"Terrible Truth" by Sophie ´Photosoph´ Matthews

And then... ...in a twinkling... ...I heard on the roof...
...The prancing and pawing of each little hoof...

It was too late to hope it was all a fairy tale. Too late to wake up from the nightmare that entangled him.
Far, far too late.
Already the sleigh was on the roof. Duke could hear the boots, treading heavily across the tiles. The boy didn't feel even the tiniest bit guilty that he hoped the red rogue, that sinister santa, would slip.
If only I was anywhere but here! he thought, hurrying to the kitchen. Diving his hand into a draw, he slipped out two lethal objects and held them in his hands. Quickly, quietly, he slunk to the dining room and concentrated on the fire place, weapons ready.
The wall at his back was strong, steady and reassuring. But each time the boots crunched against the rooftop snow, it sent a shiver through his heart.
Suddenly the noise stopped. Duke tensed.

...As I drew in my hand... ...and was turning around...
...Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

The fire was out before the huge black boots hit the coals and sent them steaming. Junior thought he'd prepared himself for the voice, but it still came as a surprise. "Hello, Duke Junior Romeo Pompei," he spoke. If you only heard the voice, it would be one of the most beautiful, soft-spoken voices you'd ever heard. But you'd have to be dead inside not to feel the menacing edge that absolutely killed anything remotely beautiful in the words.
Trying to step backwards, Duke found himself still against the wall. The knives dropped from his grasp and clattered over the wooden floor. They hit it just in time to add the perfect musical harmony to the song still dancing in the air...

He was dressed all in fur... ...from his head to his foot...
...And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot...

The red-clad figure effortlessly walked the small space that held them apart, and leant slowly towards him. His features split and formed themselves into a pleasant smile, a mask between the boy and the evil.
He didn't even say it. There was no need to. Duke knew, without a doubt he knew, what went unspoken between them.
Duke had been a bad boy. No... he hadn't shouted. He hadn't cried. But he had pouted... and Santa knew why...
Santa's ancient thoughts tolled on, an unstoppable torrent of thunder:
You're a brat who asks too much. And who now knows too much...

...A bundle of toys he had flung on his back...
...And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

As Nick let the huge sack drop from his back, Duke's eyes grew bright in fear. The smile across the rosy cheeks grew brighter. One gloved hand sunk into the bag. It pulled out a tiny bright object: wrapped with the sweat and toil of captive elves, and tied with string by fingers weary and pained.

His eyes... ...--how they twinkled!... ...His dimples how merry!...
...His cheeks were like roses... ...his nose like a cherry!...

...His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow...
...And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

Junior chose that moment to struggle. But the hue nail holding him by the back of his night-shirt pinned him like a bug.
Again, the old menance came close. The gift was in his hand, too bright and merry to hold what it did. His eyes twinkled with a new, maniacal light. Santa's lips parted to usher just two words:
"The coal," he whispered, in a voice tinged with eagerness.
With the slow deliberate moves of a deranged murderer, he placed the present in the boy's mouth. He drew two items from his pockets.
The first: a wooden pipe. And the second...

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth...
...And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath...

The second was a lighter. Tainted black smoke tore its way through Duke's nostrils.
Taking the pipe carelessly from his teeth, Santa waved it slowly in front of Duke's face. For a second, he held it poised before the red ribbon. Then he bopped it, only once, against the christmas wrapping.

...He had a broad face and a little round belly...
...That shook... ...when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

The boy's eyes grew wide. He tried to spit the smouldering coal out but it was jammed in hard. It's a nightmare! All a nightmare! his thoughts shouted through his head. He's... Santa. Santa's good... not BAD! Duke's brain began to laugh in disbelief.

He was chubby and plump... ...a right jolly old elf...
...And I laughed when I saw him... ...in spite of myself...

The old christmas figure suddenly turned back around, and stuck his head right before Duke's eyes.
"Now!" he growled, all plays of innocence and goodness gone. "Now you decide! Is your cheerful Santa here, real, right before your eyes; or is he a dead and gone lie that parents tell? Decide, boy, -before your time is up!!"
The rapid change of character shocked Duke to the core, and the answer was in his head before he had time to decide for himself.
He's real! he thought in an explosion of horror.
As quick as it had come, the change was over. The cheerful smile was back in place, and the eyes danced merrily once more. He nodded slightly.

...A wink of his eye and a twist of his head...
...Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread...

The black gloved hand pulled out the coal and with a flick of his wrist flung it into the glowing embers. The other hand tore the nail from the wall with the strength of an ox. Content, the old man began to sing along with the unspoken words that stopped and started, ringing out the action taking place.

The ten year old could only stare.

...And laying his finger aside of his nose...
...And giving a nod... ...up the chimney he rose.

The terror gradually began to release the tormented kid.
Above him in the silence of the stars, the age-old figure began to depart.

He sprang to his sleigh... ...to his team gave a whistle...
...And away they all flew like the down of a thistle...
...But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight...
..."HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!"...

Morning came and went. His parents stumbled down with yawns and smiles, and joked while he opened the presents one by one. Finally his father noticed his son's lack of joy.
"Junior? What is it?" he asked, a quizzical look across his face.
His son stopped half-way through another present. Face hard as stone, he paused.
"Next year..." he hesitated. "...I want a gun."