Christmas Fears

This is a humorous/scary short story, Christmas themed. I'm hoping to perhaps write another along similar lines, but that all depends on how much time I have. Please enjoy!

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The gifts are moving. Sounds of grinding gears and soft ticking noises emanate from the boxes. A long box shifts, slowly being slit open across the top by a razor-sharp blade. The box flaps scrape the low-hanging branches on the Christmas tree as they open, revealing a sweet, rosy-cheeked doll. Her eyes flutter open as her cooing voice melts into the air.

“We're coming for you.”

The toys have come alive, and they are here to kill me.

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I duck behind the couch, a hand clamped to my mouth. My breathing is too heavy. I need to calm down.

Small wooden shoes clank onto the floor, fabric swishing against the Christmas tree.

Click. Click. Click. The footsteps stop.

More boxes are being opened. Another clank. Something made out of metal? No, there are more. Ten, eleven, twelve… It stops again. Twenty-four metal feet scrape the floor, waiting for me to move.

Three minutes have passed. The teddy bear that had chased me from my room stands guard over the stairs. I'm trapped in my home.

A dozen bayonets sink into my ankle. I muffle my screams. My brother's tin soldiers have discovered my location. I yank them off and throw them in an empty bin, slamming the lid closed. The doll's head snaps to the side, her lovely lips curled in a grin.

“I'm telling Santa on you.”

I run.

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My breath is fogging up my glasses. I'm hiding behind the leather chair in the living room, my favorite reading spot.

Now I'd rather be anywhere but here.

The pain in my ankle stings horribly. An empty plate sits beside me with a cup of cold cocoa, hours old and already a favorite insect swimming pool.

Soft footsteps race towards my hiding place, and something heavy whacks against my skull. My brain swims and goes under.

I feel something around my throat. What is it? And where am I? Groggily, I reach up a hand and realize I can't breathe. I'm being choked by silver tinsel. I know it's silver because that's the only color my mother likes. I pull at the tinsel helplessly, but it only gets tighter. My fingers reach for the cold cocoa and throw it behind me. There is a horrible sizzling, and the tinsel slackens.

I run into the guest room and slam the door closed. Metal fingers scratch long indents in the wood, and the doll's knife pokes underneath the door.

"We have you." she cooed triumphantly.

"Go away!" I scream. I want to wake up. I have to wake up.

Another scraping, but this time in the room. A metal reindeer comes alive. Its eyes flicker open, cold gray like its body. It paws the carpet, antlers lowering.

I knew buying from Hobby Lobby wasn't a good idea...

Footsteps on the roof. The scratching outside stops and, in its place, the toys begin to sing.

Up on the housetop reindeer pause,

Out jumps good old Santa Claus.

Down through the chimney, just for you.

Your horrid ways are almost through.

He's come to town.

“Leave me alone! I didn't do anything wrong!” I hurl a vase at the window.

“GO AWAY!”

“Ho, ho, ho. You nauseate me. I bring joy to little children, and I'm ridding this world of you.” 

The song outside the door changes.

You'll get run over by a reindeer

No one will mourn your short demise.

You can say there's no such thing as Santa,

But don't you say this was a surprise.

The reindeer charges. I hate Christmas.

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He sees you when you're sleeping.

He knows when you're awake.

He knows if you've been bad or good,

So be good for goodness sake.