Ep.231 – A Christmas to Remember - The TRUE COST of the Perfect Gift!

WEBVTT

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Christmas time is a time of giving
and receiving, a time when sacrifice makes

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all the difference, whether it be
putting your personal feelings aside to spend time

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with family, or just simply giving
up a piece of yourself. But tonight

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we'll be finding out just how literal
that can be. What's that you want

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to be scared to? Come with
me. You will experience tales over opera,

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ghosts, and death death. It
is not recommended at the foot of

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week at hart listen as in the
dark. It's more fun at that way

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way. This is Weekly speaking Hello
my Spookyes, well it's not Wednesday,

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You're not going crazy. It's Saturday. And I have a very special piece

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of spooky for your weekly. As
the holidays rev up, we're revving up

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all kinds of festive content to make
sure to chill you, even if where

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you live it's not very wintery just
yet. And speaking of the season of

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gift giving, there's only one thing
I would love to have from each and

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every one of you, and that
is a subscribe and a rating on your

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favorite podcasting app, whether it's Apple
Podcasts or Spotify. I would love a

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little five star rating. It costs
you nothing, and it helps the show

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a whole lot. And if you
want to go just one step further,

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you can head over to Weeklyspooky dot
com and click on Patreon. For as

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little as one dollar a month,
you keep the Spooky going and going,

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and you get an exclusive biweekly strip
Field series that's only for patrons. It's

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called The Weekend and it's a kind
of nineties throwback slasher movie but in modern

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times, with a whole lot of
mystery and mayhem, written by Rob Fields,

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available only on our Patreon at Weeklyspooky
dot com. Just find Patreon,

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click on it, choose a tear
that works for you, and know you're

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helping us directly keep the show going. But now, my dear listener,

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it's time to get festive. This
story's by our very own splatter Joe Solmo.

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You know it's gonna be good,
and it's gonna go places you're not

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expecting. But it's all about getting
exactly what you've always wanted for Christmas.

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And what could possibly be more wholesome
than that, Well you'll have to listen

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to find out. So get cozy, get that blank it out, find

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yourself a hot cup of coco,
because we're heading right into this story after

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these quick words from our sponsors,
A Christmas to Remember by Joe Solma,

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Donnie shifted his old Ford pickup into
gear as he left the rest stop.

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It should be the last gas stop
before he was finally home. It had

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been a few years, and to
be honest, for a while, he

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couldn't have made the trip even if
he wanted to. He merged with traffic

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just as the snow started to fall. It looked like it was going to

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be a white Christmas after all.
He was both excited and apprehensive if he

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was being honest, He left home
almost ten years ago and never looked back,

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heading south, running from something that
even he couldn't name, just a

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feeling. He always hated the North, and it bothered him to think he

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would die there. He headed to
Fort Lauderdale as soon as he could for

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a better life, where he almost
instantly got hooked on heroin and became homeless,

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the shame of which kept him from
calling home for help, at least

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at first. Then it got harder
and harder for him to reach out,

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playing out his family's scrutiny in his
brain over and over. He could just

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hear them calling him a junkie and
a loser. Every time someone overdosed next

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to him at night under the yellow
street lights, and he was so high

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and scared, all he could do
was watch another part of that kid that

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moved south left him until looking into
the puddle's reflection. Even he didn't recognize

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who he was. Florida was such
an evil, soul sucking place, he

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would think at times like that,
it destroyed who he was and replaced him

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with this junkie in his skin.
He didn't know whose eyes looked back at

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him, with the disheveled beard,
the worn and torn Nirvana T shirt,

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and the shorts that used to be
pants until he ripped them jumping a chain

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link fence to get away from the
cops. The first year was rough,

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but it got easier as Donnie fell
into the groove got used to it.

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An old Japanese man taught him to
steal hot dogs from the grocery store.

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He wouldn't eat them, though,
he'd walk down to the canals, cut

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a small piece off and used them
to catch fish tenkara or something he called

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it. He could catch enough fish
to keep the cluster of junkies fed.

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It was a real loss when he
died. But Donnie did find his wallet.

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He had money in there, real
money, a couple hundred. The

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few two weeks were a drug induced
blur. He made sure his family got

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his wallet back, though, even
if it had no cash. Inside.

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The Ford's engine roared on the highway. It probably needed a muffler, to

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be honest. He could feel the
vibration coming up through the seat and steering

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wheel. The smell of exhaust was
strong. He fiddled with the radio,

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trying to remember the channels he used
to listen to back in the day,

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but everything was static. Welcome to
New York, he said, as he

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read the sign on the side of
Interstate two eighty seven. It was nice

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to finally pass out of New Jersey. He wondered how many people say the

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same thing when they leave the sticky
taint of the Northeast. He had always

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hated New Jersey. He got robbed
on his travels down to Florida. There

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while in Trenton overnight, three bikers
robbed him outside his motel room. Luckily,

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he had locked his car keys in
the car, or he would have

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had to end his trip right there. Now that he was thinking of it,

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that might be unluckier. Is that
a word, he wondered. The

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snow had picked up, and Donnie
slowed the truck down, trying to see

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the road through the Star Wars Hyperdrive
view between wipers. The package slipped in

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the seat next to him. He
instinctively threw a hand out to keep it

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from sliding off the worn bench seat. Stay still, he said to the

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package, and looked at his wrap
job. It wasn't bad, he thought.

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He looked back up at the road
as his tires caught the bumps on

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the side to wake up drivers that
fell asleep. Oh shit. The truck

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slid back and forth, but he
couldn't get it under control. Luckily,

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there wasn't another vehicle near him,
and when the ford lost traction, it

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slid off the road alone, catching
the bank and flipping down into the ditch

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about thirty feet from the pavement on
its side. Donnie undid his seat belt

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and did a quick down to make
sure he was okay. With a sigh

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of relief, he began trying to
climb out, using the steering wheel as

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a step. He flopped out onto
the frozen ground just as the headlights cut

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out, leaving him in the silence. Of the snowstorm on the side of

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the New York State Thruway. He
laid there for a moment in the shock

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of the cold. His eyes grew
heavy and he started to close them.

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A sudden gust of wind made the
truck creak, which snapped him out of

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it. He pulled himself up to
a sitting position a few feet from the

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truck. He realized his worn through
Florida hoodie wasn't going to do it.

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He had to get up to the
highway and get help. He scrambled up

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the embankments towards the road on hands
and knees. He could see headlights coming

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towards him in the distance. A
sense of hope filled him, made him

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warm. He peeked his head over
the side of the road, seeing the

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car getting closer. The headlights were
so close together. It must be one

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of those smart cars, Donnie thought. He rose to unsteady feet and began

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to wave frantically, hoping they would
see him in the near blizzard that wrapped

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around him like a frozen blanket.
There must be an inch and a half

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on the road now, he thought. The car veered into the left lane,

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then the right, then back again. To the left. Donnie wondered

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if the person was drunk. The
car was getting closer and he began to

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get worried that they might hit him. He took a step back off the

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road and his foot slipped out from
under him. He smacked his face on

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the gravel shoulder and started to slide
down the embankment back to his truck.

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He started to turn as he slid
and slammed into the roof of his truck

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with his hip, sending pain up
his spine. He let out a cry.

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He was facing down with his head
facing the truck. He couldn't see

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what happened with the car on the
highway. He waited for the pain to

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subside before trying to move. The
pain proved too much and he knew he

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screwed something up. He couldn't even
get the strength to turn over. He

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laid there helpless for a moment.
Then he heard it, the sound of

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two car doors. Maybe they had
seen him and stopped. He listened in

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the snowstorm as the sound of footfalls
crunching the pottery snow grew louder, and

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were those voices he heard? It
sounded like a child talking. He strained

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his ears, trying to listen the
voices stopped. He wondered how much snow

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was on him now, with it
whipping around like it was, maybe they

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couldn't see him. Help. He
called out into the night weakly, then

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tried again. Hell. He heard
the voices again, but the wind was

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keeping him from hearing what they were
saying. The footfalls came a little closer,

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but still seemed distant to him.
Someone there, he called out,

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this time, he heard them talking, But we must A childish voice said,

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no, we don't. We don't
have any obligation. Another high pitched

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voice replied, we can't just leave
him there, Sure we can. It's

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easy. We just go back up
the hill and forget this happened, came

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the response. Donnie winced in pain
and forced himself to turn over. He

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blinked the snow out of his eyes
and strained the night's storm to see who

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was there. Help me, Please, he said, Now it's talking to

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us, one of the voices said, with a sigh. Donnie heard the

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footfalls grow close, and he could
make out two diminutive shadows in the darkness.

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One of them turned on a flat
and stuck it in the snow to

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give them some light. It looks
injured, said the first voice Donnie had

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heard. It might not be in
good shape, came the reply. Donnie

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raised one hand up to block the
immediate light and see his would be rescuers.

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As his eyes adjusted, he made
out the faces of two short people.

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They both wore green pointed hats.
One was holding a black leather bag

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in his hand that reminded Donnie of
the type he'd seen in old movies when

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doctors made house visits. They both
had pointed soft shoes tied to some kind

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of snow shoe. I mean,
it seems like fate brought it to us,

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the one said, You swerving while
getting RoadHead is hardly fate. The

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other replied, while either way,
this could go quite a ways towards our

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quota. Let me get the list. Who the fuck are you guys,

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Donnie asked, aspirated at the conversation. The one holding the bag looked at

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the other one, who now had
a list. He turned it so his

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companion could see. The one holding
the bag nodded and squatted down next to

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Donnie's face. Ain't it obvious,
kid, He ain't your fairy godmothers.

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We are the dream fulfillers, the
ones working behind the scenes to make everything

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perfect every year. Now, be
quiet while I make some wishes come true,

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he said, and pulled a stainless
steel saw from the bag liver right.

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The other nodded, What the hell? Donnie called out, You gonna

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whine the whole time? The doctor
one asked. He placed one hand over

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Donnie's mouth, and Donnie tried to
shout into the night. You ever asked

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Sanna for something impossible for Christmas?
Do you have any idea how many people

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wish for the unfeasible? How the
fuck do you think they work new limbs

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and or Higgins poof into existence for
them. No, we have to go

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out and harvest the fucking things,
and that fat, jolly fuck gets all

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the credit. He ran the saw
across Donnie's chest, cutting into the flesh.

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Donnie wondered if the cold or shock
would numb the wound first, as

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he watched the steam rise from his
open wound. You see here, kid,

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we can scratch several wishes off our
list. You're doing us a favor.

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Really. I know I don't seem
appreciative, but I am, Doc

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said, with another saw across the
chest. The other one was returning from

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the car with a biohazard cooler.
Donnie responded, but the doc was still

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covering his mouth. He stopped sawing
and lifted his hand off Donnie's mouth for

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just a second. What's that kid? You guys are Sanna's elves, Donnie

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asked, and began to laugh.
That funny to you, Doc elf asked.

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Donnie couldn't help but laugh in the
freezing cold the thought of being murdered

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by one of Santa's elves. Something
not elf like about us, Doc asked.

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The other elf climbed onto the truck
and peered inside. Are we not

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fucking full of cheer? Uh?
Boss? Come here, the one on

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the truck said to his partner.
Doc Boss tossed down the saw in the

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snow and made his way over to
the truck. The other elf had to

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help him up. What do we
got here, he asked, and turned

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back to Donnie. Shit, Donnie
said, As he realized they had found

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his package. He scrambled for the
saw and the snow. Every movement was

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a world of pain that tried to
envelop him. He managed to get his

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grip on the saw and tried to
rise to his knees at least, then

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he could look them in the eye. When he turned to face them,

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both elves looked at him in disgust
as they held his package in front of

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them. She had been so pretty, Donnie said, as a tears streaked

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down his face. I loved her. Is that why you killed her?

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Doc asked, I gave it to
her. The smack she oweded on It

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was my fault, he said,
lowering the saw. I couldn't. I

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couldn't say goodbye yet. She ain't
so fresh, kid, Doc said,

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she been dead a few days.
Yeah, three now. Donnie responded.

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Fuck, that's too long for us, he said, and tossed the cellophane

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wrapped body down in the snow.
He took a few steps closer to Donnie,

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then saw the saw. What are
you going to do with that?

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You're losing blood every second. There's
no way you can win this. Donnie

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rose to his feet steadily. Come
at me, and I'll kick your fucking

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head off, Donnie said, You
know that saw had reindeer ejaculate on it.

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It's a type of anesthesia. The
only reason you're standing right now is

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pure adrenaline. But it won't last. Doc said, and shook his head.

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Donnie charged and tried to swing the
saw at Doc, but lost his

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grip midswing and the saw dropped helplessly
to the ground. He tried to ball

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up his fist for a backswing,
but his legs gave out and he fell

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back to his knees in the snow. Doc looked him right in the eye.

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That would be the deer come working. Stupid move, kid, and

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punched Donnie in the face. He
fell onto his back in the snow.

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Get over here and hold him down, he called to his partner. Donnie

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watched on in horror as Doc started
to saw with a renewed vigor in his

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chest. As he lost feeling,
a peaceful smile crossed his face. At

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least he didn't have to face his
family after all these years, or worse

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yet, hers. The beeping of
the machines kept Mary awake. She wouldn't

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leave her daddy's side, even though
things look grim for him. She had

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been praying like Mommy asked her to
do for weeks and nothing had changed.

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She even wrote a letter to the
North Pole to ask Santa for help.

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Two days ago, it was Christmas
Eve, and she watched his machines kept

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her daddy alive, there would be
no joy, no cheer, nothing this

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Christmas. The doctor walked in.
He handed her a cup of ice cream,

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the kind that came with the little
wooden spoon, and smiled. Mary.

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I have some good news about your
daddy, he said, after glancing

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at her mom, Stacy in the
one chair in the room. We found

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a match. Your daddy is going
to get a new liver. It should

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be here in a few hours.
Why don't you two go get some sleep

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and we'll let you know when we're
ready to go, he said. Mary

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yawned. Daddy's going to be okay. Yes, it's a Christmas miracle,

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Stacy said, and took her daughter's
hand. Thank you, doctor, that's

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great news. Stacy kissed her husband
on the forehead and headed for the door.

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Mary let go of her mom's hand, which made her turn around.

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Come now, Mary, she said, But Mom, someone is there with

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daddy, She said, just the
doc. Her mom replied and pulled Mary

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out the door, who was looking
over her shoes. After everyone left,

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from behind the curtain, a pointed
green hat peeked out and patted the husband's

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foot on the bed. You're gonna
be okay. Fella. The small figure

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jumped down onto the floor and carried
his black bag with him out into the

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hall, unnoticed by all. Don't
you just love a happy ending? Oh

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yes, it may have taken a
lot of gruesomeness and disgusting descriptions to get

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there, but hey, that's just
the kind of Christmas present I hope to

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get from our good dear buddy Splatter
Joe Salmo. So thank you Joe,

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and a merry Christmas to you.
Well, my spookies. As you probably

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noticed, we've been publishing a lot
of Christmas content and we're not slowing down

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anytime soon. Tomorrow, I understand
there'll be an unknown broadcast of sorts,

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so you may want to tune in
for that, And then, of course

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on Monday we have Terrifying and True. And then Tuesday, our good buddy

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Cameron Cheney from Library Macob is going
to be here to talk about the best

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00:21:11.960 --> 00:21:15.359
choices for holiday horror books. You
will not want to miss it. His

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00:21:15.480 --> 00:21:22.079
YouTube channel is a plethora of fascinating
information about paperback books and the love thereof

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00:21:22.400 --> 00:21:25.960
can't wait to have him back in
the studio, and I want to say

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00:21:25.960 --> 00:21:29.440
a huge thank you to everybody who's
joining up on Patreon. We're up to

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00:21:29.559 --> 00:21:33.079
ninety one backers and I would love
to see one hundred this year, so

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consider going to Weeklyspooky dot com and
clicking on Patreon. And speaking of Patreon,

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00:21:40.000 --> 00:21:42.960
I want to say an extra special
thanks to our Patreon podcast boosters.

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00:21:44.000 --> 00:21:47.960
These are folks who pay just a
little bit more to hear their names on

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00:21:48.079 --> 00:21:52.200
the show, and they are Johnny
Nix, John Callen, bobotopia dot Com,

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00:21:52.200 --> 00:21:56.960
Megan Hula, Julia Kirsh, Brent
mccullus, Steve King, Karen we

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00:21:56.119 --> 00:21:59.759
Met, Jack Kerr, and Craig
Cohen. Thank you, guys, and

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00:21:59.839 --> 00:22:02.279
if if you want to join them
and hear your name on the show,

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00:22:02.599 --> 00:22:07.279
just go to Weeklyspooky dot com and
choose a tier at fifteen dollars or higher

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00:22:07.480 --> 00:22:10.400
to hear your name at the end
of every program. But now, my

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friends, it's time for me to
get out of here. I do want

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00:22:11.799 --> 00:22:17.960
to remind you though the exclusive Strickfield
series is only available on Patreon. It's

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called The Weekend. I know you're
gonna like it. The first two episodes

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00:22:21.200 --> 00:22:23.920
are already available, so make sure
you check that out. And now I'm

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going to get back to work.
Slaving away to make sure your holiday stays

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00:22:29.480 --> 00:22:33.000
very scary, so for myself,
for my producer Dan Wilder, my executive

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00:22:33.000 --> 00:22:36.799
producer Rob Fields, and my composer
Ray Mattis. I'll talk at you very

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00:22:36.880 --> 00:22:41.000
soon. Thank you for listening to
me. Make sure to find your way

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back next week, but for now
you are safe. Trust me,