Good Morning Father Christmas

"Good morning Father Christmas."

"Seasons greetings cock sucker," Santa's voice was steel.
The boy could just make out an immense, far from rotund frame
silhouetted against the night. Not six feet away from him lay an empty
sack, it was big enough to hold a car... but that was okay.

He couldn't remember how he had got into this situation, but how could
he think about that now as piss dribbled down his leg and his bowels
were on the verge of collapse. As his eyes grew accustomed to the light
he began to see more of the hellish vision that stood before him, it
was too much to take. He fled.
Behind him a stab of laughter pierced the sky. "HO, HO, HO!" The ground
shifted with Santa's first stride, and he pursued the boy with the
grace and inevitability of a cat chasing a mouse.

The world was now a white blur, in another situation this could have
been a beautiful moonlit snowscape, a world of slowly melting snowmen ,
snow ball fights and the awaiting warmth of a mother's hug, but that
was a million miles away, a fantasy. The boy's world was the moment,
the few yards in front of him, the battle against the cold as it
drained him, and the fear that threatened to tear him apart. The boy
was in Santa's world now, and he understood with the same certainty of
his pursuer that the outcome was inevitable.

The rhythmic footsteps behind him were growing louder. A great sob
burst from the boy and his face was flooded with another wash of icey
tears. As he gained, a stench surrounded the boy. It filled his lungs
and invaded his brain making him dizzy. A stench beyond the boy's
imagination, it took hold of him and squeezed, wringing his colon like
a balloon and spraying shit into the boys already drenched Y fronts. It
was a tightening grip that forced away all hope.

And all at once he was upon him. Fuck. The boy was forced screaming
deep into the snow, an incredible weight bearing him down. Santa was a
raging, spitting animal.

*

There was movement in the darkness, a hundred pairs of yellow eyes
hanging about three feet off the floor. The boy tried to move but he
was being pinned down. The eyes were alight with mischief, a roman
audience baying for blood. Panic quickley took hold again.
"You're gonna fucking pay," a growl from nowhere.
Santa moved forward and the boy was able to see the monster in glorious
detail. He was huge. A coat made from animal hides that was still red
with their blood, barely contained the frame beneath. Santa had the
chest of a bull. His arms were unusually long with hands like shovels
that were black with caked gore. A wide belt was pulled tight around a
lithe waist, the nothches were all well worn. The boy perversely
noticed that he must have been on a diet. In one of his great hands he
held a large mallet with a dull metal head, much bigger than the boys'.
The elf-like creatures, still partially hidden in the darkness, were
getting excited now. They knew what was coming next...

Santa raised the mallet and moved forward. "You Fuck!" he bellowed, and
brought the formidable weapon down onto the boys' leg. It cracked clean
in two, the bones splintering out of the blood and pulp that was once
his knee. The boy let out a scream which went beyond human range of
hearing and tried in vain to pull away from the vice like grip. He
could see Santa raising his mallet once more and made a silent prayer
for unconsciousness to save him - but it didn't. The second blow came
down and Santa was enraged, "You fucking BASTARD!" Thud. "Fucking
smokin gear... Fucking abusing whores!" his face sprayed with blood and
intestine. "It always comes back to you...you fucking SEE!" A sideways
blow knocked the boy's right foot clean off. "Cheating! Lying! ...
Wanking!" (Extra emphasis was put on each point with a blow to the
ribs.) "Well look at you now!"

The boy was still alive. He knew what this monster was talking about,
he knew the crimes - all locked away in the corners of his mind. And he
was sorry. He looked up to see the mallet coming down on the left side
of his face and half his world dissapeared, not into blackness - into
nothing.

He looked up with his one remaining eye, looked into the face of his
killer and understood what it was all about. He was leaving the ruin of
his body now, looking down on the steaming wretched mess, and looking
down on P?re Noel as he brought down the final blow that would end his
life.