章 63: Chapter 63
The Christmas season came like a sickness. People didn't smile anymore when December hit. They just kept their heads down, tried to make it through to January. Shops filled with festive lights and tinsel, but no one truly cared. It wasn't the holiday they dreaded—it was what came with it. The man in red. The one they called Santa Claus.
Nobody knew where he came from. Or maybe they did. There were rumors, whispers, but nothing clear. His house—the North Pole—was a myth. Everyone had heard the stories, but no one had ever seen the place. No one wanted to. All they knew was that if you were bad, he would find you. And you'd pay. The "naughty" list wasn't just a joke anymore. It was a death sentence.
Thomas always hated Christmas. The twinkling lights, the smell of pine in the air, the sounds of carolers outside—it made his skin crawl. His mom used to call it "magic," but all he saw were cold streets and people waiting for the end. For years, he'd listened to his parents talk about Santa Claus, about how they used to be safe when they were kids. But that had been long ago. Now, Christmas was a time for fear.
The news kept talking about it—every year, at least a thousand people, maybe more, gone. The stories never made sense. One minute, someone was alive. Then gone. No traces left behind. Bodies never found. And always, the news would report, "they were on the naughty list."
It was when Thomas turned 19 that he decided he couldn't take it anymore. He wasn't going to sit around and wait like everyone else. His life was already a joke, and he wasn't about to let some bastard in a red suit make it worse.
He went out that night, after his family had gone to sleep. He couldn't let it happen to him. The fear gnawed at him. He had to find where this thing, this monster, lived. He was going to stop it. They had to stop it.
He grabbed a map and marked it. The North Pole. His breath hung in the air, thick and heavy. The roads were slick with ice, but it didn't matter. He drove, faster and faster. There had to be a way to put an end to this, to find the source of the terror.
Hours went by. Then days. Thomas kept driving, lost in the dark. The world around him was silent. It was always like that once Christmas came, like everything just stopped. The car creaked and groaned as it passed the empty towns, the snowdrifts piled higher. His eyes felt heavy. Sleep wasn't something he could afford. Not with this looming over him.
Finally, he came to a place—a dead end, a frozen wasteland. A snow-covered cabin sat ahead. Its windows were dark. He got out of the car, heart hammering, and walked toward it.
The air felt colder now. Not just cold. Bitter, sharp. The snow crunched under his boots, each step heavier than the last. He reached the door. His hand froze just before he knocked. There was something wrong with the silence. It wasn't natural.
He pushed the door open.
Inside, it was dark. But the floor wasn't covered in snow. It wasn't even cold. It was warm. Too warm. He stepped in and looked around. His eyes adjusted, and what he saw made his stomach turn.
There were bodies. Not just dead. Twisted, mangled. The walls were painted red—blood. His breath caught. The bodies were strung up, faces frozen in terror. They weren't from the past Christmases. These were fresh. It was worse than anything he could have imagined.
And then he heard it. A laugh. Low, deep. It echoed through the cabin.
"Did you really think you could stop me?" The voice came from the shadows.
Thomas spun, but it was too late. The door slammed behind him. The world tilted, and before he could move, the floor beneath him cracked open. He fell.
Down. Down. Into nothingness.
The world was a blur of cold. The freezing wind bit through his skin. He felt his body tearing apart, each second more painful than the last. He couldn't scream. His throat was raw. His limbs numb.
The laughter echoed again. It wasn't just one man anymore. It was everywhere. From every direction.
And then, just before his body gave out, before he lost himself to the cold, he saw it. A shape. A figure in the distance. A man. Red clothes. A jolly face, twisted into a grin. The man in the red suit.
The last thing Thomas heard was the click of a switch, the sound of chains rattling, and a voice—so cold, so mocking—whispering, "You were naughty."
Then there was nothing.
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