Something Was Wrong With Mom's Christmas Nutcracker

There's a reason that 100-year-old nutcracker was marked 80% off. And on Christmas Eve, my mom and I found out exactly what it was.

STORY AND MUSIC CREDITS/SOURCES…
The Grither”: https://tinyurl.com/qvkfdtg
“Christmas Tree Decorations”: https://tinyurl.com/rapx4d7
“Die Nutcracker, Die!” by Dax Varley: https://tinyurl.com/wkp7uu6
“Machete Santa” by Medeia Sharif: https://tinyurl.com/wkp7uu6
“Saturn Rising” by Ty Drago: https://tinyurl.com/wkp7uu6
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/MomsNutcracker
#WeirdDarkness #ChristmasHorror #ScaryStory #Creepypasta #HauntedAntique #HorrorStory #PossessedToy #ScaryChristmas #TrueScaryStories #HolidayHorror

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:03):
Because most mess I'll be scanning those time. Merry Christmas Eve. Well,
tonight is the big night. I've loaded up the sleigh,

(00:23):
the elves are hooking up the reindeer team as I speak,
and my suit is back from the North Pole dry cleaners,
ready for me to get it dirty all over again
with chimney dust. I am so excited about this year's
excursion because I only have a shoe box full of
coal for my naughty list, but sacks upon sacks upon

(00:47):
sacks of wonderful things for the boys and girls on
my good list. Well, it looks like Crampis is going
to have a pretty boring trip with me this year,
and that's the way it should be. Oh. By the way,
I have often asked what my favorite cookie is. Well,
at the end of this episode, I'll tell you, and

(01:09):
I'll also let you know how to make those cookies
magic cookies. Well, I'm still waiting for Crampus to arrive.
He's kind of a late sleeper, so I have enough
time to bring you one more spooky Santa before Christmas
is over. I'll tell you about a legendary monster who
lives in the icy wastes of the North Pole called

(01:31):
the Grifther. I have another story called Christmas Tree Decorations.
It's a spooky story about a girl who is home
alone tonight Christmas Eve and has a nasty encounter with
a man claiming to be me, but it's not me.
Plus a story called Die Nutcracker Die Well. This is

(01:52):
the last episode, by the way, before my big sleigh ride,
so I'm going to make it an extra special episode
by making it an extra long episode with a couple
of extra stories just for fun. Remember, if you want
to write a scary story of your own, you can
email it to letters at Spookysanta dot com and I

(02:12):
could read your story in an upcoming episode next Christmas.
Now bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights,
pour a mug of hot coco. It's magic, you know,
and come with Spooky Santa for another holiday chiller. My

(02:43):
first story is called Die Nutcrack or Die by Dax Varley.
I did a double take as my mom pushed through
the front door, all smiles. I swear if her grin
had been any bigger, it would have swallowed her nose.
Christmas Tyler, she called out, gliding over to where I
had perched on the couch playing a game on my phone.

(03:06):
She dropped her purse on the coffee table and righted
the lump she carried under her arm. Look what I got?
I looked? What is it? She slumped and did her
classic mom eye roll. What do you think it is? Silly? Well?
I paused the game. Something left over from the Halloween store. Seriously,

(03:27):
it was hideous. It's a nutcracker, she said, standing it
gently on the floor. Isn't it awesome? If by awesome
she meant a creature from The Walking Dead, then yeah.
But weren't nutcrackers supposed to look like wooden soldiers. This
one carried a metal sword, and instead of a tall
black hat, it wore a gold crown with prickly spikes.

(03:51):
Its painted black mustache had a gray chip on one side,
and its teeth were as jagged as the cleats on
my track shoes. But man, those eyes creepy. A couple
of sparkly green gems were set into ping pong ball sockets,
and they glared at me like they were alive. Mom

(04:12):
knelt gazing all a moon eyed. I got it at
that unique shop by my office. It was hand carved
in the black forest in Germany. Can you believe the
store marked it eighty percent off? Why you paid money
for that? She swatted my knee. Yes, smarty pants. I
couldn't resist. I had to wonder what had come over her.

(04:34):
The thing was the size of a toddler, and just
as gross, I turned its sideways and pulled up the
long lever in back, causing the Nutcracker's jaw to gape wide.
Holy sasquatch, you could probably crack a coconut in that thing.
I let it go, causing it to clap shut, its
teeth snapping like a steel trap. Tyler. Mom reached out

(04:57):
like at my crumple. Careful, this thing has to be
at least one hundred years old, only one hundred. Those
eyes looked much older and eerie, like they were lit
by some ancient fire. Mom stood and heaved it up.
It'll be perfect over here. Huh, It'll never be perfect,
I thought. She said it by the fireplace, just to

(05:19):
the right of our two stockings. As she did, the
nutcracker brushed against the Christmas tree, pulling off a long
strand of tinsel that dropped over the blade of its
upturned sword. It gave me a knowing grin hills skidded
through me like a thousand centipedes, crawling all over my flesh.
On the bright side, it was Christmas Eve. I only

(05:40):
had to look at this mule tied terror until New
Year's Day. I'm going to change, she said, heading off
to her bedroom. I went back to my game, or
I tried anyway. My eyes kept straying to the fireplace
and that ugly antique nutcracker it watched me while that's
single strand of tinsel flickered and swayed under the heat vent.

(06:03):
I was losing points big time. My concentration shot. Ah,
forget this. I tilted my head towards the nutcracker. You
are ruining my Christmas, you know. And then it happened.
Its eyes narrowed and its teeth got even bigger. I
jumped back, my heart launching into my throat. Wait, I

(06:24):
looked closer, just an afternoon shadow. It was an illusion, Tyler.
You goof get a grip, I did. I got a
grip on my phone and I took it into my room,
where the scariest thing was a poster of Voldemort. And
I stayed there until dinner time. Our Christmas Eve routine
was always the same for as long as I could remember.

(06:45):
It worked this way. Mom would have dinner reservations for
us at Nick's, the only restaurant open on Christmas Eve,
and then we drive the neighborhood looking at Christmas lights.
Being an eighth grader, I felt kind of old for that,
but Mom still oh an odd like they were Fourth
of July fireworks. After that, we'd come home and watch

(07:05):
a Christmas movie, which she would let me pick. I'd
always choose home alone until last year, when I remembered
Diehard was a Christmas film too. This year was no different.
I scarfed down a plate of nick spaghetti, reminding Mom
that the sauce splattered on my shirt was Christmas Red,
swept the neighborhood to see who outdid themselves on decorations

(07:28):
this year, and settled in for some Bruce Willis butt kicking.
Mom lit the gas fireplace to set the mood, and
slumped on the couch like a beach to jellyfish. Of course,
my eyes occasionally slid to that stinking nutcracker. I imagined
a scenario where Bruce Willis jumped out of the TV
and went ballistic on that nubby wooden gnome splinters flying.

(07:52):
I noticed Mom also giving it to an occasional glance.
But why is she not repulsed by it? When the
movie ended, Mom nudged me. The sooner we go to sleep,
the sooner we get to open presents. I swear she
was like a kid. Sometimes we could open them now,
I offered. She gave me a shove. Go to bed. Okay,

(08:15):
I said, but I've pretty much guessed every gift under
the tree, which wouldn't make Christmas morning any less exciting.
I hauled myself off the couch and headed to my room.
When you've got a belly full of Italian food and
chocolate cake, another Christmas Eve favorite, dropping off to sleep
is as easy as counting your toes. I was practically

(08:36):
in snoozeland the second I crawled under the covers. But
during the night, something tickled my nose. I swatted it away,
barely breaking from my dream, and then it tickled again,
a bug. When I took a peek, my eyes popped wide.
The nutcracker. It was standing next to me, the tinsel
brushing my face. Ah. I rolled out of the way

(08:58):
just as he brought the sword down, slicing through the
sheet I flew out of bed and slammed against the wall.
How he stood there, green eyes aflame. Mamam, Mom, Mom,
I squeaked. I meant to yell, and with that the
thing dropped out of sight. My back to the wall.
I slid to the corner and picked up the lightsaber

(09:18):
that I'd bought in a Comet convention. Not the best weapon,
but all my baseball bats were in the garage. On
quaking legs, I made my way around the bed, holding
the saber over my head. The nutcracker wasn't there. He
must have rolled under And that's when I flew out
the door and into my mom's room. My mom, Mom,

(09:39):
She shot up from her curled position, a clump of
hair plastered to her cheek. What is it? Your nutcrackers
in my room? It tried to kill me? She unstuck
the hair from her face inside. What are you talking about?
Just come look, I said. She edged forward, Honey, it
was only a nightmare. It wasn't, Mom, Hurry, I held

(10:02):
the lightsaber ready as she followed me back to my room.
She glanced around, hand on hips. I thought you said
the nutcracker was in here, I pointed and whispered, it's
under the bed. She let out another exaggerated sigh. Tyler,
then dropping to her knees, she peeked, is it under there? Yes,

(10:24):
she griped, reaching out her hand. Mom, No, too late,
I heard the snap. Mom's eyes bulged as she let
out a high pitched scream. Mom. I grabbed her shoulders,
pulling her back. She thought the demon under the bed,
wrestling it into the open. Her fingers were clamped between
those vicious teeth. I dropped the lightsaber and grabbed for

(10:45):
the lever on its back, forcing its mouth open. Mom
backed away, her fingers bent, probably broken, Tyler. She looked woozy.
That's when the Nutcracker brought his sword down again, stabbing
her big toe. The cream was so loud she didn't
hear me holler run. I grabbed her arm and jerked
her away, but the Nutcracker was quick. It launched at us,

(11:09):
slicing the air with its sword. Mom hobbled as I
hurried her into the living room. The Nutcracker just behind us,
snapping its mouth open and closed. It meant to eat
us alive. What's happening, she cried. I had no time
to answer. I pushed her onto the couch and then
grabbing a cushion off the back. I turned it just
in time to shield me from the Nutcracker's foot long blade.

(11:32):
It went swoosh straight into it, circling I steered him
away from Mom. The creature withdrew the sword and ready
to go at me again. I grabbed the corner of
the cushion, intending to bat the little sucker away, but
just as I reared back, he whipped the sword at
my leg, slicing through my pajamas. I stumbled backward, losing

(11:53):
my balance and twisting my ankle in the fall. Electric
white heat shot through it. As I buckled the nutcracker,
his grimace huge advanced no. Mom lunged off the couch
like a madwoman and grabbed for the beast. He spun
and went at her, limping like igor. I rushed toward him,
close enough to get in a few wallops with the pillow.

(12:16):
He turned on me again, chris crossing the sword making
x's in the air. I slowly backed away, cowering behind
the cushion and trying to ignore the pain ripping through
my ankle. I kept my eyes on that nutso nutcracker,
but I could also see Mom. She unplugged the lamp
on the end table and threw it as hard as
she could, her right hand being chewed up, she had

(12:37):
to throw with her left. It turned out to be
more of a lob than a throw. Falling about a
foot short of the target, the lamp shattered a mom's
noo saltillow tile floor. The nutcracker whipped around, but instead
of attacking, he grabbed his metal crown and then whosh.
He threw it frisbee style, whacking Mom upside the head.

(12:57):
She dropped like a bag of bowling balls. That did
it pain or no pain. I hauled off and booted
that savage across the room. He sailed much further than
the lamp had, hitting the brick fireplace and bouncing to
the floor. His sword skittered from his hand. I wasted
no time, running toward him before he could fully right himself.

(13:18):
I grabbed his lever and held him at bay while
the nutcracker fought, his legs kicking and arms flailing. I
opened the fireplace doors, then fast as I could, I
shoved him in, shut the glass doors and held them
closed with my feet. He pounded and butted his teeth
going chomp, chomp, chump. Ignoring a feverish throb in my ankle,

(13:39):
I sat taller and reached for the knob that turned
on the gas jets. The nutcracker continued his battle with
the doors, gas filling this small enclosure, but I knew
it wasn't enough. He was a demon possessed Christmas decoration,
not a living, breathing person. That's what I reached for
the matches, it only to quan strike. As I drew

(14:02):
my feet back, the nutcracker kicked the doors open. I
tossed the lit match in and ducked whoosh. In a snap,
I jumped forward, closing the doors again. Then stretching toward
the Christmas tree, I snatched off the pipe cleaner candy
cane from third grade. I twisted it tightly around the
door handles, ceiling the devil inside his inferno. Without his

(14:23):
crown and sword, the thing was nothing but wood, old, dry,
antique wood, the kind that catches quickly near a flame.
He continued beating the doors, though now he looked like
the aftermath of a fiery crash. I hobbled to my room,
grabbed my phone and called nine to one one Hurry,
I told the operator as I limped back to Mom.

(14:45):
My mother's hurt. Try to remain calm, he said, help
is on the way. Now, can you tell me what happened?
I looked at Mom, unconscious on the floor, and then
at the blackened nutcracker. Tell him what happened? Where do
I begin? This next story is called the Grifther. It

(15:24):
was Christmas Eve and the family were gathered in the
living room. The father was reading the newspaper and the
mother was knitting a sweater. The children, Jimbo and Stepha,
were stretched out on the floor with their crayons and
their coloring books. Tell us a story, Stepha demanded, Yes,
a scary one, Jimbo insisted, All right, said their father.

(15:45):
I'm going to tell you about the most fearsome, dangerous
and appalling creature in all the world. It's called the Grifther. Oh,
now you've done it, said their mother. You said his
name out loud. Who is he asked Jimbo. He's the
world's most awful thing, their father said. He lives in
a cave at the North Pole, the coldest wettest place

(16:08):
on Earth, is where the grither makes his home. He
sleeps in the wreck of a ship that somehow got
squeezed into the mouth of the cave. He doesn't mind
the cold, and he doesn't mind the wet. But the
thing he hates most of all is to hear someone
say his name. He has very good ears, and they
get bigger every time his name is spoken anywhere on earth.

(16:31):
Sometimes his ears get so big he can use them
to fly. I don't like this story, Stepha whined, it's
too late now, her mother said, We've already mentioned his name.
The Grither is probably on his way to our house
this very minute. It'll probably take him a while to
get here, said their father. If we finish the story

(16:53):
before he gets here, everything will be fine. Do you
know why the grither is called the grither, why, the
children asked, Because he has fists as big as basketballs
and arms as long as boa constrictors, said their father
with a grin. Whenever he finds the people who've been
speaking his name, he opens up his fists and reaches

(17:14):
out his arms and he grithers them in. He grabs
them by the head and squeezes them and squeezes them
until they pop, just like a balloon. Does he look
like Bigfoot, Jimbo asked, No, said his father. He's not
like Bigfoot, and he's not like the Abominable Snowman either.
Nobody knows what he looks like for sure. The only

(17:36):
people who've ever seen the Grither are the people the
Grither has eaten. He's as tall as a tree, but
he can bend all the way over and touch the ground.
His skin looks like a road map because it's transparent,
and all his blue and red veins show through. The
blue is for fear, the red is for rage. Hurry

(17:57):
up and finish the story before he gets here, Stepha cried.
The Grither was born on a sailing ship, said her father.
It was blown off course by a storm and got
lost in the Arctic Sea. They drifted around for weeks
and never saw anything but glaciers and icebergs. Some of
the passengers drowned, some froze to death, some starved, and

(18:18):
the rest committed suicide. The Grither was born out of
the fear and rage of all those people. But why
does he kill people, Jimbo asked. Nobody knows, said his father.
He just doesn't like anyone telling his story. Is that
all Stepha asked, is that the end of the story.

(18:38):
Not quite, said her father. There's only one way to
protect yourself from the Grither. Maybe you should stop. Their
mother interrupted, I think you've scared them enough. Their father chuckled.
Oh you don't believe in the Grither, do you? He asked. No,
The children lied, Well you shouldn't, their father said, because

(19:00):
I made it all up. There's no such thing as
the Grither. But you didn't finish the story, Stepha wind.
All of a sudden, the front door blew open, and
the room was enveloped in an icy blast of wind.
There was a crash and the sound of breaking glass,
and then two huge, gnarled arms reached in through the
window and grasped their parents by their heads. As the

(19:23):
children watched in horror, the hand squeezed and squeezed, and
their parents' heads popped, just like balloons. This next story

(19:51):
is called Saturn Rising My Tie Drago. Christmas Eve not
a usual time for your best friend to call you
at midnight, freaking out and begging you to sneak over
to his house. And when you get there, not the
sort of occasion where you expect him to meet you
at the door holding his dead father's crossbow. Dude, I said,

(20:15):
feeling my stomach clench. And he had a weird look
in his eye, and he was clenching the big weapons
so hard that his knuckles were white. Just to break
the sudden tension, which felt dick as soup, I tried
a joke. So you afraid somebody's gonna steal your milk
and cookies? Lame, he replied, his face pale and his

(20:37):
eyes twitchy. My room. Now, I hadn't seen him lately.
My family traditionally spends the week before Christmas visiting my
grandmother out in the sticks. Now. I love my mom's
mom and all, but well, it's majorly boring. There hadn't
even been any texts, no cell service. We'd only gotten

(20:58):
back an hour ago, and my folks at all already
gone straight to bed. We usually did the presence thing
in the morning. Upstairs in his bedroom, Andy carefully shut
the door and went straight to the window. I gotta
do something tonight, and I gotta tell somebody about It.
Can't be Mom, because she'd freak, and that leaves you

(21:18):
tell me what. He started, trying to push a heavy
bookcase out from under the windowsill. Then he asked, impatiently,
you're gonna help me or what not? Till you start
talking first? This feeling creeped out, I crossed the familiar room.
The ambiance was hardcore thirteen year old computer xbox bed

(21:41):
clothes pile in the corner, and he was religiously opposed
to closets. And to honor the season, a little ceramic
Christmas tree on the dresser, maybe a foot tall and
painted green. It had pointy branches decorated with colorful ceramic
ornaments and a gold ceramic star at the top. It
was pretty enough, I suppose in a cheesey sort of way.

(22:03):
I'm pushing, I said, shouldering in beside him. After a
moment's struggle, the bookcase moved a few feet further along
the wall. Now talk, or did you drag me over
here on Christmas Eve? Just to shove furniture around the
bookcase makes it hard to climb out the window, he
replied distractedly, and I got to go out on the roof.

(22:23):
I tried for humor again. Ain't you a little old
to be scouting for Sannah? The poke didn't even win
me an eye roll. Instead, Andy wordlessly lifted the window
sash and snatched up the crossbow. It was a big weapon,
made out of fiberglass and painted all camo. It even
had a laser sight. There wasn't any arrow mounted on it, though,

(22:44):
which was just as well because it would have fallen
out what with the way Andy kept swinging the weapon around. Dude,
I said, you're seriously scaring me. Keep your voice down.
My mom's asleep, the world's asleep. It's Christmas, eve man,
what's wrong everything. He climbed out the window and onto
his lower roof as if he did it every day.

(23:05):
Looking back at me, he said, you don't gotta come.
Probably safer for you if you don't, so I'll just
say what I need to say now. But then i'd
appreciate you hanging around for a while. From my mom.
She won't understand. I don't understand. I snapped, and suddenly
I made a decision. We'll both go up there. It's dangerous,
sure it is. It's a roof. But if you're going,

(23:28):
I'm going move. He almost argued, but then he stepped back,
looking both guilty and relieved. I joined him. In the
wintery darkness, the lower roof angled downward, before ending at
a rain gutter strung with Christmas lights. All along the street,
darkened houses were similarly decorated. Lights attract him, and he

(23:49):
muttered to no one. He led me to a ladder
that stood propped up against the side of the house,
the top roof, I asked bitterly, yeah, groaning, I followed
him up the ladder. It seemed rickety, but it held
the wind cut like a knife, and by the time
we'd scrambled onto the upper roof I was already freezing.

(24:11):
Andy went straight to the roof's peak near the satellite dish.
Once there, he stood the crossbow up on its end
and manually cocked it. Not an easy thing to do.
I knew for a fact that the weapon had one
hundred pound pull, but somehow he managed it. Then he
sat down and rested the bow on his knees before
producing an arrow from inside his coat and slipping it

(24:33):
into the firing roof. Feeling cold and hardcore freaked out,
I dropped down beside him. This is nuts, I said, totally. Okay,
spill okay, Well, I've been having dreams, dreams, dreams about Saturn,
the planet. No, the wind kicked up. I had my

(24:55):
coat on, but shivered anyway. Andy, who wore only jeans
in a hoodie, didn't seemed bothered by it at all.
At least there wasn't any snow or ice up here
so far. The young winter had been a dry one.
Weird dreams, he explained, but vivid enough that they made
me do some digging. Christmas wasn't always Christmas, you know.
It used to be, among other stuff, the Roman festival

(25:17):
of Saturnalia, a week long celebration to honor Saturn, the
father of Jupiter and the Roman god of agriculture. Somebody
has been wikipedia ing, I muttered, another failed joke. No,
he said, had to dig a lot deeper than that
to find out all this stuff over the past week.
Why did you even care, I asked. He looked at

(25:39):
me hard and serious. I was motivated, but listen. The
festival was a big deal for the Romans. Lots of food, wine,
and partying, bright lights to attract the god seven days,
all culminating in a gory human sacrifice. Okay, yeah, that's
pretty sick. Yeah. Later on, when the Romans went Christian,

(26:00):
the early popes needed to pick a birthday for Jesus.
I mean, nobody really knows what day he was born,
so they chose the last day of Saturnalia, figuring that
people were already used to celebrating around the winter solstice. Okay,
so Christmas isn't really Christmas, I said, completely confused, first
the crossbow and now a history lesson. So what, as

(26:22):
long as everybody's happy, who cares what day it gets celebrated?
And he laughed bitterly. For the first time, I noticed
the bags under his eyes. Saturn cares. That's who Saturn,
the god. Yeah, turns out he's real. I don't know
if he always was, or if all those Romans believe
it in him made him real, but he is real,

(26:44):
and he has been ticked off about the Christmas thing
for millennia, so he's set up his own private yule
Tide celebration. Every year, he picks a sacrifice, some poor
schmuck somewhere in the world. He tortures him for a
week with horrible dreams, showing him over and over again
what's coming and kind of feeding on his dread. And
then on Christmas Eve he shows up and he offs

(27:06):
his chosen sacrifice, along with anybody else who gets in
the way. Dude, I know how it sounds. Andy interjected,
that's why I haven't told anybody till now. So Saturn's
been coming to you in dreams. And he nodded miserably.
Seven nights in a row, over and over. I've tried

(27:27):
to stay awake, but I can't. And the minute I'm asleep,
he's there with his bat wings and burning red eyes
and those claws. Oh dude, the stuff he wants to
do with me with those claws. Andy, I pleaded, this
is crazy. Let's go back inside and talk to your mom.
Get you some help. He shook his head. No point.

(27:49):
It's the last night of Saturn Eelia. He is coming.
I wanted to do this someplace else, a park maybe,
but he told me he'd killed my mom if I
didn't face him here here on the roof at my house.
This makes no sense. I momentarily forgot the wind and
the cold. How could this god be killing one person

(28:11):
every Christmas Eve and nobody's noticed? Why not? Andy fixed
his dark eyes on me. It's a big world, and
people die even at Christmas. Google it. A guy in
rural France gets oft in the night. A lady in
Tokyo's found mutilated who's gonna connect him. It's crazy, I said, again,
a little desperately. Yeah, so what's the crossbow for? Why

(28:34):
don't plan on going down? Quietly? Andy replied, I did
my research, and I think maybe I know what can
kill him. A crossbow bolt can kill a god, not
just any bolt. He said, it's gotta be boo. And
that's when the light hit us. Blinding light. He threw
everything on the roof into sharp relief. Andy was on

(28:54):
his feet in an instant crossbow ready, he's here, put
the bow down, sun. A voice called from somewhere below us,
below the light. A cop car idled at the curb.
Had One of the neighbors noticed us up here and
called nine to one one. The glare was coming from
the cruiser's halogen spotlight. Shut that off, Andy screamed, light

(29:15):
attracts him. Heal. The spotlight shattered in an explosion of sparks.
The cop screamed. I jumped to my feet in time
to see the guy's body being ripped apart by a
flying nightmare. It was big, with leathery wings the size
of bedsheets, A vaguely manlike face sported, a bushy white beard,

(29:35):
and hot coals for eyes. Even weirder, he was covered
with red and white fur in a pattern that almost
looked like Santa Claus. It looks like Santa Claus. With
an inhuman hiss, the thing scattered the CoP's parts every
which way like broken toys, and came right at us.
Wings spread, his mouth opened impossibly wide, revealing rows of

(30:00):
hellow fangs. This time, I screamed, but Andy didn't. Instead,
he shouldered the crossbow and flipped the switch on its
mounted laser pointer. Instantly, a red dot appeared on Saturn's
broad furry chest. Even through my terror, I couldn't help
but admire the way that dot never wavered. Andy's hands
were rock steady as he fired. The bolt nailed the

(30:23):
Roman god this is Nuts squarely in the chest, piercing
his hard furry hide. Black blood rained down. The god roared,
deafeningly and crashing against the roof, his wings, twitching his
claw like hands, tearing off dozens of shingles. Along our street,
lights came on in the neighboring houses. People were awakening

(30:44):
to the noise, their sugar plums forgotten. Meanwhile, only a
few yards away, Saturn looked up at us, grinning, hideously,
and then he rose to his knees and pulled out
Andy's bolt. But I got him, and he exclaimed, in despair,
I know I did. It's just an arrow, I yelled back.
Why didn't you get your dad's shotgun or something. You

(31:07):
can't kill Saturn with metal. He's a god of the earth.
The soil you have to pierce his heart was stone
or clay. A couple of my internet sources said the
weapon also had to be ceremoniously significant, but I couldn't
find out what that meant. So I hunted around him
my dad's stuff, and I came up with an old
hunting bolt with a real clay arrowhead. I figured that'd

(31:27):
be good enough. Well, maybe you missed, but I didn't.
I nailed his heart. I know it. Well. Then the
arrowhead wasn't, I don't know, ceremonial enough or something, because
it's not working, is it? It wasn't. Saturn had been hurt,
but he was recovering fast. Load up another arrow, I exclaimed.
He replied, in a small voice, My dad only had

(31:49):
the one clay arrowhead. At some point he switched to
steel figgers. Saturn rose to his feet, teeth bared behind
his white beard, eyes blazing. We needed another weapon. Andy's
dad had been an avid hunter, but all his guns, knives,
and bows were either metal or fiberglass. There's never a

(32:09):
tomahawk around when you need one. Ceremonial, Andy yelled, a
fresh light in his eyes. I'm so stupid. I got
an idea that he ran down the roof and jumped off.
For a half second, it was just me and that
bloodthirsty Roman Santa God on top of the house. Then
as Saturn lunched at me, I screamed again and ran

(32:30):
after Andy, dropping blindly onto the lower roof. I landed badly,
slipped and slid, and I would have broken my neck
on the driveway if Andy hadn't caught my wrist. Overhead,
wing beats continued to split the air. He's coming. Andy
pulled me up and dragged me toward the open window.
He dove through first, and I followed, just as something

(32:51):
heavy smashed down onto the shingles at my back. We
tumbled inside, landing in a heap of bruised limbs, knocking
over a lamp and all of Andy's soccer trophies. What idea,
I demanded, and he ignored me. Scrambling to his feet.
He crossed the room in two quick steps, but his
steps weren't quick enough. Something ripped through the outside wall,

(33:13):
tearing away the entire window. The whole house shook. Saturn
reached inside, one massive claw, grabbing Andy around the waist.
That twisted. Santa's eyes flashed in triumph. Elsewhere in the house,
I heard Andy's mom scream his name. Andy's hand reached
for the dresser, straining his fingers found the ceramic Christmas tree,

(33:34):
and with a clumsy heave, he tossed it my way.
I caught it purely by reflex My brain is shut
down A while ago. I cradled the stupid thing, confused
while my best friend met and held my gaze. He
tried to speak, but Saturn was squeezing him, cutting off
his breath. Nevertheless, his eyes conveyed a desperate message, and

(33:55):
I suddenly thought, aren't ceramics made of clay? Saturnalia ceremonial significance.
The clear arrowhead had none, but a Christmas tree was
loaded with ceremonial significance. Saturn's huge upper body emerged through
the hole in the wall. His bearded mouth was open,

(34:16):
ready to rip antie at half, flipping the Christmas tree over,
I leaped forward and slammed it pointy star first into
the God's unguarded back. Saturn stiffened and roared. I pushed harder,
putting all my weight behind it, driving in the tree
deeper and deeper the heart. Find the heart. Saturn dropped

(34:37):
Andy to the carpet, where my friend lay, gasping his
eyes wide. I kept pushing something inside the monstrous God
gave and with a final inhuman cry, Saturn collapsed, black
blood gushing all around me and burning like hot motor oil. Finally,
I straightened up, my heart trip hammering. Lights flashed outside

(34:59):
the room and window. More cops were coming. This was
going to be a long Christmas Eve. I looked at Andy.
He looked at me. Merry Christmas, dude, he said, I replied, shakily,
right back at you, man. But some guys won't do it.
A swipe your milk and cookies, lame, my friend said,

(35:22):
with a grin. This story is called Christmas Tree Decorations.
It was Christmas Eve and an eleven year old girl
named Juliette was decorating the Christmas tree. Her mother was

(35:45):
working as a nurse at the local hospital, and two
of them lived alone in the small apartment in the
suburbs of Paris. Late that evening, Juliette's mother called to
say that she would not be home until late that night.
Juliet continued to decorate the tree with all the lovely
things her mother had bought the shop. She draped some
multi colored Christmas lights around the tree and hung beautiful

(36:08):
ornaments on the branches. After placing the angel on the
top of the Christmas tree, she finally finished decorating and
sat down to relax and watch TV. Even though she
was all alone in the sixth floor apartment, Juliette felt
safe as she gazed out across the lights of the
Parisian skyline. From her window, she could see the Eiffel

(36:28):
Tower and the Champ de Mans. Most of the other
tenants in the building had gone home to spend Christmas
Eve with their relatives in the countryside. The apartment building
was almost deserted. Juliet was growing bored waiting for her
mother to return. Suddenly, she thought she heard a scratching
noise at the front door. She turned down the television

(36:49):
and listened carefully. There was an eerie silence. Curious, she
slowly approached the door and looked through the peepole. To
her surprise, she saw a man and standing outside, dressed
in a red suit with fluffy white trim. He was
large and fat, with a dirty gray beard, and he
wore a red hat on his head. He knocked at

(37:11):
the door loudly. Nervous and concerned, she asked to the door,
who's there. It's Santa Clause. The man replied, let me,
and I'm cold, and I'm tired, and I'm hungry. At this,
a chill went down Juliette's spine. She was no dummy.
She knew that whoever this creepy man was, he was
not Santa Claus. My mother is at home right now,

(37:34):
she said, her voice shaking. Please leave peering through the people.
Juliet watched as the man's eyes filled with anger and
his face twisted into a grimace of hate. He began
knocking at the door even harder and rattling the doorknob.
It's Santa Claus, juliet he growled. Have you laid out
some milk and cookies for me? Juliette, you know how

(37:55):
much Santa loves his milk and cookies. The young girl
had a sinking feel in the pin of her stomach.
How did he know her name? Then the man began
kicking and pounding at the door. She peeped out again
and saw him reach into his coat pocket and pull
out a switchblade. He shoved the knife into the keyhole
and tried to pry it open. Juliette was terrified. She

(38:18):
didn't know what to do. If you don't go away,
I'll call the police, she shouted. All of a sudden,
the knocking stopped. Juliette stood perfectly still, afraid to move.
Minutes passed, and she began to think the man may
have been scared away by her threat. She slowly approached
the door and looked through the peep hole to see
if the man was really gone. The hallway seemed to

(38:41):
be empty. Suddenly she saw the man running down the
hallway with an axe in his hand. Juliet screamed and
ran to the closet. In a panic. She crouched down
and hid behind the coats as tears of fright rolled
down her cheeks. She heard the boom, boom, boom, as
the man tried to smash down her front door. There

(39:02):
was a mighty crack as the door gave way, and
the man came crashing through the splintered wood. Laughing to himself,
he called out, oh, Juliet, my pretty where are you? Juliet,
don't be afraid. We'll have ourselves some fun tonight. Where
are you hiding? The crazed intruder walked around the house,

(39:22):
searching for the frightened girl. Juliet curled up in the closet,
trembling with fear. She dreaded to think what he had
planned for her. Suddenly, the handle of the closet moved
up and down, and then the door began shaking, and
she heard the man's voice laughing, Oh, Juliet, I know
you're in there, he said, open up for Santa. Open up.

(39:44):
Before I open you up, the man swung his axe
and it struck the closet door with a huge bang,
tearing into the flimsy wood. Juliet screamed and began crying bitterly.
She grabbed a wire coat hanger and twisted it into
a pl She waited, her eyes open wide and her
hands were trembling. There was another loud crash and the

(40:06):
closet doors gave way in a hail of splinters. The
horrible man tore the doors off their hinges and thrust
his head in between the coats. He was laughing and
droolly like a madman, and his huge, gnarled hands grabbed
at the horrified girl. Juliet held up the pointed end
of the coat hanger and bravely thrust it into the

(40:27):
man's face. It went straight into his eye. He recoiled
in pain, screaming with rage as blood flowed down his cheek.
He ripped the wire out of his eye socket and
grabbed Juliet by the hair. Then he dragged her, kicking
and screaming, out of the closet. The man pushed her
to the ground and he held her tightly by the neck,
leaning over her. Blood spilled out of his eye, splattering

(40:49):
all over Juliette's face. His mouth twisted into a grotesque smile,
and he whispered in her ear. Tonight you will be
privileged by lovely Juliet. I've got a list, and I've
checked it twice. I'm here to decide if you've been
naughty or nice. You can scream and scream and beg
for your life, but naughty girls get the axe and

(41:11):
nice girls get the knife. It was after midnight when
Juliette's mother returned home. She saw the front door packed
to pieces and rushed inside to look for her daughter.
Gazing around at the carnage, her eyes struggled to take
it all in. Then she began screaming in absolute horror.

(41:33):
The Christmas tree was decorated with Juliette's entrails, and her
severed head was perched on the top. And now my
final story, This one's called Machete Santa, my Medea Shariff.

(41:58):
You can't open your Presence now, Richie said, not on
Christmas Eve, but I want to. Naldo screwed up his face.
You have to wait until the morning. The cousins were
in front of the Christmas tree and Richie's living room.
Richie admired the brightly lit angel on top, while Naldo's
eyes were fixed on the Presence with their colorful rappings.

(42:19):
I want to know if my parents got me the
game I wanted, Naldo said, what game? Richie asked, Machete Santa.
Richie frowned. What was the point of a Christmas themed
video game? It would only be fun for the month
of December. Naldo would probably throw it to the side
and forget about it. His parents spoiled him so much.

(42:41):
Their house looked like a toy store. The commercial for
Macheti Sanna looked like great fun. Though a bloody Sannah
ran around scaring people with a machete. A boy had
to knock him down using household objects. Food's ready, Richie's
mom called from the kitchen, where she and Aunt Lucy
were preparing roast beef for Christmas Eve dinner. He headed

(43:02):
to the dining room, turning around and expecting to see
Naldo at his heels, but his cousin was still at
the Christmas tree. Now he was bent down looking at
the labels. He picked up a package and shook it. Naldo, No,
Richie said, all right, all right. Naldo rolled his eyes.
Ritchie was surprised. Naldo's parents bragged about how perfect their

(43:25):
son was. Amazing grades, athletic abilities, musical talents, simply amazing.
But well, he was not amazing in the patience department.
They sat down for their meal and the talk turned
to Naldo. He did the most wonderful diorama for his
social studies project. At Lucy said, you should see his report. Card.

(43:47):
Uncle Ray bragged all a's he is also excelling above
everyone in his karate class at Lucy gave Richie a
sad look because he wasn't athletic in the least little
bit and chubby. Ritchie was the type of boy who
got picked last for sports teams in Pe and ran
out of breath easily, while tan and thin Naldo was

(44:08):
good at everything. Richie pressed his lips together. His parents
shoveled food into their mouths, having nothing nice to say
about him. It wasn't just Christmas Eve, but Naldo is
great Day. Richie's stomach churned with all of the food
he'd eaten. He burned. His parents frowned at him. Meanwhile,
when Naldo burped, the adults chuckled. Had a satisfying meal,

(44:31):
sport Uncle Ray asked, people, slurped coffee, and chewed on
the assortment of cookies. Richie could take it no longer.
He was about to burst, so was everyone else. They
all wanted to go to bed early, tired from that
huge meal and eager to get up early to unwrap presents.
It wasn't even ten yet, but people were taking turns

(44:53):
in the two bathrooms to brush their teeth and change
into pajamas. Lights and televisions went out. Lucy and Uncle
Ray were in the guest bedroom. Richie's little brother and
sister and Naldo's little sister all shared a room. Richie
was sharing his bed with Naldo. Richie slid underneath the
covers to join his cousin. They had always shared a

(45:14):
bed and get togethers like these, but now that they
were older and bigger, the bed felt cramped. Richie's stomach gurgled,
but Naldo didn't tease him about it. Even though everybody
treated Naldo like a king, he wasn't snobby or mean
to Richie. His eyes were open and he stared at
the ceiling. If you're not in the mood to sleep,

(45:35):
you can watch TV. Richie offered, It won't bother me. No, now,
I'll sleep now. Naldo said, okay. Richie didn't believe his
cousin because he still had his eyes open. Richie, on
the other hand, was a heavy sleeper. But soon after
he knotted off, Richie heard the clicks of the door,
which was gentle, yet it still woke him. When he turned,

(45:58):
Naldo wasn't there. Where was his cousin. His heart pounded
with unease. He looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand.
It was half past eleven. Richie went downstairs, each step
creaking under his weight. A light crept up from the stairwell.
A faint noise from the TV reached him the closer
he got to the ground floor, Richie stood in the

(46:20):
living room fixated on something or some one in an armchair.
It looked like a person was sitting there, or maybe
it was just the shadow of the Christmas tree falling
on it. Naldo in here, Naldo said from the other room.
Richie shook his head. He must be seeing things. He
walked into the family room. Naldo was on the gaming system,

(46:43):
playing a game Richie had never seen before. A pudgy
boy was maneuvering himself around the kitchen, running away from
a Santa with a machete. What is this? Richie gasped
at the torn red and green wrapping paper beneath Naldo's feet.
What did you do? Not even midnight yet I couldn't sleep,
Naldo said, this game is really cool. Richie picked up

(47:06):
the case that the game came in. Machete Santa was
at a bloody, dripping font. Scenes that he had seen
on the commercial were displayed on the back advisory do
not open before Christmas. Huh why would it say that?
Naldo had the volume low as not to disturb anyone upstairs.
So when the armchair in the other room creaked, Richie

(47:29):
heard it, a chill ran down his body. If his
cousin was here, then who was seated in the living
room's armchair. Turning away from Naldo, he walked to that
empty space, or what should have been an empty space
since everyone else was asleep Dad, Richie called out, Uncle Ray, Oh, no,

(47:50):
I'm losing. Naldo whispered, take that Santa. In spite of
his cousin's yelps of excitement or failure, depending on whether
he was winning or not, she made himself focus on
the dark lump in the armchair. It wasn't someone's coat
thrown over the chair. It didn't look like one of
his sister's stuffed animals either. Hello, Richie said, The lump

(48:13):
didn't move. It must have been his imagination. He was
spooped by Naldo's intense curiosity of the horror game and
how he'd opened it before Christmas morning, And then there
was that weird message on the case, saying not to
open it before Christmas. Richie sighed, oo came from the lump. No,

(48:35):
that had to be from Naldo. He must have lost
the game. Woo. Richie's eyes widened. The lump shifted and
stood up. A red and white cap rested on his head,
and the rest of him was also in those colors,
including the bloody machete in his hand. It was the
Killer Santa from the video game. Ah. Richie, screamed Richie

(49:00):
and through the sliding French doors and the family room
and slid them closed. H Naldo put that controller down
and stopped playing. What's wrong? There's this crazy Sanna out there?
Ha ha, Naldo said, stop playing. Santa's right here on
the screen. There was an explosive bang against the glass

(49:20):
doors as Sana pounded on them with a fist, the
machete in his other hand. Naldo jumped hearing the booming sound,
and both boys backed up into the room. Not only
was the machete bloody, but so were Sanna's face and beard.
Blood smeared all over the glass. This Santa like creature
shoved a gloved hand between the doors and pried them open.

(49:42):
The boys screamed, They rushed into the kitchen, which joined
the family and living rooms, and Santa followed. Here's one
of your karate moves. Richie yelled, I can't. Naldo shook
his head, cowering in the corner next to the oven.
Do it, Karate chop him. Sanna smiled, his teeth full
of blood with the machete raised. I don't know karate,

(50:05):
Naldo confessed, I just started, and I stink at it.
Santa brought his weapon down. Ritchie lunged out of the way,
and the machete stuck into the cutting board. Ritchie and
Naldo ran again, this time to the living room. Richie
was out of breath, but he wasn't going to let
Santa stick his machete into his soft flesh. He grimaced
his face tight, his chest heaving. He noticed something on

(50:28):
the coffee table. It was the plateful of cookies that
his little sister had arranged for the real Santa. He
reached for the dish and threw it at the monster.
The cookies scattered onto the floor. Santa dropped his machete
and crouched down, shoveling cookies into his mouth like a savage.
Naldo ran off, leaving Richie to fend for himself. How

(50:49):
could his cousin do that to him? Aunt Lucy was
always boasting about Naldo's generous, helpful spirit. It all came
down to Richie. He went under the tree and grabbed
a long object that had ribbon on the end of it.
It was a golf club for Uncle Ray. Santa was
still eating when Richie whacked him on the back of
the head. Santa was unsteady on his feet, but he

(51:11):
hadn't fallen down, so Richie whacked him again. The heavy
thud of his body on the hardwood floor was a blessing.
Richie went to the family room, where Naldo was hiding
under a sofa coward and turned off the video game.
It had been frozen on Santa's bloody face. He also
pulled every plug, including the ones for the TV, the satellite,

(51:32):
and the speakers. There was no time to figure out
which one was for the gaming system. Naldo had a
phone pressed to his ear nine to one one. His
cousin said, we need help. Santa has a machete. At
least Naldo was being useful now, what was that noise?
Ritchie's mother cried from the stairwell. Richie Naldo. Aunt Lucy said.

(51:55):
Richie rushed to his mother, stepping around the fallen Santa.
He tried to kill us, Naldo, are you okay? And
Lucy held him tight. Did you hurt this crazy man
with the golf club? Brave boy? No, it was him,
Naldo said. Richie took him down. Their fathers joined them downstairs.

(52:16):
Just as Machete Santa was stirring awake, his sweeping arms
and legs streaking the floor with blood. Police lights spun
across the windows. There was a knock on the door.
When Aunt Lucy opened it, two police officers burst in.
They pulled this Santa person to his feet and handcuffed him.
He snarled at everyone and then focused on Naldo. You

(52:37):
shouldn't have played that game, foodish boy. Machete Santa just
bared his bloody teeth. We've had a lot of break
ins from Santa's all over the city, one of the
police officers told Richie's father. Naldo gave Richie a meaningful look.
He hadn't been the only impatient game player in the city.
That evil game had been in many households saved the day.

(53:01):
Richie's father said, Peah champ, you did, His mother smiled.
Richie stood taller. He was brave. He had defeated the
crazy machety Santa from the video game. And then there
was the other realization Naldo wasn't perfect. What else about
Naldo's image had been a lie? Richie thought about all

(53:23):
those years of being compared to Naldo. His relatives would
say cutting remarks under their breath and give each other
sly knowing looks whenever Richie didn't match up to his
precious cousin. Then he let go of those feelings. It
wasn't important now to tell them that they'd been wrong.
What was important was that Richie had saved them all

(53:44):
before Santa could go upstairs and hurt the family. They
were all safe because of him. The clock above the
mantle struck midnight. Everyone looked at it, and then they
all turned to Santa, who was sandwiched between the officers.
Richie couldn't believe it. He rubbed his eyes. Santa's massive
body was changing. His form flickered as if it were

(54:07):
static on a TV, in flashes lasting a second long.
Santa's body suddenly wasn't there, flashed on, then it was there,
but then it wasn't there again and flashed again, fainter
and fainter and fainter, and then he was gone, just
like in the video games poof the Santa character had
been conquered. The pair of handcuffs clattered to the floor.

(54:55):
Well did you like the stories I told? If so,
tell all your friends and family members about the Spooky
Sana podcast so that they can listen to. Even though
it's now Christmas Eve, all the episodes are still there
to go back and listen to in case you missed one,
or in case you want to share it with your friends.
And remember, you can write your own scary story and

(55:17):
email it to me at letters at Spookysana dot com
and I might use your story next Christmas. Now, as
I promised my favorite cookie, i'm often asked what my
favorite cookie is. Well, as tonight is the big night,
I'll let you in on a little secret. It's those
cookies and glasses of milk that give me the energy

(55:38):
and speed that I need to make it to all
of the children's houses in one night. And there's one
very special kind of cookie that gives me more energy
than any other. It's any cookie that's left for me
by a child that has Christmas magic in it. Well, now,
how do you know if your cookie has magic? Well,
you can't just cookies that have magic in them. No,

(56:03):
you have to put the Christmas magic into the cookies.
And here's how you do it. You can do this
with any cookie you have. Before you put it onto
the plate for me, hold it in your fingers with
both hands, close your eyes, and say out loud, I
wish for this cookie to become magic. That's it. There's

(56:24):
no more powerful wish than a Christmas wish that you
wish on behalf of someone else. Just hold each cookie
and say, I wish for this cookie to become magic.
If you do that, I would really appreciate it. And
if you're leaving out carrots or something else for the reindeer,
will you could do the same for those That way,
the Reindeer team doesn't get too tired. As we travel

(56:46):
through the night, I see Crampis pulling up in his
fifty seven Chevy, so I gotta go. If you want
to learn more about the stories that I've told or
the authors who wrote them, you can find links in
this episode's show notes. Pokie Sanna It's a registered trademark
of Marlar House Productions, copyright Marlar House Productions, twenty nineteen.

(57:07):
And now be a good little boy or girl and
go to bed when your parents tell you to so
I can visit tonight. I can't show up if you're
still awake. And I love you so very much. I'll
be thinking of you, not just tonight, but all the
year through. Happy Christmas to all, and to all a
good night from Spooky Santa.