September 2006 Issue The Horror Library, your Haunted Home for Horror Fiction, Dark Art, Horror Games, Movie Reviews, Book Reviews, Non-Fiction, Alternative Music, Horror Authors, Horror Short Fiction and featuring The Terrible Twelve - RJ Cavender, Bailey Hunter, Boyd E Harris, Megg Roper, Jason Beirens, CJ Hurtt, Eric Stark, Cordelia Snow, Chris Perridas, Curt Mahr, Stephen Sommerville, M Louis Dixon, Kerry Drummond
(With many apologies to the Clement Clark Moore classic)
***
T'was the night before Christmas,
When all through the house
Just one creature was stirring, --quiet as a mouse.
The stockings were hung in their usual space,
As Sara Sweet, six-years-old, peeked out from her hiding place.
Her siblings were nestled all snug in their beds,
Whilst visions of X-boxes danced in their heads.
But, young Sara had noticed on Christmases of yore-
That all Santa's presents, were the same as ones bought at the store.
So, she had decided, with a little mischievous delight,
That she would stay up and see Santa tonight.
When out on the driveway there arose such a dither,
Sara sprang from her spot, clipped the tree, and it all came down with her.
Pinned down by the tree, and struggling on the floor, Sara Sweet heard a heart-stopping knock on the door.
"W-who's there?" she stammered, as she crawled from under the tree. Some ornaments had broken and she'd scuffed up her knee.
"It's Santa, young Sara." Came a cheery reply. "Now, open this door, so we can talk...you and I!"
"If you really are Santa, then excuse me for being unkind. But, don't you use the chimney, nearly EVERY single time?"
Away to the window he flew like a flash, threw his fists through the glass and received a huge gash. "And what are you doing, you foolish little brat? Up sleeping in bed, is where YOU should be at!"
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to her wondering eyes should appear,
But a haggard old elf with a food covered beard.
His blood spattered arms, trailed down to huge paws.
She had never thought she'd cry when she met Santa Claus.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
Loose pelts of wild beasts, stained with blood, ash and soot.
An overstuffed package he had flung on his back,
Muffled screams escaped from the small opening in his pack.
His eyes -- black and hollow. His skin grey and sallow.
His cheeks like dead roses, his nose like a talon!
His little troll mouth was drawn up in a sneer,
His teeth rotten black, each as sharp as a spear.
And the beard on his chin was all yellow and tangled;
One leg was a stump, by threads of skin his dead foot dangled.
He had a cruel wrinkled face and lips like stretched out old snails.
His belly squirmed, when he cackled, like a bowlful of entrails.
He was horrid and obese, a demonic old elf,
Sara pee'd a little when he chuckled, in spite of herself.
With a wink of his eye and a twist of her head,
Sara fell to the tree skirt, most assuredly dead;
He spoke not a word, but went straight up the stairs,
And killed off her parents; then her siblings, in pairs.
The tree had caught fire, scorching presents and bows.
He slouched out of the house, before the flames rose.
He limped to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle.
He gave them all treats of fresh flesh, guts, and gristle.
And he screeched, and he shouted, and he called them by name; "Now, SLASHER! Now, BUNDY! Now, DAHMER and LANCER! On, VOMIT! On PUTRID! On, RAMIREZ and NECROMANCER!
To the top of the porch! To depths of Hell's halls!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
He was heard to exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Woe be to the NAUGHTY, on this Christmas Eve night!"
