It’s Christmas Eve,
A minute to midnight.
You should be excited,
But something’s not right.
You’re nowhere near sleepy
And your eyes should be shut tight
There’s something creepy,
About the house tonight.
A slow frost and a weak moon
The night’s in no rush
Nothing’s out of place just a weird
Unsettling, spine shivery, hush.
THE DOOR!
The bedroom door begins to open.
Creaking just a little
Someone does not want to wake you
But you are alert
You catch your breath
It is someone you know?
Is it? Is it?
A dark figure
In a dark cloak
Under a dark hood.
And you cannot see his face
He’s getting closer, closer
Your eyes are drawn to his sleeves
Something slowly, slowly emerges
His hands,
HIS HANDS!
They catch the light from the moon
You can see them now
They glisten
They are metal
The fingers are long and sharp as bayonets
They would rip out your throat
Or probe your brain through your eyes
Or tear out your heart.
They are not hands, they are talons
He laughs. Not ho-ho-ho
But Aaaahh-ha-ha.
A cackle.
And you try to scream, but you can’t
His hands are above you now
And you know, Oh yes you know
In that moment of deathly pause
As he reaches down for your face
It’s Santa Claws.
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