[TW: Swearing]

The snow howls outside my room, as the wind pushes it along.

I sit, with my knees to my chest, trying to stay deadly still and quiet.

It is said Santa Claus used to come round the world and give children presents. People used to wish for a white Christmas to better add to the Christmas feeling. But that was when Mrs Claus was alive. Nowadays we hope for snow to better conceal our tiny Scottish villages.

I hear a rattling, my dad told me it used to be a jingle. But Santa swapped out his bells for something more sinister. I tuck my head between my knees, praying he doesn’t land. But I hear a dull thump next door. I live on the outskirts, so he usually passes over to the main town, but not today. I cross my fingers, hoping the neighbours remeber to stay hidden and quiet. But I think I hear a stifled cry. A pause. And then…

Santas heavy boots thump along the wooden floors, the sound travelling through the thin walls. I close my eyes tightly, tighter than they were before, and I dig my fingers into my ears. But it’s not enough.

I hear begging; a thump as something falls to the floor.

Next, pleading to save the children; a crack and another thump.

The sound of crying, and then silence.

My breathing hitches as I try desperately not to cry.

I used to babysit those kids.

Deep breath in.

And out.

The sound of footsteps recedes. It’s my house next.

The sound of joy as Santa comes down the chimney. If I stay quiet, he should leave. He only checks the rooms where he would put the presents. So that’s the living room and-

Shit

I’m in the bedroom.

Oh shit.

How could I be so stupid.

Of course he would come in the bedroom.

The place of the- Jesus Christ the place of the fucking stockings.

My mind races thinking of solutions, but I come up blank. I can’t- I can’t breathe- what the fuck was I thinking a simple mistake that can cost my life. Jesus Christ. As my mind continues to whirlwind I hear a noise that was concealed by the walls.

“Who feeds the reindeer all their hay?”

Is that Santa?

“Who wraps the gifts and packs the sleigh?”

Is he _singing _

__“Who’s helping Santa everyday? Mrs. Santa Claus!” The singing morphs into a rendition of hummed jingle bells as Santas heavy boots clomp up the stairs. He checks the room next to mine and I crawl under the bed, sprawling myself out. My door bursts open, welcoming a swirling snowstorm. I remeber my teachers saying it’s supposed to represent his grief. That it was never there before. I used to call bullshit, but, if your wife’s death puts you on a murdering spree, I guess it must be a lot of grief. And there is a lot of snow. The floorboard creaks as he lifts his foot from it. _Maybe he’s leaving _I think, right before he slams down on my foot. I gasp out a breath as he drags my body across the floorboards. So this is it. I’m done. And I’m leaving with my dignity.

“Respectfully, fuck off.” I gasp out through the pain. As soon as it’s said I regret it. I didn’t have to. I could’ve have just stayed silent. Silence says more than talking typa thing. Maybe he’s going to kill me slowly now. But you know what. I refuse to spend my last minutes regretting my actions. “It’s rude to enter without permission.” I say, my face still facing the floor. I think I’m drunk off of pain hormones. Or whatever it is. I can’t be bothered to remeber. Stars in my eyes as he kicks me in the chest. Hard. He has a spike on the front of his boots. We were never told about that. The stars grow across my vision as I cough up blood. I thought being impaled in the chest would be a quick death. He kicks again. Why did he have to kick again? More blood gurgles out my mouth as I feel get sleepy. Is a word supposed to go between feel and get? I feel a slight shift as the jolly fat man crouches down. He lifts my head and I look into his black eyes. Black as coal. He shakes his head before slamming mine down on the floorboards. I hear a faint Ho Ho Ho before I slip off.