I was the last one to leave the office that night. I was a bit drunk and fearful of getting back to a house where my kids would be unruly—as they always were in the days before Christmas—and my wife too bored to even look at me.
I sat in my car, freezing, cursing the damn heat to kick in and wishing I could just skip Christmas straight to next year, when a thought crossed my mind. What if I gave myself a little Christmas present? Just enough to keep me going.
I’d been hearing about this place from the guys at work for God knows how long. I’d even memorized the directions: off the second exit, past a row of derelict buildings, then a sharp left into a cul-de-sac, and down to the last house on the right—the only one with a red light.
I started the car and drove. Even through the heavy snow, I had no trouble finding the house. It was unmistakably dark, tucked in behind a pine grove.
Never hesitating for even one second, I stole up the stairs and before I even knocked, a lovely older woman in a red and white nightgown and a Santa hat appeared. Despite her years, her eyes still wore a youthful blue and her teeth shone a healthy white.
“Welcome,” she chirped, then gestured me inside. The living room was flooded with decorations and a little fireplace gave the house a warm, homely feeling. In a corner, a Christmas tree stood burdened by the sheer amount of ornaments and lights. Despite the gaudiness, the place was better than I’d always imagined, save for a funky smell that began biting at my nose, like the house hadn’t been aired in decades. Its rotting smell reminded me of the old house I grew up in.
At the command of the old lady, women in Santa outfits of various colors began emerging from their bedrooms. All different in race and size, but with the same self-assured look in their eyes. Their Santa hats taut and pointing strangely up, as if pulled by an invisible thread from the ceiling.
After a quick survey, I chose the one that least looked like my wife: tall, skinny, barely any meat on her, black hair, and deep, probing brown eyes.
She guided me down a hall and into a room.
She closed the door and pushed me onto the bed. Said she’d never been with an older man. I believed her. She straddled me—I was the steed, she the rider, she ordered. I felt giddy. Young and sexy.
Not two minutes had gone by when I snatched off her hat, playfully. She went wild. Leaped out of bed, frantic, scrambling around while trying to cover her head with her arms. When I realized that what sprouted out of her head weren’t some cute reindeer antlers, but two actual horn-like spikes, my breath caught in my throat. I swung out of bed, pulled my pants up and ran outside.
I hurried toward the door. But my legs went stiff at once. The walls started closing in on me and the room stretched before my eyes.
Suddenly, I was a kid again. Talking back at my mom and stoning little birds out in the woods.
I managed to reach the door and push it open, but my short little legs caved on the porch. I tried to get up but just wasn’t strong enough. I crawled all the way back to my car, clawing the snow, heart thumping, body shutting down.
About to reach the handle, a cold hand stopped me and my body locked.
“Are you OK?” said a man in a gentle voice.
“Help me up!” I gasped after a long silence, as if I’d been holding my breath underwater.
When I turned around, the older woman stood on the porch, grinning, hat off. On her tiny, silver head two ram-like horns twisted up then backwards.
“Not real,” I muttered.
“Hey, are you OK?” said the man next to me.
I turned to look at him. There was a peculiar sweetness to him. He was fat and wore a bushy white beard.
For a moment, his comforting presence made me think I might’ve just panicked without reason.
But when I looked back at the woman, right before she went back inside, I caught a glimpse of something that made my knees weak again:
Between her wiry, bowed legs, a vine-like tendril slithered out briefly, then curled back in.
“Help!” I said, my voice a flute out of tune.
But the gentle-looking man had vanished.
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First I laughed at “Their Santa hats taut and pointing strangely up, as if pulled by an invisible thread from the ceiling.” then Holy Shit.. what’s going on?! Great story.