The
Christmas-time Thief
By Alexander Hewitt
But, child... that's not who I am.
With my rakish claws and long, slender arms I crawl into your moonlit room. I need no fireplace, the cracks in your windows are plenty large enough for me. I'm thinner than you'd expect.
And I'm always hungry.
No sounds disturb us as I make my way towards you, on this Christmas-eve night. You who asked for no toys. Who asked for no presents, nor playthings.
You, little child, who Santa does not see. You called me here.
For while Santa leaves gifts for those that he meets, that's not who I am.
As I near your bed, you sleep so tumultuously, and I can hear the whimpers in your voice. You are not dreaming of sleigh bells or snowmen, or anything so kind. No, your arms are tense, skin caked in sweat. Your voice wants to call for help, but the sound just... won't... come.
Because you have to be quiet, don't you? Just to survive what you see.
You're dreaming of that morning. And of the day before. And the day before that. In your minds eye, the nightmare of life is shattering the world.
Cracking. Breaking. Calling for me.
And I do not leave you gifts in the night.
No, I am far hungrier than Santa Claus. I'm not the one who leaves toys for all the good girls and boys.
I'm the one who takes.
So I reach down, through your hair, and your head, and you. I reach down into the depths of your worried little mind, and I take what I need.
I take your fear.
And I take your hate.
I take the pain in your arms, and the screams over breakfast.
I take hiding under the desk when your parents are arguing.
And I take what hurts most.
I take, and I take, and I eat, and I feed.
I steal it all away, until you stop your whimpering.
Then when I'm done, and I remove my sharp grip, I see you roll over in bed.
Your blankets are loose, so I tuck them in.
Then back I crawl away.
Santa Claus leaves gifts, but I am not he. No, I take what I need from you, little child, and I leave you with nothing but dreams.
Though... perhaps that's gift enough?
So sleep, child, free of your pain, and your fear.
Have one night in your dreams.
And I'll see you next year.
…But I hope not.
With my rakish claws and long, slender arms I crawl into your moonlit room. I need no fireplace, the cracks in your windows are plenty large enough for me. I'm thinner than you'd expect.
And I'm always hungry.
No sounds disturb us as I make my way towards you, on this Christmas-eve night. You who asked for no toys. Who asked for no presents, nor playthings.
You, little child, who Santa does not see. You called me here.
For while Santa leaves gifts for those that he meets, that's not who I am.
As I near your bed, you sleep so tumultuously, and I can hear the whimpers in your voice. You are not dreaming of sleigh bells or snowmen, or anything so kind. No, your arms are tense, skin caked in sweat. Your voice wants to call for help, but the sound just... won't... come.
Because you have to be quiet, don't you? Just to survive what you see.
You're dreaming of that morning. And of the day before. And the day before that. In your minds eye, the nightmare of life is shattering the world.
Cracking. Breaking. Calling for me.
And I do not leave you gifts in the night.
No, I am far hungrier than Santa Claus. I'm not the one who leaves toys for all the good girls and boys.
I'm the one who takes.
So I reach down, through your hair, and your head, and you. I reach down into the depths of your worried little mind, and I take what I need.
I take your fear.
And I take your hate.
I take the pain in your arms, and the screams over breakfast.
I take hiding under the desk when your parents are arguing.
And I take what hurts most.
I take, and I take, and I eat, and I feed.
I steal it all away, until you stop your whimpering.
Then when I'm done, and I remove my sharp grip, I see you roll over in bed.
Your blankets are loose, so I tuck them in.
Then back I crawl away.
Santa Claus leaves gifts, but I am not he. No, I take what I need from you, little child, and I leave you with nothing but dreams.
Though... perhaps that's gift enough?
So sleep, child, free of your pain, and your fear.
Have one night in your dreams.
And I'll see you next year.
…But I hope not.
The End
The idea that started this story was 'what's the opposite of Santa Claus?'
On the one hand, it could be Krampus, an evil creature who steals children away. But what if it wasn't? What if the opposite of giving gifts could still be kind?
I've posted it here to coincide with the same story releasing in audio format on my Youtube channel, with me as the narrator. Check it out and hope you enjoy!
- Alexander Hewitt
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