Santa's Elves

Santa's Elves

Santa can be anagrammed to Satan. That’s no coincidence. I’m sitting here, nearly forty years after my abduction, roughly the same size I was at five. My body hasn’t grown, but my face has aged and my joints are full of cracks and pops. Over the years my ears have flattened against my skull, and have sharpened at the tips. The older I get, the more elongated and pointy they become. Frannie, who sits next to me on the assembly line, is ten years older. Her ears are freaking huge! We call her “Batty” behind her back.

There are many drawbacks to being one of Santa’s elves. The worst part is the weekly draining. Every Friday, we are forced into long lines that wind around metal gates. One by one we are bought to the jolly fat man, and he chooses a spot in which to impale his razor-like fangs. His favorite spot for me is under my left breast, and I have a permanent indent where he has repeatedly drank my blood. At least he doesn’t like to feed from my eye sockets, like he does poor Liam. Liam has been reduced to Santa‘s personal grooming assistant, since his eyes have been missing for years.

I feel sorry for the new kids. Santa likes the truly young and takes an extra long time on each one of them. He tells us it is to insure their transformation into Elfdom, but I have my own theories on his savagery.

How does he choose his “elves"? It varies. Most victims he obtains from having them sit on his lap. When he asks them “What would you like for Christmas?” they’ll usually ask some trendy toy or popular video game. Santa chooses the ones who say “I Just want my Mommy to stop drinking” or “Please make my Mommy’s boyfriend stop hitting me.”

How did he find me? That is an interesting story. I had always been afraid of Santa. There was something so frightening about him, that I could never bring myself to sit on his lap. I was repulsed by his appearance, his voice… even his creepy round glasses gave me chills. Mommy never forced me to sit on his lap, and for this, I was glad.

Why did she let Santa through the front door that night? It could be that he sounded and looked just like Daddy, who had been away for several months. Even behind the white beard, he looked like Daddy. I remember the flash of surprise on her face, and then the little smile of recognition. Santa had a large green bag slung over his shoulder, and the bag was moving. I pointed at it and pulled at Mommy’s pantsuit leg, but she ignored me. She seemed mesmerized by the Santa/Daddy creature. “Oh do come in, Santa!” she purred.

As soon as he crossed our threshold, the door slammed behind him. The glass from the paneled door exploded and showered us with glittery shards. Mommy’s cheek was cut, and blood dripped rapidly down her right shoulder and arm.

The Santa/Daddy creature watched Mommy’s blood as it fell to the linoleum, and his countenance changed. His cheeks hollowed and xiphoid incisors erupted from his gums. He threw the green sack across the room, crashing it against the coffee table. I heard a muffled scream. The red and white hat plopped to the floor, pushed off by his lengthening ears.

By this time Mommy was entranced, staring blankly ahead, her mouth slack. Santa bent down, and ran his swollen tongue from the tips of her fingers, to the cut on her cheek. He cradled her head in his hands as he latched onto her wound, and the wet sucking sounds were so loud and horrible that I couldn’t process what I was seeing. I urinated and vomited simultaneously. Santa spared me a sideways glance as he continued to nurse on my Mother.

He drew from her as she convulsed and flailed helplessly; then Mommy’s eyes finally closed. He lay her down on the cold linoleum floor, right beside the Christmas tree. The green and red blinking lights were so pretty…

694 words