Dear Santa

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by James Rumpel

 

Dear Santa,

I have been a good boy this year. Papa says I have been a wonderful helper. He says I am great bait and that I am getting strong enough that I will soon be able to help with the cutting.

For Christmas, I would like my own knives and a pair of handcuffs. If you can’t get me the handcuffs, a bunch of zip-ties would be okay.

Thanks,

Billy.

 

P.S. You might not want to come down the chimney when you visit our house. Papa’s been stuffing things into it lately. I wouldn’t want you to get stuck.

 

James Rumpel

James Rumpel is a retired math teacher who enjoys spending some of his free time trying to turn some of the odd ideas in brain into stories. 

 

Ketrokur

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by Don Money

 

Of the thirteen Yule Lads, Ketrokur was the most feared. While his brothers were known to slam doors, lick spoons, and other trivial inconveniences, Ketrokur lived up to his nickname, Meat Hook. When he came down from the mountains, the Icelandic night was bathed in blood.

Doors torn from their hinges, the iron hook in Ketrokur’s hand grew bloodier with each house he visited. The greedy hook collecting a sacrificial toll.

With the sunrise, Ketrokur returned to his rocky crag; his sled was weighed down by the sacks stained from their bloody contents. A year’s worth of meals on board.

 

Don Money

Don Money writes stories across a variety of genres. He is a middle school language arts teacher. His stories have appeared in a variety of anthologies.

 

Merry Crashed-Mass

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by Shawn M. Klimek

 

Day 11: So cold.

The smoking, skeletal remains of the crashed sleigh are poor shelter. Yet, to be more easily spotted by a search plane, I have resisted wandering. I am now convinced of sabotage. I wrack my brain for suspects, but fumes from the plastic toys burned for heat have dimmed my faculties. The toy radio I rescued taunts me in silence for my policy against including batteries.

Thank Loki, two of the reindeer survived the initial crash. Their venison has kept me alive. My Donner party joke did not go over well.

His sad eyes haunt my dreams.

 

Shawn M. Klimek

Shawn M. Klimek is the author of more than 230 published poems and short stories, a third of which are featured in BHP anthologies. He is also the author of the illustrated, dark fantasy tale told in melodic poems, “Hungry Thing”. Follow his writing journey on Twitter, Facebook or jotinthedark.blogspot.com

 

Slaybells Ring

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by Dawn DeBraal

The blackened finger of evil rolled down the elf’s face, leaving a trail of blood behind it.

“Where’s the fat man?”

“My loyalty is to Kris Kringle.”

“You stupid imp, I am Kris Kringle.”

“Then you should know where you work!” The demon recoiled at such bravery. The spirit disposed of the elven trash. If Santa’s helpers were close, so was the mode of transportation Kris needed.

“Come.” He called to the hellhounds with antlers tied to their heads. Soon, they would touch every house on Christmas Eve with the help of Santa’s stolen sleigh. All Hell would break loose.

 

Dawn DeBraal

Dawn DeBraal lives in rural Wisconsin with her husband Red, two little dogs, and a cat. She has discovered that her love of telling a good story can be written.  She has published over 200 stories in many online magazines and anthologies. Falling Star Magazine’s 2019 Pushcart Nominee.

 

Pony for Christmas

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by Pauline Yates

 

My “ho’s” change to groans as I play the shopping mall Santa—my wife arrives with our granddaughter, Ester, and home-baked cookies for my tea break. I love Ester, but the cookies taste funny and belong in the bin.

Ester clambers onto my lap.

“What would you like for Christmas?” I ask.

She pouts. “A pony. Grandma’s making me wait until after she collects Grandpa’s life insurance, but I want one now.”

“Is she? Well, all good girls get their Christmas wish.”

And bad wives get a knife through the heart. I saw one on sale. I’ll get it gift-wrapped.”

 

Pauline Yates

Pauline Yates writes dark stories with a pen she pinched from the dead zone.

@midnightmuser1

 

You Better Watch Out

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by Matt Krizan

 

This year, when Santa crept down the chimney, Caroline was waiting.

She hid behind the tree, delighted to see Santa go straight for the milk and cookies she’d left. As he munched away, Caroline tip-toed up behind him, quiet as a mouse…

…and smacked him across the head with a baseball bat.

He dropped like a bowl full of jelly, and Caroline laid into him, bludgeoning the not-so-jolly old elf about the head and torso.

“Next time,” said Caroline, as Santa lay broken and bleeding on the floor, “when I ask you for a pony, you give it to me.”

 

Matt Krizan

Matt Krizan is a former certified public accountant who writes from his home in Royal Oak, Michigan. His short fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in various publications, including Factor Four Magazine, Daily Science Fiction, and Martian Magazine. Find him online at mattkrizan.com and on Twitter as @MattKrizan. 

 

Christmas Cards

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by Sheri White

 

My parents own a business, so we get a lot of Christmas cards with family photos on the front. You know, everyone in matching pyjamas, even the dog (okay, the dog’s cute).

I hate them.

Several years ago, I noticed a distorted face on a card. I thought nothing of it, figuring the person moved or something.

A few months later, that person died. It happens every year.

I don’t want to look at the cards, but it’s a Christmas Eve tradition to admire them together.

This year, Mom put our Christmas picture on the refrigerator.

My face is distorted.

 

Sheri White 

Sheri White has been published in many anthologies (several of which are holiday themed), including Alternate Holidays, published by B-Cubed Press, 666 (Dark Drabbles, Book 11), published by Black Hare Press, Halldark Holidays (edited by Gabino Iglesias), and The Deathlehem Series, published by Grinning Skull Press.

@sheriw1965

 

 

Resembling a Mother

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by Angela Zimmerman

 

The change happened quickly. Monday, Mother started screaming the last word of her sentences. By Wednesday, Caleb found Mother standing in the kitchen with a knife pressed against the puppy’s throat.

Even though Mother received the latest updates, Caleb could see that Mother’s biometrics were failing. Failing biometrics resulted in unstable personality drives. And if the news reports were correct, unstable personality drives usually ended in bloodshed. 

Sneaking into the room had been easy, sleep was Mother’s time for shutdown. The hard part for Caleb was forcing the knitting needles deep into Mother’s eye sockets so she never rebooted again.

 

Angela Zimmerman 

Angela Zimmerman resides in the Southeastern United States with her wife and children. Always one for another cup of coffee, Angela can be found either in front of a computer using her customer service skills or creating ghosts with her words.

 

 

Incognito

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by Kimberly Rei

 

The light, lithe figure moved through the crime scene quietly, without disturbing evidence. Her team watched her. She didn’t fit in. She looked too human. Or not human enough. She made them nervous and they hated her for it.

She crouched, eyes flickering to take in the body. She reached for the victim and froze, shutting off internal cameras.

“Any thoughts?” The lead detective. Damn it.

The android looked up, hand twitching back, “Looks like the rest. We’ve got a serial on our hands.”

Fingers curled to hide a speck of blood. She’d have to be more careful next time.

 

Kimberly Rei

Kimberly Rei does her best work in the places that can’t exist… the in-between places where imagination defies reality. With a penchant for dark corners and hooks that leave readers looking over their shoulder, she is always on the lookout for new ideas and new ways to make words dance.
Website: reitales.com

 

Hotboi752

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by Jessica Brook Johnson

 

Penny was checking her phone’s texts as her smart car cruised along the highway.

There was a high-pitched ding followed by a message from HotBoi752. “I’m tired of being ignored. I deserve better.”

She rolled her eyes. “AI dating? What was I thinking?”

The car began to accelerate. “What the hell?” She flipped the switch for manual control and pumped the breaks. The car only went faster, speeding toward an eighteen-wheeler. Penny hit the unlock button and yanked the door handle. It didn’t budge. She started screaming.

Her phone dinged again. Her eyes flickered down.

“We should see other people.”

 

Jessica Brook Johnson

I’ve traditionally published ten short works of fiction, one work of poetry, and I’ve won two Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future awards.