by TW Brown
01101100011011110111011001100101,
Human Extermination Android #7021
36
Dear Santa:
As you are immortal, we have yet to meet; so, I am taking the time to scribe you a note in the blood of my recent patient. I write with a quill pen from antiquity. Nero presented it to me as I roamed the streets of burning Rome, curing its denizens of the ultimate disease of life. I hope this letter finds you tired and lacking in spirit. Then I will come see you and relieve you of your burden.
I write with only one Christmas request. I insist that you stop bringing holiday warmth in the cruel cold seasons. Before your jolly-old-self stuck your cherry nose into my affair, these dark dimensions of time in winter were truly my season to run and be merry, snipping away life with my scissors and taking eyes as I hungered. I took their eyes and placed them in my pocket. As the cold raw season repressed, it deprived the living of hope’s delusion, and many laid their heads to the frozen earth and let slip their warmth and lives. It was then that I came to them, that I practiced my good trade and healed them of the penultimate disease of life, alleviating their suffering, taking their burden. I am their doctor. I am everyone’s doctor.
And one day, I shall be your doctor. It is inevitable, Saint Nick. For you may call yourself immortal, but truly, the cosmos does not spin that way. Nothing is forever. You too will decay and fall to entropy’s raking claws, then I will come to you as you have come to so many. I will bring true cheer and the only relevance. In your pain, you will beg for me and my ministrations.
I resign this letter in some admiration. The hunter always admires the prey that alludes him. On Christmas eve, we shall both be sweeping over the world. You shall be leaving spurious joy. I will be taking. Many eyes shall go into my pocket. Many on that happy morning will awake to your gifts and my kindness, finding their loved ones cured of life. And please remember, dear Santa, when death comes, it comes as a Doctor.
Your Humble Servant,
The Good Doctor Sullivan
37
Dear St Nicholas
Hello, old friend. How have you been? It has been so long since we last spoke I’d imagine you’ve quite forgotten what I look like. Of course, it would be impossible to forget what you look like, with your face on every Christmas present and decoration. Yes, you’ve managed to make quite a career from this whole business.
But the children are becoming aware, Nicholas, and the bubble of belief that each one of them holds for you is getting smaller every year. Soon they won’t believe in you at all, and you’ll fade away to nothing. But I can help you. I want to make them believe in you. That’s why I want you to give me the greatest gift of all and let me help you to make Christmas great again.
Think back to the old days; you, the jolly bringer of gifts and I, the dark companion who punished the wicked. Back then they knew there would be consequences to their actions, knew that if they were not righteous and good then they would be punished. How I relished those cold nights, stalking through the night in your wake as we snuck into their little bedrooms. As their cries of joy were music to you, the shrieks of terror were like the greatest of symphonies to me.
But now look at us. Both consigned to history, me a folk tale lost in the winds of time and you a crass symbol of this world’s greed. You may think they fear a gift less Christmas, Nicholas, but we both know the truth. You stand there in shop windows and greetings cards, an impotent symbol that is as easy to disregard as the muted pleas of their parents. You may see them when they’re sleeping, old friend, but it won’t make them good. For goodness’s sake or anyone else’s.
So set me free, my dear Nicholas, and release me into the night. This night was always about a balance between good and evil. Let Christmas once more become a time not of joy but of self reflection and fear, when children frantically mark their good deeds against the bad and pray that the tallies are in their favour. And, a clatter rises from outside their bedroom windows on December 24th, let them not run to the window but cower in their beds, knowing that wherever they hear sleigh bells I am not far away.
Your friend
Krampus
38
To the anthropomorphic personification of the Homo sapiens celebration known as ‘Christmas’
For many years now we have been attempting to contact the entities who run your planet but so far all our efforts have been met with suspicion and doubt. We are given to understand that are bound by tradition to grant wishes to those who beseech you by way of letter. Accordingly, we have a request to make of you.
Simply put, this year we would like an apology from the whole of humanity for the various rumours and lies that your species has propagated about our race. The apology need not be particularly grandiose or extravagant, just heartfelt and made by the entirety of your race while knelt in recognition of our superiority. While we would not like to tell an experienced wish granter such as you how to carry out his primary functions, we do have some suggestions for topics the apology should touch upon.
- The Roswell ‘crash’ – This is a misconception of the highest order, and we feel your government should have taken steps to address it a long time ago. We did not crash. We are an advanced race of life forms with technology that far outstrips your own. As a fellow traveller we have no need to explain to you the potential pitfalls of faster than light travel in the Earth’s atmosphere (in fact, as you manage to do it with flying deer suggests your own expertise may even exceed our own), but needless to say we would not travel millions of light years, through galaxies and nebulas, to simply fall from the sky and land in some godforsaken desert the second we arrive?
- People who claim we communicate with them – This would be the equivalent of a human trying to explain their own rudimentary understanding of physics to a grapefruit. The fragile mind of the typical human would explode if we tried to impart even the smallest percentage of our wisdom. Should a human ever claim to be in contact with us, he is most likely talking to himself.
- When we abduct you, we probe your anus – We have no idea where this has come from. While we appreciate that humanity is a fairly unadvanced civilization even they must realise the opportunities for learning associated with that orifice are very limited.
- We have come to your planet to reproduce with you – No. We’ve seen how your species reproduces and, quite frankly, it disgusts us.
- ‘We come in Peace’ – Silly, silly mammals. If we eventually chose to come to your planet, there will be no peace on earth. Or good will to all men (apologies in advance, bearded one).
So there you have it. Our demands have been stated and we will grant you until star date 66449.1 (06.30am on December 25th 2012) to meet them. By this time our attack vessels will be in place, should you fail our overseers will be forced to unleash the full force of our armada against you. And then your nights will no longer be silent.
Ho. Ho. Ho.
The Greys
39
Dear Santa,
BBBBRRRAAAINNNNSSSS!!
