The Doom That Came to Christmas, Part 8 (The End)
Over the next few weeks, I’ll be serializing my Christmas horror story, The Doom That Came to Christmas. I hope you enjoy it! Please feel free to share!
Early on Christmas morning, a grieving mother, who had no intention of celebrating the holiday, was awakened by a heavy stomping, as if an elk was walking around on the roof of her home.
Getting out of bed, she walked through the darkened house, past the Christmas tree, unlit and gloomy now, to find a gift sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace. It was a poorly wrapped present, resembling a wad of crumpled paper more than anything. It looked like a four-year-old had hastily wrapped the item. She picked it up and tore the paper away.
A snow globe.
Within the glass orb, Santa’s sleigh rose high above the skyscrapers of a city.
“Hm,” the mother said as she gave the snow globe a casual shake.
She gasped.
Snow swirled around the globe, taking the shape of Lauren and Marcy, who daughters who had been taken from her in a freak, unexplained accident. The snowy incarnations of the girls looked out of the globe. Distantly, the mother heard her daughter’s voices.
“Merry Christmas, mom.”
***
Upon his throne in his kingdom of candy canes and twinkling lights, Krampus growled with unease.
On the throne’s left side sat his basket of wicker and leather, empty now, yawning and hungry.
On the right, propped against the arm of the throne, was the shepherd’s crook, the runes dull and grey.
The massive doors swung open, and Rosemary, still walking with a limp, still bearing the bruises from their battle, entered the chamber. She carried a parchment scroll covered in scrawled names, the length of it trailed behind her, dragging snow in from outside.
“What is this?” Krampus asked.
“You know what it is,” the elf replied.
“Not now. It’s not even the new year yet.”
“If you don’t start now, you’ll never be done in time. Like it or not, you’re the new Santa, and that means you’ve got to start making your list and checking it twice. Every child in the world has either been naughty or nice, and you—“
“Naughty.”
Krampus waved a dismissive claw.
“You don’t mean that,” said Rosemary.
“Naughty!” bellowed Krampus.
Head bowed, Rosemary turned to leave the room in defeat, dragging the list behind her.
“Wait,” Krampus said.
Rosemary looked back at the demon, hope springing anew upon her face.
“Anya,” said Krampus. “I mean, Mrs. Claus. How is she?”
“The same,” said Rosemary. “She doesn’t want anything to do with the elves… nor anything to do with Christmas.”
Nor anything to do with me, Krampus thought.
With another curt wave, Krampus sent Rosemary on her way.
He sat in silence.
In the cold.
The embers of anger… and of purpose… flared in his heart.
Raising an eyebrow, he glanced at the shepherd’s crook. Had the runes upon the staff started to glow? Yes—yes! It was faint, but the symbols pulsed weakly, coming back to life. Krampus took the crook into his gnarled hands. His clawed fingers flexed against the wood.
Perhaps… in time… the shepherd’s crook might have enough power for another jump through time and space.
And then the demon could set things right.
Then, he thought, I can ditch this dead end, bullshit job.