FINALLY CHRISTMAS

Thriller Stories | Sep 22, 2011 | 10 min read
64 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
Thriller Stories

FINALLY CHRISTMAS

Evening was beginning to fall in the small town of Bakers, Maine. It had snowed heavily earlier in the day and the temperatures were hovering very close to freezing. The weather service promised it would only get colder as the holiday approached. Last minute Christmas shoppers were out in full force buying anything they could wrap and give as a gift to some unsuspecting friend or relative.

Winslow McTosh stood with his hands in his back pockets looking out from his bookstore window. He watched the people running around, smiling to each other, their breath rising in the cold evening air like individual chimneystacks. The sight of grown men wearing Santa hats made him cringe. He shook his head slowly. He did not like the holidays, especially Christmas, but he didn't mind all the money people spent on it in his bookstore. He smiled every time he put another deposit into his growing bank account. His store was located beside a small coffee shop, which worked out very well for him. People like to read when they drink coffee and he could certainly help them with that.

 

He opened his front door and looked to his left. The same dumb-ass kid was still there, outside the coffee shop, ringing that damn bell. It had been four hours today and Winslow had reached his limit. He waved the young man over, and thinking he was going to get a large donation, he came, smiling. Winslow leaned in close to the young man's ear and spoke clearly.

"If you don't find another place to ring that freaking bell, I am going to shove it up your butt, and the only time it will ring is when you run like hell in the opposite direction."

He smiled and reminded the kid not to forget his bright red kettle. The young man was gone within two minutes. Winslow chuckled to himself as he returned to the warmth of his store.  Ah, the Christmas holidays.

He closed at five, turning away a few last minute shoppers, who were knocking on the locked door, by pointing to the sign listing the store hours.  One of the younger ones flipped him off and Winslow simply smiled back. They hurried on looking for still other things to spend their hard-earned money on.

He was headed home for a quiet night. He would settle in, and after a quick supper, he would spend the night sitting at his computer, working on his latest horror novel. He had some success in selling his short stories but he longed for some sort of recognition for his long hours spent spinning tales of gloom and doom.

He worked on a new novel for close to four hours and finished with only five salvageable pages. Some stories write hard, and this was one of them. He stopped around two in the morning, saving what was on the computer and went to bed. He turned the heat up and noticed the severe drop in the temputure in the house.

He dreamt of fame, of the recognition he so badly wanted and felt he deserved. In his dream, a short fat man claiming to be a publisher had made an offer on his latest story. It was more then he had ever imagined getting paid for his writing, and this guy was talking a book deal. Winslow woke out of breath and covered in a cold sweat but with the sad realization that it had all been a dream. He swore in frustration. He showered and dressed for the day. He checked the heat again and then left without turning after checking his computer.

He opened on time, as he did every day, and the mad Christmas shopping rush greeted him. Everyone wanted the latest book written by the other author from Maine. He had to admit, it was a great story. He had read everything the guy had ever written. He wondered when he would get the break he had been waiting for. His stuff was good, he just had to get it into the right hands. He had mailed out a new story over a week ago and hadn't heard a thing back from any of the publishers he had sent it to.  His own agent hadn't even returned his calls.

He worked on through the day, his only consolation was the money he was taking in from the sale of King's book. Christmas was only two days away and though he hated the holidays, he would enjoy the time the store was closed because of them. He could write uninterrupted.

The next two days went past in a blur, the register ringing up sales like never before. Taking a break he looked out the front window and noticed a fully dressed Santa staring into the store. Feeling charitable, Winslow waved. The Santa didn't wave back. He just stood close to the window and stared. It appeared no one else on the street was bothering with the man in red, because crowds were passing and no one seemed to notice him. Winslow turned away to take care of a customer and when he looked back, the Santa was gone.

Time to close came fast and Winslow breathed a sigh of

relief when he locked the front door and flipped over the closed sign. He walked quickly to the bank and using the night deposit, he dropped in the last holiday cash bundle.

Despite his hatred for all things Christmas, Winslow had to admit that it twas the season for making money.

Walking home that night in the fresh snow he saw footsteps ahead of him. They were larger then his feet and from the depth of them, the person was of good size, both in height and weight. He had assumed all the town's residents were tucked in by a warm fire and drinking eggnog. He glanced around and saw no one in the square.

He didn't drive to work this morning, cleaning the car off was too much of a waste of time, but tonight, he wished he had driven. He continued trudging through the deep snow, cursing winter and it's white offerings. He thought he heard jingle bells, almost sounding like they were attached to someone feet, with each step the bell would sound. He stopped and the bells stopped. He walked and the jingle bells rang.  He was getting nervous. He had no cash on him, or valuables for that matter. He started walking faster and though he saw no one he had the feeling he was being followed.

He made it home in record time and quickly locked the door behind him. He peeked back out the window and noticed two sets of footprints on the walkway and his eyes followed them right up the porch to the door he had just locked.

"Ho Ho Ho."

Winslow jumped and turned to face Santa. He was

shaking his head in disbelief, moving his mouth but nothing was coming out but his own cold breathes.

I said, "Ho Ho Ho."

The deep voice came from behind the beard. Santa took a step closer to the frozen figure of a man, now pressed tight up against the door.

"Who are you?"

Winslow's question was stuttered.

"I'm the Easter Bunny. What's the matter? Aren't you the guy that likes to scare people with your stories of demons and ghosts?"

"Yes."

"Well. Turn about is fair play. Isn't it?"

Santa slapped Winslow's shoulder hard and walked into the kitchen and retrieved a cold beer from the refrigerator. He raised it up and nodded his head toward Winslow. Winslow slowly shook his head no. Santa made his way passed Winslow and took a seat on the couch. He pulled off his big black boots and rubbed his stocking feet with his hands. He undid the belt around his waist and unbuttoned the collar from his neck. He took off his red stocking hat. When he felt comfortable, he turned and smiled at Winslow.

"Did I scare you?"

"Yeah, you did."

Winslow moved closer into the room where the big man was sitting and keeping to the far side of it, he sat down on the chair beside his desk. He kept looking at the Santa and watching him sipping the beer. Five long minutes passed until Santa stood up quickly and started walking around the room. Winslow sat still in the chair, frozen and watched. He wondered what he was looking for.

"No tree, no lights, no freaking Christmas music and no presents. No holly, no cards, no nothing." The Santa was raising his voice with each missing item and by the time he reached the last of his discoveries he was screaming.

"You really do hate Christmas, don't you Winslow?"

"Yes, I do."

"What's the matter? You didn't get the fire engine you wanted when you were ten?"

Santa was standing right in front of him now and for the first time Winslow noticed the width and height of the man. It made him very nervous. He refused to answer, but kept his eyes trained on the obese man, who for all the world, looked like he was going to stroke out in his living room. Santa slowly returned to the couch and flopped back down, sinking into it. Winslow wondered if the couch would hold him plopping down on it like that too many times.

Santa sat staring at him, the same way he did through the store window.

"What do you want for Christmas, Winslow?"

"Would you leave, if I asked you nicely?"

Santa started laughing, and it was amazing. His big belly shook, his eyes twinkled, and his red nose turned up. A split second went by and Winslow actually thought this guy was the real deal.

Santa kept on shaking and laughing and Winslow felt

a strong desire to join the rotund fellow in a good laugh.

But, the longer Santa laughed, the stranger his laugh became. It was sounding down right evil after a few minutes and any thoughts of joining him quickly vanished.

"I am going to give you what you want for Christmas, Winslow. I am going to let your latest piece of horror crap

become a best seller. Would you like that? Do you believe in Santa now?"

"I think this is all a bad dream. I will wake up and you'll be gone and my life will be just as it was before."

"So, you think I am the spirit of Christmas future and

you'll be visited by ghosts that will change your little

mind about the holiday? I suppose you believe that tomorrow morning you'll go out and buy the biggest turkey in the butcher's shop for some little crippled kid?

Get a grip, Winslow. This is your one and only shot."

Winslow stood and walked to the window. He could see the neighborhood lit up with all the colored lights and fake ornaments, trees shining out through living rooms reflecting on the snowy blanket covering each yard.

There were snowmen on the lawns where children lived and reindeer, elves, large candy canes serving as mailboxes, wreathes on every door, and neon lights attached to roofs looking like cheap hotel signs advertising the season. Winslow shook his head thinking of the money wasted on it all. He turned back to Santa who was still sitting on the couch smiling. He walked slowly toward him, never taking his eyes off of him, until he was within a few inches of him. He looked down into the fat smiling face staring back up at him and spit into it.

"Get the out of my house."

Santa moved quickly. He was on his feet and had Winslow by the neck before he could even back away. Santa wasn't laughing any more. He was downright pissed. Winslow felt his body leaving the ground and struggled to pull Santa's large hands from his neck. He could feel the room start to spin, as the oxygen wasn't permitted entrance into his lungs. Just when he thought he was going to pass out, Santa let go and he fell to the ground in front of the big man's feet. He sat there rubbing his neck and coughing, trying to regain some sense of a normal breathing pattern.

"Sorry about that, Winslow. I do detest violence of any kind but I won't be spit upon by the likes of a pathetic non-believer."

"Your crazy."

Winslow tried to stand and was lifted to his feet by the strength of Santa's right arm. Santa placed him back into his chair by the computer. When he was once again able to talk, Winslow started to pour out his story to the fat man. He told him how hard he had worked on his stories and they were good, "honest Santa" they were. He told him how he had given up the love of his life, a woman who loved him more then life itself and how he had broken her heart when he chose writing over her love. He told him of the lonely nights writing and rewriting until his stories sang with the words he created. He finally told him he wondered now if he had made a bad choice and while his passion was for the written word, his life was incomplete.

"We all make choices Winslow, go get some sleep and in the morning things will be better for you, I promise."

Winslow slowly turned and shut down the computer, careful to save what he had written earlier that day. He turned at the foot of the stairs.

"Merry Christmas, Santa."

Before he finished the sentence, he knew he was gone.

In somewhat of a haze, Winslow slowly walked up the stairs to his bedroom and undressed methodically not feeling the bitter cold hit his naked skin. The windows were wide open and yet he simply threw himself onto the bed and fell into a deep sleep.

Ten O'clock on Wednesday morning, the day after Christmas, there was a consistent knocking on Winslow McTosh's front door. A fat man with white hair and a rosy completion holding a brown envelope was banging and yelling for Winslow to open the door.  It was his agent, Christopher Crinkle. Winslow's book had sold. It was the break he had been waiting for. His best seller was ready for printing. He continued to bang on the front door while Winslow McTosh lay frozen to death in his upstairs bed.

We all make choices in life.

The End.

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Reviews

Amit Sep 26, 2011

This is really good I like it... Superb..

Soniya Sep 25, 2011

good try.. keep up the efforts..

Anikhet Sep 25, 2011

nice one..

Geeta Sep 25, 2011

again a good one.. but could have been a better if you could have explained the scenes bit more...

Pending deletion. Sep 23, 2011

Well done. I enjoyed it.

HiGHopes Sep 22, 2011

We become the one.. the choices we make.!! Well, let me take this story as a Christmas delight... dark frozen nights are abt the being.

Akshay Sep 22, 2011

I like this story and Christmas is coming soon. It's very good and interesting story about Christmas.

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