by Tim Curran
“‘What is it?’ Rob asked.
“‘It's…it's…’
“‘It looks like Santa,’ he said and waved. ‘Hi there, Santa!’
“Santa waved back and pulled up his big stomach while exclaiming, ‘Ho. Ho. Ho!’
“I grabbed Rob's shoulder.
“‘Don't go there. Don't go to him.’
“‘Why not? It's Santa. He's the merriest guy on earth. You know…reindeer, the North Pole, and presents and stuff.’
“My heart was pounding in my chest. I couldn't believe Rob didn't find it odd to meet Santa out there in the park late in the evening. There were no kids there at that time. The playground was empty. Why would he be there?
“‘Maybe he has a present for us,’ Rob said, smiling and pulling my arm. ‘Come on.’
“‘No! Don't!’
“‘What’s wrong with you? Santa’s the best. Don't you know that? Here, let me show you.’
“Before I knew it, Rob ran towards Santa. I yelled at him to come back, then whimpered when I realized he was not going to listen.
“He turned around to look at me again, to make sure I knew it was going to be all right. He gave me a thumbs-up and winked. And that’s when it happened. Before Rob realized what was going on, Santa stuck three of his long nails into Rob's throat, pierced them through his skin, and poked a hole in an artery. Blood started spurting out, like a sprinkler sprinkling water.”
4.
"It says here Rob Wilson disappeared on a walk with you in Osteen Park on December fifteen, the year two thousand. According to the police file, you reported him missing at five minutes past six in the evening and you stated, ‘He was taken by Santa Claus.’"
Dr. Hahn looks at Sara above his glasses.
"I know. I know what you're thinking. No one believed me that time, either. No one else had seen Santa between the trees; no one had seen him attack Rob."
"There wasn't even a body," Dr. Hahn remarks.
"No. They searched everywhere, but never found him."
"And why is that?"
"I watched Santa drag him in between the trees and never saw him again. I screamed, but no one heard me. When Santa had taken him away, I was all alone with Scotty. I called my parents and they came to get me."
"But since there was no body, you weren't convicted of anything. You did spend time in a mental institution, though?"
"My parents told me they couldn't have me at the house anymore. They were scared of me, of what I might have done, so they sent me there, yes. I spent two years in there, telling the same story over and over again, but still no one believed me. I eventually gave up on convincing people that Santa was dangerous and started telling them what they wanted to hear. That I had imagined the whole thing. That there had been no Santa. They let me go, stating I was cured of hallucinations and paranoia. I moved away, to Cocoa Beach, and started working as a waitress, then moved on to become a secretary at a newly-started company that shaped surfboards. I stayed under the radar and tried to forget everything about my past. I kept in scarce contact with my parents, since they were terrified of me. Little by little, I put it behind me and convinced myself that I had just imagined things; that none of it had ever happened.
“Some years later, I met a nice guy, John, and we moved in together, then later married. He had been a professional surfer, but had to stop because of a back injury. He was running a surf school. I became part of his business and we worked together with the kids. It was awesome. I never spoke to him about my past. Luckily for me, he wasn't too fond of Christmas either, so we didn’t really celebrate it and would often travel to places like Costa Rica, where he could surf instead. For a long time, it was all good and I didn't have to worry.
“But then Molly came along."
"Your daughter, right?" asks the doctor.
"Yes. Our precious baby girl. Never had I been happier. It was like everything bad went away and life was good again, like it had been when I was a child. The world was a good place. Having a child even improved my relationship with my parents, since they wanted to be closer to their only grandchild.
“When Molly was an infant, it wasn't really a problem, but soon she started to ask questions. It's hard to ignore Christmas when you have a four-year-old who sees the decorations and hears the carols on the radio. Even the TV is filled with cartoons about elves and, of course, about Santa. Not to mention all the stuff they fill them with at preschool. Soon she was asking about him, wondering if he would come to her house this Christmas. What was I supposed to tell her? She quickly learned he only gave the good kids presents, and one night when I tucked her in, she grabbed my arm and asked me if she had been naughty all of her life. She asked if she was a naughty kid. What was I supposed to say? I told her she was a very good kid, but she didn't believe me.
“‘Why doesn't Santa come to my house, then? Doesn't he like me?’
“So I told her Santa wasn't real. I told her we didn't believe in Santa. Just to make it easier. To avoid the questions, I lied.”
5.
Sara covers her face with her hands and tries to not let herself get too emotional. Telling this story is tough, a lot tougher than she thought it would be. She can tell by the look on Dr. Hahn's face that he doesn't buy into it, but she is used to that. She learned that at a very young age. Under different circumstances she would just lie to him, but she can't this time. She needs to tell him the truth. People need to know what really happened; they need to know what they're dealing with, what kind of evil they're letting into their homes at night while they're sleeping.
Finally, she lowers her hands. "Can I get some water?" she asks. "All this talking makes me thirsty."
"Of course," Dr. Hahn says, gets up and walks to a small table with bottles of water.
He hands her one and she sits up. She drinks greedily with her eyes closed. Her hands are shaking. Some of the water spills on her chest.
"So, you told your daughter Santa wasn't real?" Dr. Hahn says when she puts the bottle down.
Sara swallows the water and lies down again on the couch. She closes her eyes and tries to go back.
"At the time, it seemed like a good idea. John didn't agree with it, though. He didn't like lying to her. He didn't understand how anyone could dislike Santa. But I had to lie to her. To protect her. I told her the man at the mall was nothing but a man in a suit, dressing up as Santa…that Santa didn't exist. Of course, Molly went and told everyone in her preschool and I was called to a conference, and later had to tell her to not tell anyone, since she made all the children cry. But other than that, it didn't pose any significant problems."
"I have a feeling that it didn't remain that way."
"No," Sara says. "For about two years, she let it go. But as she grew older, she started to talk about him again, stating that everyone else believed in Santa, why didn't we? Telling us that if we only believed in him, he would come. He would bring her presents too. She begged us to take her to the mall to sit on Santa's lap. I forbade it, but when she turned seven years old, John couldn't stand the pressure anymore. Without my knowledge, he took her to the mall and told her not to tell Mommy, because Mommy didn't like Santa."
"So how did you find out?"
"I saw them. I drove past the mall on my way home from yoga class and saw John's car in the parking lot. I don't know why I stopped. I mean, they could have just been shopping. But something told me I had to stop. Maybe it was the fact that they hadn't told me they were going to the mall; maybe it was intuition. All I know is, a small voice inside of me told me something was up. And I was right.
“I parked the car close to theirs and rushed inside the mall. I didn't have to look for long before I spotted them. I will never forget the shock I got. Can you imagine? They were in the line to see Santa."
"How did that make you feel?" Dr. Hahn asks.
Sara sits up. "How do you think that made me feel? I was angry. And scared, of course. Terrified."
"You didn't think you were o
verreacting slightly?"
"No. Not after what I’ve been through. Haven't you been listening to my story?"
"I have, yes, but...didn't you think about the hundreds of kids that sit on Santa's lap every year that nothing happens to? Couldn't you let it go? For Molly's sake?"
Sara leans over towards Dr. Hahn and points a finger at him. "Listen to me, doctor. I know what you think of me. I know you think I am a cuckoo, and I’m fine with that. But don't for one minute think I am letting any of this go. I am not letting him get away with this. Never. I will tell my story till I can't speak anymore."
6.
"So what did you do?"
"I ran to them. It was Molly's turn and the elf had grabbed her hand and told her to follow her. I watched as she approached Santa and he smiled at her. With terror rushing through me, I stormed towards her, yelling for her to stop. The crowd heard me and several heads turned. A mom pulled her son away from me. I knew I sounded like a crazy person. I knew I risked that everyone in my neighborhood would see me, but I didn't care. I simply couldn't let her go to him."
"Why not?" Dr. Hahn says. "It was out in public. What did you fear would happen?"
"Would you let your child sit on the lap of a vicious killer?" Sara asks. "If Ted Bundy lured your child with promises of candy and presents? I don't think so. I know how this all sounds to you, doctor; believe me. I know. But you asked me to tell the story, so if you'd just let me tell it…"
Dr. Hahn nods. "Go ahead."
Sara exhales. "Okay. Well, I ran towards the stage where Santa was sitting in his chair, his hands with his long nails already reaching out for my daughter as she approached him. I didn't make it to her before she turned and sat in his lap, his red eyes lingering on her throat.
“‘Ho. Ho. Ho,’ I heard him say, as she leaned back into his beard. ‘Have you been good this year?’
“Molly leaned over and whispered in his ear. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but I could tell Santa nodded and smiled, showing off his pointy corner teeth as she spoke.
“Then he laughed. That deep rolling laughter and said something back to her, whispered something in her ear, his long claws grabbing her hair and pulling it aside so she could better hear.
“I screamed and clawed my way through the crowd, pushing moms and dads and even children aside. For a second my eyes locked with my husband's and I could see the terror in them.
“‘NO! Sara. Stop!’ he yelled.
“I didn't listen. I ran past him. He tried to grab me and stop me, but I managed to get past him, then I stormed onto the stage. I was panting and out of breath, but still managed to yell at Santa sitting there in his red suit, black shiny boots, and white beard. I grabbed my daughter's arm and pulled her away from him.
“‘You get your dirty claws off of her, you bastard!’ I yelled.
“Molly ended up on the floor. She was crying and my husband sprang to get her. Meanwhile, I clenched my fist and slammed it into Santa's cherry red nose, knocking him backwards so hard the chair tipped, causing him to fall into the curtain behind him, and down from the stage.
“A loud gasp went through the crowd, someone screamed, children cried and yelled at me, and soon two or three of the mall's security guards were on top of me, pinning me down. The police came and everything. They kept me for hours, asking me questions. It was even in the newspaper that a crazy mother had attacked Santa at the mall. They had pictures of the poor chubby Santa with his bloody nose. I never spoke to them. Luckily, no one pressed charges against me. I was told to never come back to the mall and to stay away from Santa; that was all."
"But that is not where the story ends, is it?" Dr. Hahn says with a tired sigh.
"Not at all, Doctor. Not at all."
7.
"John never forgave me for what happened at the mall. For two weeks, I was the talk of the neighborhood, and at school the other moms told their kids to not play with Molly. They took away my status as volunteer because I had been arrested, and none of the other moms wanted to power-walk with me on the beach or meet up for coffee like we used to.
“I had one neighbor who came to my door and asked me if I had time to talk out on the porch. We sat in the swing.
“‘You do realize everyone around here is talking about you, right?’ she said. ‘They're even planning on not letting you go to the Christmas parade, you know, since Santa rides the fire truck. You have them all scared. Why? Why would you attack Santa at the mall?’
“I stared at her for a long time, not knowing what to tell her. I appreciated that she was the only one who dared to confront me about it, instead of just talking about me behind my back like everyone else, but I had no answer at hand, not one she would accept. My silence made her draw her own conclusion. She leaned forward smugly and whispered, ‘So, it is true, then? John really is gay?’
“‘What?’
“‘It's really none of my business anyway. But just a piece of advice. If John sleeps around, then you should punch him instead. That's what I did to Steve when I found out he had that affair with our cleaning lady. Never slept with anyone else again.’
“And then she left me. I was sitting on the swing staring at her as she left, realizing I had no idea what just happened. I knew then that no one would ever believe me, no matter how loud I yelled, that all I could do now was to protect my own family.
“But not even my loved ones believed me. After the incident at the mall, I told John everything. I told him about what happened to my brother and about Rob and that I believed Santa had killed them both. I thought he would believe me. I really did. I thought he would understand, but I was alone in this. And he made me promise to never tell Molly any of these crazy stories. He never looked at me the same way again. To him, I was simply a lunatic. And so it happened that three weeks after the incident at the mall, three days before Christmas, he left me. I came home from work that Thursday, carrying presents I had bought for him and Molly, and found the house empty. It was the scariest thing in the world. To open the front door and yell, ‘I’m home!’ and then have no one answer. At first, I thought they were just out--of course I did-- but then I found the note. He had left it on the kitchen counter, next to the sink. He simply wrote that he had left and taken Molly and that they wanted to have a real Christmas this year, that Molly had written Santa a letter to excuse my behavior and invited him to come. He also wrote that I shouldn't try and find them and that with the record I had, there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that I would ever get custody of our daughter. So, if I wanted to see her again, I had to prove I wasn't crazy. That was basically what the note said. Oh, and it ended with a Merry Christmas.”
8.
“Of course I didn't stay away. Are you kidding me? How could I?
“The first two days, I stayed at my house, wondering what to do, but by Christmas Eve, I knew I couldn't leave it alone. John had written in the letter that they would stay with his mother till they found a new place, and so I went there--to protect my daughter. It was, after all, Christmas Eve.
“I drove to John's mother's house at nightfall and parked the car outside on the street, hoping they wouldn't see me. Through the windows, I could see them eating dinner and see how Molly was having a great time. She enjoyed being away from me; it hurt like crazy to watch. Part of me wanted to leave them, to go drive into the river, because I missed her so much and couldn't bear having to live without her, but I knew I had to stay and protect her. I knew I was the only one who could.
“I had bought a sandwich that I ate and washed down with a Coke, then I watched as they played charades. I enjoyed seeing my little daughter and the man I loved, but it also crushed my heart that I couldn't be with them.
“At some point, I must have dozed off because I woke up to a dark house, the lights completely turned off. That was when I exited the car. I walked to the house and found the back door that I know John's mother never locks; don't ask me why she doesn't, but it worked out well for me. I used it to get inside
. I walked to the living room, where the decorated Christmas tree was standing next to the fireplace. I walked to the cabinet where I knew John's mother had her shotgun ready in case someone tried to intrude—maybe that’s why she never locks the door. I grabbed the gun and sat in the recliner, ready for him. I was prepared to stay up all night to make sure he didn't get to my daughter. I knew it would cost me the rights to her if John found me there, but I didn't care. Her life was worth it.
“I almost dozed off again a few times, but I was brought fully awake by the sound of a loud thump on the roof of the house. My eyes grew wide and I sat up in the chair facing the fireplace, cocked the gun, and pointed it at the fireplace.
“‘Come on, dear Santa,’ I whispered in the darkness. ‘Come to me. Guess now you're the one who better watch out.’
“Ash fell from the nooks and crannies of the chimney. It landed in the bottom of the fireplace and sent out charcoal smoke, filling the room with a strange burnt smell. For a few seconds, I wondered if I should light a fire, but then realized I wanted to face him. I wanted him to see me. I wanted to look into his bloodshot eyes.
