Tommy was eight years old when he first saw Santa in the flesh. Not some bloodless department store Santa, but the real Santa who came through the chimney and ate whatever you left out there for him to eat and left whatever he felt like leaving you.

Tommy had a habit of getting up most nights and wandering through the house. He was a little clumsy and he was always running into things, and afraid his parents would hear him and lose their minds. That was a funny expression but he knew it was true. He’d seen them do exactly that—get so mad their faces changed until he didn’t recognize them anymore and then they’d do things, stomp around and break his toys and hit him and stuff. Tommy was big for his age but he wasn’t very strong. He got hurt easily. But at least he didn’t complain about it. He kept his mouth shut when he got hurt.

Christmas Eve when Tommy was eight years old he couldn’t sleep. He lay in bed for a couple of hours just staring at the ceiling and listening to the house. They had an old house that made a lot of noise: pops and cracks and little stepping sounds like mice or cockroaches moving across the kitchen floor or maybe even little men—who could know for sure? When his mom and dad were asleep and it was quiet enough he heard those little steps almost every night.

He got up that Christmas Eve and walked down the hall. He was really careful when he crept past his mom and dad’s bedroom. He could hear them snoring—his mom sounding like she couldn’t breathe, like someone was putting a hand over her mouth and then taking it away over and over again—she gasped like she was dying—his dad snarling and snorting like he was furious. Sometimes his dad talked in his sleep, and although Tommy couldn’t understand the words he knew they were angry words.

His mom’s fat black cat Mimi passed him in the hall. Mimi was his mom’s cat because she was mean and scratched everybody else. His mom said it was because she was the only one who fed the damn thing and if some people would only do their share of the work then maybe that cat would like them too. Tommy tried to do his chores right but his mom said she might as well do them herself than let him screw things up again. Tommy didn’t think the cat would like him even if he did feed her every once in awhile.

Tommy made it all the way downstairs to the living room without waking them up. He was proud of himself. Some day he would be the very best in the whole world at sneaking around. He just had to keep practicing.

Tommy pulled out his little red flashlight and let it shine on the floor and at the living room furniture and finally at the Christmas tree in the corner, dark now with its lights out. Tommy thought the tree was pretty special when they had the decorations on and everything all lit up. It didn’t look that special now, all skinny and dark. Some of the ornaments lay scattered on the floor—Mimi liked to pull them off. He turned his flashlight off and on real fast a few times hoping that would make the tree special again but it didn’t.

Tommy crept closer and shined his flashlight on the presents lying under the tree. There were new ones with his name on them, and they all said they were from Santa. But they were wrapped in the Christmas paper his mom bought at the grocery store last week. He’d asked her about that before. She told him Santa might bring the presents, but she sure as hell had to wrap them.

Tommy could tell he didn’t get anything he’d wanted. None of the packages were shaped like a football or a basketball or any other kind of ball. That was all he’d asked for. He’d learned not to ask for much so that there would be less disappointment when he didn’t get it. He picked up each wrapped package and shook it and was pretty sure they were all clothes. Well, he always needed clothes—he outgrew everything so fast. They were always telling him how much money he cost them. But he’d been hoping for something a little fun this year.

He heard a noise like a knock or a thump so he ducked behind the couch and put his ear against the floor. He figured he could hear someone coming from anywhere in the house that way. Then he heard steps across the floor, and then there was this thrumming inside his head like some kind of engine noise. He opened his eyes. It was Mimi, staring at him with her eyes wide. He waited for her to claw him but she didn’t. Maybe she was in a rare good mood. Tommy put his head back down and closed his eyes, and eventually he went to sleep.

He woke up again and it was still dark, still the middle of the night. His ears were ringing like when he had a head cold, like someone was holding him underwater. He crawled on his hands and knees to the edge of the couch and looked around.

The Christmas tree lights were slowly blinking to life, a soft twinkling at first, then brighter and brighter, as if they were pulling in more and more electricity. A few of them become so bright Tommy was sure they were going to catch on fire.

The fireplace bricks began to shift and crumble. The floor was trembling. Tommy raised his hands, sure the bricks were going to fly across the room. Then something happened to the air, and he could feel this heavy pressure that stopped up his ears and made his face ache. A large red face suddenly appeared in the brick, like his dad’s face when he’d been drinking too much. The face was pushing its way out of the brick, and then a red stocking cap appeared, popping out of the widening cracks, and there was Santa’s bushy white beard moving around as if it were full of bugs. Then the rest of the body squeezed out of the bricks and Santa shook himself off. And when he shook he stank like a barn full of cows.

It was Santa all right, but looking nothing like any of the pictures Tommy had ever seen. Santa was taller than the Christmas tree and as wide as two refrigerators. His big, floppy face stretched out with a grin from one ear to the other. He yawned hugely and Tommy could smell his terrible breath and see his mouthful of rotting teeth. Santa’s skin had gotten even redder, as red as a tomato. Tommy held his breath waiting for Santa’s head to explode.

Santa looked around the room, frowning. “Where’s my treat?” Tommy was afraid his mom and dad would hear and come downstairs. But maybe that was the least of his problems.

Then Santa stared right at Tommy. “Boy, come out of there! I need my treat! I’ve come a long way and I’m feeling a little light-headed.”

Tommy crawled out from behind the couch and shakily stood up. “I guess there isn’t one. I guess they didn’t think you were coming.”

“I see. Your mom and dad, stingy are they?”

“No, no. They’re nice people, Santa. But they can’t afford the moon, you know?”

“Is that what your daddy says, boy? Is he always talking about how he can’t afford the moon, whatever you ask for? Well, I know the type.”

His mom’s cat walked between them then. Santa looked down at it and grinned. “What’s the cat’s name, boy?”

“M-m-mimi, Sir.”

“Mimi, hmmm. Sounds yummy.”

“My mom keeps cookies hidden in a drawer!” Tommy said quickly. “I’m not supposed to know, but I saw her put them there! I can get them for you—there’s a whole bunch!”

“Well, don’t just stand there! My tummy’s growling!” Santa said. And it was. His belly sounded as if there were a bunch of fighting dogs inside.

Tommy ran into the dining room and pulled three bags of cookies from underneath a folded tablecloth in one of the sideboard drawers. When he came back Santa swept them from his arms and stuffed them down his throat bags and all. Tommy could see a huge lump move down Santa’s throat until it disappeared. “Got anything else?”

“Wasn’t—wasn’t that enough?” Tommy started to back away, wondering if he could outrun Santa’s long legs.

“Hmmm.” Santa scratched his beard. A rat fell out of it and ran off into the dining room. Tommy could hear Mimi cry out as she began the chase. “Maybe so. I pretty much ate my fill at the Gibson house. You know the Gibsons?”

“I go to school with their son. Felix.”

“Nice boy. Very nice. Well, maybe I’ve eaten enough for one night.” He frowned at Tommy then, his eyes looking dark and ferocious. “You can’t tell anyone about this, you hear? It’s bad luck, catching Santa in the act.”

Tommy nodded. “I won’t, Santa.”

“Good boy. Now good luck . . .” He scanned the floor with all its dust, ash, and rubble. “With all this.” He turned toward the chimney.

“Bye, Santa,” Tommy said.

“Wait!” Santa turned back around. “Almost forgot.” He pounded himself on the chest a couple of times and opened his mouth, making a deep coughing sound.

Tommy stepped back. A glistening reddish-brown football flew out of Santa’s mouth, which Tommy miraculously caught. It was soaking wet and slimy, a little stinky, but it appeared to be brand new.

Santa wiped the drool off his mouth and said, “You might want to hide that, by the way, to avoid any embarrassing questions.” He backed into the fireplace and started to fade into it. “Next year, don’t be afraid to ask for more. As long as you remember them treats.” And then he was gone.

Tommy started to sweep up some of the dust but of course there was no way he could fix all the broken bricks around the fireplace so he finally gave up and just went to bed. The next morning he woke up to the sounds of his dad yelling and cursing and stomping around. He went downstairs to face whatever his parents wanted to do to him.

“I know you did this—I just don’t know how you did this,” his dad said quietly, staring at him. When Tommy’s dad used his soft voice like that he was even scarier. Tommy wondered if he ran out the door right then if his dad could catch him. The old man was drinking already, so maybe not.

“That boy couldn’t break those bricks—he’s not strong enough. You’ve seen him try to lift things—he’s useless.” His mom patted his dad’s arm as she said this. Of course she wasn’t defending Tommy—she just didn’t want his dad to go on a rampage and completely ruin the holiday.

That all changed later that day when she discovered that the cookies were missing. Tommy went to bed without Christmas dinner, with a promise that next year he was getting nothing at all. Of course he knew his parents wouldn’t remember that long, and underneath his bed he still had that bright and shiny new football.

For Christmas of his ninth year Tommy asked for a chemistry set. His mom and dad looked at him as if he were crazy. “There’s no way!” his dad said.

“But if Santa brings it, can I keep it?”

His mom and dad looked at each other. His mother shrugged. His dad smiled grimly. “Sure, kid. If Santa is stupid enough to bring you something you’ll blow yourself up with, sure, you can keep the damn thing.”

Late Christmas Eve Tommy snuck down to the living room with a giant bag of goodies he’d been hoarding for months: licorice sticks and candy corn and apples and oranges and stale Easter Peeps, a giant bag of candy saved from Halloween, and two full jars of peanut butter and jam.

Mimi, older and still fat and still annoying kept trying to grab the treats and he had to push her away with his foot. Once she dug her claws deep into his knee and he had to bite his lip to keep from screaming. He spent some time arranging the treats in front of the fireplace (completely repaired by his dad, although several of the bricks were a different shade of red and had been put in crookedly) so that Santa would see them as soon as he appeared.

Tommy was almost finished when he felt that ringing in his ears, and then a pressure so strong it made him drop to the floor. He closed his eyes against the pain and several hard and heavy things fell on his back. He started crawling on his hands and knees as fast as he could to get away.

He bumped into something cool and smooth and he opened his eyes. It was massive, black, and shiny. Tommy leaned back a little. It was a giant boot. Looking up he saw the colossal swollen head nodding toward him, the burning black eyes and lively beard, the cheeks glowing purple. Santa grinned a shark’s grin—his teeth were several inches long and came down to needle-like points.

“You’re bigger,” Santa said. “Too many burgers? Or is it ice cream?” Tom scrambled to his feet and backed away. Santa was so wide he hid the fireplace from view, but when he bent down and began gobbling up his treats Tommy could see that the fireplace was almost completely destroyed. One of Santa’s boots crushed part of the Christmas tree, which hadn’t been all that big in the first place.

Santa’s oversize head wobbled like one of those carnival bobble heads as he looked around the room. “You still have that football I gave you last year?”

“Y-yes,” Tommy replied. “I only play with it with my friends at the playground. M-mom and Dad, they still don’t know I h-have it.”

“Oh, you have friends?” Santa puffed out his huge blubbery lips like he didn’t believe him.

“That’s mean, Santa.”

“Just kidding!” Santa boomed. “Don’t be so serious!” He laughed, his belly shaking like a bowl full of—No, Tommy thought. Santa’s belly moved in massive waves that knocked half of the living room furniture over. Tommy was glad his mom and dad had been drinking so heavily that night. Still, he wondered what might happen if they woke up and saw Santa like this. The idea of seeing their terrified faces thrilled him. “But is this all the treats you have? I’m starving! Can’t you see how I’m wasting away?”

That stupid cat Mimi walked between them then, and before Tommy could say anything else Santa stretched out an enormous black-gloved hand and scooped the cat up and dropped her into his gaping mouth. Santa chewed some, grinding his teeth so loudly it drowned out the cat’s screeches, and then he pounded his chest hard as he swallowed.

Tommy started to cry, wondering if Santa was going to eat him next.

“Hush, boy. Are you saying you liked that cat? Tell the truth—I know you didn’t!” Tommy shook his head. “No—that’s what I thought. I’m satisfied now, thanks for asking. I just needed a little protein, you know? Protein builds muscle. You need more protein, boy!”

Tommy nodded dumbly. How was he going to explain the missing cat? He looked around at the devastation. How was he going to explain any of this?

Santa put a finger to his nose with a drunken-looking lop-sided grin. After a minute or two with nothing happening he sighed and shook his head. Then he turned and disappeared into the gigantic hole where the fireplace used to be.

Tommy woke up the next morning to a lot of rage and anger, but much to his surprise none of it was directed at him. He came downstairs to see his dad screaming on the phone at someone from the insurance company. More of the wall behind the fireplace had collapsed, leaving a clear view to the outside. He could see his mom through the hole, out in the yard calling for Mimi. Dust and bricks were everywhere. Whatever was left of the Christmas tree lay on its side, covered in rubble.

“I don’t know when it happened! We were asleep, dammit! How should I know? It’s been a rough holiday—we needed our sleep I guess. I work for a living! I just want you to do your job and get out here!” His dad slammed down the phone. He looked at Tommy, frowning. “Somebody drove into the side of the house last night. You didn’t hear anything?”

Tommy shook his head. “Not a peep.”

“Well, neither did we. And that damn cat ran away.”

His mother came stumbling back inside through the hole in the wall. Tommy thought to tell her how dangerous that was, but figured he’d better keep his mouth shut. Her face was wet from crying, which surprised him. He never thought she might actually love that cat. “Well, she’s gone for good!” she cried. “Or else they took her.”

“Who the hell would want…” his father began, but then the terrible look on his mom’s face stopped all conversation.

It wasn’t until they were cleaning up that afternoon that his dad found the package in the corner, undamaged. “What the hell is this!” He held up a giant brightly-colored box. Junior Mad Scientist’s Chemistry Set! was emblazoned in neon green lettering across the front of the box.

“It looks like Santa brought me that chemistry set I asked for,” Tommy said, beaming.

His dad glanced at the kitchen where his mother was fixing dinner. “I’ll kill her,” he muttered.

“You said I could keep it if Santa brought it,” Tommy said, not quite able to get rid of his smile.

His dad put down the box and went upstairs for the rest of the day.

Tommy spent most of the next year gathering together everything he could think of that a monstrous and unpredictable Santa might eat. His parents never came into his room anymore so he had no worries about them finding anything.

Some of these Santa treats were canned goods he’d pilfered from the kitchen, taken one can at a time and not very often so his mother didn’t suspect anything. Now and then he’d take one of his dad’s beers, and once a bottle of whiskey hidden in some towels. That caused a big fight between his mom and dad but they were always fighting anyway so he didn’t feel too guilty about it. They were still fighting over who gave him that chemistry set—each calling the other a liar.

By the time his tenth Christmas rolled around Tommy had ample food to feed an army of regular Santas, and he hoped it would somehow satisfy this monster Santa once and for all. He had a dozen or more boxes of canned food, huge stacks of stale bread loaves, sacks full of candies and spoiled fruit, and a load of stuff no normal person would eat—rotten fish heads and a dead squirrel and his old marble collection.

His dad lost his job early in the year and was home most of the time drinking. His mom worked long hours for a house cleaning company and was so tired and disgusted when she got home she didn’t clean their own house anymore. Most nights they had pizza or Tommy heated up his own Ramen noodle soup. He didn’t know how his dad survived—Tommy hardly ever saw him eat.

But he made a long Christmas list anyway. What did it matter? Santa was the one who brought the good presents. Tommy asked for a big kid’s bike, video game console, a weight lifting set, skateboard, a box of toy soldiers, a bunch of adventure books, and so many other things he couldn’t remember them all. His parents took one look at his list and didn’t say a word. Later he found it crumpled up in the trash.

On Christmas Eve his parents went to bed early leaving Tommy by himself. They never got around to decorating the tree so Tommy made ornaments out of construction paper, tape and glue, and hung them from the sparse branches.

It took a long time to haul all of Santa’s food downstairs. At least there weren’t any presents around taking up space. If his parents had bought him anything he certainly hadn’t seen evidence of it.

The fireplace had been rebuilt with the insurance money. The investigator couldn’t understand why there were no tire tracks out in the yard, but couldn’t come up with any other rational explanation for the damage. The company paid, and then cancelled their home insurance. His dad had railed about it all year long.

Tommy didn’t know what they’d do if the fireplace was destroyed again. Maybe they’d have to move. Not such a bad thing—maybe Santa wouldn’t be able to find them at a new address.

As soon as the last bit of food was in place Tommy felt a rumbling deep beneath his feet, then the house began to shake, mildly at first but increasing until pictures were falling off the walls. He felt a sudden blast of heat behind him and turned around to discover a fire in the new fireplace.

He studied the flames. They came to multiple points like a mouthful of glowing red teeth. Then he noticed the huge deep-set eyes at the back of the fireplace.

The interior of the fireplace was pushing out towards him, expanding, becoming this fierce red face, dragging flaming whiskers and hair and sideburns behind it, and an elongated body that might have been a giant snake’s, but which Tommy now realized looked more like a train. It poured its way down the chimney and out of the fireplace and across the living room.

A double door slid open in the side of the train and a naked red elf appeared, throwing a shiny new bicycle out into the room. Tommy grabbed it and immediately climbed on. It was incredible. He drove it into the dining room and rode it around the table a few times as the Santa train roared through the living room consuming everything in sight—not only the food, but the tree and all the furniture disappearing into its flaming maw. “Ho ho ho!” tooted the Santa horn.

Tommy stopped and looked into Santa’s train engine face. “Is this all I get?”

The Santa train roared, flames shooting out of its mouth. “Is that all you get? What else do you have to feed me?”

Tommy thought for a second. “Well I guess there’s some food in the refrigerator. Leftovers mostly, my mom doesn’t …”

Before he could finish the Santa train was locomoting into the kitchen, narrowing itself to get through the door. There was an explosive racket of metal screeches and heavy things being pushed around, cabinets scraped from walls and their contents crashing to the hard linoleum floor.

All this made Tommy very nervous so he rode his new bike around the table a few more times. It was all he could think of to do.

“Tommy?” It was his mother’s voice. He looked back into the living room and his parents were standing there in their pajamas and robes. It surprised him how colorless they looked. Compared to everything else they looked like they had no color at all. They were like black and white people who had accidentally wandered into a color movie.

Tommy rode his bike around the table as fast as he could. “See what Santa brought me? Santa brought me a new bike!”

The Santa train came roaring out of the kitchen then with its mouth and whiskers and eyebrows on fire. It ran right over his mom and dad before it came to a stop.

“So what else do you want?” the Santa train bellowed.

“I can’t decide I can’t decide!” Tommy cried, still racing his bike around the table.

The train door slid open again and three naked red elves waved. They appeared to be surrounded by row after row of shelves overflowing with toys, but it was hard to tell exactly what was on the shelves, or how far they extended. But just the glimpse made Tommy’s mouth go dry with excitement. “Then come inside come inside!” the elves cried in unison.

And after once more around the table that’s exactly what Tommy did, the door snapping shut so quickly behind him it severed his bike in two.

END

Originally appeared in the Dark Regions anthology Christmas Horrors Volume 2.

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EVERYDAY HORRORS

Everyday horrors, the unexpected twists encountered during an otherwise normal day. The skewed perspectives, those moments of transformative paranoia when everything appears as it might through a funhouse lens. The dreamlike narratives and rhythms which fracture consensual reality into genre-bending rides. When life becomes unmoored and the prosaic becomes surreal. These are the worlds portrayed in this new collection of 20 previously uncollected stories by Steve Rasnic Tem, winner of the World Fantasy, British Fantasy, Bram Stoker, and the Horror Writer Association’s Lifetime Achievement awards.

Included are such stories as “A Thin Silver Line” (originally scheduled for The Last Dangerous Visions), the folk horror “Gavin’s Field,” an aging man’s final road trip in “The Old Man’s Tale,” the Halloween musings of “When They Fall,” the personal apocalypse of “Privacy,” the Jack the Ripper revelations of “Monkeys,” the pandemic Wendigo tale “An Gorta Mór,” the cosmic horror “The Things We Do Not See,” a bizarre journey “Within the Concrete” from ParSec, and the heartbreaking “Memoria” from The Deadlands.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1637891768/

SCARECROWS: Appalachian Tales

Steve Rasnic Tem grew up in Lee County Virginia, the western most county in the state. It was the heart of Appalachia, isolated, yet beautiful. He has said “Growing up in that small place, it was hard to imagine ever becoming a writer. To me wanting to be a writer was like wanting to become an astronaut or a movie star. I didn’t believe such things ever happened for people like us.”

Now in his seventies, Steve Rasnic Tem’s writings include more than 500 published short stories in a variety of genres, 17 collections, 8 novels, and miscellaneous poetry and plays. He has won the World Fantasy, Bram Stoker, British Fantasy, and International Horror Guild awards. In 2024 he received the Horror Writers Association Lifetime Achievement Award.

Scarecrows: Appalachian Tales collects the best of Tem’s writings about his native Appalachia, 2 poems and 24 short stories (including 5 never before published tales) concerning the farmers, miners, teachers, preachers, lawmen, itinerants, housewives, elders, children, and creatures who call these southern mountains home. The tales represent a range of genres: fantasy, horror, crime, humor, and realistic local color fiction of the region. Available in both paperback and ebook formats.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1637891717/

About Steve

Steve Rasnic Tem's short fiction has been compared to the work of Franz Kafka, Dino Buzzati, Ray Bradbury, and Raymond Carver, but to quote Joe R. Lansdale: "Steve Rasnic Tem is a school of writing unto himself." His 470 plus published stories, sixteen collections, and eight novels have garnered him the British Fantasy Award, the World Fantasy Award, two International Horror Guild Awards, and four Bram Stoker Awards.

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I SAW SANTA

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EVERYDAY HORRORS

SCARECROWS: Appalachian Tales

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