Santa’s Little Helper: A Monster Child Turns Christmas Eve into a Bloodbath

WEBVTT

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Playing Santa Claus for the holidays can
be a very thankless job, having to

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stomp around yelling ho ho ho for
a bunch of spoiled kids, screaming and

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yelling about what toys and gifts they
want. But don't worry. This year,

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you have an extra special little helper. She has a big smile and

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even bigger teeth. What's that you
want to be scared to? Come with

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me. You will experience tales over
opera, ghosts and death. He does

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not recommended at the foot of week
at hard Listeners in the dark, It's

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more fun at that way way.
This is Weekly Speaking. Hello, my

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spookys. It's Saturday of the holiday
season. We're getting very close to Christmas,

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so why not a little extra spooky
for your weekly I am Enrique Kuto,

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your host and narrator, and tonight's
story is from our good buddy Charles

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Campbell over at the Horror for twenty
one podcast. It's all about having an

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extra special helper for Santa Claus this
season, a helper that is a lot

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more than meets the eye. But
before we get to that, thank you

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so much for listening. We've been
putting out a lot of extra content for

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the holiday season, because we know
you're out there working hard to make your

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holiday happen, whether it's working long
hours, preparing your home for family members,

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or making with your own two hands
the perfect holiday present. And we

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want to get you a little something
to put in your ears that gives you

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fears. I stand by that one. I like that one. But I

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just want to say thanks for listening, and if you're not subscribed, please

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do so on your favorite podcasting app
because we have so much more coming.

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In fact, next week we have
two novellas and the full length Babysitter Massacre

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novel Camp Carnage coming out on audiobook
just for you listeners, completely free,

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a little something extra under your tree, so make sure you're subscribed. And

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while you're over an Apple Podcasts or
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star rating. It helps new spookies
find the show. And if you find

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the holidays a little lonely, why
not head over to Facebook and type in

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weekly Spooky's Tomb of Terror. It's
completely free to join. It's where a

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group of us spookies all hang out
and share memes and news stories and chat

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about this, that and whatever.
Myself and many of the offer from Weekly

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Spooky hang out there and we'd love
to have you. Just go to Facebook

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and type in Weekly Spooky's Tomb of
Terror. But now time for the story

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after these quick words. Santa's Little
Helper by Charles Campbell. Holiday season in

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the Valley is something different, to
say the least. It doesn't exactly drop

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to freezing. In this part of
South Carolina. There is what locals call

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cold spells from time to time,
but nothing like the bone chilling freeze that

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other parts of the country routinely experience. And today, well today was Christmas

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Eve. Ronnie Baxley hated everything about
it. Unfortunately, for the last ten

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years, he and his rotund body
were tapped to be Santa Claus for the

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Christmas tree lighting in downtown Burnett Town. When he first started don unning the

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red and white suit, the town
would pay him fifty bucks for about five

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or six hours of work. Now
he makes almost two hundred bucks for begging

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little valley rats to sit on his
lap. His once white beard was now

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something between baby shit yellow and turred
brown. Ronnie had maybe seventeeth left in

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his head. His breath smelled of
dog shit chased down with sewer water.

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Ronnie sucked in his gut and eased
into the driver's seat of his beat up

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Chevy pickup. He gave the key
a turn, and the engine coughed and

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gagged like it had been smoking those
Marlboroughs right along with Ronnie for the last

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thirty plus years. Ronnie turned the
dial on the radio and was met with

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the sound of jingle bells. He
immediately turned off the radio. The bald

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tire spun in the muddy driveway of
his decrepit trailer. As he backed out,

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Ronnie began to sing in the tune
of the freshly in mind jingle bells,

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driving through them, muh in my
fucked up Chevrolet, off to the

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valley, I go broke as fuck
today. The words trailed off into a

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da da da da da da,
as his mind had run out of wit

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for freestyling. He didn't want to
go to Burnett Town. Ronnie was sick

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of listening to the little and some
not so little Valley rats drown on about

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wanting a PlayStation machine or an Xbox
or some kind of modern gadget. The

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kids weren't normal anymore. Face is
always stuck in some kind of screen few

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and far between were the requests for
footballs, basketball hoops, barbie dolls or

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bicycles. As a matter of fact, Ronnie was just as tired of the

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parents, especially the ones he knew
from school with their pity filled eyes.

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Look at what has become of Ronnie. Poor guy had a great arm in

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high school. He could have gone
pro, should have had a career in

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the majors. But the valley got
him like it got so many kidsds.

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If he saw one more tear filled
eye from a mother looking as if she

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were doing the world a service by
feeding astray, he was going to lose

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his shit. The sun was already
setting when he arrived at town Hall.

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He cursed Daylight Savings time. Every
year. When the clock rolled back,

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it meant that six pm was going
to look the same as midnight, and

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that always made Ronnie tired his shit. Tonight was the one night he couldn't

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be tired. He'd have to sit
on the big wooden chair, hoping there

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was still enough material in the seat
of his pants to keep the splinters out

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of his ass, while pretending to
listen as Betty Sue or Molly May tells

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him what kind of iPhone she wants, because you know, the elves are

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fucking masters at cutting edge technology.
Ronnie stood by his truck for a moment

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or two, taking a long drag
on his last Marlborough. He'd have to

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wait until he got paid before he
could pick up another pack from the minute

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shop. He'd have to bum a
couple from Eddie the Elf to get him

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through the evening. Eddie was a
tall, skinny man, definitely not built

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like an elf, and he was
willing to take seventy five bucks to usher

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kids to the lap of this sad
excuse of a Santa. Ronnie was wishing

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for one more drag when a tiny
voice startled him. Merry Christmas, Santa,

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said the little girl, suddenly standing
next to him. Where the I

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mean, Hey, little girl,
where's your mama? Ronnie asked, forcing

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a smile. He had never seen
this child before, and she didn't look

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like she had an ounce of valley
in her I don't have one, the

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little girl said, just above a
whisper. Ronnie looked her over. She

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couldn't have been more than seven years
old, and she was dressed like a

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tiny elf. She had long black
hair and the darkest pools for eyes.

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Ronnie had ever seen. He thought
maybe the darkness was playing tricks on him,

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but the parking lot was well lit. He knelt to meet her gaze,

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keeping his plastic smile. So if
you don't have a mama, is

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your daddy around? I don't have
one of those either, She whispered,

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who's here with you? Ronnie asked, you are Santa, the little girl

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said, as a grin spread under
her nose. Ronnie was taken aback at

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the rows of razor sharp teeth that
clicked in front of him. What the

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fuck are you? Ronnie asked.
He hadn't taken any strong shit and resisted

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the urge to reach out and touch
her. If she wasn't real, he

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just looked like he was talking to
himself. But if she was real,

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she might just bite his fucking fingers
off. I'm Santa's little helper, she

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whispered. What's your name? Ronnie
asked. He should be scared, but

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it was just the opposite. He
couldn't explain it, but he was feeling

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giddy. Sarah, She replied,
Well, Sarah, I already have a

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helper. His name is Eddie,
the Elf. Ronnie said he could now

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hear people mulling around Sassafras Park,
sight of the tree lighting and lapsitting.

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Eddie's not going to make it tonight, the little girl said, with a

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certainty that Ronnie instantly believed. Oh
really, how do you know that,

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Ronnie asked, he's dead? She
replied, And how do you know that

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Ronnie found himself asking He wasn't going
to help you, Sannah, He was

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going to hurt you, like all
the rest, she replied. Ronnie smiled

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with an understanding that made the girl
grin back. Okay, then let's go

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see the valley rats, Ronnie said. The front doors of town hall were

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wide open. There was a small
line of husbands receiving cups of hot cocoa

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for their wives and tots. Sarah
stuck by Ronnie's side as he strode past

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the line of kids hooping and hollering
for their tortured Santa. He waved a

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stained glove in the air for their
approval. As he sat on the big

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wooden chair. Elma Trudeau, an
office administrator for the town of Burnet Town,

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leaned in and whispered in his ear. Where's Eddie, she asked,

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while staring a hole through Sarah.
He's sick, Ronnie replied, which elicited

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a closed mouthed smile from Sarah.
It was a smile that sent a feeling

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of despair through Elma. Who's going
to control the line? Elma asked,

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with a tone that clarified she was
not willing to assume the role. I'm

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Santa's little helper, Sarah replied,
surely you can't suggest that a child.

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Oh and by the way, whose
child is this anyway? She's not from

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around here, Alma said. She's
my niece. Her name is Sarah,

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and she's visiting from Atlanta. Ronnie
replied, I call bullshit, Ronnie,

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you don't have any family, Alma
said, I would suggest you go back

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to your office, Elma. Sarah
intervened, revealing her teeth. What the

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fuck, Alma whispered as she backed
away. You should listen to her and

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go back to your office, Ronnie
echoed, and stood. Elma's hands trembled

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and eyes widened as she slowly backed
away. O Ho ho, Eddie,

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the elf is not fear willing.
Well, so Santa has a new helper

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today, Ronnie announced to the expanding
line of children. There were cheers and

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shouts from the boys and girls.
Sarah moved quickly to the front of the

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line and lifted the retractable belt from
the stanction. Mary Jenkins and her little

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boy Sam were the first in line. Sarah giggled as she reached for Sam's

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hand. He took it without hesitation. As Mary stepped through, Sarah looked

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back as if to tell the next
kid she would have to wait her turn

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before taking Sam to Santa. Ronnie
resisted the urge to roll his eyes at

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Mary Jenkins, who is now Mary
Utly. She was a cheerleader in high

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school and he actually had clumsy sex
with her once in the boy's locker room.

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It was definitely nothing memorable for her, because, as he recalled,

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he was almost done before they got
started. The kid sat on his lap

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and he could feel the look of
pity for Mary boring into the side of

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his skull. Poor Ronnie, I
can't believe we actually fucked once. Look

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at him now, Poor poor Ronnie. Sam was blabbing to Ronnie about a

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video game and Sarah tapped Mary on
her arm with a sharp, pointy fingernail.

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What is it, Mary asked,
taking out of her pitiful thoughts of

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Ronnie. Santa doesn't like you,
and neither do I, Sarah said.

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Mary's eyes widened in surprise as Sarah
smiled at her with clicking teeth. Sam.

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Let's go, Mary shouted as she
grabbed Sam by the arm. As

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he was still in the midst of
explaining why this particular PlayStation game was a

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must to have under the tree.
Mary pulled him so violently. Sam's arm

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almost came clean out of its socket. Mom ow, Sam screamed as she

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began dragging him away. Let's go, Mary shouted. Sarah moved quickly,

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grabbing Mary by her not so dainty
wrist. Mary's mouth drew back in disdain

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as the little girl's skin to skin
touch was icy cold. You're not nice.

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You deserve what's coming to you,
Sarah said, and then released her

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grip. Mary dragged a screaming Sam
behind her. While all this was going

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on, nobody in the line of
kids sensed what kind of craziness was happening.

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Crazy shit was par for the course
on Highway four twenty one, even

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on Christmas Eve. Ronnie watched in
joy and amazement. This shit was making

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him so happy. Sarah clicked her
teeth at him as she went to get

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the next kid. Barbara Spradley was
next with her kid, Lisa. Ronnie

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wasn't a fan of the Spradley clan. They were pretty much Valley Royalty,

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owning several businesses on this stretch of
road. The six year old scampered up

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to Sanna hold Sarah's cold hand.
She had the distinct Spradley dimple in her

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chin, with eyes so big she
almost looked like a character from a Doctor

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Seuss book. Hey Thanta, Lisa
said, with a lisp, Hey,

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little one, what do you want
for Christmas? This year? I want

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a Barbie dreamhouse and a couple of
new Barbie because I cut the hair off

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the other one, and uh Ethie
bake oven, Lisa finished. Ronnie was

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taken aback with Lisa. She was
a little girl that actually wanted little girl

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gifts. It was nothing that needed
the smart descriptor or required the timed mashing

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of buttons on a video game controller. Again, these requests were few and

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far between, but when they came, it made Ronnie feel somewhat normal for

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a few seconds. Sarah noted the
genuine smile on Ronnie's face and felt his

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approval, so she stayed quiet and
gave Barbara a close mouth smile, which

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Barbara politely returned. The next kid
was big, and so was his father.

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It was Travis Cheatham and his son, Little Travis. Sarah reached for

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Little Travis's hand and he jerked away, giving her the finger in the process.

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Big Travis chuckled as if to say, that's my boy. Sarah smiled.

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Hey fuck nut, Big Travis shouted
as Little Travis pulled himself up onto

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Ronnie's lap. Ronnie groaned at the
weight of almost two hundred pounds of this.

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Eleven year old Ronnie remembered Big Travis. They were once teammates, but

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never friends. Big Travis always had
a jealous streak, and he loved seeing

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Ronnie like this. Big Travis ran
a shady lawn care company in the valley,

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mostly cash transactions. He liked tossing
his weight around figuratively and literally.

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His kid was two hundred pounds and
Big Travis was over three bills almost four.

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Hey fuck nut, my dad is
talking to you, Little Travis repeated.

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That's not very nice. Sarah intervened
before Ronnie could speak. Who asked

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you, you little bitch? Little
Travis replied, while looking back at the

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approving smile of his pops. Listen
here, you will be getting coal in

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your stocking. You can't talk to
my little Shut the fuck up, Ronnie.

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You are a fucking loser. Nobody
loves you if you stink like ass,

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and you're the sorriest sack of shit
Sannah I've ever seen. Little Travis

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didn't get the last word out.
Sarah moved with catlike quickness. She jerked

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Little Travis from Ronnie's knee and sank
her teeth into the side of his neck,

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ripping out his trachea and one fell
swoop. Blood spewed like a geyser

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from the dying kid's neck. Big
Travis was still trying to register what he

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was seeing. The color had flushed
from his face. Kids were now screaming.

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Sarah leaped from Little Travis and lunged
at Big Travis, her claws digging

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into his soft, flabby flesh.
She scaled up and around his back like

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a lizard on a brick wall.
Ronnie was smiling. Ronnie was laughing.

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Ho ho fuck nut, Ronnie shouted
as Sarah raked her claws across Big Travis's

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face, opening gouges in his fat
cheeks. Big Travis grabbed Sarah by the

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hair with his huge hands and pulled
with all his strength. Sarah didn't budge.

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She was now clicking her teeth in
front of his frightened eyes. You

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aren't a nice man. You can't
treat Sannah like that and live. Sarah

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pressed the sharp claws of her thumbs
right into Big Travis's eyes. They went

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so deep she could feel the soft
tissue beneath them. Big Travis fell face

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first as Sarah leaped from his chest. Her movements were fluid and fast.

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Now this shit had everyone's attention.
Children were screaming, mothers were calling for

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fathers, and gunshots began to fill
the air. This had gone well beyond

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regular four twenty one crazy shit.
Ronnie was smiling as he watched Santa's little

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helper go to work. She was
blindingly fast. She was eviscerating every man

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with a gun. Ronnie felt the
pain in his chest he was hit,

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but he was still grinning. The
blue lights of the Burnetown police were now

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everywhere. There would be no tree
lighting this year, and Sarah was still

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moving through the crowd. She was
in a blood frenzy of death and destruction.

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Ronnie felt the warmth of blood flowing
from his wound. Shots were still

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ringing out, but there were less
of them. Ronnie stood in front of

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the wooden chair, watching the mayhem
in front of him. Not five minutes

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ago, the kids were in line
with their pity filled mothers, waiting to

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beg him for shit he could never
afford himself. The way these people treated

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Ronnie over the years was shameful.
No words of encouragement from any of them,

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just fucking pity. That's why Ronnie
hated Christmas. But not this year,

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No, sir. The girl was
his vengeance. She knew she could

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sense the ones that had been cruel
to Ronnie and the ones that didn't offer

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help, only pity. Sarah could
smell it on them as she literally cut

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through town. Merry Christmas to all
and to all, a good night,

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Ronnie shouted. As one more shot
rang out. It found its mark,

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hitting him in the forehead. The
last thing he saw was Sarah's face and

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her clicking teeth As everything went dark. Ronnie died right there, but he

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died with the solace that he'd experienced
the best Christmas ever. It was finally

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his happy ending. Sarah was his
elf of vengeance and he loved her for

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it. I got a hand it
to Charles Campbell. He never disappoints,

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and I was thrilled that we got
to take a little trip to the valley

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for Christmas. I hope you all
enjoyed that story as much as I did,

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and I hope it's helping you feel
a little bit of that warm,

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fuzzy holiday feeling, especially if you've
been missing it. I also want to

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mention real quick if you haven't joined
our Patreon yet, I would really appreciate

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00:21:44.920 --> 00:21:48.720
it. Just go to Weeklyspooky dot
com and click on Patreon. For as

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00:21:48.720 --> 00:21:52.720
little as one dollar a month,
you get access to all kinds of exclusive

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00:21:52.759 --> 00:21:57.680
content, and most importantly, an
exclusive series that's currently running called The Weekend,

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00:21:59.000 --> 00:22:02.759
about a group of kids who go
and stay in an abandoned campground and

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00:22:02.880 --> 00:22:06.720
things don't exactly go super well for
them. It's written by Rob Fields and

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00:22:06.759 --> 00:22:08.960
it takes place in our Strickfield universe, so you know you're gonna have a

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00:22:10.039 --> 00:22:14.759
lot of fun. Just head over
to Weeklyspooky dot com and click on Patreon.

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00:22:15.079 --> 00:22:18.160
And speaking of I want to say
an extra special thank you to our

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00:22:18.160 --> 00:22:22.799
Patreon podcast boosters. These are folks
who pay just a little bit more to

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00:22:22.880 --> 00:22:26.200
hear their names at the end of
the show, and they are Johnny Nix,

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00:22:26.400 --> 00:22:32.640
John Collen, bobotopia dot com,
Megan Hua, Julia Kersh, Brent

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00:22:32.720 --> 00:22:36.920
mccallaugh, Steve King, Karen Wee, met Jack Kerr, and Craig Cohen.

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If you want to hear your name
in that list, and I would

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00:22:38.519 --> 00:22:44.000
love to read it every time in
my silky voice, just go to Weeklyspooky

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00:22:44.160 --> 00:22:48.400
dot com, click on Patreon and
select any tier at fifteen dollars a month

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00:22:48.480 --> 00:22:52.039
or higher. You'll get this.
You'll get video podcasts, lots of other

261
00:22:52.119 --> 00:22:57.640
exclusives, but most importantly, you'll
guarantee that I keep bringing the spooky on

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00:22:57.759 --> 00:23:02.640
the weekly and I really do appreciate
it. But now it's time for me

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00:23:02.680 --> 00:23:06.559
to get back to work. We
have shows all next week, every single

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day, including Christmas Day, So
for myself, for my executive producer Rob

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00:23:11.920 --> 00:23:15.799
Fields, my producer Dan Wilder,
and our composer A Matis, I will

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00:23:15.799 --> 00:23:22.160
talk at you very very soon,
So stay warm and don't forget to sharpen

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00:23:22.200 --> 00:23:26.440
your teeth just a little bit festive. Thank you for listening. We make

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sure to find your way back next
week. But for now you are safe.

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Trust me,