Terror at Christmas: Jack Scratch’s Hellish Holiday!

Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:01):
The street is empty, the Christmas lights hume like they
are alive. You don't remember your name until you find
a photo in your pocket. Here ho ho ho, dragging
closer through the snow. Then you realize the worst part

(00:23):
isn't the dying, and that's just one of three? How
did you get in here? Ho ho ho? What's that

(00:44):
You want to be scared? Come with me? This is

(01:05):
Weekly Spooky. Hello, my spooks. It's Tuesday, Yes, I know,
but it's almost Christmas and I have so many gifts
left to give you, so don't worry. If you're a
big fan of this Week in Horror History, that will

(01:28):
be dropping on the feed in just a few hours.
But right now I have a very very special visit
from Jack Scratch for this Christmas. Three terrifying tales to
keep you enthralled and in the holiday spirit. But before
we get to that, I want to say thank you
all so much. This has been the most successful Weekly

(01:52):
Spooky Holiday season ever. So many new folks have joined
us in October, November, and and I'm just honored to
bring you a little bit of entertainment, even if my
throat does not love all the extra work. And make
sure you're subscribed if you're not already, Because the holidays

(02:14):
are not where Weekly Spooky ends. We bring you something
terrifying multiple times a week, all year long. So click
that subscribe button and leave us a five star rating
on your favorite podcasting app. It helps us out a lot,
And if you really want to support us, you can
head to Weeklyspooky dot com slash join and find out

(02:38):
how for as little as one dollar a month you
can get two bonus episodes every single month. And of course,
my undying gratitude. But now I'm too excited. I want
to unwrap the gifts now, and they come in threes,
so pull in close. What if Christmas did an end

(03:00):
when you died? What if it followed you down past
the clouds, past the dirt, past the last prayer, and
into a place where paperwork is sacred, hope is a trap,
and the decorations are just camouflage for something rotten. Because

(03:22):
tonight we're not just telling stories. We're opening a door,
a door to Hell's holiday season, where a man in
a red suit isn't here to give gifts, where a
mountain of bones glows with a promise you're never meant
to reach, and wear one machine that can erase you.

(03:43):
Forever waits, silent, hungry, and overdo for a test. So
if you're ready, toss another log on the fire, and
whatever you do, do not, under any circumstance, trust the
laughter you hear in the dark Terror at Christmas by

(04:17):
Keith Tomlin. The air warped and a small, cluttered office
faded into view. A tall, very thin man sat behind
a desk, dressed in simple black pants and a billowing
white shirt. His hand moved impossibly fast as he wrote

(04:42):
a list of names on old parchment, the quill scratching
like a rat in the walls. When the page was full,
he capped the quill and put a stopper in the ink.
He sat both down with the careful reverence of a
man who considered paperwork holy. He then stretched bones, popping

(05:06):
and bending to impossible angles. The man sat still for
one more heartbeat, then he exploded into motion. He leapt
onto the chair. It spun faster and faster, until the
man became a blur of black and white. Red streaked

(05:27):
through the spin like blood in water. A bright flash
filled the room. When it faded, Jack Scratch stood there,
in all his glory, dressed in ring master attire. His
top hat sat at an impossible angle. His red jacket

(05:49):
was immaculate. A green vest could be seen beneath it,
as though paying tribute to the season or mocking it.
His grin was too wide to be trusted. The walls,
which were plane and empty a few seconds ago, were
now adorned with Christmas decorations. But upon closer inspection, the

(06:15):
corruption could be seen. Debauchery tucked into the garland, corruption
peeking out from behind the tinsel vice, woven right into
the holiday scenes, like it belonged there. Little cherubs with
sharpened teeth, a wreath hung with something that wasn't missiletone,

(06:38):
a stocking that twitched when no one touched it. Jack
raised his cane, arms spreading wide, and hopped down from
the chair as if stepping onto a stage. Welcome, he said, brightly,
and thank you for accepting my invitation that you had

(07:01):
a choice. Spinning his cane at breathtaking speeds, he continued,
I thought it would be amusing to give a few
mortals a glance, just a mere glimpse at Hell in
all of its glory. His smile sharpened. Also, I was

(07:23):
born the cane stopped spinning as quickly as it started.
No worries, my friends, no one can see or hear you.
He lowered the cane and pointed down. A few of
my colleagues may suspect mortals are about, but you should

(07:43):
be fine. Probably, He held up one finger, suddenly serious,
or at least the closest thing Jack had to serious. First,
I want to show you that we take our business seriously.
I've spent the last few hundred years trying to drag

(08:05):
this organization out of the Stone Age, in spite of
a few reactionaries who insist on maintaining the status quo.
His grin returned, warm and wrong. Jack snapped his fingers,
and the air shimmered the Santa experiment. The man opened

(08:31):
his eyes, squinting from the glare of the Christmas lights
strung across the awning above him. The bulbs hummed faintly,
a wavering tone that one could sense in their dental fillings.
He sat up, confused, blinking flakes of snow from his eyelashes.

(08:53):
A thin white layer covered the ground. The falling snow
seemed to hang in the air for too long before
drifting down, each flake catching the yellow glow of the
street lamp until the whole night shimmered like a shaken
snow globe. Struggling to his feet, he shivered as a

(09:17):
cold wind slid beneath his damp shirt and pressed against
his spine. He took a moment to steady himself before
looking around. He was standing on a narrow sidewalk before
a brick building with Fanny's Used book store painted in
fading gold across the front window. The other storefronts near by,

(09:44):
Henson's Hardware, Cherry's Cafe, a barber shop where the name
on the window was too faded to read in the
dim light, were all one or two stories high, their
windows dark but trimmed in strings of colored bulbs. At
first glance, it was a postcard scene. Then he saw

(10:09):
the rot bricks bowed and crumbled. A few of the
lights blinked a rhythmically, as though dying. A Mannikin in
a boutique window stared out through a frost patterned pane,
its plastic smile cracked, one blue glass eye turned slightly askew.

(10:32):
The air smelled faintly of pine, with something sour underneath,
like spoiled fruit. A single bulb overhead flickered, buzzed, and
went dark. The sudden absence of light made him realize
how few bulbs still burned. He looked up and down

(10:58):
the street. The dark road stretched empty in both directions,
No cars, no footsteps, just the faint sound of something
metallic creaking, a sign swaying on a chain somewhere beyond sight.
He thought he heard a bell, quick and distant, but

(11:22):
when he turned toward it, there was only the whisper
of the wind moving through tinsel. He tore his eyes
from the street and looked down at himself, trying to
find something, anything, that could identify him. He was a
rubber band pulled to its breaking point. The tension ratcheted

(11:46):
up to ten. He didn't know his name, he didn't
know what had happened, didn't even know what he should feel, panic,
maybe helplessness. He felt too tired to feel anything, numb

(12:07):
all over. Who am I? It was such a small
question with a huge impact. A thousand little details were gone.
The way he took his coffee, whether he had anyone

(12:30):
who'd miss him, did he like pineapple on his pizza?
Humans he thought were made of memories. Without them, what
was left just a shape that moved and breathed, pretending
to be someone. He shook his head as if he

(12:51):
could rattle something loose, no pain, no wounds. He looked
down at his clothes, a tweed jacket much too thin
for the cold, a scarf, a flat cap pulled low,
corduroy pants, and loafers caked with slush. He looked respectable,

(13:15):
maybe even scholarly, like a man who gave lectures on
things that didn't matter anymore. He checked his pockets empty,
his chest tightened, his pulse started to climb. He patted
himself down again, desperate, half expecting to feel something that

(13:39):
proved he existed nothing. A hollow laugh scraped his throat perfect,
he muttered, his voice hoarse. Then, on a hunch, he
slipped his hand into his inside jacket pocket again. His

(14:02):
fingers brushed paper thin and soft from where a photograph.
He drew it out carefully, the edges worn and creased
from being handled too much. He stared at the image
until the colors began to swim. A woman with long,

(14:24):
dark hair and two small children in her lap. The
woman's smile was tight, forced, as if she wanted whoever
held the camera to hurry up. The boy, maybe five
or six, had been crying, his cheeks puffy, one eye swollen.

(14:48):
The little girl no older than three, was laughing so
hard her face was a blur. The sight hit him
in the chest, a pulse of warmth and grief all
at once. Something stirred in the back of his skull,
the faintest whisper of familiarity, and then her laugh. He

(15:13):
could hear it, bright, infectious, spilling through the air. He
could hear his own voice, silly, high pitched, doing that
Elmo impression that always made her squeal with delight. That
was it. The memory cracked open, and the past came

(15:36):
rushing in the picnic. Ellen, his wife, had packed sandwiches
and a checkered blanket. The boy, Nikki, had been stung
by a bee and was in a full meltdown when
Ellen tried to soothe him and keep Becca from running
toward the pond. He remembered laughing camera in his hand,

(16:01):
as Ellen glared at him over the chaos. Stephen Thomas Franklin.
She snapped, half exasperated, half smiling, you have three seconds
to take the picture, or I'll make you hold the
kids while I do it. He laughed out loud, now,
right there in the empty street. The sound startled him.

(16:24):
It was too sharp, too alive. His breath fogged the air,
and for a moment, the lights around him seemed brighter, kinder.
He felt like someone waking from a long dream. Stephen
Thomas Franklin. That was his name, A husband, a father.

(16:49):
The picnic took place at the college where he was
a professor of philosophy. Of all things, the details of
his life beyond that picnic were still hidden, blurred at
the edges, like the faces of strangers. But that one
memory burned bright and perfect, a single island of light

(17:14):
in the dark. He pressed the photo to his chest
and let out a long, shaky breath. I remember, he whispered,
almost laughing. I remember somewhere behind him there was a laugh,

(17:35):
just a quick chuckle, but it echoed in the night air.
The laugh was a reminder that even if he did
get a small portion of his life back, there were
other things in the darkness that he still needed to
deal with. Putting the picture back in his pocket, he

(17:59):
walked past the run down shops and boarded up townhouses,
some with strings of holiday lights with bulbs missing, but
most were dark holes in the night. The wind kicked
up again, and he shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around him.

(18:20):
A sound was carried by the wind, faint at first,
but it grew louder. It was a sarcastic, almost mocking
mantra of ho ho Ho. Stephen began to move faster,
looking around, trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from.

(18:44):
Looking behind him, a few blocks away, he saw a
tall man dressed as Santa Claus step out of a
dark doorway. He strolled to the middle of the street
and turned to stare at Stephen. He stopped and stared back,
feeling like a deer caught in headlights. He watched as

(19:09):
Santa moved the arm that was behind his back, revealing
a large fireman's axe, Ho ho ho. The head of

(19:30):
the axe bounced slightly when it hit the ground. Santa,
still holding the weapon by the handle, strolled forward like
he didn't have a care in the world, the head
of the axe making a scraping sound as Santa dragged
it behind him. Stephen felt the photo through his jacket

(19:54):
pocket and thought, I need to get back to my family.
With that thought, he turned and ran. Santa let out aloud,
Ho ho ho, followed by maniacal laughter. The laughter seemed
to surround Stephen as he ran. Christmas lights flashed by

(20:19):
as Stephen went, no music, no street sounds, nothing except
for the wind and the sound of his feet hitting
the pavement. When his chest burned and he was gasping
for breath, he finally stopped and leaned against a street light.

(20:40):
As he caught his wind, he could hear something metal
being dragged across the ground. He looked behind him and
saw Santa strolling towards him, the axe still trailing behind
Ho ho ho. Stephen thought, how could he be back there?

(21:06):
That's not possible. He started to run again, past windows
decorated with strands of Christmas lights, past doorways strung with garland,
oblivious to all except moving one foot in front of
the other. After countless minutes, he turned a corner, gasping
for breath. Seeing a dark alleyway, he ducked into it.

(21:31):
The alley had tall buildings on each side, blocking out
the moonlight. Pausing to finish catching his breath, Stephen peered
around the corner and right into Santa's gaze. He couldn't
see it because of the beard, but Stephen knew that
Santa was smiling from over a block away. He raised

(21:56):
the axe and threw it one handed. Caught in the
light of the street lamp, the axe twinkled like a star,
flying right at Stephen. Stunned, he watched it twirl through
the air and slam into the brick wall next to
his head, burying itself into the bricks, its handle vibrating

(22:20):
from the force of the throw, jerking his head back.
He finally turned and ran down the alley. He tripped
over some wet, empty cardboard boxes and plowed head first
into a pile of broken pallets, coming up with splinters
embedded in his palm. He clamped his hand under his

(22:43):
arm and kept moving, feet slapping cold paving bricks, his
breath coming in gasps. Exiting the alley, he crossed a
tiny park fenced in with waist high wrought iron. He
stared for half a second at three plastic candy canes

(23:04):
half buried in a snowbank, and then kept moving, ignoring
the sound. Stephen looked ahead of him and noticed a large,
three story structure. It looked like a parking garage, thinking
that he could maybe find some help or a car
with keys. He headed for it, trying not to pay

(23:27):
attention to the pains in his chest. He burst into
the mouth of a parking garage, the muscles in his
thigh cramping as he limped up the short ramp. Blinking
fluorescent tubes hummed overhead, and the air smelled like antifreeze
and grease. The garage was empty, no cars in sight.

(23:52):
He ran among the columns until he heard the noise
of metal being dragged on concrete. Stepping behind a pillar,
he tried to make himself as small as possible, fighting
to keep his gasping breath from being heard over the
wind that blew in over the half walls that made

(24:13):
up the perimeter of the building. A shadow was cast
on the wall behind Stephen. As Santa stepped into the garage,
Ho ho ho reverberated throughout the structure. There was triumph
in his voice, like a hunter that finally tracked down

(24:36):
his prey. Stephen reached behind him and felt around. His
hand touched the shaft of a metal pipe. Santa strode
confidently down the driving lane, his head swiveling back and forth,
the manic grin on his face unnerving Stephen almost as

(24:57):
much as the sound of the axe being dragged on
the concrete. When Santa passed him, Stephen raised the pipe
high in the air and rushed out from behind the pillar,
roaring in anger and frustration. His scream seemed to catch
Santa off guard. He turned towards Stephen just as he

(25:20):
brought the pipe down on his head with all his might.
It hit Santa in the side of the skull, and
he went down to one knee. Turning to look at Stephen,
he noticed that Santa's eyes were reptilian. It grinned up

(25:40):
at Stephen, a forked tongue flicked out of its mouth.
Stephen paused, shocked at the revelation. What the hell is
this thing? Ran through his head as he stood there,
pipe raised in the air. The creature, dressed as Santa,

(26:01):
seemed to grin as it opened its mouth, exposing rows
of razor sharp teeth that glimmered in the fluorescent light.
Ho ho, it began to say. As Stephen brought the
pipe down, cutting it short. He swung the pipe until

(26:21):
the creature was laying on the ground a bloody mess.
He finally stopped when his arm shook with the effort
of raising the pipe. Stephen turned and headed toward a
pile of boxes covered with an old painter's tarp. Ripping
the tarp away, he kicked the boxes, most of which

(26:44):
contained construction supplies. He spotted a road flare and put
it in his pocket. Starting to turn away, he saw
the red of a gas can and grabbed it too.
He half cared, carried, half dragged the five gallon jug
over to the creature, his arms trembling with the effort.

(27:08):
The creature started to twitch as Stephen stood above it.
He didn't wait for any further movement. He dropped the
pipe and grabbed the can with both hands, emptying it
over the creature. He was assaulted with the odor of
stale gasoline and burning in his eyes. After the can

(27:29):
was empty, the creature was soaked. Stephen threw the can
aside and backed up several steps. The Santa creature began
to move, pushing itself up on its knees. Stephen panicked
and pulled the flare from his pocket, almost dropping it.
After a few tries, he was able to light it.

(27:53):
He glanced over at the creature and was shocked to
find that it was standing, although shakily, without thinking, he
threw the flare and caught Santa in the chest fire
leapt like it had been in waiting. The fur trim
lit first orange flames, leaping upwards. The beard went at

(28:14):
the edges and curled into black strings. The flames then
flowed downward, and the creature went up like a candle,
and in human cry echoed off the concrete walls. After
a few minutes of floundering around, it finally stopped moving.
The garage grew noticeably darker as the flames subsided and

(28:38):
went out. Stephen took several steps back until he bumped
against a concrete pillar and slid down to rest on
the floor, eyes stinging from the gas that had splashed
onto his jacket. With tired arms, he fumbled around his
pockets and pulled out the photograph of his family. His

(29:04):
eyes misted as he stared at the figure in the photo,
trying to remember more details, but failing. As the numbness
crept into his bones, Stephen laid his head back and
closed his eyes, allowing his mind to drift away as
he gave in to the exhaustion and the biting cold.

(29:28):
He lay there for minutes or maybe hours, on the
edge of consciousness, unmoving until the sound of something scraping
against concrete brought him back around. He opened his eyes
and saw the Santa creature pushing itself up onto its knees,

(29:50):
both reptilian eyes staring at him unblinking. His face a
mess of charred flesh and hunks of cheap polyester beer.
His cheeks were missing, and he grinned with his whole face,
his sharp pointed teeth, looking predatory in the dim light.

(30:12):
Stephen tried to stand to run, but his leg was
numb and wouldn't support his weight. He slumped down to
the ground a second time and watched in horror as
the creature slowly stood. It reached down and grabbed the axe,
flesh from its hand and arms falling off like a

(30:35):
snake shedding its skin. Stephen screamed no. As Santa slowly
made its way to him. It raised the axe and
brought it down, violently, silencing Stephen's cries. It struck again

(30:57):
and again, punctual, waiting each hit with a jolly ho
ho ho Jarak. Watched the axe slam down several times,
making sure the subject was dead. He reached over and

(31:18):
shut off the monitor laying down the clipboard after making
a few notes, he stood there, tapping his fingers along
the top of the massive control panel that stretched across
the room. It was dimly lit and looked like a
smaller version of the control room used during the NASA

(31:41):
moon landings. The wall in front of Jarak was taken
up by a high definition screen with smaller monitors. Off
to the left and right. Two more people sat to
Jarak's left, each in front of monitors with keyboard and mouse.
These men were dressed in khakis, short sleeve white shirts, headphones,

(32:05):
and dark blue ties. Jarak was dressed the same, except
that his tie was red blood red. Jarak stood there
for minutes, fingers drumming, thinking about the results. The man
on the far left, Martin, finally cleared his throat. Jarak

(32:27):
started as if waking from a dream and gave the
men a dirty look. What he snarled. Martin looked terrified,
but he quickly answered, why are we doing this? Seems
like a lot of trouble to go through for another
dead human. Jarak stared at him until Martin seemed to

(32:50):
shrink and avoided the other man's eyes. Finally, he spoke
Studies have shown that there is a drop in the
terror rate of seven point three percent every century when
level set for all forms of torture. That's with a
memory wipe between each session. The drop is greater when

(33:12):
no wipe is performed. Varying the type of torture reduces
the drop to around five percent, but that's still unacceptable.
The theory that I'm trying to prove is that with
our current memory wiping methodology, some residue of traumatic or
monumental memories are left in the subconscious. Over time, these

(33:35):
can rise to the surface and unconsciously affect the subject's behavior.
Jaak's voice rose passionately as he warms up to his
favorite subject. Take a look at this run. We ran
this scenario. Jerrek checks the clipboard in front of him
seven hundred and thirty five times, and in the last

(33:56):
forty five or so, he recognized the people in the
pickure as his wife and kids. After he discovered the
gasoline and flare, he went straight to it sixty two
percent of the time. Remember that we wiped his memory
between each session, and yet he seemed to have remembered it.
We need to prove that there is an issue with

(34:18):
the wipe before they'll let me test out my correction.
Jarek realized that he was waving his arms around to
punctuate each point. He looked at his audience. Martin was
fixated on him. The other one looked bored. Anyway, Let's
mix things up for the next one hundred sessions. Let's

(34:40):
slowly change out the picture so each of the people
in it looks less like his family. That way we
can tell how specific the suppressed memory is. Also, fill
the gas can with water. I want to see how
long it takes before he stops going to it. Jaack
looked looked at each of the two technicians to see

(35:03):
if they understood. They nodded and began to adjust controls.
After a few minutes, Martin takes off his headset and
nervously rubs the two small horns sticking out of the
top of his head. He sheepishly speaks, May I ask
a question. Jerak, who was lost in thought again, looked

(35:27):
at the younger demon. He'll have to keep an eye
on this one, he thought warily. After a moment, he nodded,
I understand what you're trying to prove, but what I
don't get is why is the killer dressed up like
Santa Claus Jerak smiled for the first time. That's easy.

(35:50):
I fucking love Christmas. Somebody deserves a raise, Jack shouted,

(36:11):
clapping his hands together. You see innovation, initiative. It warms
my shriveled little heart to see technology used for the
betterment of the human race. He twirled his cane as
he strutted down a stone corridor, boots clicking in time

(36:32):
with his steps. The walls were ribbed with bone and iron,
lit by torches whose flames bent toward him as he passed.
Move along, people all aboard, he called over his shoulder,
Trust me, you do not want to be left behind.

(36:52):
Jack made it halfway down the corridor before stopping abruptly.
He turned, spread his arms water and waved his hands
in a grand, theatrical flourish. The air rippled. A circle
of shimmering light tore itself open, expanding until it filled

(37:12):
the entire width of the corridor. On the other side,
darkness and something pale, stacked high, barely visible. Come on, kiddos,
Jack said, gesturing toward the portal with his cane. Everybody
knows you can't visit Hell and not see the Great

(37:35):
Bone Mountain. He grinned, eyes gleaming. Maybe, if you behave
I'll show you the pit of never ending torment. It
really gives you a new perspective on life. Christmas Bones.

(37:57):
The wind blew across the summit of a mountain made
of skulls and bones, with the acrid scent of brimstone
and sulfur. Dozens of the lost souls of humanity clinging
to the side of the mountain, seeking the top. Standing
on the flat peak stood two demons. Their twisted bodies

(38:22):
were gaunt and covered with ash from the dead. Horns
protrude from their skulls and wrapped around behind their ears
and ended in a point near each cheek. The screams
of the tortured and dying, brought up by the wind,
reverberating all around them, but centuries of exposure had given

(38:46):
them the ability to unconsciously tune them out. Blood sucking
flying insects surround them, trying to pierce their leathery skin,
only to fall prey to the demis's whip like tails.
Each one of them holds a long pitchfork with a
handle made from bone. Behind them is a ring of

(39:11):
light that radiated peace and tranquility. The ring of light
seems to make the demons uncomfortable, and they purposefully do
not look in that direction. One demon, slightly smaller than
the other turns and speaks. So, uh, it seems a

(39:34):
bit slow lately, Othrin said, yes, it does, although I'm
not complaining. Cravat replied, yep, me neither. Othren takes a
moment to examine his pitchfork. I think one of the
tines is bent. I may need another one soon. Cravat

(39:58):
looked at his partner, can fused. Normally, Othren was a
demon of few words, but today he was downright chatty.
You better take it easy on that. You only get
three per rotation. After that you'll have to take care
of the lost souls with your bare hands. And uncomfortable

(40:21):
silence filled the space between the two. The monotony was
only broken by the occasional lost soul who reached the
top of Bone Mountain, only to be thrown off by
one of the demons. Finally, as if the silence became

(40:41):
too much, Othren cleared his throat. Uh, I think it
may be Christmas up there. Cravat looked at Othren as
if he was insane. Wait what he said, Chris, It's
like it feels like Christmas? Oh, Cravat replied, Looking confused,

(41:09):
he continued, why do you think that? Othren, feeling embarrassed,
just nods toward the glowing circle of light, giving a
quick glance behind them. Both demons shivered and shook as
if something ran across their gray. There were only a

(41:34):
few gateways between heaven and hell, and this circle of
light was one of them. Neither guard knew why the
gateway existed, but Othren once heard one of the winged
overseer demons say that nothing creates hope more than having
an escape to salvation nearby, and nothing makes the pain

(41:58):
and betrayal tastes sweeter than taking away hope from the
lost souls of humanity. At the last moment, O kay
was all that, Cravat said, as he watched one of
the lost souls climb over the edge on to the summit.
This one was a naked man covered in blood, a

(42:22):
thigh bone jutting out of his side. He stumbled to
his feet. As the man saw the ring of light,
his face lit up with pure joy, and he ran
toward the light, forgetting his countless wounds freedom. His voice croaked.

(42:43):
Othren rushed at him and thrust the pitchfork forward, spearing
him in the abdomen. With an amazing show of strength,
he lifted the man into the air and flung the
still smiling soul into the air and over the edge.
He returned to his position next to Cravat, and they

(43:07):
both stood there silently for some time, maybe minutes maybe
ours in hell time worked strangely. Are you happy, Othren asked.
Cravat looked at his companion shocked. Of course not, we're

(43:29):
in Hell. I'm just glad I'm no longer one of
those things. He pointed downward. If there's pain involved, I'd
rather give than receive. Othren pressed, I mean, what's the point,
why do we do this? Look, Cravat whispered, looking straight ahead.

(43:54):
Don't let one of the others hear you talk like that,
or you'll be back down there and I'll be throwing
you off the mountain. Cravat risked a sideways glance to
see if his words hit home. Another of the lost
clawed their way to the summit, a woman, this time. Amazingly,

(44:14):
she still had part of a blouse that clung to
her shoulders glued on by blood. She laid at the
edge for a few moments before she looked up and
saw the glowing ring of light. My lord, I'm coming.
She forced herself to her feet and stumbled forward, at

(44:36):
which point Cravat slammed his pitchfork into her stomach. Roaring,
He lifted her up and flicked her uncaringly over the edge.
Her screams. Her screams slowly fade away. Cravat walks back

(45:00):
to his partner. See it's not difficult. If someone runs
towards the light, you spear them and toss him over
the edge. Simple, easy, and a story. But why, Othren
wondered out loud by the pit. We've been doing this
for a thousand years, and if we keep doing it

(45:23):
for a thousand more, maybe we'll move up to overseer,
where we'll get a day off every decade or so.
Don't ruin this for me, Cravat warned. Othren didn't speak
for a long time. He took his turns flinging souls
from the mountain. Although he moved almost mechanically, all joy

(45:47):
gone from his actions. He finally spoke, although more to
himself than to Cravat. I don't know how, but I
suddenly remember getting a red bicycle when I was a kid.
He sighed, I loved that bike. Cravat groaned in frustration.

(46:12):
Knowing how noises carry, he tried to keep his voice
quiet and calm. No, you can't remember. That's one of
the perks of being a demon. Everything you did or
knew as a human is wiped away. Now stop this
shit before you get us in trouble. I remember snow bells,

(46:40):
the scent of pine. I was such a good kid.
I wonder where I went wrong, Othrin said in a
melancholy tone. Cravat shook his head and snorted, I give up.
You're on your own. He turned and saw that a

(47:00):
woman had climbed to the top and had started running
toward the light, screaming about how the Lord is going
to save her. It's your turn, Cravat said. When he
received no reply from his partner, he grunted and moved
forward to intercept the lost one. When Cravat moved away,

(47:24):
Othrin looked toward the light, which did not hurt his
eyes as it did before. He could have sworn that.
The light grew brighter and began to pulse with his heartbeat.
He stared opened mouth at the ring, and memories of

(47:44):
Christmas past began to flood into his mind. Days prior,
John glanced at the summit a few hundred yards above him.
He collapsed onto the bones that make up the mountain.

(48:06):
He could feel the pull, the unrelenting optimism and redemption
from the top of the mountain, demanding that he moves forward.
John composed himself and started moving upward again. His life
prior to this was fuzzy. He could remember that people

(48:28):
called him John, but the only details from his life
he could recall were the bad stuff, the sin, and
the hurt he caused others. He remembered shoplifting as a teenager,
cheating on his taxes and his ex wives, and misleading
his customers about the used cars he would try and

(48:50):
sell them. Nothing big, all minor stuff, except for one night.
That night, he made the choice to drink and then
get behind the wheel. The man driving the car that
John hit didn't die, but he did spend the rest

(49:11):
of his life in a wheelchair. After getting released from prison,
John cleaned up and stop drinking. He started going to
church and found a god fearing woman to settle down
with should one night, one bad choice consign you to

(49:32):
an eternity of suffering? Shaking his head to clear it,
he looked up and saw a golden light illuminating the
ridge just above him. He forgot everything except the light
and the pull it exerted on him. Peace and love
radiated from the light, and he began to climb faster,

(49:56):
ignoring all the sharp edges from the broken bow he
had to crawl over. He made it to the edge,
blood seeping from a hundred different wounds. He pulled himself
over and laid there for a second, trying to will
himself to stand. When he was finally able to rise up,

(50:19):
he began shuffling to the light on shaky legs. His
vision tunneled, and all he could see or think about
was the beam of light shooting up into the sky.
He was halfway there when something sprang up in front
of him. He tried to sidestep to the left, when

(50:39):
piercing pain brought him back to reality. He stared into
the face of a demon so alien yet familiar. The
thing smiled and then screamed in triumph. John felt himself
being lifted into the air, his body sliding down the

(51:03):
ties of the pitchfork. A sudden thrust sent him flying
over the edge, and he fell. John seemed to fall forever,
the pain in his stomach overriding the other terrible pains
all across his body. He watched the glow of the

(51:23):
yellow light fade as he fell, and with it his hope.
After what felt like hours, he finally hit the ground
and his world went black. When he woke, his body
was bloody, the pain overshadowed any other that he felt

(51:45):
so far. His bones were shattered, and his spirit was broken. Well,
what do we have here? A large, animalistic face appeared
a him. John focused and saw a winged devil standing

(52:06):
next to him. In a voice that was surprisingly smooth
and understanding, he purred, You must not have wanted it enough,
But Satan is generous. He'll give you another chance. Redemption
awaits those who climb the mountain, reach the golden light,

(52:29):
and Heaven will take you. The overseer reached down and
touched John on the forehead. He screamed as his bones
knit back together, one at a time, filling his entire
being with unimaginable agony. The process seemed to take days,

(52:50):
and although John was on the edge of passing out.
The entire time he stayed conscious. Afterwards, he laid there, screaming,
but fully healed. Eventually he turned his head and saw
the mountain of bone. Slowly getting to his feet, he

(53:14):
began heading to the pile and to the light. Days later,
Cravat threw up his hands in frustration. You are insane.
That's not how things work here. You put your head down,
do your job, and maybe, just maybe, in a couple

(53:35):
of thousand years, you'll get promoted, maybe even get some
time off. Shaking his head, Othren spoke at almost a whisper.
That's not how things should be. We should not hurt
others for any reason. This is hell, Cravat screamed, This

(53:58):
is what we do, this is who we are. That
doesn't make it right, Othren retorted. John climbed onto the
summit and rolled on his back, catching his breath. He
could barely hear the din of an argument, but the
pulsating ping from the light drowned out all other noise.

(54:23):
He climbed to his feet and began to hobble toward
the light. Cravat stood in front of John, his pitchfork
held high. His weapon poised to strike. Just as he
began to bring the pitchfork forward, he experienced a horrible pain.

(54:45):
He looked down at the three prongs that protruded from
his stomach. The breath of Othren tickled the back of
his neck as the renegade yelled no more killing. Cravat
was then lifted into the air and flung over the side.

(55:07):
His screams slowly faded as he disappeared from sight. John
continued on, stopping only at the edge of the circle
of light. With tears flowing down his cheek and a
prayer on his lips, he stepped forward. All of his
wounds faded away. Peace and love filled his core until

(55:33):
he felt like he would explode. Looking down, he realized
that he was floating up toward the heavens. Finally, he
said peace as he shot up into the sky in
a dazzling streak of light. Othren stared at the empty

(55:55):
space where Cravat plummeted. The pulsating light from the ring
broke him out of his trance. He turned and sprinted
toward the ring of light, which seemed to have grown
since he last looked. When he approached the edge, he
leaped into the light and exploded in a shower of sparks,

(56:19):
a smile on his face. You could hear the words
forgive me echo throughout the area. The sparks rained down
far and wide. One landed on overseer Gorkaw, who absently
rubbed the spot between his horns where it landed. He

(56:41):
raised his whip to give this lost human another lash.
When he suddenly stopped, the smell of hot chocolate filled
his nostrils, and he remembered spending Christmas at his grandmother's.
He shook his head and began whipping the lost one again,
although with less enthusiasm. He kept thinking of putting up

(57:06):
Christmas trees. Listening to stories by the fireplace dinner of
roasted chicken, The whip moved slower, the passion for his
work draining from him. He risked a look up at
the faint light on the distant bone mountain and sighed.

(57:40):
Jack Scratch stepped out from behind a pillar of skulls,
brushing imaginary dust from his red sleeve. Ah, he sighed, contentedly.
Nothing like a good pile of bones to remind you
how temporary things are festive in its own way. He

(58:04):
tapped his cane once against the stone floor. The echo
lingered longer than it should have. But let's move on,
shall we. We've had our fun with spectacle. He glanced
back over his shoulder, where the distant sound of shifting
bones still whispered to itself. Now I want to show

(58:27):
you something a little more instructional. Jack began walking, and
the landscape around him subtly changed, a corridor slowly materializing
behind them. The jagged blocks of limestone gave way to
older stone, cleaner lines, purpose built, less art, more architecture.

(58:53):
This is the part of hell most tourists never see,
he said lightly. No screaming choires, no elaborate pageantry, Just intake, assessment,
and processing, he smiled, without warmth efficiency. He stopped beside

(59:13):
a wide, circular chamber carved into the rock. The air
here was heavier, hotter, and threaded, with a sound like
distant breathing. Jack walked out on a balcony and pointed
to the valley below. Every soul comes through here, Jack continued,

(59:37):
every single one, lines, doors, clipboards, forms in triplicate. It's
all very civilized. He leaned closer, lowering his voice as
if sharing a secret. Most of them think. The worst
thing about hell is the pain. Jack straightened and snapped

(59:59):
his fingers their wrong. Jack's grin returned, slow, knowing sharp.
The worst thing is the anticipation of pain, He laughed,
and then peered over the edge of the stone railing
to watch the procession. Below the furnace, Surrounded on all

(01:00:27):
sides by tall, sheer cliffs of red clay, lay a
circle of stone doorways set into a cracked flagstone floor.
The air stank of sulfur and scorched earth, and a faint,
almost human moan echoed through the canyon as wind scraped

(01:00:49):
across the cliff faces. From the center of the circle,
a line of human souls stretched toward a holding area
carved into the cliff. Thousands of the newly dead, in
various states of undress, shuffled forward with the slow inevitability

(01:01:09):
of a factory line. All but one trembled in terror
and confusion. Minor demons with short horns, pitchforks, and the
temperaments of irritated bureaucrats stalked the queue, snapping orders and
prodding the laggards. A robed demon stood at the center,

(01:01:31):
judging each soul brought before him. And assigning them to
one of the doorways. A guard would then escort the
lost one through the selected portal, where each vanished in
a dim flash of red light. Only one soul showed
no fear. He waited patiently, nodding politely to the guards,

(01:01:55):
who increasingly went out of their way to avoid eye
contact with him. He unsettled them, and unsettling a demon
was an accomplishment. One of them risked a glance at
the human, an old fashioned nightgown, a drooping nightcap, a
long white beard that shimmered faintly, as though touched by frost.

(01:02:19):
His belly was round, but his muscles beneath the cloth
were taut corded with strength, and when he stepped forward,
the air cooled almost imperceptibly around him. When the robed
demon finally barked next, the man ambled forward, accompanied by

(01:02:40):
a guard who still refused to look at him. Krekia,
the chooser, looked vaguely human except for his reptilian skin
and the small horns jutting from a mop of gray hair.
In demonic circle, he was well known, the one who

(01:03:02):
met every lost soul, stared into their eyes, and instantly
divined which torment would break them best. As the rotund
man approached, Krakia checked the sparse notes on his clipboard, sighed,
and lifted his gaze. He froze. The man's calm, steady

(01:03:26):
eyes pierced straight through him. The clarity in them shook
Krekia to his core. Nothing scares him. The demon wasn't
sure how long he stood with his mouth hanging open
before the man leaned slightly closer and whispered loud enough

(01:03:46):
for every guard to hear. It's all right, son, do
what you gotta do. Krakia jerked himself back to focus.
Right right, um, send this man into the drowning pool,
he gestured to the guard, grateful to be rid of

(01:04:06):
this one. His power had failed him for the first
time in centuries. He couldn't see which torment would terrify
the old man most, so he chose at random, but honestly,
everyone hates drowning. Krakia's nerves still hadn't settled by the

(01:04:29):
time he reached the Overseer's chamber. The stone door radiated
enough heat to blister mortal skin, but he pushed it
open without hesitation. Inside Grolleth overseer of torments. Hunched over
his desk, his wings almost hitting the ceiling. He dipped

(01:04:50):
a claw from his right hand into ink and started
updating records on the ancient parchments. When the smaller demon
approached his desk, he didn't bother looking up. What now,
he muttered. Already annoyed, Krachia clasped his hands behind his back,

(01:05:11):
trying to stop them from trembling. We have a complication
at the drowning pool. There's always a complication at the
drowning pool. If they're fighting, put more weight on them,
if they're trying to escape. He didn't try to escape,
Sir Grolith's claw paused mid stroke. Then what did he do?

(01:05:35):
Krakia inhaled, It's more like what he didn't do? Grolith
slowly lifted his gaze. He took a few seconds to
push back the rage he felt at this little creature.
Grolith spoke, each word dripping with implied violence. What didn't

(01:05:57):
he do? Swallowed hard. He didn't drown. In fact, he
uh seemed to have enjoyed it. Putting his claws on
the arms of the chair was the only thing that
prevented Grolith from tearing the horns out of Krekia's skull.

(01:06:18):
How can that be? He said? It is a drowning pool.
Drowning people is the one thing it is designed to accomplish, Yes, sir,
which is why I came directly to you. A long
breath escaped Grolith. Show me. They made their way down

(01:06:39):
the corridor into the drowning cavern. Steam drifted along the floor,
smelling faintly of rust and heated stone. The pool churned
in its usual violent rhythm, dark water boiling and pooling
down below, but the expected shouts, commands, and gasping souls

(01:07:01):
were absent. Instead, the two demons assigned to guard the
pool sat on the sandy bank, knees drawn up to
their chests, muttering at each other. Their bodies were as
imposing as ever, scaled, muscular, horned, but their expressions were
slack and unfocused. Their voices were oddly high, as though

(01:07:26):
filtered through the mind of a child. That's my sand,
one demon whined, sliding a small pile of sand to
his side. You're not even playing right, the other snapped,
jumping to his feet. You're messing it all up, he said,
using his hoofed foot to knock down a castle wall

(01:07:48):
made from sand. Krakia stopped short. Grolith did too. The
demons hadn't changed physically, but their demeanor, their tone, their
complete lack of awareness of their surroundings, it was unmistakable,
Sir Krekia said quietly. They were competent when I left them.

(01:08:14):
Rolith said nothing. His jaw flexed once. One of the
demons looked up at them. Confused, are we in trouble?
He asked, the words wobbling like a frightened child's. The
other demon immediately pointed at him. He did it. It
was him, I did not. The first shrieked, bursting into tears.

(01:08:39):
Before Krekia could intervene, the crying demon turned spotted the
drowning pool and gasped. The water's scary, he whispered, trembling.
I don't like it. Krakia close used his eyes for

(01:09:01):
a moment. Four year olds, he realized, grimly. They've regressed
to four year olds. Grolith's gaze moved past them. Where
is the soul? Krekia looked around, then pointed towards the right.
A portly human lay on the warm sand near the

(01:09:24):
water's edge, hands behind his head, eyes, half closed, as
if enjoying the heat of the cavern. His nightcap had
been pushed back, his beard drying in soft curls. He
was the embodiment of relaxation. He could have been mistaken
for one of the thousands of vacationers in the Caribbean

(01:09:47):
sunning themselves at a resort. The only elements breaking the
illusion were the lack of actual sunshine and the fact
that he was wearing a nightgown. He turned his head
slightly and offered a cordial nod Afternoon gentlemen. Grolith didn't respond.

(01:10:07):
Krakia swallowed. They kept holding him under sir, each time
longer than before, Krakia said quietly. When he surfaced, he
seemed rested, jovial even And what happened to the guards,
Gralith asked. They were fine when I left, taking turns

(01:10:32):
dunking the human. But now, Krakia gestured at the two
demons sitting side by side, drawing pictures in the sand
with their claws. One leaned over and whispered something, the
other giggled uncontrollably. Krekia looked back at Groleith and shrugged.

(01:10:53):
Grolith felt like he needed to clamp down hard, very well.
The over said, at last, we need to set an example.
I'll assign him to Cray the Cruel. Cray the Cruel
was an ancient demon, one of the oldest and most feared.
It is said that he can break anyone's spirit with

(01:11:17):
just three cracks of his whip. Yes, Sir, Krakia nodded
and approached the reclining man. You've been reassigned. The man
sat up easily, brushed a bit of sand from his gown,
and smiled, whatever you need. Krakia led him toward the

(01:11:37):
iron rimmed doorway carved with hooks and nails. Behind him,
one of the child minded demons began to cry again.
Graluth watched them leave, hoping he'd seen the last of
the white haired human. The iron door to Brackmoor's office

(01:12:03):
stood half open, leaking a faint red glow into the hallway.
The light came from a collection of floating embers suspended
above his desk, drifting like captive stars. Brackmore preferred them
to torches. He enjoyed the slow sizzle of the embers

(01:12:24):
rather than the spark and pop of an open flame.
The sector overseer of torment. Division four leaned over a
large obsidian map table, studying the carved layout of Hell's
lower chambers. Small rooms glowed wherever a sector reported activity,

(01:12:46):
flickering orange for routine torment, steady red for failures, bright
white for incidents requiring intervention. A single point glowed in
a soft blue. Jack scratches domain. Brackmore traced a claw
over it, eyes narrowing soon, he murmured, the old showman

(01:13:12):
won't see it coming. One final step and the stage
is mine. He reached for a bone quill, scratching notes
into a private ledger, the kind that erased itself if
anyone but Brackmore touched it. He was halfway through recording

(01:13:33):
the next stage of his coup when a frantic knock
rattled the iron door. Brackmore's wings shifted slightly, annoyance crackling
through his calm enter, he said, without turning. Grolith hurried inside,

(01:13:53):
steam rising from his shoulders where sweat touched heated air
hewed stiffly. Sector overseer Brackmore, we have a problem. Brackmore
didn't look up. There are always problems, That's why I
have subordinates. This is not routine sir, Brackmore finally raised

(01:14:19):
his eyes. Explain. Graleith cleared his throat. A soul arrived
this cycle human elderly appears harmless. However, he hesitated. Brackmore motion
sharply for him to continue. The drowning pool did not

(01:14:41):
harm him. We attempted full submersion, repeated cycles, increased durations.
He resisted everything calmly. Brackmore blinked once impossible, Yes, sir,
that's what I thought. Graalith swallowed. I then assigned him

(01:15:01):
to Cray, figuring that we needed to use the soul
as an example of what happens to those who defy us.
And what happened, Brackmore asked, the human is unscathed. It
seemed that nothing that Cray had could pierce his skin.
Grollith stopped speaking, but he clearly had more to say,

(01:15:27):
and Brockmore prompted. Cray is in his room and won't
come out. He says that everyone is mad at him,
and Brackmore stared at Groleith until he started talking again.
M He called everyone big meanis Brockmore looked confused, Wait,

(01:15:51):
you mean that one of the oldest and most feared
demons used the term big Meani. Groleith looked aghast, Yes, Sir,
two guards in the drowning pool also suffered mental regression.
They retained physical form, but developed the cognition of human children.

(01:16:16):
We believe the soul caused this. Brockmore straightened slowly, expression tightening.
His tail twitched once a sharp, irritated flick. And why,
he said, quietly, did you bring this irregularity to me? Because,

(01:16:44):
Grolith answered, voice strained, I am no longer certain the
situation can be contained at my level. Brockmore closed the
ledger carefully, as though afraid the sound might betray something,
and stepped around the table. His shadow stretched across the floor,

(01:17:07):
long and branching, like cracks in the stone. We are
on the threshold of significant administrative restructuring, he said, the
kind that draws attention from dangerous eyes. I cannot afford
scrutiny in my sector right now, not from scratch, not

(01:17:29):
from the dark one, not from anyone. Groleth frowned. How
should we handle the soul, Sir? Brockmore clasped his hands
behind his back. We will place him in the eternal furnace.
The eternal furnace was the one thing that could destroy

(01:17:49):
a soul, human or demon. For this reason, it was
strictly regulated and rarely used. Falling out of favor over
the last time ten centuries or so, Grolith's eyes widened.
Sector overseer. That requires direct authorization from the Dark One himself.

(01:18:10):
A soul cannot simply be It can Brackmore interrupted. If
the records show a test fire, the furnace is due
for one, the logs will reflect exactly that, no deviation,
no unusual entries. Grolith shook his head. But, Sir, a

(01:18:31):
test fire requires I will handle the records, Brockmore said, sharply,
your responsibility ends at the furnace door. Grolith hesitated, torn
between obedience and fear. Sir, the soul is unlike anything
I have seen. Putting him into the furnace may draw

(01:18:53):
even more attention. If if nothing Brackmore snapped, you will
deliver him to the furnace chamber. Log the incident as
a routine system check, and remove any trace of his
presence from the intake registry. When the Dark One reviews
the heat signatures, he will see what he expects to see.

(01:19:15):
Groleeth bowed, despite the visible tension in his posture as
you command. Brackmore's voice dropped to a low growl. Dismissed,
Grolith hurried out, closing the iron door behind him. Brackmore
remained still for a moment, staring at the spot where

(01:19:39):
the blue light lit the map. Jack scratches territory. Then
he whispered, not now, not when I'm this close Above him,
the ember lights flickered uneasily, as though disturbed by some presence.
Neither demon yet understood. El Gore looked over at his partner, Tharn.

(01:20:08):
I have a bad feeling about this, Tharn answered, as
he pushed the fat old man ahead of him. You
have a bad feeling about everything. You worry too much.
Come on, el Gore said. We were told to throw
this human in the furnace and then log it as
a test fire. If they're willing to delete a human

(01:20:30):
without the proper approvals, what do you think they would
do to witnesses. I just do what I'm told, Tharn said,
stretching his small wings. The humans stopped and faced them.
I'm so sorry that I'm responsible for all this trouble.
I can fill out the logs myself if that would

(01:20:51):
help you out. Tharn pushed the man so hard that
he almost fell, keeping upright only by grabbing on to
one of the statues of a gargoyle that lined the hallway.
The man shrugged and continued walking. The walk took them
out of the commonly used corridors and into an ancient section.

(01:21:14):
The stone changed here, less ornamental and more functional, long
halls broken by the occasional stone door. Soon, the screams
of the tortured and damned faded away, adding to the
unease of Elgre. Tharn still seemed unfazed. This place was

(01:21:38):
here before the redesigns. Elgre muttered, mostly to himself. The
human whistled appreciatively. They don't build him like this anymore.
That earned him a sharp look, but the guard didn't
correct him. At the end of the corridor, the eternal

(01:21:59):
furnace waited. The guards stood before a large metal door
embedded into the bedrock itself. It was enormous, an iron monolith,
with its surface etched with sigils meant to unmake rather
than harm. The guards stood at the left and right

(01:22:19):
of the door, and, nodding to each other, they both
pushed a button on their control panel At the same time.
Lights began to flash above the door, and they could
hear massive bolts sliding out of place with a thud
that shook the walls. The door began to move, opening

(01:22:41):
up for the first time in centuries. Dust shimmered in
the air, while a loud, scraping sound filled the hallway.
Once the door was open, the guards led the captive's

(01:23:01):
soul into the furnace, sitting him down in the only
object in the large room, a stone chair. The human
laughed as the demons chained him to the seat. I
get to see something that no one has seen in
a thousand years or more. Yeah, but it'll be the

(01:23:21):
last thing you ever see. Tharn replied, maybe, but what
a sight. The human grew serious. I'm sorry to have
to put you boys through this. I do apologize, yeah,
and I apologize for ending your entire existence, el Gore said, sarcastically,

(01:23:43):
standing as he finished securing the chains to the chair.
Fair enough, the human said, laughing. Christmas is tomorrow, so
be sure to spread some love and cheer, he said,
with a twinkle in his eye. Sure, and maybe I'll
get a red fire truck for Christmas. El Gore snapped back,

(01:24:08):
don't you remember I already gave you one for your
eighth Christmas, the human replied. El Gore stared at the
portly man sitting on an oversized stone chair. He didn't
have any memory of his human life, but this felt right.

(01:24:30):
It was like an itch in the back of his mind.
He couldn't scratch it, but he knew it was there.
Tharn finally snapped elgre out of his trance. Move. We
need to get this over with, he said, giving the
other guard a small push towards the door. El Gore

(01:24:51):
and Tharn both walked out of the furnace, leaving the
man swinging his legs like a child sitting in his
daddy's chair. Once in the hall, el Gore grabbed a
clipboard and started filling out the paperwork while Tharn closed
the furnace door. Once the door was shut and sealed,

(01:25:16):
they both stood at their control panels and flipped a
switch to activate the furnace once again. They nodded at
each other before flipping the switch to ignite the furnace.
The sudden roar surprised both of them. They had to
cover their ears and take a few steps back. The

(01:25:39):
green light on each panel turned red. The walls and
floor shook, causing some loose stones to fall from the ceiling.
The two demons winced in pain as the roaring got louder.
Just as suddenly as it started, the furnace stopped and

(01:26:00):
the lights on the panel went back to green. A loud,
grinding noise echoed in the wide hallway. As the demons
worked the control panel, they stepped back as the door
slowly opened. The smell of burnt ozone filled up the corridor.

(01:26:20):
As a small amount of smoke streamed out into the hall,
the guards stepped forward, their eyes wide with shock. The
furnace room was awash in bright holiday lights. The green

(01:26:41):
and red danced happily on the stone walls. There were
life sized toy soldiers flanking the doorway, garland and tinsel
on all the walls, and Christmas decorations sitting everywhere. The
centerpiece of the display was the Christmas tree. It was

(01:27:02):
decorated in hundreds of ornaments, thousands of blinking lights, and
yards of garland. Hanging from the tree was an envelope.
Grolith almost walked into Brackmore's office without knocking, which may

(01:27:23):
have been fatal. He knocked frantically until he heard Brackmore's
voice say enter. Filled with rage, Brackmore looked at the
frazzled demon and knew that something went wrong. What happened,
he said, trying to keep his voice even. Grolith swallowed hard.

(01:27:48):
The human is gone vanished. Seeing Brackmore begin to open
his mouth, the terrified demon went on faster. We don't think.
I think he disappeared in the fire. He left behind
decorations and this. Growith handed a Christmas card to Brackmore.

(01:28:11):
He read the handwritten card out loud in a flat,
tight voice. Every soul deserves love, Every memory matters. Merry Christmas. PS.
If you try to lock Santa up, don't leave him
in a room with a chimney. Brockmore laid the card

(01:28:34):
on the table with care, suppressing the anger that boiled
under the surface. So you're telling me that a human
escaped one of the most powerful artifacts dating back to
the creation of Hell itself. Well, there is something else,
Grawith interjected. Carmel Indiana. Santa Claus, now dressed in his

(01:29:03):
traditional red and white suit, helped a haggard man in
his late twenties to his feet. The man looked around
fearfully flinching at every sound. Come now, Corey, you're safe.
No worries about demons or eternal damnation here. Taking another
look into Corey's eyes, Santa said, let me take some

(01:29:27):
of the pain away. Santa placed his hands on the
sides of Corey's face and both were bathed in a warm,
soft light. Most of the haunted look that filled the
young man's eyes slowly disappeared, but if you look close enough,
you can still see the seeds of pain and madness.

(01:29:51):
What what happened? Corey croaked, his voice raw and tender well.
Santa said, I got a letter from a little girl
saying that her daddy died and she wanted him back
for Christmas. I get these all the time, heartbreaking. Santa

(01:30:15):
shook his head sadly, but normally there's nothing I can
do about it. However, in this case, it seems like
a mistake was made and I was able to fulfill
her Christmas request. I was able to have a bit
of fun in the process too. The man still looked

(01:30:37):
confused and overwhelmed. Santa gently turned him to face a
modest ranch house decorated in Christmas lights and to blow
up frosty that was swaying gently in the wind. All
you need to do, Santa whispered in the man's ear,

(01:30:58):
is go in there and see your wife and daughter.
Go on, scoot. The man started moving after a gentle
push from Santa. The man slowly walked up the path
to the front door, then hesitated. After a moment, he
turned the knob and went inside. Santa's head felt like

(01:31:22):
it was about to split when his grin became even
wider upon hearing the cries of relief and joy coming
from the house. With a little spring in his step,
Santa walked away into the darkness. Brackmore led out a

(01:31:47):
deep growl and slammed his fist into the desk again.
How could this happen? He thought? I had planned this
for centuries and had every contingency work a way to
counter anything that Jack Scratch did, anything except this. He

(01:32:09):
slammed his fist again. The blue light on his map
started to blink, indicating that there was a message from Jack.
Brackmore stared at it for a few seconds before reaching
out with a razor sharp claw to the control panel
and tapping the button next to Jack's name.

Speaker 2 (01:32:32):
Hey, Bracky, how are the wings hanging.

Speaker 1 (01:32:35):
Jack's voice echoed throughout the office.

Speaker 2 (01:32:39):
There are reports that two souls were lost in your sector.
I have also heard rumors of a demon going crazy
and allowing some other souls to escape to heaven. I
don't believe it, not even for a minute, knowing how
responsible and dedicated you are. But others are talking. The

(01:33:01):
big guy downstairs has opened an investigation. Anyway, just wanted
to let you know. Stay gruesome toodles.

Speaker 1 (01:33:11):
The red light next to Jack's name went out, but
before Brackmore could do anything, the whole map started blinking red.
Brackmore's eyes shot to the control panel and saw what
he knew would be there, a blinking red light next
to the dark One's name. Trying to control his panic,

(01:33:36):
he reached out slowly and pressed the glowing button. Jack
Scratch stood alone in his office. The decorations were gone,
no ornaments, no tinsel, just neat stacks of parchments on
the desk and a faint hum in the air, like

(01:33:57):
a machine idling somewhere far below. Jack straightened his cuffs
and smiled to himself. Well, he said, softly, that was educational.
He lifted the top parchment scanned it and clicked his tongue.

(01:34:19):
Such a shame, really, all that planning, centuries of contingencies.
He flipped the page and undone by something so very unexpected.
Jack set the paper down and leaned on his own cane,
gazing at nothing in particular. You see, Brackmore always believed

(01:34:43):
power came from control, he said, lightly, from locking every door,
double checking every form, keeping everything neat, predictable. He tapped
his cane once somewhere far away. Thing answered, But control
is a funny thing, Jack continued. The harder you squeeze,

(01:35:08):
he smiled, the more that slips through your fingers. Jack
turned slightly and bowed. Thank you for coming, he said,
his voice almost sincere. Almost the powers that be could
sense your presence, but they couldn't place you, and in

(01:35:29):
trying to do so, he shrunk. Well. They noticed other things,
Jack peered at another document, Things that shouldn't happen in
a well run sector. He went on, Escapes, irregularities, a
certain mountain, allowing souls into heaven. He clicked his tongue

(01:35:52):
In case you can't guess, that's a big no no,
he chuckled. Brackmore will spend the next few centuries trying
to figure out how a soul slipped through a system
that never fails. He'll audit logs, rewrite procedures, blame subordinates.
Jack shook his head almost kindly. He'll blame everyone but himself,

(01:36:17):
especially me. A pause, Ah, the good times ahead. Jack
straightened and gave a small wave downward. He'll always lose,
Jack said, because he's always looking down. He tipped his
head back, gazing upward. I, on the other hand, prefer

(01:36:41):
to look up toward the mortal world. A grin occupational
hazard of a talent scout. Really, his tone softened just
a fraction. I've grown rather fond of the living, especially
when they're dyeing another beat, sentimental, I know. Jack adjusted

(01:37:03):
his hat, careful not to tip it too far. He
gathered a small stack of parchments and tucked them neatly
under his arm. I should get back to work, he
said lightly. But don't worry. You didn't do anything wrong.
A wink you could hear. You are simply in the

(01:37:27):
right place at the right time, and sometimes that's more
than enough. The air around him began to shimmer. Oh
and if anyone asks, Jack said over his shoulder, you
were never here, a smile crept into his voice, Merry Christmas,

(01:37:50):
I'll be seeing you soon. Laughter followed, the office collapsed
into darkness, somewhere deep in hell, a legend erased itself,
and Jack scratch smile. Well, my spookys, that's tonight's little

(01:38:14):
holiday trip, straight through the slush and into the furnace.
If you made it to the end, please do me
a favor and subscribe on your favorite podcasting app. Drop
a rating while you're at it, and tell a friend
who thinks Christmas horror means one killer Santa movie in
a mug of coca, Because we are out here proving
the season can be cozy, creepy, and absolutely unhinged all

(01:38:39):
at once, and speaking of unhinged, tomorrow on Christmas Eve.
It's our final holiday horror story of the year, well
not including New Year's next week, and it is mean
in the best way. Imagine a small town in nineteen
ninety six, a big k kmart packed with last minute
shoppers and a lonely guy who thinks a cashier's small

(01:39:02):
talk is secret love language. It becomes a holiday plan
that goes from romantic to full sleigh ride slay real fast.
The snow comes down, the lights go out, and a
man in a red suit starts handing out very different
kinds of gifts. And I want to say an extra

(01:39:24):
special thank you to our Patreon podcast boosters, folks who
pay just a little bit more to hear their names
at the end of the show. And they are Johnny Nicks,
Kate and Lulu, Jessica Fuller, Mike Aeschuey, Jenny Green, Amber Hansford,
Karen Wee, met Jack Ker, and Craig Cohen. And if
you want to join.

Speaker 3 (01:39:40):
Them, and over ninety other spookies at weeklyspooky dot com
slash join in supporting the program, I sure would appreciate it.
And if you sign up at fifteen dollars a month
or higher, you can hear your name at the end
of the show, just like theirs. But now it's time
for me to get back to work. We have one
more holiday horror novella to drop on you before the
big Christmas Day. So for myself, for my executive producers

(01:40:04):
Rob Fields and Bubbletopia dot Com, my producer Dan Wilder,
and of course my creepy composer Ray Maddis, I will
talk at you tomorrow, So stay festive out there.

Speaker 1 (01:40:15):
Thank you for listening.

Speaker 3 (01:40:17):
Make sure to find your way back next week.

Speaker 1 (01:40:20):
Week, but for now you are safe. Trust me.

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