December 18, 2025 • 24 mins
When twelve-year-old Nick signed up to be a "Bigfoot Buster" on Christmas Eve, he never expected to come face-to-face with the real creature at his front door — wearing the park ranger's coat and picking flesh from its teeth.
Ho ho ho, kids! If you like the stories Santa is telling, tell your friends and family about the Spooky Santa podcast so they can listen too!
All music used with permission of the artists. Spooky Santa theme by Midnight Syndicate (http://amzn.to/2BYCoXZ). All other music by Nicolas Gasparini (http://bit.ly/2LykK0g).
I always make sure to give authors credit for the material I use. If I somehow overlooked doing that for a story, or if a credit is incorrect, please let me know and I’ll rectify it the show notes as quickly as possible.***Spooky Santa™ and Weird Darkness® are creations and trademarks of Marlar House Productions and Weird Darkness, LLC. Copyright © Weird Darkness, 2023
"I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness." — John 12:46
https://weirddarkness.com/BigfootBusters#WeirdDarkness #Bigfoot #ChristmasHorror #ScaryStories #Sasquatch #Cryptid #HorrorPodcast #ChristmasEve #CreepyChristmas #MonsterStories
Ho ho ho, kids! If you like the stories Santa is telling, tell your friends and family about the Spooky Santa podcast so they can listen too!
All music used with permission of the artists. Spooky Santa theme by Midnight Syndicate (http://amzn.to/2BYCoXZ). All other music by Nicolas Gasparini (http://bit.ly/2LykK0g).
I always make sure to give authors credit for the material I use. If I somehow overlooked doing that for a story, or if a credit is incorrect, please let me know and I’ll rectify it the show notes as quickly as possible.***Spooky Santa™ and Weird Darkness® are creations and trademarks of Marlar House Productions and Weird Darkness, LLC. Copyright © Weird Darkness, 2023
"I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness." — John 12:46
https://weirddarkness.com/BigfootBusters#WeirdDarkness #Bigfoot #ChristmasHorror #ScaryStories #Sasquatch #Cryptid #HorrorPodcast #ChristmasEve #CreepyChristmas #MonsterStories
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:03):
Because most spot I was Scaryosime. Well, hello again, it's
Santa here with another edition of Spooky Santa. I have
(00:25):
more scary stories to tell you, and I know for
a lot of kids like you, spooky stories can make
for a very merry Christmas, so be sure to ask
your mom and dad first before you begin to listen.
In this episode, I'll tell three stories. The first is
called The Bloody Acts. It's about a boy who suspects
(00:48):
that his father might be a murderer. I'll share a
short scary email I received from eight year old Joshua
in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. It might keep you up
at night. Plus a holiday story from Jackie Horsefall called
bigfoot Busters. Hey. Remember, if you want to send me
(01:09):
your own scary story, you can email it to me
at letters at Spookysanta dot com. I might read your
story in an upcoming episode. Now, bult your doors, lock
your windows, turn off your lights, pour a mug of
hot cocoa, and come with Spooky Santa for another holiday shiller.
(01:41):
Here is my first story, the Bloody Axe. I remember
that Christmas when I was eight years old as if
it happened yesterday. I remember how I would lie very
still under the old moth eaton quilt my mother maid.
I was wide awake and listening for those familiar sounds,
(02:03):
the thump of the front door closing, the clump, clump,
clump of my father's mudcaked boots on the stairs, and
the sound that to this day still fills me with
revulsion and horror. Drip drip, drip. Then my father would
pass my doorway, and the light from the hallway would
(02:25):
cast his shadow on my bedroom wall, and the shadow
of the bloody axe he carried in his hands. The
next morning, I would eat my watery oatmeal in the
wintery chill of our kitchen and ask my mother, very
slowly and carefully, where was Daddy last night? She would
just look at me with her sad gray eyes. I
(02:48):
will never forget the pain and torment in those eyes.
But mother never said a word. After breakfast, I would
set about doing the chores on our little farm. My
father never did much work on the farm. He always
seemed to be busy with other matters. On those chilly,
windy mornings, as the snow began to fall, I had
(03:11):
a lot of time to think. At school, I couldn't
pay much attention to my lessons. I was always lost
in my troubled thoughts. When I got home in the evening,
I would arrive just in time to see my father
leaving his axe clutched tightly in his hands. I rarely
(03:31):
saw my father during daylight hours, and at night, all
I ever saw was his shadow. I can still vividly
recall that terrible night when I was awakened by the
sound of the shutters of my bedroom window clattering in
the screaming December winds. When I got up to close
the shutters, I happened to glance over at the barn
(03:54):
and noticed a shadow in the darkness. It was my father,
and he was putting something into the feedbox that we
used to feed the cattle. I returned to bed and
lay awake long into the night, puzzled by what I
had just seen. Eventually, though I did fall into a
tortured and troubled sleep. The next day, my curiosity got
(04:17):
the better of me. I took the key that hung
on a hook in the kitchen and opened the feed box.
I remember standing and staring for several seconds at the
foul smelling, bloody pulp inside, trying to understand why my
father would put parts of a slaughtered animal into the
feed box. And then I noticed something that struck horror
(04:40):
into the pit of my soul. Jutting up out of
the bloody offal was a severed human hand. From that
moment I was filled with a nameless dread. I no
longer looked at my parents with trust, but with a dark,
creeping suspicion. I began to notice things that had previously
(05:01):
escaped my attention. Newspaper headlines that spoke about brutal murders
and discovered bodies, overheard conversations about a bloodthirsty fiend on
the loose. Finally, I heard a boy at school utter
two words that repeated over and over in my tortured
mind axe murderer. That night, my sleep was invaded by
(05:26):
shapeless horrors. In these nightmares, I saw two images that
haunted me constantly, the face of my father and an
axe dripping with blood. Unable to sleep, I got out
of bed and crept downstairs, taking my father's axe from
the fireplace. I dimmed the lights and crouched in the
darkness at the top of the stairs. It seemed an
(05:49):
eternity before I heard the key in the lock, and
the front door swing open and then close, thump. I
listened for those familiar footsteps on the stand, clump, clump, clump,
stepping out of the darkness. I raised the axe above
my head and I brought it crashing down chunk. In
(06:10):
the eerie silence that followed, I listened for the sound
of any movement from my parents' bedroom. I hoped, against
hope that my mother had heard nothing. The only sound
I heard was the creaking of the floorboards beneath my
feet and the pounding of my heart. I looked for
the last time at the headless body that lay crumpled
(06:32):
at the bottom of the stairs, then quietly tiptoed back
to my bed. Early the next morning, I was awakened
by the sound of strange voices in our hallway. Silently,
I crept to the top of the stairs and peered
down at the scene below. A group of policemen were
crowded around my father's bloody corpse. My mother was standing
(06:56):
beside them, watching silently. No one was paid any attention,
but when she glanced up, she noticed me. Then, very briefly,
very discreetly, she gave me a knowing wink. Oh looks
(07:21):
like mom did know what was going on, and she
knew who killed her husband. It was her own son.
Ooh that is a scary story, but not near as
scary as something that actually did happen. Email. Get email,
he gets your email every day. Here's your man to day.
(07:47):
Joshua is eight years old. He lives in Sioux City,
South Dakota, and he sent me this short, but very
creepy email. He says, it's absolutely true. He says, I
used to babysit this kid with down syndrome. He couldn't
talk very well. He communicated with grunts and sign language.
(08:07):
He was very expressive though, and easy to understand. Well.
This one night, he runs upstairs and refuses to come down.
I finally ask him what's wrong, and he points behind me,
runs his finger across his throat and makes a C sound.
I turned around, but nothing was there. Oohoo. That would
(08:33):
keep me up at night too. Joshua, that is so creepy.
I can't believe that actually happened to you. Hey, remember
if you have something scary that you'd like to share
with me, maybe a story that you wrote on your own,
or maybe a scary experience that you had. You can
email your story to letters at spookysanta dot com. I
(08:54):
love getting letters from all of my good little boys
and girls on the good List, even if their scary stories.
Especially if they're scary stories. It is Spooky Santa after all.
You can send your emails to letters at spookysanta dot com.
Now for my final story. It's by author Jackie Horsfall
(09:18):
and it's called Bigfoot Busters. Here's the story. Park Ranger
Lopez held up a blurry photo of a hairy brown blob.
Here's our target. This guy's got glowing red eyes and
stands about seven feet tall. He walks like a man,
but looks more like a gorilla. My hand shot up. Yes, Nick,
(09:43):
what's your question? Does he eat humans? Everyone in the
group laughed. My face burned. I felt dumb asking the question,
But the beast looked wicked. Mean rip off my limbs
and gnawed them like chicken wings. Mean. Lopez zipped up
his parka against the bitter wind. We don't know for sure,
(10:05):
but it's reported he attacks grown ups, not kids. That's
why we've recruited you young people as bigfoot Busters. Why
on Christmas Eve? Someone asked bigfoot hunters say it has
something to do with the winter solstice. Lopez swept an
arm toward Avalanche Pass. In the old days, townsfolk left
(10:27):
baskets of food on the slope. They hoped it would
prevent Bigfoot from eating their livestock. No one does that now,
but sightings are still reported. On December twenty fourth, super
a man eater was out there, ticked that his Christmas
gift baskets were cut off. Dark gray clouds rolled in,
(10:48):
spilling fat flakes. Lopez tucked his sunglasses away. If you
have a sighting, do not engage Bigfoot. Hold your ground
and blow your whistle. I'll come pronto with the tranquilizer gun.
Oh yeah, that'll work like zapping Godzilla with a toothpick.
(11:08):
We don't want to harm or kill Bigfoot, he said.
We want to study the species and its habitat, and
most important, prove to the world Bigfoot is real. His
eyes roamed over the group. Everyone got it. All of
our heads nodded. We'll spread out and start up. Avalanche
passed together, always staying within sight of each other. That way,
(11:31):
we'll comb the entire pass all the way to the summit.
A girl up front raised her hand my dad says,
there's no such thing as Bigfoot. He says, it's probably
only a bear. I a I whistling screech nearly blew
out my ear drums. I clapped my hands over my ears.
(11:53):
The shriek sliced through the valley like an air raid
siren that is Bigfoot's signature. Cry said, it's not a bear.
Bears don't scream. The kid standing next to me whimpered,
suck it up, man. My voice hardly wobbled. It's only
a bobcat or a coyote. He didn't look at me.
(12:14):
He stared past me, over my head. I turned to
see what he was staring at. At first, all I
saw was the ski slope, pine trees. Look there he is.
A finger pointed, there's Bigfoot. Every head swiveled, gasps rang out.
In that moment, I became a believer. It was true.
(12:38):
Bigfoot was real. The girls screamed, some of the guys too.
I screamed the loudest of all. A huge, shaggy haired
hulk with long arms honkered at the top of Avalanche Pass.
He waved, Lopez waved back and shouted, hey moose. The
hulk slogged through the snow feel to his SnowCat. We
(13:02):
stood still a statues shocked. Finally someone spoke, Bigfoot's a moose.
You kids, crack me up, Lopez said, loading his dart gun.
That's not Bigfoot, that's Moose, the trail groomer. He's a
big guy who lives by himself in a shack near
the top of the chair lift. My body relaxed. A
(13:24):
big moose, not a Bigfoot. He must be some fearless
dude living up there alone with Bigfoot on the loose.
Lopez beckoned us closer. He lowered his head. His voice hushed.
Remember there's a mega million dollar deal writing on this event.
If we flush out Bigfoot, we make TV history news
(13:46):
specials interviews. I'm counting on you kids to put our
park on the map. I was totally cool with being
a celebrity billionaire, but there was this awful, nagging feeling
that I might might die first. A roar thundered from
deep in the pines. Little hairs prickled on my neck.
(14:08):
I snugged my ski hat tight over my head and
hummed silent night for good luck. Lopez handed out whistles
at his thumbs up signal. I kicked the toes of
my boots into the crusted snow and trudged uphill with
the group. I scored a clear line of tracks. For
a while, it seemed like a fun adventure. After about
(14:31):
twenty minutes, the slope grew steeper. I kept my eyes
on my boots as I stepped, dug in, hauled myself up,
and stepped again. In no time, I was panting like
my dog Rufus, huffing out steamy breaths. Sweaty under my parka.
A line of snot dribbled out and hardened to ice
(14:52):
under my nose. Heavy snow swirled in the air. For
a moment, I was blinded. I couldn't tell up from down.
My team disappeared in the white out bunk. I slammed
into a big white wall. It was a humongous hill,
about the size of a house. I'd have to go
(15:12):
around it. That really torqued me off. I was whipped,
my belly rumbled. I didn't have a clue where I
was going or what time it was. Street lamps were
already flickering in the Lodge parking lot. I decided to
head for Moose's shack at the top of the chair lift.
(15:33):
I followed a cleared trail of flat rocks and pine needles.
A lopsided, banged up shack sat on concrete blocks. Wood
slats were nailed every which way like sticks in a
beaver dam. The snow cat was parked nearby. A plastic
sled the size of a beach boogie board was propped
(15:53):
against the woodpile. I climbed the steps, the spongy boards squished.
The door was wide open, gouged with claw marks. I
rapped on the jam. Hey, anybody home? Silence? I stuck
my head inside, mister Moose. I clomped inside with my boots.
(16:17):
The place had been trashed, tables, splintered, lamps, smashed, stuffing
popping out of the slashed sofa. I inched my way
toward the kitchen, and what I saw on the floor
made my gut's churn like a meat grinder. A bloody
heap of freshly gnawed bones broken into pieces. Moose sure
(16:40):
had an appetite for raw meat. But where was he?
A horrible thought suddenly crossed my mind was Moose? The
pile of meat and bones. Gagging, I charged into the
tiny bathroom and dropped to my knees over the camp toilet.
My mouth filled with saliva. Water. I needed water, and quick,
(17:04):
no sink. A shower curtain hung down to the floor.
Maybe there was a water tank behind it. I stood
and pushed the curtain aside. Rings tinkled on the rod.
What I saw made my knees buckle. I crashed back
against the wall. Bigfoot was hanging in the shower. He
didn't move. His whole body was droopy. He looked dead.
(17:29):
I stuck out a finger and poked at him a
few times. The fur smelled scuzzy, like wet wool socks.
He was dead, No, not exactly dead. He'd never really
been alive. Bigfoot was a costume, a gorilla suit. So
that's what Moose was up to, pretending to be Bigfoot,
(17:51):
scaring all the townies and making fools of us. Wait
till Lopez found out we'd all ben scammed. I backed
out of the bathroom and bumped against a wall, a
big wall, and the wall grunted and belched hot air
down my neck. A foul stench of rotting meat washed
over me. Oh, mister Moose, I croaked. It was not Moose.
(18:18):
It was Bigfoot, the real one. He towered over me,
eight feet of shaggy brown hair, dangling gorilla arms and
hands big as Catcher's mits. I frantically dug the whistle
out of my pocket and blew it. Bigfoot bared his
teeth and snarled. He slapped it out of my hands,
and I stomped on it. I was a dead man.
(18:40):
But wait, Lopez said, Bigfoot didn't hurt kids. Hi, I'm nick,
I squeaked, I'm your friend. This was a question. Bigfoot
smacked his lips. His answer was perfectly clear. I was
not his friend at all. I was his I lunged
(19:01):
for the door before Bigfoot could grab me. I stumbled
down the steps and sprawled near the woodpile, knocking over
the sled. I tumbled into it and pulled myself into
a crouch. Leaning forward, I put my weight on my
front foot, like a snowboard shredder. I rocketed downhill, my
arms flailing like a scarecrow. In a windstorm. Woodchucks and
(19:24):
rabbits dove for cover. The sled hissed as it skimmed
over new powder pines whizzed by in a green blur.
I pictured my brains splattered on a tree trunk above me.
Bigfoot's shriek shattered the snow mass. The next thing I
heard was the whoomp of an avalanche. Snow spilled down
(19:46):
the slope behind me, crashing through trees, snapping limbs as
it barreled down the mountain. I whipped at warp speed,
so fast that by the time I saw the hill,
I was shooting over it, catching some serious The sled
shot off sideways. I somersaulted, bellowing like a terrified hound dog.
(20:07):
In a flash, I nose dived into a mean header
down the steep ice slit slope, pinballing, bouncing off small moguls.
I finally leveled off and slid across a snowy field.
A puff of snow rose as I scored Olympic gold
for a ten point face plant into a snow drift.
(20:28):
I lay there, shaky heart jackhammering, and that moment, I
didn't care if we never flushed out Bigfoot. I didn't
care if I wasn't on TV or never got a
fat wad of cash. All I cared about was going home.
I shoved Bigfoot to the back of my mind. When
we gathered around the tree that night, our family tradition
(20:51):
was to open gifts from relatives on Christmas Eve. I
was pretending to love the hand knit jingle bell sweater
from Great Anti Margie when the door bell rang, I'll
get it. I tore myself free from the mushy kisses,
probably carollers. Dad said, invite them in for hot coco.
(21:12):
I opened the door and looked out. No carollers. The
only sound was a low growl. A big dude wearing
sunglasses honkered by the mailbox. I squinted into the dark
ranger Lopez. Bigfoot lumbered up under the porch light. His wide,
hairy chest was stuffed into Lopez's parka, seams bursting. He
(21:37):
picked out a fleshy scrap between his teeth and belched
a blast of rotting meat. Hit my nose. Poor poor Lopez.
I really liked that guy. Please don't hurt me, I
pleaded to Bigfoot. I'm only a kid. Bigfoot drew the
tranquilizer gun from behind his back, and he aimed it
(21:57):
at me. No, I said, I couldn't die on Christmas Eve.
I still had gifts to open. Then an idea hit me. Wait,
I said, wait right here. I dashed back inside to
where my family sat opening gifts and listening to Christmas music.
I dropped to my knees and rummaged under the tree,
digging through boxes and wrapping paper. Can't wait for your
(22:20):
next turn, huh, dad said, chuckling. Finally I found it.
I lugged it out and hoisted it to the door.
Here I handed the cellophane wrapped bundle to Bigfoot and
I said, Merry Christmas. Bigfoot's red eyes glistened. He knuckled
away a tear, his lips turning up in a half smile.
(22:42):
Before I could duck, he reached out and patted my cheek,
hugging the basket to his chest. He turned and loped
into the darkness. At that moment, I understood something important
about Christmas Eve traditions, something deadly important, and I would
never forget Bigfoot's gift basket ever again. Who knew Bigfoot
(23:10):
celebrated Christmas? Well? Did you like the stories I told
this time? If so, do Santa a big favor and
tell your friends and family members about the Spooky Santa Podcast.
That way they can listen to and remember, you can
write your own scary story and email it to me
(23:31):
at letters at spookysanta dot com. It can be an
original story, or it could be something scary that really
happened to you. You can send it again to letters
at spookysanta dot com. Spooky Santa is a registered trademark
of Marler House Productions copyright Marler House Productions, twenty nineteen.
(23:52):
Now be a good little girl or boy and join
me next time for more creepy tales from Spooky Santa
that that districted h
Because most spot I was Scaryosime. Well, hello again, it's
Santa here with another edition of Spooky Santa. I have
(00:25):
more scary stories to tell you, and I know for
a lot of kids like you, spooky stories can make
for a very merry Christmas, so be sure to ask
your mom and dad first before you begin to listen.
In this episode, I'll tell three stories. The first is
called The Bloody Acts. It's about a boy who suspects
(00:48):
that his father might be a murderer. I'll share a
short scary email I received from eight year old Joshua
in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. It might keep you up
at night. Plus a holiday story from Jackie Horsefall called
bigfoot Busters. Hey. Remember, if you want to send me
(01:09):
your own scary story, you can email it to me
at letters at Spookysanta dot com. I might read your
story in an upcoming episode. Now, bult your doors, lock
your windows, turn off your lights, pour a mug of
hot cocoa, and come with Spooky Santa for another holiday shiller.
(01:41):
Here is my first story, the Bloody Axe. I remember
that Christmas when I was eight years old as if
it happened yesterday. I remember how I would lie very
still under the old moth eaton quilt my mother maid.
I was wide awake and listening for those familiar sounds,
(02:03):
the thump of the front door closing, the clump, clump,
clump of my father's mudcaked boots on the stairs, and
the sound that to this day still fills me with
revulsion and horror. Drip drip, drip. Then my father would
pass my doorway, and the light from the hallway would
(02:25):
cast his shadow on my bedroom wall, and the shadow
of the bloody axe he carried in his hands. The
next morning, I would eat my watery oatmeal in the
wintery chill of our kitchen and ask my mother, very
slowly and carefully, where was Daddy last night? She would
just look at me with her sad gray eyes. I
(02:48):
will never forget the pain and torment in those eyes.
But mother never said a word. After breakfast, I would
set about doing the chores on our little farm. My
father never did much work on the farm. He always
seemed to be busy with other matters. On those chilly,
windy mornings, as the snow began to fall, I had
(03:11):
a lot of time to think. At school, I couldn't
pay much attention to my lessons. I was always lost
in my troubled thoughts. When I got home in the evening,
I would arrive just in time to see my father
leaving his axe clutched tightly in his hands. I rarely
(03:31):
saw my father during daylight hours, and at night, all
I ever saw was his shadow. I can still vividly
recall that terrible night when I was awakened by the
sound of the shutters of my bedroom window clattering in
the screaming December winds. When I got up to close
the shutters, I happened to glance over at the barn
(03:54):
and noticed a shadow in the darkness. It was my father,
and he was putting something into the feedbox that we
used to feed the cattle. I returned to bed and
lay awake long into the night, puzzled by what I
had just seen. Eventually, though I did fall into a
tortured and troubled sleep. The next day, my curiosity got
(04:17):
the better of me. I took the key that hung
on a hook in the kitchen and opened the feed box.
I remember standing and staring for several seconds at the
foul smelling, bloody pulp inside, trying to understand why my
father would put parts of a slaughtered animal into the
feed box. And then I noticed something that struck horror
(04:40):
into the pit of my soul. Jutting up out of
the bloody offal was a severed human hand. From that
moment I was filled with a nameless dread. I no
longer looked at my parents with trust, but with a dark,
creeping suspicion. I began to notice things that had previously
(05:01):
escaped my attention. Newspaper headlines that spoke about brutal murders
and discovered bodies, overheard conversations about a bloodthirsty fiend on
the loose. Finally, I heard a boy at school utter
two words that repeated over and over in my tortured
mind axe murderer. That night, my sleep was invaded by
(05:26):
shapeless horrors. In these nightmares, I saw two images that
haunted me constantly, the face of my father and an
axe dripping with blood. Unable to sleep, I got out
of bed and crept downstairs, taking my father's axe from
the fireplace. I dimmed the lights and crouched in the
darkness at the top of the stairs. It seemed an
(05:49):
eternity before I heard the key in the lock, and
the front door swing open and then close, thump. I
listened for those familiar footsteps on the stand, clump, clump, clump,
stepping out of the darkness. I raised the axe above
my head and I brought it crashing down chunk. In
(06:10):
the eerie silence that followed, I listened for the sound
of any movement from my parents' bedroom. I hoped, against
hope that my mother had heard nothing. The only sound
I heard was the creaking of the floorboards beneath my
feet and the pounding of my heart. I looked for
the last time at the headless body that lay crumpled
(06:32):
at the bottom of the stairs, then quietly tiptoed back
to my bed. Early the next morning, I was awakened
by the sound of strange voices in our hallway. Silently,
I crept to the top of the stairs and peered
down at the scene below. A group of policemen were
crowded around my father's bloody corpse. My mother was standing
(06:56):
beside them, watching silently. No one was paid any attention,
but when she glanced up, she noticed me. Then, very briefly,
very discreetly, she gave me a knowing wink. Oh looks
(07:21):
like mom did know what was going on, and she
knew who killed her husband. It was her own son.
Ooh that is a scary story, but not near as
scary as something that actually did happen. Email. Get email,
he gets your email every day. Here's your man to day.
(07:47):
Joshua is eight years old. He lives in Sioux City,
South Dakota, and he sent me this short, but very
creepy email. He says, it's absolutely true. He says, I
used to babysit this kid with down syndrome. He couldn't
talk very well. He communicated with grunts and sign language.
(08:07):
He was very expressive though, and easy to understand. Well.
This one night, he runs upstairs and refuses to come down.
I finally ask him what's wrong, and he points behind me,
runs his finger across his throat and makes a C sound.
I turned around, but nothing was there. Oohoo. That would
(08:33):
keep me up at night too. Joshua, that is so creepy.
I can't believe that actually happened to you. Hey, remember
if you have something scary that you'd like to share
with me, maybe a story that you wrote on your own,
or maybe a scary experience that you had. You can
email your story to letters at spookysanta dot com. I
(08:54):
love getting letters from all of my good little boys
and girls on the good List, even if their scary stories.
Especially if they're scary stories. It is Spooky Santa after all.
You can send your emails to letters at spookysanta dot com.
Now for my final story. It's by author Jackie Horsfall
(09:18):
and it's called Bigfoot Busters. Here's the story. Park Ranger
Lopez held up a blurry photo of a hairy brown blob.
Here's our target. This guy's got glowing red eyes and
stands about seven feet tall. He walks like a man,
but looks more like a gorilla. My hand shot up. Yes, Nick,
(09:43):
what's your question? Does he eat humans? Everyone in the
group laughed. My face burned. I felt dumb asking the question,
But the beast looked wicked. Mean rip off my limbs
and gnawed them like chicken wings. Mean. Lopez zipped up
his parka against the bitter wind. We don't know for sure,
(10:05):
but it's reported he attacks grown ups, not kids. That's
why we've recruited you young people as bigfoot Busters. Why
on Christmas Eve? Someone asked bigfoot hunters say it has
something to do with the winter solstice. Lopez swept an
arm toward Avalanche Pass. In the old days, townsfolk left
(10:27):
baskets of food on the slope. They hoped it would
prevent Bigfoot from eating their livestock. No one does that now,
but sightings are still reported. On December twenty fourth, super
a man eater was out there, ticked that his Christmas
gift baskets were cut off. Dark gray clouds rolled in,
(10:48):
spilling fat flakes. Lopez tucked his sunglasses away. If you
have a sighting, do not engage Bigfoot. Hold your ground
and blow your whistle. I'll come pronto with the tranquilizer gun.
Oh yeah, that'll work like zapping Godzilla with a toothpick.
(11:08):
We don't want to harm or kill Bigfoot, he said.
We want to study the species and its habitat, and
most important, prove to the world Bigfoot is real. His
eyes roamed over the group. Everyone got it. All of
our heads nodded. We'll spread out and start up. Avalanche
passed together, always staying within sight of each other. That way,
(11:31):
we'll comb the entire pass all the way to the summit.
A girl up front raised her hand my dad says,
there's no such thing as Bigfoot. He says, it's probably
only a bear. I a I whistling screech nearly blew
out my ear drums. I clapped my hands over my ears.
(11:53):
The shriek sliced through the valley like an air raid
siren that is Bigfoot's signature. Cry said, it's not a bear.
Bears don't scream. The kid standing next to me whimpered,
suck it up, man. My voice hardly wobbled. It's only
a bobcat or a coyote. He didn't look at me.
(12:14):
He stared past me, over my head. I turned to
see what he was staring at. At first, all I
saw was the ski slope, pine trees. Look there he is.
A finger pointed, there's Bigfoot. Every head swiveled, gasps rang out.
In that moment, I became a believer. It was true.
(12:38):
Bigfoot was real. The girls screamed, some of the guys too.
I screamed the loudest of all. A huge, shaggy haired
hulk with long arms honkered at the top of Avalanche Pass.
He waved, Lopez waved back and shouted, hey moose. The
hulk slogged through the snow feel to his SnowCat. We
(13:02):
stood still a statues shocked. Finally someone spoke, Bigfoot's a moose.
You kids, crack me up, Lopez said, loading his dart gun.
That's not Bigfoot, that's Moose, the trail groomer. He's a
big guy who lives by himself in a shack near
the top of the chair lift. My body relaxed. A
(13:24):
big moose, not a Bigfoot. He must be some fearless
dude living up there alone with Bigfoot on the loose.
Lopez beckoned us closer. He lowered his head. His voice hushed.
Remember there's a mega million dollar deal writing on this event.
If we flush out Bigfoot, we make TV history news
(13:46):
specials interviews. I'm counting on you kids to put our
park on the map. I was totally cool with being
a celebrity billionaire, but there was this awful, nagging feeling
that I might might die first. A roar thundered from
deep in the pines. Little hairs prickled on my neck.
(14:08):
I snugged my ski hat tight over my head and
hummed silent night for good luck. Lopez handed out whistles
at his thumbs up signal. I kicked the toes of
my boots into the crusted snow and trudged uphill with
the group. I scored a clear line of tracks. For
a while, it seemed like a fun adventure. After about
(14:31):
twenty minutes, the slope grew steeper. I kept my eyes
on my boots as I stepped, dug in, hauled myself up,
and stepped again. In no time, I was panting like
my dog Rufus, huffing out steamy breaths. Sweaty under my parka.
A line of snot dribbled out and hardened to ice
(14:52):
under my nose. Heavy snow swirled in the air. For
a moment, I was blinded. I couldn't tell up from down.
My team disappeared in the white out bunk. I slammed
into a big white wall. It was a humongous hill,
about the size of a house. I'd have to go
(15:12):
around it. That really torqued me off. I was whipped,
my belly rumbled. I didn't have a clue where I
was going or what time it was. Street lamps were
already flickering in the Lodge parking lot. I decided to
head for Moose's shack at the top of the chair lift.
(15:33):
I followed a cleared trail of flat rocks and pine needles.
A lopsided, banged up shack sat on concrete blocks. Wood
slats were nailed every which way like sticks in a
beaver dam. The snow cat was parked nearby. A plastic
sled the size of a beach boogie board was propped
(15:53):
against the woodpile. I climbed the steps, the spongy boards squished.
The door was wide open, gouged with claw marks. I
rapped on the jam. Hey, anybody home? Silence? I stuck
my head inside, mister Moose. I clomped inside with my boots.
(16:17):
The place had been trashed, tables, splintered, lamps, smashed, stuffing
popping out of the slashed sofa. I inched my way
toward the kitchen, and what I saw on the floor
made my gut's churn like a meat grinder. A bloody
heap of freshly gnawed bones broken into pieces. Moose sure
(16:40):
had an appetite for raw meat. But where was he?
A horrible thought suddenly crossed my mind was Moose? The
pile of meat and bones. Gagging, I charged into the
tiny bathroom and dropped to my knees over the camp toilet.
My mouth filled with saliva. Water. I needed water, and quick,
(17:04):
no sink. A shower curtain hung down to the floor.
Maybe there was a water tank behind it. I stood
and pushed the curtain aside. Rings tinkled on the rod.
What I saw made my knees buckle. I crashed back
against the wall. Bigfoot was hanging in the shower. He
didn't move. His whole body was droopy. He looked dead.
(17:29):
I stuck out a finger and poked at him a
few times. The fur smelled scuzzy, like wet wool socks.
He was dead, No, not exactly dead. He'd never really
been alive. Bigfoot was a costume, a gorilla suit. So
that's what Moose was up to, pretending to be Bigfoot,
(17:51):
scaring all the townies and making fools of us. Wait
till Lopez found out we'd all ben scammed. I backed
out of the bathroom and bumped against a wall, a
big wall, and the wall grunted and belched hot air
down my neck. A foul stench of rotting meat washed
over me. Oh, mister Moose, I croaked. It was not Moose.
(18:18):
It was Bigfoot, the real one. He towered over me,
eight feet of shaggy brown hair, dangling gorilla arms and
hands big as Catcher's mits. I frantically dug the whistle
out of my pocket and blew it. Bigfoot bared his
teeth and snarled. He slapped it out of my hands,
and I stomped on it. I was a dead man.
(18:40):
But wait, Lopez said, Bigfoot didn't hurt kids. Hi, I'm nick,
I squeaked, I'm your friend. This was a question. Bigfoot
smacked his lips. His answer was perfectly clear. I was
not his friend at all. I was his I lunged
(19:01):
for the door before Bigfoot could grab me. I stumbled
down the steps and sprawled near the woodpile, knocking over
the sled. I tumbled into it and pulled myself into
a crouch. Leaning forward, I put my weight on my
front foot, like a snowboard shredder. I rocketed downhill, my
arms flailing like a scarecrow. In a windstorm. Woodchucks and
(19:24):
rabbits dove for cover. The sled hissed as it skimmed
over new powder pines whizzed by in a green blur.
I pictured my brains splattered on a tree trunk above me.
Bigfoot's shriek shattered the snow mass. The next thing I
heard was the whoomp of an avalanche. Snow spilled down
(19:46):
the slope behind me, crashing through trees, snapping limbs as
it barreled down the mountain. I whipped at warp speed,
so fast that by the time I saw the hill,
I was shooting over it, catching some serious The sled
shot off sideways. I somersaulted, bellowing like a terrified hound dog.
(20:07):
In a flash, I nose dived into a mean header
down the steep ice slit slope, pinballing, bouncing off small moguls.
I finally leveled off and slid across a snowy field.
A puff of snow rose as I scored Olympic gold
for a ten point face plant into a snow drift.
(20:28):
I lay there, shaky heart jackhammering, and that moment, I
didn't care if we never flushed out Bigfoot. I didn't
care if I wasn't on TV or never got a
fat wad of cash. All I cared about was going home.
I shoved Bigfoot to the back of my mind. When
we gathered around the tree that night, our family tradition
(20:51):
was to open gifts from relatives on Christmas Eve. I
was pretending to love the hand knit jingle bell sweater
from Great Anti Margie when the door bell rang, I'll
get it. I tore myself free from the mushy kisses,
probably carollers. Dad said, invite them in for hot coco.
(21:12):
I opened the door and looked out. No carollers. The
only sound was a low growl. A big dude wearing
sunglasses honkered by the mailbox. I squinted into the dark
ranger Lopez. Bigfoot lumbered up under the porch light. His wide,
hairy chest was stuffed into Lopez's parka, seams bursting. He
(21:37):
picked out a fleshy scrap between his teeth and belched
a blast of rotting meat. Hit my nose. Poor poor Lopez.
I really liked that guy. Please don't hurt me, I
pleaded to Bigfoot. I'm only a kid. Bigfoot drew the
tranquilizer gun from behind his back, and he aimed it
(21:57):
at me. No, I said, I couldn't die on Christmas Eve.
I still had gifts to open. Then an idea hit me. Wait,
I said, wait right here. I dashed back inside to
where my family sat opening gifts and listening to Christmas music.
I dropped to my knees and rummaged under the tree,
digging through boxes and wrapping paper. Can't wait for your
(22:20):
next turn, huh, dad said, chuckling. Finally I found it.
I lugged it out and hoisted it to the door.
Here I handed the cellophane wrapped bundle to Bigfoot and
I said, Merry Christmas. Bigfoot's red eyes glistened. He knuckled
away a tear, his lips turning up in a half smile.
(22:42):
Before I could duck, he reached out and patted my cheek,
hugging the basket to his chest. He turned and loped
into the darkness. At that moment, I understood something important
about Christmas Eve traditions, something deadly important, and I would
never forget Bigfoot's gift basket ever again. Who knew Bigfoot
(23:10):
celebrated Christmas? Well? Did you like the stories I told
this time? If so, do Santa a big favor and
tell your friends and family members about the Spooky Santa Podcast.
That way they can listen to and remember, you can
write your own scary story and email it to me
(23:31):
at letters at spookysanta dot com. It can be an
original story, or it could be something scary that really
happened to you. You can send it again to letters
at spookysanta dot com. Spooky Santa is a registered trademark
of Marler House Productions copyright Marler House Productions, twenty nineteen.
(23:52):
Now be a good little girl or boy and join
me next time for more creepy tales from Spooky Santa
that that districted h
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