I'm trying a little fiction this week. If you like it and want to read more, of this story or something different, let me know. In the Spirit of Christmas, I thought I'd present a different perspective on one of the great holiday icons. In the Spirit of Bad Christian, this one is not for children:
The demon flipped and wriggled, knocking Nik on his back and nearly breaking his hold. Nik held on, but only for one more second as it used its smooth skin and oozing slime to slip out of Nik’s arms and over his face. Nik sputtered, rolled on his stomach, and reached up toward the demon. The demon, back on its feet, lunged for Nik’s hands and bit off his left ring finger. Nik hollered and knocked it away, not noticing that he woke the child in the bed. The boy sat up sleepily, taking in the scene. He began to whimper.
The demon ricocheted off the wall of the bedroom, but as it twisted and turned to advance again, it felt a burning inside. Pain and confusion registered on its face.
“Ho ho ho,” said Nik, low and menacing. “Didn’t expect that did you, you creative piece of shit.”
The demon writhed, sliding around on the floor in its own slime, and with a final keen, dissolved into a large, black, sticky puddle. Nik stumped over in his big black boots and retrieved his finger from the middle of the mess. He stuck it back in place, held it there a moment, then flexed his hand. Good as new. Sainthood had its small advantages, he reflected as he looked over to check on the boy.
Devon Landis was nine years old. Earlier that day, investigating his parents’ bedroom, he found a magazine tucked under the mattress on his father’s side of the bed. He had transferred it to his own mattress, thrilled. Now, however, he was not thrilled. Now he was terrified. He gaped at Nik, a slime-covered horror, and thought, oddly, of presents. He took in Nik’s red suit with fur trim, long white beard and hair, black boots, and twinkling eyes. “Santa,” he bleated, confused.
“Godammit, kid; why’d you have to wake up?” Nik walked over to the bed, picked up Devon and slung him over his shoulder. He walked out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and out the front door. His sleigh, red and gold, and eight giant reindeer stood in the driveway. He dropped Devon into the front of the sleigh and tucked furs around him. As he walked around the back of the sleigh, he noticed another stain on his suit, besides the demon slime. He looked up to yell at Devon, and saw that the boy had passed out. “Christ, why do they always have to piss themselves?” Nik grumbled, then got into the sleigh, tucked furs around himself, snapped the reins and flew north.
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