you get the hell off my property, he grumbled. Not unless you want me to call the.

The man fought to break her iron grip as she held his coat and hair. She tilted his head back to fully expose his neck before opening her mouth to reveal her sharp fangs. The man screamed as she bit into his neck and began to drink. The creation felt herself becoming stronger and more vibrant with each swallow of blood. When she was finished, she shoved the corpse away from her.

The creation heard other sounds nearby, mainly a car engine. She looked and saw the car in another person's yard that had damaged an animatronic Santa Claus. Shortly after four high school kids, two boys and two girls got out of the car, one of the girls pointed to the vandalized Santa. Fuck you, Principal Van Deest! The other girl kicked the Santa head that had fallen at her feet.

Yeah, go get fucked, you motherfucker. One of the guys pointed to the house: hey, we should see if principal van deist is home, then we can smash his door in and kill his ass. The other guy muttered: I can't believe that son of a bitch expelled us from high school just because stevie tripped little aileen donnerly in the hallway yesterday. The girl named stevie turned and shoved the guy and then that fucking bitch, Bella Tavon, beat the shit out of me for it.

Bella Tavon beat the shit out of all of us, the other girl yelled, but Principal Van Deest expels us. I say we beat the living shit out of Van Deest. Then we find Bella Tavon and fucking kill her ass too. Stevie slapped the other girl on her arm quickly. Hey, look. The four of them turned their attention to recreation. One of the guys started laughing when he saw her staring at them from nearby.

Is that bitch dressed up like a, like a mummy? The other guy yelled to her: hey, airhead, halloween was two months ago, it's not trick-or-treat weekend, bitch stevie added: none of these houses are giving out candy, but we'll beat your fucking ass if you don't fuck off. The other girl further added: When the creation wouldn't walk away, they got back into their car.

The guy driving turned the wheel towards the creation and hit the gas. Yeah, run that fucking bitch over, Stevie yelled. The creation didn't look the least bit afraid. In fact, her eyes glowed hot as she screamed with rage and raised her fists. As the car was about to hit her, the creation brought her fists down on the car's hood and hit it with enough force to both stop the car dead in its tracks and make the rear end go way off-road and slam back down just as hard.

The creation moved the vehicle and saw the four enemies who had pissed her off. They were moaning in pain. The girls in the back were bleeding from their heads. As for the guys up front, they were both on the hood after crashing through the windshield together. She could smell how delicious the red leaking liquid from their wounds was and grabbed the driver.

He screamed as the creation drank him dry. After tossing him aside, she grabbed the other guy and drank him up. That left only the two girls. Now the creation moved to the passenger side and ripped the door off. She reached inside and pulled the girl next to stevie out. She held her by her hair with one hand. With the other, she grabbed the neck of her turtleneck sweater.

The girl cried out when she felt the creation's fingers pierce her flesh. She screamed as the creation pulled down fast, ripping the front of her turtleneck sweater away past her stomach, tearing all the flesh beyond with it. The creation threw the girl onto her back, leaving her vital organs exposed as blood pulled around the body. Stevie saw this and screamed in terror.

The creation heard her and screamed with rage yet again. She moved to the driver's side door and ripped it off, throwing it aside. She reached in and grabbed Stevie. She pulled her out of the car and held her where she stood. What are you? Stevie choked out. As the creation moved her hands to the sides of stevie's head to crush her skull in, she felt two sharp jabs on her shoulder blade.

She screamed as she felt the voltage go through her entire body, making her release stevie. When the creation refused to fall, the voltage only seemed to increase. She turned and saw vincent frankenstein at the other end of the taser rifle. She grabbed the cables and yanked hard enough to pull the rifle away from it. When the rifle landed in front of her, she stomped on it with one bare foot to snap it in two.

You are my creation. Stop this at once, vincent yelled. The creation screamed with rage and stretched her hands out into claws as she was ready to attack vincent. They both heard a low moan from stevie. Seeing that the creation was distracted, Vincent rushed at her and threw his body into her to knock her down. He moved quickly and lifted Stevie into his arms as the creation suddenly sat up.

Vincent ran as fast as he could and threw some nearby yards. Fortunately, he knew Strickfield quite well. The creation would not catch him and Stevie so quickly, at least not so long as she hadn't yet understood all of her potential vampiric powers. The creation, frustrated that she had lost her two victims, looked up and screamed so loudly that anything of a fragile nature nearby would either break or crack.

When she finished, she turned and continued walking through Strickfield. The next morning, Christmas Eve, the creation awakened and left the abandoned barn that she had taken shelter in. It had finally stopped raining, but it was quite cloudy and chilly. She seemed disoriented at how much more light was outside compared to the darkness of the night before. Just the same, she began to walk again.

the creation would find its way to Strickfield Town Center Mall. The creation walked in and saw that many people were going in and out of the stores or doing business with vendors at kiosks. But what really intrigued her at that moment were the many little versions of the people. As she watched the smaller people move about, her facial expression softened. Until... you.

You can't be in here without any shoes on. You're gonna have to leave. The creation glanced to see a fat security guard next to her. She ignored him and started walking again. Hey! The guard grumbled and grabbed her arm. The creation screamed in anger before she grabbed him and sank her fangs into his throat, which caused panic among the shoppers who saw.

After tossing the body aside, she screamed at the people and went for them. She had killed and drank two more before a little boy had crossed in front of her. The creation picked up the boy. Stop! The mother called out. Please don't hurt my baby! The creation looked at the woman only for a moment before returning her attention to the boy. After examining the boy, she finally lowered him and let him go.

The mother quickly snatched up her son and ran as fast as she could. Suddenly, two police officers appeared with their guns drawn. The creation screamed at them as they fired at her. To their disbelief, the officers found their bullets were useless. She was on them the moment their guns were empty. After she drained them of their blood, she made her way through the mall.

Many families scrambled to flee once they saw her. A few of the boldest dared to try and fight the creation, only for her to drink them up. Another fat security guard tried to take her down, but was quickly and easily thrown with one hand right through the little Santa's house at the center court. It seemed as if the creation would continue her reign of terror at the mall, but she reached the main doors and smashed right through them to finally leave.

Some of the police ran after her to try and subdue her, but they would find their efforts to be futile. These officers were most fortunate that the creation only smashed them to the parking lot and left them with their lives. She screamed at them before she turned and continued on her way. Stevie opened her eyes and awoke to find herself covered up in a four-post bed.

She saw that she was wearing a gown and felt that she had a bandage wrapped around her forehead. She felt a little scared as she looked around and wondered where she was. It's all right, Vincent said to her as he entered the room. Where the fuck am I? Stevie demanded. You're in my home, young lady. I treated your headroom and put you to bed so you could rest.

Stevie shrieked and pointed in a random direction. That thing! Vincent sighed sadly. She's still out there, I'm afraid. I went out to try and find her, but was unsuccessful. Stevie understood immediately and pointed an accusing finger at him. You created that motherfucking thing? She sprang out of bed. Fucking why? Vincent held up his hands. I am truly sorry for what she did to you and your friends, and nothing I can do will ever make up for that.

I'll have to carry every death she's caused with me for the rest of my life. He lowered his hands and sighed. I only wanted to be able to create life from death the way my ancestor did many, many years ago. Vincent explained everything to Stevie. The more he explained, the more Stevie became furious. She finally screamed at the top of her lungs and lunged at Vincent.

She took him down and screamed more as she threw fist after fist at him. Finally, she fell off him and heaved. God damn you! God damn you! Yes, perhaps God himself will damn me to hell for what I've done, Vincent agreed. But I still have to find my creation just the same. But how the fuck will you kill her, asshole? Stevie mocked him.

You fucked up by putting the head of a vampire on her. Vincent sat up and faced her. You believe in vampires? Stevie sneered in disgust. I was raped by one and survived. I ended up killing his motherfucking ass after he tried to sire me. She moved onto her knees and glared at Vincent with anticipation. I'm definitely going to help you kill that fucking thing.

When Stevie saw that Vincent was apprehensive, she growled and attacked him, getting on top of him again. When he looked up at her, she glared down at him. You listen to me, motherfucker. She pointed in a random direction. That fucking thing killed my friends. It damn near killed me. How many more people do you think she's going to kill right fucking now, huh?

They're all on your fucking head. Okay, okay, Vincent conceded. I was hoping to take her alive so that maybe I can fix her. Stevie got off Vincent and stood up. There is no fixing her. You know it and I know it. Vincent got up and faced Stevie. I'll get you some fresh clothes, then we'll go look for my creation. Stevie continued to glare at him with distrust as he left her room.

The creation walked onto the Strickfield University grounds and looked at the Christmas decorations. She didn't understand why there were so many brightly colored lights, the multiple snowmen or even the fat men wearing red and white suits. She really didn't understand too much except that people were after her. that she needed to feed on their blood, and that she now felt certain desires growing inside her.

The creation continued walking the campus, but she didn't see anybody. Of course, she couldn't have known that nearly every student had left Strickfield University for the holiday break. She screamed in frustration at not getting what she desired. She approached a nearby animatronic Santa Claus and sent its head flying right off its shoulders with a quick punch. She reached inside its open neck to kill it some more.

The creation screamed and became angrier as the high voltage surged through her body. She stopped the voltage by ripping the animatronic Santa in half. Jesus Christ, what are you doing? Someone called out to her. The creation was ready to scream at the person, but she quickly stopped and calmed down. She allowed the chunky guy with glasses to approach her. You... you alright?

She didn't answer, but continued to look him over. Wow, you sure are tall. He looked down at her bare feet. And you don't even need heels. Then he saw that her wet bandages had parted enough in several places to reveal that she didn't have any clothing on underneath. At all. Hey, you can't stay out here looking like that if the police see you.

He took her hand. Come on, my house is just over there. I can give you something to wear out of my sister's room. The creation allowed the guy to lead her off campus and to the nearby house where he lived with his family. He brought her inside and took her upstairs to his bedroom. My parents aren't home, but I'll take care of you.

Listen, do you have a name? When she still didn't answer him, he pointed to himself: I'm reggie red g. When she remained silent, he motioned for her to stay. I'll get a scissor and some clothes. [Editorial summary: Reggie helps the creation clean up and gives her clothing. They share a private, affectionate moment.] Then she quickly turned her head when she heard noises coming from downstairs.

Somebody's home, Reggie explained. Don't worry, nobody's going to hurt you. The creation wouldn't release his hand. Only when he assured her that he would return did she let him go. He opened the door and headed downstairs. The creation heard talking, but she couldn't understand the words. It wasn't long after that she heard quick movements on the stairs, along with reggie yelling. Something was wrong.

She stood up and moved to the door. She walked right through it, turning it into boards and kindling. She turned to see Vincent Frankenstein and Stevie in the hallway. She screamed angrily and moved at them. Oh shit, Stevie shrieked. She raised her shotgun and blasted the creation in the shoulder. No, Reggie yelled. The creation only jerked back on its impacted shoulder and showed Stevie just how fast she could heal.

Stevie and Vincent quickly moved back downstairs. They hadn't counted on the creation leaping all the way down the stairway. Stevie cried out in fright as the creation suddenly grabbed her and put her right through the front door. Then she turned to face Vincent and Reggie. For a moment, she seemed to convey betrayal towards Reggie. When she saw him shaking his head quickly, she realized he was innocent.

Her creator and the girl had found her, somehow. Vincent raised his hands in front of him. Let me take you home. I can fix you. Please, don't be like this. No more killing, please. Just come with me. The creation still didn't understand him, but she screamed with hatred at him. She was about to grab him when she took another shotgun blast, this time in the back.

The creation turned to see Stevie. Come and get me, you fucking bitch, she called out as she turned and ran. The creation screamed and darted outside. It hadn't taken the creation long to almost be upon Stevie. Suddenly, she felt Vincent jumping onto her back. As she was about to grab him, she felt the sharpness of a needle going into her shoulder, followed by something squirting out.

Vincent dropped off her back and stuck her with a second needle. The creation fell to her knees and then onto her side. We don't have much time, stevie, let's get her back to the lab. Vincent said: I can't believe I'm agreeing to let you try and fix her. Stevie muttered: you should just fucking kill her. When stevie saw reggie coming outside, she pointed right at him: shut the fuck up and get back inside.

You fucking fat fuck stick. What are you gonna do with her? He demanded. When Stevie raised the shotgun to him and pumped it, he quickly squealed and darted back inside. The creation opened her eyes and felt as if she was moving, yet she found she was incapacitated. She looked up and saw the sky was moving fast. She clenched her teeth and found the chain securing her wouldn't give.

She growled through her teeth as she exerted her strength again. This time, the chains broke in several places. She moved to her feet and leapt from the pickup truck. As soon as she landed on her bare feet, she heard the truck break to a halt. Vincent and Stevie got out. The creation looked at them and screamed the loudest she had ever screamed.

The two of them tried to get back into the truck, but the creation moved to it quickly. easily lifted the truck and threw it right off the side of the bridge they were on. The truck soon made a huge splash in the Castalia River, where the raging waters would carry it away. Vincent and Stevie turned to run, but the creation only had to leap to catch them.

She backed them up to the edge of the bridge. It would take a combined desperate attempt for them to survive. As Vincent injected the creation with his last two tranquilizers, and Stevie placed her shotgun under the creation's chin and blasted the top of her head off. The creation staggered back and fell off the side of the bridge. She dropped into the Castalia River, where the raging waters quickly carried her body away.

You think we stopped her? Stevie asked quickly. Vincent sighed. I don't know. I just don't know. On Christmas morning, the creation had awakened. She didn't know how long she had been unconscious, but she was lying on the side of the river. She slowly pulled herself to her feet and felt her head, which was fully restored. She didn't understand how she had survived, and she really didn't care.

There was only one thing that creation did care about, and put her hands on her swollen belly. Vincent Frankenstein hadn't counted on the creation's vampiric healing factor restoring the ovaries that he had removed prior to giving her life. On Christmas Eve, she had conceived life with Reggie Later. On Christmas Day her first child would be born, The first child of a superior new race.

I guess when it comes to building a perfect woman who happens to be super strong and murderous, it's really the thought that counts. This next story is a little bit more, well, I don't want to say traditional. That's maybe putting it a little too broadly. But this one's all about getting what you want for Christmas. And don't we all want a little something?

As we get older, we may want more experiences than tangible items. But we all have wants in our hearts, even if we pretend that we don't. So enjoy this piece of holiday fear right after these words. From our sponsors. All I Want for Christmas by Morgan Moore A deathly chill blows through the night as light snow falls and gently blankets the ground.

Cemetery gates creak open. Another gust of December wind blowing out of the hallowed grounds as they do so. The man who unlocked and opened the gates removes the key from the lock. In his other hand is a shovel. He looks into the cemetery and takes a deep breath, releasing it along with a sigh before walking in. The man in question was Jebediah Hawkins.

Jebediah was a gravekeeper for the cemetery. He had a wife and a little girl. His reason for being in the cemetery tonight would never be anything of question, But it was Christmas Eve. Nobody worked in the cemetery on Christmas Eve or day. Jebediah walked through the cemetery, never wavering on his path. He was on a mission tonight. One he intended to complete.

A few days ago, Jebediah was working a day shift. While he was cleaning in the funeral home that rested on the grounds, he spotted something that took his breath away. It was the body of a six-year-old girl, the same age as his daughter. In her hands was a Tressie doll. Tressie dolls were the new toy of the year, Selling like hotcakes, coming and going lickety-split.

Every little girl wanted one, Including Jebediah's daughter. Like many other parents, Jebediah and his wife had no luck finding the doll. Their daughter's birthday went by without her getting one. It broke the Hawkins' hearts to not be able to get the one thing their daughter wanted, the one thing she asked for in a childhood where she rarely, if ever, asked for anything.

The two agreed that if either of them found a Tressie that, if they could, they would buy it on the spot. Unfortunately, their town was small, filled almost exclusively with small cell phone stores. Stocks of the doll came and went in the blink of an eye, and out-of-town trips proved no better. The couple had just given up hope as Christmas approached, melancholic and ready to disappoint their daughter.

Until Jebediah laid his eyes on the Tressie doll, clutched in the dead girl's hands. Tragic, isn't it? the undertaker asked. Huh? Jebediah asked in response. Poor lass fell off a horse she was riding and got trampled to death, right before Christmas to boot. Such a shame. The undertaker explained as he walked away. Yeah. A real shame, Jebediah answered. The next day, Jebediah watched as the girl was buried, the Tressie doll still in her hands.

When he asked why they kept it, the undertaker told him, that girl and doll went everywhere together, like they were the best of friends. Her parents thought it would be appropriate then that she went off to heaven with a friend so she wouldn't be lonely. It didn't take long for Jebediah to formulate his plan. Jebediah approached the grave of the little girl.

More snow and wind blew around him, the cold cutting through to his bones. Am I really about to do this? he thought. He wanted to give his daughter a great Christmas. Give her the one thing she asked for. Can I do this? His answer was an earth piercing yes. As he stabbed the shovel into the ground, he repeats the action again and again, throwing snow-covered dirt off to the side as he works his way deeper into the little girl's grave.

Jebediah's mind blocked out all thoughts of the dead child he saw only a few days ago, instead conjuring up the image of his daughter with the doll playing happily a few hours from now, on Christmas Day. He thought of him and his wife sitting by the fire come nightfall and extra happy Christmas behind them. It was these thoughts that kept Jebediah busy until he felt the shovel head slam into the coffin.

Jebediah looked down at the small box. A gust of wind blew by and threw dirt down onto Jebediah and the coffin almost as if the universe was telling him to stop. I can't stop. Not now. Jebediah started to stab the coffin with the shovel. As the head struck the casket repeatedly, wood splintered and flew up. Jebediah kept at it for minutes before finally punching a hole through the coffin.

He stared down into the breach and saw the little girl's face and the doll. The desperate father tossed the shovel out of the grave and knelt down beside the coffin. Jebediah gulped as he stared down at the girl's corpse. He reached into the coffin, grabbed the doll, and pulled up. Nothing budged. Jebediah tried again, but nothing moved. He looked closer as he kept trying to pull the doll out.

The doll was clasped so tightly in her hands that it wouldn't budge. Every tug got him nowhere closer to getting the Tressie doll. The night was moving on and the temperature was dropping. Soon it would be midnight Christmas. If he didn't get the doll back home in time then Christmas would be ruined. Jebediah braced a foot against the coffin and grabbed the doll with both hands.

He put all his strength into one big tug. The doll came free. And so did the hands of the little girl, still gripping the doll. Jebediah stared in horror at the image. He pried the hands off the doll and threw them back into the coffin. Jebediah stared down, into the hole, into the coffin, and at the dead little girl, her hands laying on opposite ends of her body.

The more he looked at her, the more she started to remind him of his own daughter. Jebediah felt a tinge of regret for what he'd done. What if his daughter was dead and someone dug up her body to get something? He looked down at the doll. All of this, all of this fuss over a simple little doll. Jebediah stretched his arms out, hands trembling as he told himself he couldn't take it.

He closed his eyes, unable to bear, looking at the corpse. The man tried to conjure up images more pleasant. What came to him was the image of his daughter on Christmas morning, playing with her new Tressie doll. Jebediah opened his eyes and looked at the doll. He had to go through with it, he told himself, for his little girl. Sorry, Jebediah said to the dead girl.

He climbed out of the grave and set the doll down before picking up the shovel. Quickly. He filled the hole back up with dirt, grabbed the doll and hightailed it out of the cemetery into his car and sped away. Into the night. Jebediah snuck into his house. Being careful not to make too much noise. He headed to the kitchen and turned on a small light above the sink.

Jeb placed the doll down, took off his coat, and picked the doll back up. With a flick of his wrist, Jebediah turned on the water and started to clean the doll. After some time, the doll was clean of all dirt, and Jebediah managed to get out some of the stench of earth. He smiled at the Tressie and placed it on the kitchen table.

Now to get you wrapped up, Jebediah said triumphantly. Jebediah walked out of the kitchen and started heading to his wife's sewing room. The grandfather clock in the living room struck midnight. It was Christmas. Jebediah stopped as the clock chimed and looked at the Christmas tree. Suddenly a microburst assaulted the Hawkins house. windows burst open and wind and snow assaulted Jebediah. He tried to get to the windows but is throated by how strong the wind is.

Next he attempted to retreat to the sewing room but a gust of wind blew through the windows inside the room and slammed Jebediah to the ground. He tried to stand up but found that he couldn't. Instead he crawled his way back into the kitchen. Upon entering the kitchen, the wind stopped. The house felt deathly cold as Jebediah stood up, cautiously. He went to call out for his family, but found he couldn't due to a tightening pressure on his throat.

Jebediah looked down at his neck and found a disembodied hand clasped around it. He grabbed hold of the hand and tore it off of him, bits of flesh and blood going with it. Jeb threw it to the ground and stomped as hard as he could on it, crushing it in a single blow. A shrill mix of a cry and laugh rang in Jebediah's ears.

He spun around to find the ghostly image of the little girl from the grave hovering in his kitchen. Jebediah gasped in disbelief at what was in front of him What? You're dead! He cried Give it back The spirit demanded Give what back? My friend The ghastly girl screamed loud enough to shatter windows Jebediah stood confused Until he remembered What the undertaker had said That girl and doll went everywhere together, like they were the best of friends.

Her parents thought it would be appropriate then that she went off to heaven with a friend, so she wouldn't be lonely. The doll. It was that damned doll. Jebediah stared up at the table. How could a doll have made this happen? He asked himself. He looked at the girl. You don't understand. My daughter, she wants it, needs it. You'll have plenty of friends up in heaven.

Can't you allow a little girl to know the happiness you knew with it? Jebediah pleaded. The girl answers with her other detached hand, grabbing hold of Jebediah's face, its nails digging into his flesh. He grabbed hold of the hand and once more freed himself, his face bearing gashes that would scar. Jebediah quickly got to his feet and grabbed the Tressie doll off the table and ran from the kitchen.

Jebediah ran into the living room. As he tried to approach the stairs, the ghost appeared. She brought down everything she could in the living room to stop him in his path: Books, furniture, anything and everything. But Jebediah persevered. Finally he reached the stairs and ascended them To the second floor. The house started to shake. A deafening cry of anguish and rage echoed through the house.

Jebediah sprinted towards his daughter's room. No,! An avalanche of snow fell upon the Hawkins' house. Jebediah screamed as the force brought down the roof. The second floor collapsed onto the first, leaving the house completely and utterly demolished. Jebediah bolted awake, gasping for air. Despite the wintry cold, he was drenched in sweat. Honey, what is it? His wife asked in a panic. She rubbed the small of his back and the sensation of feeling touch brought comfort to him.

He looked at his wife and embraced her in a tight, near-violent hug. Mrs. Hawkins returned the gesture. Jebediah broke the embrace and ran out of their bedroom and into his daughter's. She wasn't there. Downstairs! he exclaimed. Jebediah ran downstairs with his wife not too far behind him. When they reached the living room, the couple found their daughter sitting by the Christmas tree.

She turned and looked at her parents with a smile. Jebediah sighed in relief. What kept you sleepyheads waiting? It's Christmas, the daughter said. Yes, yes it is, Jebediah said with a huge smile. It was all a dream, he told himself. Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins sat on their couch while their daughter began to open presents. Jevadiah kissed his wife and the two shared smiles- and I love you's.

From the outside looking in, the Hawkins were having a perfect Christmas, but outside, in a blackened, ethereal plane, the little girl sat and looked through the roof and into the house. She grinned. Well, Tressie, it looks like we have some new friends. Forever and ever. Merry Christmas, she told her doll, giving it a big hug before returning her gaze to her brand new toys.

Friends, I can't lie. Making this show Weekly Spooky has brought me so much joy for the last three years. When I started the program, I didn't have a lot of hopes that were specific about what we would do with the program. but I knew that I loved telling scary stories and I sure hoped I'd find people who loved listening and make them happy.

It really is just that simple. So yeah, I'm feeling very sentimental right about now. We only have one more piece of holiday horror to share with you before we head off into that great unknown that is another holiday. So I just want to mention, thank you. Thank you so much for supporting this show. This has been the most successful year Weekly Spooky has ever had, and I have very good feelings about the future.

And thank you to all of you out there who reached out to me and made sure I was okay while I go through some personal things. I love the holidays and having a bunch of major life problems come up right around December is the worst. But you all have made it so much better. So thank you. And I guess I'll say this one last time.

If you like what I'm doing here with the show, if you like what our authors are creating, consider becoming a patron. We have 95 backers, and my goal was 100 by the end of the year, but frankly, I'll be happy no matter what. But if you want to get involved for as little as $1 a month, simply go to weeklyspooky.com and click on Patreon.

I appreciate you all. And now it's time for a story that I think really epitomizes the weekly spooky mentality towards the holidays. It's called Blood on the Snow, and I think you know what that means. So let's hear it after these quick words from our sponsors. Blood on the Snow by Shane Migliavacca The cold numbed the man's feet. The snow was nearly to his knees.

There was nobody to be seen. It was a blizzard on Christmas Eve. Only fools and lunatics would be on the road tonight. He could have sworn he'd seen a sign. What the hell was? It called Vera's Roadhouse. He could go for a nice juicy burger and some fries, though he really doubted they'd be open. I don't think you saw it. The man didn't turn.

He didn't want to give Simon the satisfaction. This is a fine mess you've gotten us in. Simon moaned We should go back. We have a job to do. Away down the road The man stopped An abandoned car sat alongside the shoulder, Covered by the steady snowfall Brushing the snow off the driver's side window. The man peered inside. The interior was bathed in a faint red hue.

The car was empty, save for a cell phone sitting on the passenger side seat, A red depleted battery symbol on its screen. There were words written on the inside of the windshield In what appeared to be red lipstick: The woods are lovely, dark and deep, Simon read. The man backed away from the car looking around. Strange, Simon observed. Look at the snow!

He pointed to the snow in front of the car. Through the covering of fresh snow, two sets of footprints were still visible, one from the car and one approaching it. Looks like a struggle, maybe, Simon noted. Indeed, it looked like a scuffle of some kind happened where the two sets of footprints came together. I think you're right, the man answered. Finally, he speaks.

The man ignored his companion. The second set came from ahead. Then one left and headed through the woods. The man was tempted to see where the footprints led, but his feet ached and the road promised a glimmer of shelter and warmth. Angela really wanted to go home. Not that she had much to go home to in her little apartment, yet it was a hell of a lot better than waiting tables at the roadhouse.

Vera was paying her extra for Christmas Eve, and Angela needed the money if she was ever going to leave Dillonsville. There was a small group tonight. Three regulars, Stu, the cook, and Vera. Man, look at that shit come down. I think it's nice. Billy vera said gonna have a white christmas. Billy scoffed: fuck christmas, you're just an old scrooge. The old black man sitting at the bar said before taking a shot of whiskey: got that right.

Marvin billy laughed: he won't see me wishing anybody a merry christmas. I remember one christmas, the old man mused for a moment: 20 years back we didn't have snow until january. That's global warming for you. Angela spoke up: fuck global warming. Billy grumbled. Vera scolded: every other word out of your mouth is either fuck shit or damn well hell. I guess I need my mouth washed with fucking soap.

This brought a chuckle from another of the regulars. Don't encourage him. Donnie vera said: donnie, a heavy set, bald man sat at the end of the bar earlier tonight. I saw the strangest looking light coming out of the woods. Made me feel weird just seeing it. Donnie said softly what it looked like? Strange green color, like nothing I'd seen before, probably some kid's snowmobile, and got fancy new headlights or something.

Billy said dismissively. The front door opened. It banged hard against the wall, startling Angela. A man in a black leather jacket stood in the entrance, brushing snow off his goatee. Get in here, he ordered. A woman carrying a young girl entered. She flashed a meek smile. Warm in here, the woman smiled. Won't be for long if you keep the door open, Billy said, from the man.

What brings you folks out on Christmas Eve? Vera asked. The woman set the girl down. We were visiting my mother. Ollie thought we could beat the storm home. Vera sat them at one of the booths. What can I get you folks? The woman looked at the girl. What do you want, hon? Uh, hot chocolate? Vera smiled. Can do. Got a beer? Ollie asked.

Not tonight. The woman said. You promised. I'll drink what I want, Marie. Marie looked at Vera. I'll have a hot chocolate, too. You folks hungry? I'll have Angela bring you some menus. Sure, sure, Ollie said. Whatever. Hey, Vera, Donnie spoke up. A hot chocolate sounds good. I'll have one, too. Donnie slid off the barstool he'd been keeping warm. Hefting up his loose-fitting pants, he walked over to the table with the newcomers.

Mama, are we going to be home in time for Santa? The little girl asked Marie. I'm not sure, honey. Will Santa still bring stuff if we're not home? He won't come if you're a bad girl and keep making noise, Ollie warned her. Donnie tried to make small talk. Quite a night out, huh? Terrible, Marie answered. Donnie smiled and waved to the girl.

What's your name, little one? Haley, the girl responded, looking worried. Why don't you leave us alone, man? Ollie's eyes narrowed to slits. Mind your own business. Sure, sorry. The door opened again, letting in a whirlwind of snow. The man stood there at its center. He stepped into the roadhouse, slamming the door shut in Simon's face. Hey, wait! Simon protested before the door closed.

The man felt their eyes on him as he went over to a corner booth. From here, he had a good view of the roadhouse. Angela approached him, looking a little apprehensive. Merry Christmas, she smiled. Can I get you something to drink or bring you a menu? A Coke and a cheeseburger with fries. And make it... bloody. Right. She left, and after a moment, Simon slumped into the seat opposite him, brushing snow from his shoulders and hair.

Very funny, Simon bitched. I thought so. Order anything for me? No figures. Donnie sidled up to the man's table. The place is jumping tonight. Have some car trouble. I don't want to do this. Donnie looked perplexed. What don't want? What this? The man said talking, go away. A heavyset man, his hair pulled back into a ponytail, leaned his head out of the kitchen.

Vera? Angela? When do you get me some rolls from storage? The man sat watching the others as he waited for his food. Donnie went back to his barstool and began talking to Marvin. Angela the waitress brought a tray with food and drinks to the family sitting near the entrance. Another patron, Angela called him Billy, was playing a pinball machine. The man felt the tiredness creeping up on him.

How long had it been since he'd slept? His eyelids grew heavy as weariness began to conquer him. His head drooped forward. His eyes snapped open again as a scream ripped through the roadhouse. Vera screamed again, tears running down her red cheeks. Out back! Dead! Stu and Angela comforted Vera as Billy questioned her. What the hell are you talking about, woman? Who's dead?

A man! I don't know who! By the storeroom! Billy and Stu left to go look as Angela sat, holding Vera's hand. That's crazy, huh? A dead guy? Donnie asked Marvin, who was busy pouring himself another drink. Lots of crazy shit in the world these days, boys. The man got up. He felt a nagging itch in his head. Simon was gone, and there was a dead man.

He had to see. Had to know. Donnie called after him as he walked by. Where are you going, mister? To see a dead body. The storeroom was a separate building behind the roadhouse. Billy and Stu were staring at the body when he found them. Never seen this fella before, Stu was saying. Shit, me neither. The body sat its back against the storeroom's wall, partially covered in snow.

Well, he's dead, all right. The man said, startling billy and stew: fuck, don't do that dude. Billy warned: almost shit him. Know him, mister stew asked? The man shook his head. It wasn't anyone. He recognized a small blessing anyway. No, but I did see an abandoned car down the road. Maybe it was his. Stew pondered this tidbit could be. Could be anybody check him for id, you mean like touch him?

Billy shivered at the thought. Billy and stew looked at the man stepping out of the way. Billy motioned to the body. Be my guest. The man knelt in front of the body. The dead man's eyes were wide, a horrified expression etched on his face. Holy hell, Stu exclaimed. What killed him? Billy asked, his voice wavering. The man brushed more snow off the body.

There were no visible marks or wounds anywhere. No clue. The man searched the body. Should you be touching him? Stu asked. He could have something. The man found a wallet. Inside was $50, a picture of a woman, and a driver's license. Adam Hunter, he said out loud. Merry Christmas. Stu stroked his stubbly chin. Uh, what do we do with him? Leave him here, the man said.

He ain't going anywhere and he'll be frozen. No smell. Suppose you're right. The man slipped the wallet back into the corpse's pocket before heading back in with Billy and Stu. Inside, not much had changed. Angela sat in one of the booths with Vera. Donnie sat at the bar annoying Marvin, and the family were still seated where they were previous. Angela looked up as they entered.

Is he? Billy nodded was. Was he, you know, murdered? Well, that's tough to say, really. Stew said we should call the cops. I think vera needs a doctor. I'm fine, vera said, wiping her bloodshot eyes. I've never seen that kind of look on a man's face before. Billy said sitting down at the bar. If he was killed, Vera stammered that means somebody did it.

She looked at the others, an uneasy hush fell over everybody. The man felt the other's eyes on him. What? Well, you aren't from around here, Stu said. Neither are they, the man pointed to the family. They got a kid, Billy spoke up. Besides, you seemed mighty comfortable around that body. Right, Stu nodded. The man felt sweat trickle down his brow. Maybe you're a maniac, Donnie answered.

A serial killer. He looked suspicious, Vera observed. Look at him, sweating. You're all being a bunch of idiots, Marvin stated before taking another shot of whiskey. The man shook his head. I didn't kill that man. Where was simon? The man thought he could really use him right about now. We should call the cops. Angela suggested they can handle it. We don't know if he did anything.

Marie stood up. We should at least lock him up, especially with my daughter here. I agree. Billy said: look you muskrat, love listening motherfuckers. The man looked at marie and her daughter. Pardon my French. I didn't kill that guy. In fact, how do we know it wasn't one of you assholes? Marvin started laughing. He's got you there. Angela stood, taking out her phone.

Everybody calm down. I'm gonna call the cops. They can sort it all out. Stu seemed to be swayed by this. Yeah, let them deal with it. Billy grumbled. Fine. He looked at the man coldly. Vera went behind bar. Why don't I make us all some coffee? The man sat in one of the booths, looking out the window watching the snowfall. Crap, Angela complained.

All I'm getting is a recording. All the lines must be busy from the storm. Angela, want to help me with the coffee? Vera asked. Coming, Angela answered. Can I get a beer? Ollie hollered. If we're going to be stuck here, might as well enjoy it. Haley tugged at her mother's sleeve. Mama, Mama, I gotta pee. Marie looked at Ollie, unsure. I'm not sure, honey.

Ollie grumbled. Take her. Give me some quiet. Taking Haley by the hand, Marie asked Donnie directions to the restrooms. The man watched them go by. He sat wishing he was anywhere but here, on Christmas night. It was obvious most of the people here were ready to pin that dead man on him, but he didn't give a shit about any of them. There was a job to do.

The lights flickered rapidly before going out. There were murmurs of shock, confusion, and anger from the patrons and staff. Stu spoke up, trying to calm everyone. Storm probably knocked out some power lines. Don't worry, I got a generator out back. Then, from somewhere in the roadhouse, somebody screamed. The man felt somebody rush by him in the dark. The others called out. After several minutes of darkness and uncertainty, Angela appeared holding her cell phone to light the way.

They followed Angela to the women's bathroom. Vera stood with a shaken Marie and Haley. In there, Vera motioned to the middle stall. Shining the light into the stall, they crowded around. Sitting there, slumped on the toilet, was a dead woman. She wore an ugly Christmas sweater, made uglier by the blood frozen to it from her slashed throat. Written behind her, in blood, it read, But I have promises to keep.

Holy shit! Donnie gasped. Vera took Marie and Haley out of there. Who is she? Fucked if I know, Stu replied. She's been dead a while, the man pointed out. After some debate, they agreed to leave the woman sitting there. Best not to disturb any evidence. Back at the bar, they found Marie and Haley sitting together in a booth. Vera had lit a couple of kerosene lanterns, giving the interior a soft glow.

Deep shadows lurked at the fringes of the light. Coffee's ready, Vera informed them. Stu exhaled, his breath was visible in the lantern light. I'm going out to start the generator, he said, pulling on a heavy jacket. Are you going out there alone? Donnie asked. Stu reached under the bar, pulling out a pump shotgun. Not alone. Fira and Angela handed out mugs of hot coffee.

The man took one, watching the steam rise off it. He felt too nervous to drink. He was used to being in control and now he was stuck in the middle of nowhere. There were two dead bodies and Simon was missing. He needed Simon. The man didn't even notice the lights flickering back to life until Donnie clapped. We can warm up a little at least, Vera said, rubbing her hands together.

Vera and Angela went back to the kitchen. The others hung by the bar talking amongst themselves, save for Ollie, Marie and their girl. The man kept to himself, not trusting any of them. Minutes went by before Vera emerged from the kitchen with Angela, both holding trays of sandwiches. Where's Stu? Vera asked, looking around. There was a murmur among them as they realized he hadn't returned.

Four of them went out. The man, Vera, Billy, and Angela. The wind began to batter them with cold in snow. Vera guided them around the back of the storeroom to a small shed. She let out a startled gasp as they neared the structure. There, laying in the snow, was what once could have been called a human being. But as of now, it was akin to a charcoal briquette.

A few feet away, lay Stu's shotgun. Written on the shed in charred black substance, it read, And miles to go before I sleep. Somebody was playing a game with them, the man thought. Vera had to steady herself. Who would do this? The man looked down at the snow-covered ground. Well, besides our fresh tracks and Stu's, there are only one other set. all of them coming from the back door.

We were all together, Billy observed, except for... He looked at Angela and Vera. Had to be one of you. Angela looked at Billy with a hurt expression. Why would I... You had eyes on Stu all the time, Vera accused, laughing at his jokes all the time, fawning all over him, trying to steal him away from me. You're nuts, Angela spat, old bitch?

Angela slapped Vera across the face. Vera retaliated by clawing at Angela's face with her long nails. Billy stepped in, pushing them apart. While this was going on, the man made his move. The three were so preoccupied with their argument, they'd paid no attention to him. He'd charged forward, scooping up the shotgun. Enough of this Jerry Springer bullshit, it. He leveled the shotgun on the three.

Get inside. Over there, the man ordered. Sit down. What the hell? Ali blurted out as they entered. What's going on? Marvin asked. Stu's dead, Vera said. Burned alive. We don't know it was him, Angela argued. Who the hell else would it be? Vera growled. Sit, the man ordered. Vera and Angela sat, but Billy resisted. Look, dude, don't go ordering us around and waving that shotgun in our...

The man drove the butt of the shotgun into Billy's stomach, dropping him to his knees. The others let out a startled gasp. Now with that foolishness out of the way, Billy, I got a little something I'd like to try. Cool with that? Billy nodded, glaring at the man. Angela, hold out your hands. Marvin shook his head. He's loco. Angela, trembling, held her hands out in front of her.

Don't worry, the man reassured her. Okay, Billy, smell her hands. Motherfucking what? Billy exclaimed. Go ahead, take a whiff. Angela blushed as Billy, still on his knees, smelled her hands. What's it smell like? The man asked. Billy shook his head. I don't know, peppermint I guess. Okay, now do the same with vera. Ollie spoke up. What the fuck is this supposed to prove?

You getting your rocks off or something? Stew was doused with gasoline and burned. I'm willing to bet whoever did it- their hands stink of it. Billy knelt in front of Vera. Whatever, man. Before he could sniff her palms, Vera leapt on him, pulling a knife out of her jacket. She stabbed Billy in the chest. The others screamed in horror and shock. The man aimed at Vera, his finger at the trigger.

Marvin and Donnie stumbled into his line of fire. The two struggled to restrain Vera. Get out of my way, the man shouted. Vera slashed at Marvin, forcing him to back off. Donnie managed to knock the knife from Vera's hand, but the crazed woman grabbed him by the throat. She locked eyes with the confused Donnie, and they both screamed, but he managed to shove her head into the corner of a nearby table.

She crumpled to the floor, as did Donnie, breathing heavily. Everyone remained frozen in place for a moment, in shock. Angela moved first and began checking Billy, then Vera. They're dead, she said with a heavy sigh. The man looked over at Marvin. You okay, old man? I'm fine, just a little nick. He looked at the small gash on his arm. And don't call me old man, Marvin grumbled.

What about him? The man motioned to Donnie. Donnie started to stand a bit shaky. You okay, Donnie? Angela asked. He cracked his neck. Just dandy, that was fucked up. The little girl was sobbing as marie tried to comfort her. Ollie stood taking in the scene. Was that crazy bitch the killer? He walked over to the bodies. I need another drink, I guess.

Angela answered. The man watched them, still holding the shotgun. She had to be. Donnie added gasoline smell on her hands. We have to get the sheriff out here, Marvin said. Angela sighed: I just want to go home and sleep miles to go before you sleep. Donnie said what the man said. What did you just say nothing, nothing at all. I just want to sleep too.

Donnie answered. Ollie went to the bar taking a bottle of scotch. I don't think they'll mind. He walked by Donnie, who grabbed the bottle from his hand. Give me some. Donnie gulped some of the scotch down. Hey, asshole, Ollie complained. That was mine. Donnie hammered Ollie in the head with the bottle. Once. Twice. Three times. Fine. Have it. Ollie fell dead to the floor.

His body. A bloody mess. The man opened fire, the thunder of his shotgun echoing through the roadhouse. Donnie was already moving before he'd fire. The slug missed all but the big man's arm, grazing him. Donnie yanked a startled Marie from her seat, holding her by the throat in front of him. Fire away. Donnie laughed. Who are you, the man asked. A sleeper?

A traveler? Donnie answered: I've been wandering forever, but your bodies are so weak. Let her go. The man ordered why we're playing. He tightened his grip on Marie. It's the only thing that makes this life interesting. Yeah, but you don't want to go running around in that fat asshole anymore, do you? The thing inside Donnie pondered that for a moment. What are you offering?

Me, the man offered. Let them go. Sure, why not? He laughed. Drop the gun and come here. Angela stood next to the man. Don't do it. Trust me. He reassured her as he dropped the shotgun to the ground. He stepped forward. The others watched as Donnie took him by the head. They locked eyes. Pain seared through every fiber of his being. For what seemed like an eternity of agony, he felt every inch of his mind assaulted.

Finally, it ended, and Donnie collapsed to the floor, moaning in pain. Marie grabbed her daughter and held her. The man braced himself against a table. Your head is filled with so much static, the thing said. Are you okay? Angela asked. Stay away, the man warned. I can't hold on to myself. He felt it, laughing in his head. I'm here for you. Simon stood in the doorway of the roadhouse.

Simon. I knew you hadn't left me. The man smiled. Angela looked at the others and then the man. Who are you talking to? The man pointed to the shotgun on the floor. If I come back, use it. I won't be me. He stepped out into the cold. It was hard to see. The wind and snow assaulted his senses. He could feel the presence inside him.

You won't hold me for long, it taunted. I'll go back, kill the rest. You're just another voice in my head. The man responded. I've lived with so many in there For as long as I can remember. He trudged through the snow. His body was tired, But Simon beckoned him on. The bitter cold clawed at his body As the thing inside clawed at his soul.

He'd find a place somewhere out here, Far away from anybody else, Miles to go, before we sleep.