The Fall of Santa - InkSpot.Com

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The Fall of Santa

It began on Christmas Eve, in the small snow-draped town of Pine Hallow. Children nestled in their beds dreamed of toys, unaware of the nightmare approaching from the north.

High above the town, Santa Claus's sleigh sliced through the dark, glittering sky, the reindeer pulling him through the bitter cold. His laugh, jolly as always, echoed across the mountains. But this year, something wasn't right.

For days, the elves in the workshop had noticed it. Santa's jovial red cheeks had paled, his twinkling eyes now sunken and shadowed. A strange restlessness plagued him. The air around him smelled wrong, like burnt pine and copper.

"Are you alright, sir?" an elf had asked the night before.

Santa gripped the edge of his desk, his knuckles white. "Just tired," he whispered hoarsely, but his voice trembled with something deeper. That night, the moon rose full and ominously bright over the North Pole.

Now, as the sleigh raced through the clouds, Santa doubled over with a groan. The reindeer faltered mid-flight, snorting nervously as their master writhed in his seat.

Prancer turned his head. "What's wrong with Santa?"

The others brayed nervously as Santa clutched his face. "N-No," he growled, his voice turning guttural, vibrating through the cold air. "Not again... Not tonight."

But it was too late.

The light of the full moon poured through the clouds, bathing Santa's trembling form. His red velvet coat shredded as his muscles contorted beneath it. His belly, once round with laughter, twisted and tightened into something wiry and monstrous. White tufts of beard fell in clumps as coarse, black fur burst from his skin. His jolly face stretched into a hideous snout, lined with jagged, yellow fangs.

The reindeer screamed.

By the time the transformation was complete, Santa was gone. In his place stood something else. Hulking and terrible, with curling horns sprouting from his head and red eyes that gleamed like dying embers was...Krampus.

The sleigh plunged from the sky, shattering into the forest just beyond Pine Hallow. The reindeer scattered, hooves pounding as they fled their cursed master.

Krampus clawed his way from the wreckage, dragging a tattered sack now stained with soot and blood. His breath misted the air, heavy and rancid. He staggered toward the town, leaving deep furrows in the snow where his claws sank into the earth.

~ ~ ~

The Merrick family had been asleep when the scratching started at the window.

Jenny, eight years old and dressed in candy-cane pajamas, sat up and frowned. She heard something heavy dragging across the roof, like boots...no, hooves.

"Santa?" she whispered.

She padded to the window and peeked through the frost covered glass.

On the roof, silhouetted against the moon, crouched the thing that used to be Santa. Its long, forked tongue flicked from its mouth, tasting the air. Chains dangled from its claws, clinking softly.

Jenny gasped and stumbled backward.

From downstairs, the chimney groaned. A thud. Another. Then a horrible, wet scraping sound as something too large forced its way through.

Her parents awoke to screams.

Mr. Merrick sprinted for the stairs, only to freeze as he saw the living room below. The Christmas tree had been overturned. Bits of ornaments crunched under the weight of it. The beast...no, Krampus was crouched low, one clawed hand dragging a sack that squirmed as if something inside was trying to escape.

When it looked up, its red eyes burned into Mr. Merrick's.

"Have you been good this year?" it growled, its voice layered and broken. A twisted echo of Santa's old laugh bubbled beneath its words.

Mrs. Merrick screamed having come up behind her husband.

Krampus lunged.

~ ~ ~

By dawn, the town of Pine Hallow was silent. The snow was stained in places, gifts scattered and trampled as if abandoned mid-celebration. Chimneys stood empty, their bricks splintered and blackened.

Krampus had moved through the town methodically, dragging his dreadful sack from house to house. The naughty were taken, their cries lost to the icy wind. The good? They were spared but left with a gift far worse...a lingering knowledge that Christmas would never be the same.

As the sun rose, the beast shambled back into the mountains, its sack full and dragging behind it. In the growing light, its form began to shift again. Black fur fell away. Horns receded.

Santa Claus collapsed into the snow, his red suit tattered, his body trembling. He looked at his hands, still clawed, though shrinking and choked out a sob.

"It’s spreading," he whispered to no one. "The curse… it’s spreading."

Somewhere deep in the woods, bells jingled softly, a mockery of holiday cheer.

For Santa knew that next Christmas, he wouldn’t return to the North Pole.

He wouldn’t return at all.

Word Count: 791

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