by TW Brown
17
Dearest Santa Claus,
Hello, old friend! How many years has it been now, Claus? It seems like we’ve both been around for . . . I suppose we could say, forever. But, you must admit, you are quite a full century older! Yet, we became friends quite soon after becoming acquainted. No matter, friendships are built on far less than we two share.
It boggles the mind to remember all the Christmases when I awoke and found a delightful gift, wrapped up so sweetly, under the family’s Christmas tree. Always the package contained exactly what I had asked Santa to bring me. Because I had been a good boy. Yet, I was amazed anew each December 25. Ah, the pure joy of a child on Christmas morning. If only we could recapture that joy, eh, Claus?
In the many years I’ve existed, I’ve certainly lost much of that childlike glee that Christmas should bring. Well, after all, I do have to hunt and feed, and protect my secret from those who would destroy me. And then there’s the limitations of my . . . condition. Only traveling at night, the dangers of coming into contact with sunlight . . . it gets tiresome, Claus, no denying it. Quite tiresome.
But, my esteemed friend, you deal with many limitations yourself, do you not? All that work in one single night! Carried through the night by reindeer, no less. Was ever an animal less suited for flight than one with heavy antlers, four flailing legs and and the brain of a flea? A bit unfair, yes, I know, Claus, but since Blitzen bit me that year, I have no love for reindeer. You understand, I’m sure.
My, I seem to be rambling. Old age, eh? Quite. Well, to get down to the purpose of this letter. This will bring a smile to your already cheerful countenance, Claus. This is that most cliche of cliches - a letter to Santa Claus. I’m asking for a gift for Christmas.
I suppose that shocks you, considering who I am. Or who I have become, I should say. My first letter to Santa Claus I scribbled many, many years ago. If I recall correctly, I was avid to receive a set of toy soldiers. And there they were Christmas morning, wrapped gaily and topped with a lush bow. I wonder now what ever became of that gorgeous set of soldiers? Life leaves so much behind, does it not?
To continue toward my real purpose, I have compiled a very brief, quite reasonable list of gifts which I would like for Christmas. I hope you won’t think me greedy, as i worked devilishly hard to winnow the list down to just three. In this day and age where you tend to go overboard with the young ones, I decided three requests were not too many.
First, dear friend, I would like to have a new cloak. My cloak has become terribly worn over the past 200 years, blood stains do take a toll. And I’ve grown a bit, which I know you understand. Belt’s getting a bit tighter, that sort of thing. A black cloak, please, dear Claus. Better for hunting.
And this one is a bit embarrassing, but I must ask. I would dearly love to have what the children today call a “skateboard”. As fast as I can move normally, I should not be so intrigued by the damned things, but the poise and grace needed to really ride a skateboard, well -- it brings to mind horse riding, a joy lost to me forever once I was turned. Horses no longer can stand the sight -- or smell -- of me. I miss that feeling of wind in my hair as I road those magnificent steeds through the countryside.
My last request, Claus you miracle-worker you, should be no challenge to a man of your abilities. I merely wish to be released from our contract. I am sorry, old chap, but I just could not care less who has been naughty or nice. Or who is sleeping and awake. I’ve kept this list for you for so many decades now, slinking in and out of children’s bedrooms, keeping intricate records, judging each indiscretion.
And I must confess, I have lost all interest in my duties. It was a lot simpler when I made this pact with you -- I just went in their rooms, watched them a while, and made my notes. Little Stephen breaks his sister’s dolls? Ok, I write that down, you bring coal for his stocking and that’s that. A particularly beastly child, one who pulls wings off of insects or tortures cats, you most graciously allowed me to feed on. It was very fair. I had no complaints.
But these children now. Claus, it takes me months just to find two or three that I wouldn’t be perfectly within my rights to kill! Every house I go into, the children are awake, playing on the computer, talking to their little friends half the night. And recently one caught a glimpse of me in its rooms. So obviously, my age is causing me to be slower, clumsier.
He took one look at me, then ran to mummy and daddy’s room, grabbed a loaded gun and took a couple shots at me! I’ve had some very close calls, I don’t mind telling you, Santa. Too many for a vampire of my years. I didn’t make it through all these years for a tot to shoot me full of metal. No, I know it won’t kill me, Claus, but it does hurt, you know. Quite a bit.
I know I cannot just dissolve our contract without your agreement, dear friend, but I beg you, release me from this hellish job. I think you would be perfectly safe to assume all the little brats are naughty and maybe even give the coal industry a boost. Fill their stockings to the brim, Claus, these maniacs have no need of toys. They can barely move around their spacious bedrooms for all the toys they have now! I know, I know, I did agree to a lifetime of servitude in exchange for the blood of the truly bad children.
Claus, if I drank the blood of all the naughty boys and girls out there nowadays, I would shake like a bowl full of jelly, too. No offense, old man, but it’s very difficult to fit into my coffin at daybreak when my stomach is hanging over my belt. So, dear friend, you can see what a difficult situation this contract has created for me. Please, I beg you, find it in that warm and jolly heart of yours to release me from our agreement. Frankly, these children scare the hell out of me.
Yours most affectionately and with all respect,
Andre Bouvier, Vampire
18
My dearest Father Christmas,
I have always found the human custom of penning requests to you to be rather quaint, but until this year I never dreamed that I might write a letter to you myself. However, given recent events, I thought I would indulge this year and ask you to grant me a boon.
While I respect that you may feel my activities in hunting and feeding on humans may not put in me on your so-called “nice” list, I know you must also take into consideration that “nice” and “good” are all relative. There are worse creatures than I in the world. And while I do take, I also give. I have created a family for myself, and it is growing. I bring pleasure to my lover, and it is actually on her behalf that I am making this request.
My lover is a witch and a Wiccan, and thus she celebrates the Winter Solstice. I personally cannot see much difference between the traditional Yuletide celebrations of my youth three hundred-odd years ago, and what people call “Christmas” today, but be that as it may, I would like a gift for her in whatever atmosphere you’d like to call it.
It’s for both of us, actually.
Rayvin professes to hate me, loathe me, despise me in every way, but when I touch her she loses all control and gives herself to me completely. I find her to be delightful in every respect -- from her flaming red hair to her delicious curves, from her dedication to finding a way to destroy me, to the way she makes my flesh yearn to be one with hers. It is a fascinating contradiction, and I’ve grown quite fond of testing her limits. I’ve also been endeavouring to research what makes women happy, as a way of pushing past her defences.
In the darkness of the basement below her photography studio, I have created what modern men call a “man-cave”, stocked with books, DVDs, a comfortable leather chair, everything I could want to keep myself comfortable while I watch over -- or rather, under her. I have included a selection of romance novels, and I recently enjoyed a trilogy about shades of grey.
Actually, it rather intrigued me. Apparently, many women are stimulated by the reading of the book, and I am wondering whether my dear Rayvin would be similarly excited or enticed by reenacting some of the scenes. The basement under her photo studio is really quite perfect for it, considering the privacy it affords.
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Therefore, here is what I, Malcolm de Sade, would like for Christmas:
-One leather whip, long
-One leather whip, short
-One pair of handcuffs, the “cuffs” encased in fur (preferably leopard)
-One chain with a lock and a key
-One blindfold
-One portable hot-tub
-One ostrich feather
-One vial of your own blood (purely for experimental purposes-- according to lore, your plasma tastes either of candy-canes or sugar cookies, and it has been a long time since I consumed these treats)
I will have a tree put in my “man-cave” under Rayvin’s photography studio, so that arranging everything after its delivery shall be made simple.
I thank you for your time and attention. I assure you that Rayvin will be most delighted that you thought of her pleasure, and I will make every effort to continue being “good” in the coming year.
Yours sincerely,
Malcolm de Sade,
Vampire
19
Dear Santa,
