A Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

I must admit, I have been naughty this year—not in the way that most people are. I have done unforgivable things, and here I come to you, as if you are God, perhaps to bless me with a gift of forgiveness. So, here I tell my story, and I hope that you understand.

It all started when I found the costume.

Boxes in an attic lie untouched, dust covering their every surface, when a man who just moved in decided to explore them.

Inside the boxes were the usual items: some random old lady’s family photos, a few old toys that were barely used, and clothes that were worn and tattered. But one box contained something unusual—a costume. But not just any costume; it was a Grinch costume.

It was grimy and dirty, as if someone used it as a napkin while they ate. The fur was matted and turned a tarnished brownish-green color. And the eyes were off. Something was very unusual about them, like they’d been purposefully changed to seem more cold.

* * * * *

I put the costume on. And I swear, when I did it, I had good intentions. I just wanted to see what I looked like. But when the fur caressed my body, I felt so powerful in the anonymity. So I took a walk.

The man walked down the street in his tattered costume, passing by young kids who looked at him as if he were the devil himself, wincing at his every movement. And he found joy in this. He liked that his mere presence could inspire fear in those he didn’t know.

And so he walked on, passing by kid after kid, until he noticed one behaving foully and decided he needed to stop. And that he did.

He strolled on up to the kid, the kid completely oblivious to what was going on, and touched him on the shoulder, causing the kid to turn around and jump back. But when he made eye contact with the man in the costume, he wasn’t afraid; he just laughed mockingly at him.

* * * * *

Every kid was afraid of me except for one, and I hated it. One just laughed, and I knew in that moment that he was naughty and that nothing I could say or that his parents could say would change him. So I took note of him, of his appearance, and of the direction he went when he left, and I followed him, knowing he needed to be punished.

The man creeped up to the child’s house, marching step by step up to his window. And the boy noticed him, a little more frightened this time, but when he realized who it was, he just laughed again—a very obnoxious laugh.

“What are you doing, creep?” the boy hollered toward the window, but it was barely audible on the other side of the glass pane.

The man felt hurt again by the child’s laughter and thought to himself that stealing Christmas simply wouldn’t be enough. He had to do something more. He had to make sure this kid behaved.

So he grabbed a rock that lined the walkway out front and began to pound on the window, causing it to crack into a spiderweb shape.

“Stop!” the boy shouted, clearly realizing this wasn’t a joke. “You can’t do that!”

But the man just kept hitting the glass rhythmically, the pounding creating music in his ears, until it finally shattered into thousands of tiny pieces of glass that covered the ground in a beautiful array of discomfort.

The boy was now terrified and took off, running up the stairs and locking himself in his bedroom.

The man, however, very patiently climbed through the window. He was in no hurry to get to the boy.

He walked through the house leisurely, as if it were his own, picking up trash along the way and throwing it out in the kitchen, when he saw the knife block sitting on the counter.

He reached for it, pulling out a giant kitchen knife that had clearly been dulled by all of the use, and it was in that moment that he decided to go after the boy.

He left the kitchen, climbed up the stairs, and found himself with a variety of closed doors. He looked at them all, each distinct in its features, and walked towards one with chipped paint. He grabbed the knob and thrust it open—the bathroom.

He walked down the line of doors and did it again—the master bedroom.

He came to a third room, and he knew it was the one, for he heard the boy on the other side on the phone with someone. So he grabbed the knob and twisted, but it didn’t budge. He tried again. And again. And once more. Still nothing. So he did what any good man would do and knocked.

“Go away!” the boy shrieked, anguish emitting from his voice.

The man knocked again.

“Go away!”

So the man took a step back. Before slamming his entire body weight into the door and breaking the lock, forcing the door to swing open.

The boy screamed, seeing the knife in the man’s hand, and backed himself into a corner.

But the man took his time getting to the boy, once again picking up trash along the way, until he was but two steps away.

The boy’s voice quivered, “Please go away.”

The man didn’t budge.

“Please.” Desperation was growing in the young boy’s voice.

But the man didn’t listen; rather, he reached out, grabbing the boy by the collar and pulling him to his feet.

There was a moment of silence. Both of them quietly looked into each other's eyes when suddenly the man lashed out, slashing out the throat of the child but doing no more harm than a tiny scratch, barely bleeding.

Still, the boy recoiled and screamed for his life. So, the man did it again. He slashed at his throat, the dull knife still barely doing anything.

So he just kept slashing as the boy just kept screaming, until the man started to saw at the boy’s throat with the knife. Barely digging in, but slowly getting deeper and deeper until finally, in the midst of the young boys choking and gargling, blood began to spurt from his throat, covering the man’s costume and painting it a disgusting crimson read.

The man left and made it back to his home in his blood-covered costume. People were looking at him in disgust along the way, but most of them just thought it was part of the get-up. All except for the police. Too bad he made it back before they even made it to the boy’s house.

* * * * *

I punished the boy in the only way I knew it would work. And it did; he hasn’t done anything naughty since. He couldn’t if he wanted to. You should be thanking me, Santa. I’m helping you do your job. That’s why the only gift I want from you is forgiveness. Because it’s not going to be something I get from the police. They’ve made me into some sort of villain on the news. I’m not a villain! I just want kids to behave! I want all of them to behave, and I will keep doing this until they do!

The man stared at the costume laid across his kitchen counter. He examined it, looking at every strand of fur and scrubbing every one that was covered in blood. He soaked it in soapy water in his sink. Slowly draining and refilling the water, watching the blood go around the drain again and again.

When he got most of the blood out, he wringed it dry and left it to sit out on his counter. He was preparing to go again, this time out of his costume, and scout kids that were misbehaving.

And he did find a few. He took note of each one, what they looked like, who their parents were, and where their house was. And then he returned home and waited for dark.

When the sun finally set, he put on the costume, grabbed a knife, this time a sharp one, and began heading to the first kid's house. She had been naughty, pulling another girl’s hair, even though she told her to stop.

The man found that cruel and to be a crime worth this punishment.

Once at the girl’s house, the man looked around, searching for a way in, when he found an open window. He decided this would be his entrance, so he climbed on through.

Once inside, the house was silent; no one was awake, and the only lights on were those of the Christmas tree. The man, feeling in character, decided he was going to get rid of the tree. But not in the normal way; that would be too simple.

So the man looked around the house, searching for something, and found it under the sink. It was a spray can of pest killer—highly flammable and very sticky.

He sprayed it on the tree, making sure to soak every branch until it was dripping. Then he grabbed a match, took a couple steps back, lit it, and tossed it at the tree, watching as all of the Christmas lights were drowned out by the luminescent orange rays of fire.

The smoke and flames quickly filled the house, setting off all of the fire alarms in the process, but the man still had a goal in mind—he had to punish the girl.

But he wasn’t going to go looking. He knew the alarms would wake everyone up and send them right his way, so he just sat there and waited, and finally the first person erupted from the smoke and met the man face-to-face.

It was the mom, and at first she had no idea what she was looking at, but when she realized it was a man, she screamed.

Her husband was close behind her and heard his wife’s scream. Although he did not know what exactly she was screaming at, he just grabbed her and pulled her close, inquiring, “Where’s Maddie?”

The wife said nothing but yelled, “Grinch!” directly in his face.

The husband was confused, still worrying about his daughter, when finally he saw it too and began to scream, but it wasn’t them the man was after. He wanted the girl.

So he simply walked by them in search of the little girl, but the parents had begun screaming for her, and the mom had called the police for help, explaining to them in detail what was going on and even expressing her belief that this was arson.

But it was too late, for the girl ran directly into the costumed man in an attempt to escape. But the poor young girl couldn’t see with the smoke blinding her and simply thought this was just her father, causing her to grasp the man who had evil intentions.

“What’s happening?” the young girl said in a loud yet soft tone, so in shock that she didn’t even realize she was grabbing a fur suit. But she didn’t receive an answer; rather, she was met by the man grabbing her hair and dragging her toward the source of the fire.

Once he got to the tree that was ablaze, he pulled the girl closer, letting her take a good look at the costume and realize that she was not in her father’s arms but the devil’s, before shoving her face into the flames, charring her skin and melting it from the bone, hearing her screams of misery but ignoring them.

* * * * *

The parents were still screaming for their daughter, believing she could hear them, but the job was done, and the man was ready to head to the next house—not just ready, but he needed to. The smoke had begun to suffocate him and make it impossible for him to breathe.

But when he went to leave, he was met by sirens, firefighters, and police surrounding the house, looking for a way to get in and get the family out. So the man was forced to choose between his life and his mission to rid the world of naughty children.

But with the smoke in the air making him feel intoxicated and drowsy, his body instinctively leapt towards an exit, and finally, the man fell unconscious at the feet of an armed cop.

* * * * *

I tried to help you, Santa, but I was caught. They took me in, and now I’m writing this in a jail cell, awaiting my trial. But I don’t think I did anything wrong. They can’t convict me; I’ve only done good, no bad. I just did what any sensible person would do and punished the unruly. It’s the same as you giving coal to the kids who misbehave. So please, Santa, if it’s really your goal to eliminate naughty children, you’ll give me the gift of forgiveness and get me out of here so I can get back to it. Just help me so I can help you, and everyone can have a holly jolly Christmas!

* * * * *

The man sat in the courtroom next to his lawyers in front of the judge, awaiting the verdict, when the jury came back in and everyone rose from their seats.

“All rise,” the judge said, breaking the silence while taking the paper that had the final verdict on it from the bailiff.

“You may now be seated,” the judge murmured while scanning through the paper.

“The jury has come to a unanimous decision.” There was a pause in the judge’s words, causing the man who committed the crimes to lean forward, awaiting her to let him off. But it wasn’t what happened.

“The defendant has been found guilty of his crimes and thus sentenced to the death penalty,” the judge said, and then the room fell silent.

Not even the man could speak, as he was in utter disbelief. He simply muttered, “No.” Before being dragged away by a cop who was standing guard.

The man’s fate was sealed. What he had done to those two poor kids was now going to be done to him, but oddly, in a more humane way. He was going to be executed painlessly while the children suffered, and for an intangible reason, he was upset that this was so unfair—he did not do all of what he just did for his life to end as unfairly as it was going to.