Santa?

This is my Creepypasta Christmas special!

WARNING: GRAPHIC DISPLAYS HAVE BEEN ENTERTAINED HERE. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Please enjoy. >:3

Santa?

    I was a young boy. Only about seven or eight years old. The time of November brought frost to the grounds, peaking my hope for snow. It always snowed though. I did live in Wisconsin after all. Thanksgiving had just passed, and already the cuts between shows flourished with advertisements of the holidays. And Santa. 

    Every little boy believed in Santa. Yes, the jolly old man who breaks into your house at night and gives you gifts. I still can’t believe how gullible children are. Especially in those days.

    “Frankie! Come down for dinner!” I could hear my mom hollering from the kitchen. I picked myself off the floor, my puzzle of Iron Man unfinished. As I tottered down the stairs, the scent of spaghetti and meatballs walked towards me. They were my favorite.

    “Here,”I answered. Then, as always, she would turn her head and comment,”That’s getting a bit trite. Don’t you think?”

    My father would be hidden behind the newspaper like a turtle. His name tag read “Travis Fredno”.

    The Travis turtle would now poke out its head and speak.

    “Yeah...But that’s called routine honey.”

    He and mother had been having little spats outside of my peripheral view, but I knew what was happening. I wondered why.

    The night went along smoothly. The spaghetti filled our bellies, and rested our souls. That night, I asked them something I asked probably every November.

    “What type of cookies will we make Santa?” My parents would look to each other and act like they were thinking hard on the subject. Then they’d whisper into each other’s ears very dramatically, making me giggle at their faces. When I laughed, no spat of theres could erupt.

    “Well...a very hard decision,”my father said as he contemplated. “We’re going with chocolate chip!”

    “Yay!”I cheered. That then ended dinner and the night.

    My mother led the way up the stairs, Father bringing up the rear. We approached my room, now cleansed. Mother had asked me to clean it after dinner.

    I slipped between the sheets, my body feeling like an unhatched cocoon. Father and Mother took turns kissing me on my forehead, their lips warm and filled with love.

    “Good night sweetie,”Mother would always whisper into the crack at my door.

    “Night, Mommy,”I replied. My eyes began to close as the door did the same. Sleep came almost instantly.

    Excitement filled my head as it was the night before Christmas. The snow was blowing outside, achieving my hopes. Our Christmas tree was ready, and so were our cookies. Everything seemed so perfect to me.

    I ran up to my room early from dinner with the excuse that I was full. They let it slide since it was Christmas. 

    I tried to imagine sugar plums and gifts up to my nose as I tossed and turned it bed. I finally was able to catch some sleep after about thirty minutes of turning.

    I flashed open my eyes to a dark room. My room. My clock showed eight o’clock. Santa would’ve come by then.

    I, as a curious child, went to see if I could discover any gifts.

    On the kitchen floor, something was wolfing down on a crunchy item. Almost like...like bones. The floorboards were stained crimson. 

    Crunch. Splsh. Cru-cruunch. Spplssh.

    It was making quite a mess. I wanted so badly to tell it to stop. To stop so Mother won’t get mad. Something made me watch it slurp up the revolting arteries through its blemished teeth. I was thinking fear

    It was huge. I could’ve seen it as a large red ball by mistake, but I saw it was wearing a red coat. It seemed to have been white at one point for its ends were bleached unevenly. Around its middle looped a black belt.

    Suddenly, my body started to move on its own, taking itself to the bone-crunching thing. I stood there. I got a close up on this creature.

    I saw that it wasn’t a creature at all. It was human. A man. He wore a hat, red like his coat.

    The things he feasted on were also human. I knew because I was staring at my mother’s head.

    “Santa?”I whispered as I stared in awe at my disfigured mother.

    He stopped crunching and turned his head to me. His eyes showed a pure black. His beard was drenched in red crust. He was simply horrifying.

    “Santa?”he asked, his voice like a demonic singing group. He chuckled with a psychotic gleam in his pitch black eyes.“Sorry, lost little soul, but you’ve said it wrong.”

    The man stood, over two feet taller than I.

    “It’s Satan.”

    The man turned from me, wiping up some of my Mom’s blood with an already bloody hand. He wrote something on the wall that I could not yet read in the dim light. I cringed at a bone-chilling sound of a jab of metal on flesh.

    I watched Satan walk out of the door. His footsteps disappeared at only the second step.

    I dared to look out the window. No one was there.

    Finally, I sat down. I wept. I wept until I could almost not breathe.

    I opened my eyes around nine o’clock. The massacre was breath-taking.

    My mother’s body lay upon the kitchen floor, her blood pooling until it met with the carpet to the living room. Her...her head. It was pinned to the wall by a crusted crimson knife.

    The handwritten words I read aloud to myself.

    “LIAR.”

    The head hung beneath those words. More were scribbled below that.

    “Thanks for the cookies, but next time I’d appreciate your head next, Travis the Cheater.”