Jack feigned a move towards the window beside the back door but the blinds were pulled down and the shutters slammed. The Yattering, too concerned with the window to watch Jack closely, missed his doubling back through the house.
When it saw the trick that was being played it let out a little screech, and gave chase, almost sliding into Jack on the smoothly-polished floor. It avoided the collision only by the most balletic of maneuvers. That would be fatal indeed: to touch the man in the heat of the moment.
Polo was again at the front door and Gina, wise to her father's strategy, had unbolted it while the Yattering and Jack fought at the back door. Jack had prayed she'd take the opportunity to open it. She had. It stood slightly ajar: The icy air of the crisp afternoon curled its way into the hallway.
Jack covered the last yards to the door in a flash, feeling without hearing the howl of complaint the Yattering loosed as it saw its victim escaping into the outside world.
It was not an ambitious creature. All it wanted at that moment, beyond any other dream, was to take this human's skull between its palms and make a nonsense of it. Crush it to smithereens, and pour the hot thought out on to the snow. To be done with Jack J. Polo, forever and forever.
Was that so much to ask?
Polo had stepped into the squeaky-fresh snow, his slippers and trouser-bottoms buried in chill. By the time the fury reached the step Jack was already three or four yards away, marching up the path towards the gate. Escaping. Escaping.
The Yattering howled again, forgetting its years of training. Every lesson it had learned, every rule of battle engraved on its skull was submerged by the simple desire to have Polo's life.
It stepped over the threshold and gave chase. It was an unpardonable transgression. Somewhere in Hell, the powers (long may they hold court; long may they shit light on the heads of the damned) felt the sin, and knew the war for Jack Polo's soul was lost.
Jack felt it too. He heard the sound of boiling water, as the demon's footsteps melted to steam the snow on the path. It was coming after him! The thing had broken the first rule of its existence. It was forfeit. He felt the victory in his spine, and his stomach.
The demon overtook him at the gate. Its breath could clearly be seen in the air, though the body it emanated from had not yet become visible.
Jack tried to open the gate, but the Yanering slammed it shut.
"Che sera, sera," said Jack.
The Yattering could bear it no longer. He took Jack's head in his hands, intending to crush the fragile bone to dust. The touch was its second sin; and it agonized the Yattering beyond endurance. It bayed like a banshee and reeled away from the contact, sliding in the snow and falling on its back.
It knew its mistake. The lessons it had had beaten into it came hurtling back. It knew the punishment too, for leaving the house, for touching the man. It was bound to a new lord, enslaved to this idiot-creature standing over it. Polo had won.
He was laughing, watching the way the outline of the demon formed in the snow on the path. Like a photograph developing on a sheet of paper, the image of the fury came clear. The law was taking its toll. The Yattering could never hide from its master again. There it was, plain to Polo's eyes, in all its charmless glory. Maroon flesh and bright lidless eye, arms flailing, tail thrashing the snow to slush.
"You bastard," it said. Its accent had an Australian lilt.
"You will not speak unless spoken to," said Polo, with quiet, but absolute, authority. "Understood?" The lidless eye clouded with humility.
"Yes," the Yattering said.
"Yes, Mister Polo."
"Yes, Mister Polo."
Its tail slipped between its legs like that of a whipped dog.
"You may stand."
"Thank you, Mr. Polo."
It stood. Not a pleasant sight, but one Jack rejoiced in nevertheless. "They'll have you yet," said the Yattering.
"Who will?"
"You know," it said, hesitantly.
"Name them."
"Beelzebub," it answered, proud to name its old master. "The powers. Hell itself."
"I don't think so," Polo mused. "Not with you bound to me as proof of my skills. Aren't I the better of them?" The eye looked sullen.
"Aren't I?"
"Yes," it conceded bitterly. "Yes. You are the better of them."
It had begun to shiver.
"Are you cold?" asked Polo.
It nodded, affecting the look of a lost child.
"Then you need some exercise," he said. "You'd better go back into the house and start tidying up." The fury looked bewildered, even disappointed, by this instruction.
"Nothing more?" it asked incredulously. "No miracles? No Helen of Troy? No flying?"
The thought of flying on a snow-spattered afternoon like this left Polo cold. He was essentially a man of simple tastes: all he asked for in life was the love of his children, a pleasant home, and a good trading price for gherkins. "No flying," he said.
As the Yattering slouched down the path towards the door it seemed to alight upon a new piece of mischief. It turned back to Polo, obsequious, but unmistakably smug.
"Could I just say something?" it said.
"Speak."
"It's only fair that I inform you that it's considered ungodly to have any contact with the likes of me. Heretical even." "Is that so?"
"Oh yes," said the Yattering, warming to its prophecy. "People have been burned for less."
"Not in this day and age," Polo replied.
"But the Seraphim will see," it said. "And that means you'll never go to that place."
"What place?"
The Yattering fumbled for the special word it had heard Beelzebub use.
"Heaven," it said, triumphant. An ugly grin had come on to its face; this was the cleverest maneuver it had ever attempted; it was juggling theology here.
Jack nodded slowly, nibbling at his bottom lip.
The creature was probably telling the truth: association with it or its like would not be looked upon benignly by the Host of Saints and Angels. He probably was forbidden access to the plains of paradise.
"Well," he said, "you know what I have to say about that, don't you?"
The Yattering stared at him, frowning. No, it didn't know. Then the grin of satisfaction it had been wearing died, as it saw just what Polo was driving at.
"What do I say?" Polo asked it.
Defeated, the Yattering murmured the phrase.
"Che sera, sera."
Polo smiled. "There's a chance for you yet," he said, and led the way over the threshold, closing the door with something very like serenity on his face.
Jim Goad
KRIS KRINGLE’S KRIMINAL KAPERS
A Holly-Jolly Round-Up of Real Life Bad Santa’s
OF THE COUNTLESS Big Lies a person will be told in their lives, the myth of Santa Claus is usually the first one. Impressionable, frail-minded toddlers worldwide are routinely fed the completely bullshit story that some white-haired, rosy-cheeked rotundo wearing an impossibly gay red fur suit is somehow able to deliver multiple presents to hundreds of millions of households during the course of one wintry evening every year.
And they wonder why some kids grow up to be serial killers.
At around age eight, I started wondering about the logistics of Santa's yearly task and began grilling my mother about it. We were driving on a dark December evening when I continued to hammer on the idea that no matter how big Santa's sleigh was, it couldn't hold toys for all the world's kids. Mom finally caved and admitted there was no Santa Claus.
I didn't respond like a small faggot boychild and cry. I remember being pissed, though. I couldn't understand what was so awful about telling the truth and admitting that my parents were the ones who bought me all those defective toys and socks.
So I haven't thought much about Santa Claus since I was eight. But some men NEVER seem to get over him.
While I'm sure there are at least some well-adjusted adult males who choose to
play Santa for children, I'd immediately have to question the motives of any grownup man who volunteers to have prepube asses sit on his lap all day long.
Because I am still hostile about the fact that my parents lied to me about Santa, I will do whatever I can to help tarnish the whole Santa myth. So grab yerself an egg nog, curl up by the fireplace, and enjoy with me these true stories of real-life men who've played and/or impersonated Santa Claus...and have been ARRESTED at some point in their lives, too!
For legal reasons, I should note that unless I specifically state they've been convicted of whatever crime for which they were busted, we are to presume they're innocent. This is emphatically not to imply that, innocent or guilty, we can't laugh at the circumstances surrounding their arrest.
SANTAS ACCUSED OF CRIMES AGAINST CHILDREN
The crime annals teem with accounts of fat middle-aged men who somehow found time in their busy schedules to both portray Santa and abuse children--sometimes simultaneously.
Notable Santas accused of child abuse include:
Zay Harold Jones, a 73-year-old who, even though he'd been charged with child sexual abuse in 1981 and sexual assault against a woman in 1991, was still permitted to play Santa Claus in 2004, when he was charged in North Carolina for fondling an eleven-year-old girl who'd been portraying his elf at mall appearances.
John Michael Barton, 55, arrested in 2006 in South Carolina for dressing as Santa Claus and then abducting an eight-year-old girl from a gas station on his motorcycle, which featured a sidecar decorated with a stuffed Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer toy. Barton was chased and captured before he could molest the child, which doesn't necessarily mean he wouldn't have tried. When you're 55 and allegedly kidnapping eight-year-olds, your intentions can't be all that pure.
Ransford George Perry, 57, a black Wal-Mart Santa in Newburgh, New York, arrested in 2005 for allegedly exposing himself to, and requesting oral services from, a fifteen-year-old boy.
SANTAS CHARGED WITH ASSAULT
In 1983 in Chatham, England, a man playing Santa at "Santa's Grotto" threw a punch at a young boy whom he claimed had acted disrespectfully toward him. His target ducked, and Santa hit the boy standing in back of him. "Santa lost his cool," said a store representative after the arrest.
In 2004 in Atlanta, Elkin Clarke, dressed at Santa, reportedly beat a 74-year-old woman unconscious with a 2x4 in front of appalled onlookers. The woman had been distributing religious flyers, but Clarke claimed she had stolen boxes of Hershey's chocolates from him valued at $145. "She was stealing my stuff," Clarke said. "I asked [her] ten to fifteen times not to touch my stuff."
In the German burg of Pfungstadt in 2001, a man playing Santa Claus was said to have become enraged when a group of children began asking to see what he was wearing under his red suit. He reportedly grabbed one nine-year-old boy, slapped him in the face, and locked him in a broom closet.
In England in 1997, a Yorkshire department-store Santa reportedly slapped a young boy named Christopher in the face after the boy made the mistake of "questioning his legitimacy."
MYSTERY SANTA ACCUSED OF SENDING OBSCENE LETTERS TO CHILDREN
In 2007 in Canada, Ottawa's postal service had to suspend its yearly "Write to Santa" program--in which children send letters to Santa at a designated postal box and volunteer postal workers reply as "Santa"--after what officials described as a "rogue elf" started sending obscenity-laced reply letters to children. "Your mom sucks dicks and your dad is gay," read one letter. Another addressed the child as a "dumb shit," while yet another called its recipient "a greedy little boy."
INDIVIDUAL SANTAS ACCUSED OF PUBLIC UNRULINESS
In Oklahoma in 2005, police arrested 53-year-old James Lahl after reportedly finding him dressed as Santa and beating on a street sign with another street sign he'd pulled out of the ground. An arresting officer says Lahl emitted a strong odor of alcohol.
In Ocean City, Maryland in 2002, 42-year-old Charles Pierce was arrested while dressed in full Santa regalia and stumbling around on the street with a cup of beer. He told police he was "trying to bring smiles to peoples' faces." He later told a reporter, "I guess they hate Santa down here."
In the torn-to-shit town of Chester, PA in 2001, 57-year-old William Hatzell was driving while wearing a Santa outfit when a policeman, suspicious Hatzell had been drinking, stopped his car. Hatzell reportedly knocked over the officer with his car and peeled away. He was apprehended shortly thereafter, still dressed as Santa.
GROUPS OF SANTAS CHARGED WITH PUBLIC UNRULINESS
In Auckland, New Zealand in 2004, an estimated gathering of 30 or so liquor-swilling Santas who'd convened for an event called "Santarchy" devolved into a drunken street brawl. "Police believed the Santas had been drinking since early morning," reported one New Zealand paper.
In San Francisco in 1995, an estimated 100 Santas stormed into the children's section of the Emporium department store, reportedly "drinking beer, smoking marijuana, and shouting obscenities." One female Santa flashed her breasts while parents scrambled to shield their children's eyes.
In London in 1981, two Santas appeared before a judge after they'd had a street-corner fistfight when they discovered they'd both arrived on the same corner to sell merch. "The fur was really flying," reported an arresting constable.
In Uniondale, NY, in 2003, a New York Islanders promotional gimmick provided free admission to everyone who showed up for the game dressed as Santa. Over a thousand Santas arrived. In between periods when the Santas were allowed out onto the ice, a violent melee lasting over six minutes erupted after it was discovered that two of the Santas were actually fans of the rival New York Rangers.
BANK-ROBBER SANTAS
While child-diddling Santas and bank-robbing Santas run neck-and-neck in terms of sheer numbers, the bank robbers typically only wear Santa disguises instead of portraying Santa to gullible children. But bank robbers have used the Santa disguise for decades all over the country and the world. Accounts exist of bank-robbing Santas in Oregon, Texas, Michigan, California, Connecticut, and Pennsylvania. The ploy has also been used by foreign Santas in Germany, England, Poland, and, for some reason, multiple areas in Australia.
KILLERS DRESSED AS SANTA
London police have yet to solve the 2005 murder of Sikandar Shaheen, a 25-year-old immigrant stabbed to death by a man wearing a Santa hat and beard who was spotted fleeing the apartment building at the time of the crime.
The New York Times in 1921 reported the strangulation murder of a five-year-old New Jersey girl named Tessie Kurcharski, lured from the bar of her mother's hotel into the room of George Gares, a 54-year-old man who'd told her he was Santa Claus.
PROTESTERS ARRESTED WHILE DRESSED AS SANTA
As if it isn't annoying enough to be the type of person who takes to the street in protest of social injustices instead of, say, turning inward and enjoying as much sex and as many intoxicants as they can get their claws on, a few despicable souls choose to compound the annoyance by dressing as Santa Claus as part of their protest.
Rochelle Regodon, a female PETA member dressed as Santa Claus, was arrested in 2004 outside a KFC outlet in Singapore after protesting on behalf of "Peace on Earth for Chickens."
At a Delaware mall in 2002, seven anti-consumerist activists picketing in favor of "Buy Nothing Day" were arrested for trespassing. One of the protesters was dressed as Santa. I say they all get the death penalty.
In 2004 in San Francisco, four anti-death-penalty protesters were arrested, including 1960s Woodstock activist/clown Wavy Gravy, who was dressed for the occasion as Santa and really should be dead by now.
In Manchester, England, in 2004, two members of "Fathers 4 Justice" dressed as Santa climbed a "Big Wheel" amusement ride to protest what they considered unfair legal treatment of fathers. They were, thankfully, arrested.
In Ottawa, Ontario in 2007, a man dressed as Santa Claus was busted after he and a group of tree-huggers delivered lumps of coal to the Canadian Prime Minist
er's residence in protest of his environmental policies.
THE SANTA CLAUS FLASHER
In 2005 in Boston, Richard Mullen, 52, was handcuffed and transported away from a mall where he'd shown up dressed as Santa and allegedly proceeded to repeatedly expose his genitals to horrified mall-goers. Not much later, he was arrested for allegedly trespassing into the infants' intensive-care unit at Boston's Children's Hospital while carrying a bag containing a red balloon and several condoms.
Nigel Kneale
THE STOCKING
ON THE DAY before Christmas the sun came through the window so low that it lit the highest broken patch on the wall. It was very cold when Ma came home, and she put an extra cover on his cot; the cover from their bed with the paper stuffing. A comer of paper stuck out with a picture of a lady on it. She gave him a piece of bread and fat while she made the tea. ‘Ma,’ he said.
Ma looked hard and said, ‘Yes?’
‘Will you hang up a stocking for me tonight?’
Ma laughed and said, ‘All right.’
‘I got a big bag of sweets in it last year,’ he said. ‘Daddy Christmas is kind, isn’t he, Ma?’
Ma laughed again and afterwards he heard her counting the money in her purse.
‘Maybe Daddy Christmas’ll come and maybe he won’t,’ she said, ‘but Pa’ll hang a stocking up for you.’
When Pa had finished his soup in the evening, he brought a chair and fastened an old one of Ma’s long stockings to the wooden beam that ran across the room above the cot, a little below the ceiling.
Pa leaned on the cot as he stepped down, and it creaked and swayed. ‘That’ll never do,’ said Pa, and he knocked four nails into the cot to hold it more firmly to the wall; it had no legs.
Gift-Wrapped & Toe-Tagged: A Melee of Misc. Holiday Anthology Page 19
