by Chris Morey
CHRISTMAS HORROR VOLUME. 1
Copyright © 2015 Dark Regions Press
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events or organizations in it are products of the author’s imaginations or used fictitiously.
All rights reserved.
Santa Explains © 2015 by Joe R. Lansdale
The Endless Black of Friday © 2015 by Nate Southard
Red Rage © 2015 by Stephen Mark Rainey
Pointy Canes © 2015 by Jeff Strand
Naughty © 2015 by Shane McKenzie
Krampusnacht in Cell Block J © 2015 by Cody Goodfellow
The Shittiest Guy in the World (A Christmas Fable) © 2015 by John Skipp
Belsnickel © 2015 by J.F. Gonzalez
Dark Regions Press, LLC
6635 N. Baltimore Ave. Ste. 245
Portland, OR 97203
Edited by Chris Morey
Cover Design, Cover Art, Interior Art, © 2015 by Zach McCain
Interior Book Design by Cyrus Wraith Walker
First Trade eBook Edition
Christmas Horror Volume 2 coming 2016
ISBN: 978-1-62641-120-3
CONTENTS
SANTA EXPLAINS
by Joe R. Lansdale
THE ENDLESS BLACK OF FRIDAY
by Nate Southard
RED RAGE
by Stephen Mark Rainey
POINTY CANES
by Jeff Strand
NAUGHTY
by Shane McKenzie
KRAMPUSNACHT IN CELL BLOCK J
by Cody Goodfellow
THE SHITTIEST GUY IN THE WORLD
(A Christmas Fable) by John Skipp
BELSNICKEL
by J.F. Gonzalez
CONTRIBUTOR BIOS
This book is dedicated to J. F. Gonzalez
SANTA EXPLAINS
So you were thinking because I didn’t have a job, Christmas was going to be a bust, but as you can see, you are wrong.
How wrong are you? Huh?
Big time wrong, that’s how wrong.
I’ll explain to you why you’re wrong. I have presents. You didn’t expect that, did you? But I do. That’s not what’s important, though, is it? What’s important is our family, and me making sure we don’t go hungry or lose this shoddy roof we have over our head, and I know the car and the TV got repossessed, but none of that is going to matter. I promise. Not with the changes I’ve made and am making.
We been married nearly twenty years, and you been telling me, “The bloom is off the rose, Tom. It’s all dried up. I don’t think we ought to go on like this.”
Words to that effect anyway. Am I right? I remember it pretty close, don’t I?
I think I do.
But tonight, don’t call me Charles. Call me Santa.
All that stuff you said the other day, about how I couldn’t provide for the family. Couldn’t even have a Christmas for the children, and that it was going to be a ruined Christmas this year, and how you hated the kids had to remember a Christmas when we had nothing, not even a good dinner or a Christmas tree.
You know I been trying. Well, maybe you don’t. I been all over this town looking for work. I tried to get a position for quite some time. A good position. A good job.
Yeah, I know. I don’t have a degree, just a GED, but baby, I got what I got. But that said, I want to say quite firmly here, you were right all along, about me out there looking for a job above my education and expecting someone to give me that kind of position, and me not going in and applying for something entry level, working my way up like your old man, as you have constantly reminded me.
But I don’t want to get that started. You were right.
I wanted respect and a position without doing the work to get there.
I decided what I had to do was swallow my pride, and at my age, after all the schemes of mine you supported, it was time for me to support you guys. Really, I do get it. Don’t look at me like that and tilt your head that way, because I do get it. It took me time, and I know you supported me for nearly fifteen years. I was bringing in some real dough the first five years of our marriage, and before you say anything, I know. That wasn’t what you would call the most legitimate kind of money.
But I was young. I didn’t know better.
Oh, I can tell by that glazed look in your eye that you’re tuning out. Just hear the whole thing. You may not owe me much, and that is something I admit fully and freely and without any kind of proviso. There. I’ve said it again. You don’t owe me a thing.
You were always there for me. Convinced me to get out of that dope selling business when the first kid came along, and I went to work at your father’s lumber yard. Did all right there for awhile. Yet, I felt I was cut out for something more. My mother always told me: “Son, you are special.” She told me that constantly, and I guess, over time, I believed it.
To me it wasn’t just a mother trying to give her son confidence. It was the gospel truth as far as I was concerned. I not trying to lay it all at the foot of my mom, as that’s what they always do. Psychiatrist asking about your mom, trying to find the source, the root that came loose from the ground. It’s always the parents isn’t it? The mom especially. Moms get blamed for everything.
I’ll tell you now, though. You’re a mom. And you’re a good one, and as your husband, as Santa, cause I got the suit on. For the holidays I’m all dressed up, the cap and everything. I got the bag full of delights right over there. I got you, my wife, like a kid at the mall, on my knee. Sitting here like a kid listening to me. I know it may be a little odd, and I thank you so much for indulging me, letting me have my say. I promise I haven’t got much more for you to hear.
I went out and tried to get work at the burger joints. Every last one of them. Anything where you had counter work, cooking. I just missed getting a delivery job. Turned out you had to have your own car for that. We don’t have a car. Repossessed. My fault.
I walked all over town looking for work. Let me tell you, dear, I even offered to sweep up in front of businesses. Stand out there like I was a teenager. Stand out there with a broom and sweep as people I know came by. I offered to do that, sweetie. I offered it to them.
Know what?
Not one bit of interest.
Zero.
Big old goose egg.
Nada.
You remember Cal Luvin?
I think you do. You went out with him in high school. And you know what I’ve heard through the grapevine. I’ve heard since you and me separated you’ve been seeing him again.
Don’t worry.
It’s okay.
It doesn’t matter.
Know why?
Come on, guess.
Not going to say, huh?
I’ll wait.
Nope?
No guesses?
I’ll tell you then.
I have made changes that will make this family not have to worry about its future, not have to worry about losing the roof, or having food on the table, or not having a car. I have repaired all of that in one single day and night.
Christmas night.
I’m not all dressed up in this Santa suit for nothing.
By the way. Know where I got it?
No?
The Goodwill store.
I’m going to admit a little something though. When I figured things out, knew what to do to solve our problems, I had a moment of good luck, like a Christmas present that was just lying there for me to find and pick up. You see, I was walking by the Goodwill, and I saw the suit hanging out of one of the donation boxes. It was as if Santa had crawled in the box and melted and ran right out of the suit like warm water.
The suit was hanging out of the box as if it had been placed there by
divine providence. The box was stuffed full and someone had pulled up and half-assed jammed it in there. I couldn’t help myself. They won’t miss it. I mean, hell, it was there for people like us that can’t afford a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of.
But after tonight. All of that is fixed.
You see, coming across that suit, and what it represents, I was deeply affected.
Hell. I should have stuck with your dad. He wasn’t so bad. Yet, the way he looked at me, gave me that kind of look like he knew I was a born loser who had married his little girl and was never going to amount to a hill of beans.… It hurt. But you know what? Like you, he was right. I was like an anvil on a float toy pushed out in the ocean. I was going down quick. Had been for years, just didn’t know it.
That suit made me remember what day it was. Made me realize how important it was that I make sure my family didn’t suffer. That my two children, my wonderful daughter and son, and you, honey, would not have one more day of having to suffer because of me. Not having one more day where you had to explain to people that I worked at home, even if I wasn’t really doing much of anything besides messing on the internet, playing video games, watching TV and drinking beer. I thank you for not embarrassing me. At least until lately.
But, hell, I had it coming. I have not been faithful to you the way I should have. You’ve always forgiven me, but after twenty years, all those women, all those other disappointments, I can’t blame you for throwing me out.
I know I’m violating the restraining order being here.
But hang tough. I’m nearly finished.
I was at fault. Makes sense you’d need to run to somebody like Cal. In high school everyone thought you two would get married, but then I stepped in with all my big plans. All my big talk. I could talk it up one side and down the other. I meant it, though. I want you to know that. I may not have delivered, but I meant every word of it. It was just that … Well, it was hard for me to get started. Everything gets boring to me pretty quick. I can look around and see what’s wrong with other people, but I don’t do so good figuring out what’s wrong with me.
I saw that Santa suit, took it, went in a back alley and put it on. I started walking home. And then whose place of business should I pass again? Cal and his hardware store. The same Cal that didn’t have a job for me, not even sweeping off the sidewalk. “I’d like to help you,” he said, “but I don’t think you’re a good risk.”
The same Cal you used to date.
The same Cal who you ran to when you left me, you bitch.
Sorry. Please. I’m sorry. I really am. It’s just I have my moments.
So there was Cal, still in the store. Just one light on. I guess he was doing inventory, and there was the door, propped open. Maybe he’d just carried something heavy inside. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.
I went in and took an axe off the shelf. It was over quick. By the time he saw me I had split his head like a watermelon.
Got blood on the Santa suit.
I think it’ll wash out, so don’t let that fret you. Being mostly on the red part it doesn’t show up much.
I walked home carrying the axe, and I thought: My family need not worry about anything, because I’m going to make everything all right. That’s why I have the bag there, honey. That’s why I have the axe still with me.
Let me open it. You keep your seat. You’re just fine there on my knee. I can hold you up easily while I reach it.
There. Bag is open.
The children had to be chopped up in more pieces than I would have imagined. But both of them are there. If a bit intermingled. Thing is, though. They don’t ever have to worry about daddy failing again. They don’t have to worry about food and a roof.
And don’t you worry.
I can sew them back together. I’ll put them under the Christmas tree with you.
Oh, damn, there you roll. Thought I did a better job sewing you up. I’ll get the fishing line and needles and sew your head back on again.
Then I’m going to put you and the kids under the tree.
Santa will have done the best for his family, and as present to me, you’ll all be under the tree, without complaints, without worries.
Best Christmas ever.
In the morning, I’m going to go out back and see how hard it is to chop off one’s own head.
I’m thinking it might be difficult.
I hope I’m up for more than one good whack.
THE ENDLESS BLACK OF FRIDAY
It was Friday. Not just any Friday, either. This wasn’t some day of boredom to survive, eight hours and then a trip to some place that serves beer and nachos to kickstart the weekend. No, this was Black Friday. The blackest Friday.
I stood near the middle of the line. In my back pocket, a list waited. My wife, Karen, had written most of it, but she wasn’t going to stand out here, so I’d scrawled NEW TV across the bottom. I deserved it.
Two in the morning, and the wind slashed at my face. I tucked my chin and rolled my shoulder, a boxer’s defense. Around me, others tried to defend themselves in other ways. The suburban schlub in front of me attempted a few jumping jacks, but he was soft. A decade on the sofa had turned his gut to dough. A quick hook to his breadbasket, and he’d drop.
The woman behind me used anger. Maybe she thought a slow boil of rage would keep the November chill at bay. “They better not try some lottery bullshit. I’ve been out here since before midnight, and I’m not losing my place in line.”
“Three o’clock,” somebody further down the line said. “Four more hours.”
Four more hours. Two hundred and forty minutes. That was how long I had left with these people. The bored and tired parents of suburbia.
Four hours. No sweat.
Too damn cold to sweat, anyway.
§
A new guy pulled into the lot and climbed out of his car. He made it halfway to the curb before he stopped and examined the line. His neck moved on a swivel, and I could read the look on his face. Goddamn, that’s a big line. Pretty sure he was some kind of genius.
“Still got power here?” he said like he was asking an auditorium. “Town’s blacked out.”
Nice try. A few people looked around, questions in their eyes, but no one left. The line held. How this guy expected to cut down the line with a story about a power outage was anybody’s guess. Not like we were expected home before dawn, anyway.
“Guess they got a generator,” the woman who hated lotteries said. I glanced her way and saw her looking up at the sign over our heads. Sure enough, it was burning bright. Between the sign, the lights that stood watch over the parking lot, and the fat full moon, we might as well have been standing in daylight.
“It’s a Christmas miracle,” I said. No one laughed.
§
Some asshole started singing “Jingle Bells.” I hated that he was too far up the line for me to knuckle-dance his kidneys. Would serve the bastard right. Probably thought he was being festive, not irritating. He deserved a quick correction. The woman behind me—I hadn’t asked, but she’d told me her name was Susie—agreed.
“If I walk up there to pepper-spray the shit out of him, will you let me back in line?”
I liked the idea. In my head, I heard the prick start screaming as he got hit somewhere between, “Oh, what fun,” and, “Sleigh.” Turning to Susie, I gave her a wink and half a grin.
“You don’t talk a lot, do you?” she asked.
“Here and there,” I said. Figured it was as good an answer as any.
“I get it. Don’t want to get too cozy before the stampede happens. We could get chummy, but then I have to trample you to get at one of the new PlayStations. Those doors open up, and we’re all just animals.”
“Nah, nothing that bad,” I said. “Just cold.” Almost as a reflex, I took hold of my keys, the metal objects slipping between my fingers to create a claw. No animal here. Ain’t no animal this hard.
“I hear ya. We should start a trash can
fire.”
I gave her the other half of the smile. “I’m all out of trash cans.”
The schlub chimed in. “Another hour of this, and I might light up one of the cars.”
“Now, there’s an idea,” Susie said. “Pick somebody in front of us. It’ll get us closer to the front of the line.”
Schlub tapped a finger against his temple. Yeah. He was a thinker, all right. Susie would eat him alive. She wouldn’t even have to step out of line to give him the pepper spray. I’d lean out of the way so she could get a good shot. The thought made me smile. Not the little bones I’d tossed Susie, but a genuine, amused grin.
“How about the Kia?” Schlub asked. Jesus, he was still talking.
“Possibly,” Susie said. “Or how about—”
Somebody screamed. Thank Christ.
§
You get a few hundred people lined up outside a big-box store, promise them the kind of deals they can only find once every year, and they get territorial. Folks stake out their place, and they defend it. Over the past decade, I’ve seen everything from shouting matches to brawls to a pair of dads fighting with streams of urine. Black Friday turns people into goddamn hyenas.
Throw in a horrible scream nobody’s expecting, however, and they scatter like cockroaches under a kitchen light. Don’t matter how tough a front people throw up. Whittle ’em down, and they’re all instinct and live wires.
When the scream shattered the night, I jumped the same as everybody else. Only difference was, while everybody else turned and either hightailed it to their cars or ran toward the sound to find out what in hell was happening, I walked casually toward the sound, my fingers tightening, working my keys into a claw again.
“Somebody help! She’s not breathing!” The college kid hunched over a sprawled woman looked close to overdosing on panic. His eyes were wide and jumpy, shooting from one person to the next as he pleaded. He wasn’t playing a first-person shooter this time.
