By Ash D


Jimmy loved Christmas, ever since he blossomed into a 50 year old with a white beard and a pot belly. Kids were instinctively drawn to him around this time of year, and Jimmy loved kids. Every Christmas eve, he wore his Santa outfit like the Bat costume. A cloak of invisibility and invincibility.

He lowered himself into the chimney of the town house.

It was nearly midnight. Colin was waiting.

Only problem was that it was a very tight fit.

It started out fine. He had lowered himself a good four feet before he realised that the walls tapered towards the end. He sucked in his belly and that lowered him down a few more inches but that was it.

He’d have to drag himself back up and go through the windows. Colin would be disappointed. He’d been looking forward to Santa coming down the chimney ever since Jimmy had floated the idea by him a few months ago. Online.

“How you doing there, Jimmy?” said a voice from above.

Jimmy looked up and saw a face staring at him from the top of the chimney. A face he knew.

“Alan”, said the man. “Alan Bailey. Sam’s dad.”

Jimmy remembered Sam well. Christmas 2013.

Alan Bailey was holding a platform broom like the most pathetic lance in history. But a lance nonetheless.

Jimmy tried to scramble up the chimney.

Alan smashed him on the head with the broom. Right on the top of his head. Hurt like hell.

“My wife’s here too”

Another face peered at him. Crazy and deranged.

“And you know Sam”.

The kid’s face appeared.

Jimmy almost gagged. “That’s impossible”

“He survived” said Alan. “Police kept it quiet. Didn’t want you coming back for him”

Jimmy was struggling to get a foothold. He’d slipped down even more, sweating like he was.

“That gave me time to prepare a few things” said Alan. “You see, I was never a big fan of all this online stuff. But I had to learn. And boy did I learn. I’m Colin by the way. This is a house I’m renting”

Jimmy felt a warm trickle down his legs.

“Here’s what’s going to happen now” said Alan. “See this?” he nodded at Sam, who held up what looked like a jug.

“This is a catering urn. Keeps things at boiling temperature. 2 litres in each. We’ve got 20 here.”

He spat at Jimmy.

“Sam’s going to do the honours. Then my wife. Then me. Then we’ll take turns, slowly, one by one. This will be a an amazing Christmas for my boy”

T’was the night before Christmas and not a creature was stirring, apart from the hissing and screaming from the most vile of them all.