Flashback Friday Story: Massacre On 34th Street

I love the blending of Christmas and horror. This is probably because of the amount of times I watched The Nightmare Before Christmas, a great film that for awhile was soured for me by generic emo kids in long dyed black hair walking around in Jack Skellington slim shirts and posting on Myspace how they long to find their Sally.

While a remake so horrible it’s comical, I recall watching the Black Christmas remake in awe as some horrified sorority girl slowly walked through a hallway surrounded in Christmas lights thinking how beautifully fucked up this blend was. When I started writing on a regular basis my love for Christmas horror stories began when I heard a podcast talking about Los Feliz Murder Mansion where a man murdered his family in December and because of this, trespassers used to leave a Christmas tree and presents within the crime scene. 

A tale of bloodshed around the holidays is somewhat therapeutic to me. Christmas is so overly sentimental and vomit inducing like a Hallmark card to the point where seeing a sadistic madman dressed as Santa wielding an ax is truly a relief during such a suppressed time of year. It also seems like a lot of people either despise Halloween or are quick to fast forward through it to get to the holidays where I’m quite the opposite.

If I ever go on a killing spree, it will be on Halloween night and the victims will all be those putting on Trunk or Treating events or those who already have their Christmas decorations up.

I would probably write more fiction on a regular basis if there was something I could find that I loved writing about as much as I do things that are Christmas horror themed. It’s just so much fun and quite therapeutic to add horror and bloodshed to such a mushy gushy sugar coated time of year.

 

Stan sipped his Caffe mocha as he watched his child sitting in front of the Christmas tree with a large smile on her face. In his right arm, he held his wife close to him and her head was on his shoulder. As he sipped his coffee, Stan looked out the living room window and watched as it began to snow lightly, it looked absolutely beautiful as it came down, illuminated by the streetlights.

It was the quintessential Christmas Eve.

On the television, It’s A Wonderful Life was coming on. The smell of cinnamon filled the room from the candle Whitney had lit earlier.

Stan walked over and wiped away a happy tear coming from his face before kneeling down to kiss his daughter Hannah.

“You’re quite young now darling but I want you remember this Christmas for the rest of your life. Whenever you’re feeling blue and you feel as if life is just a cruel game, remember tonight and know that there is always a bright beam of light just around the corner.”

“Ok dad.” Hannah said with a smile on her face. In one hand she held a Harley Quinn doll. After flashing a grin that showed a missing tooth she returned her attention back to the toy.

Stan smiled, knowing that his daughter didn’t really get what was being said, but he hoped that it would be something she recalled years from now, whenever she needed to hear it.

Stan returned to his wife with a smile across his face.

“I saw that tear.” Whitney said with a grin on her face.

Stan pretended to look embarrassed.

“O drats! I suppose you now know I’m not an alpha male who could destroy any fellow testosterone fueled beast in a cage, that I couldn’t karate chop any tree in one move and make it fall at my command, that I couldn’t grow a beard in thirty seconds or less.”

Whitney laughed and clutched tighter onto Stan.

“All of that is true yes, but for some reason I still love you.” she said before kissing Stan on the cheek.

“Well gosh! Aren’t I lucky?”

Hannah smiled looking up at her parents. She considered herself quite lucky to have parents who still loved each other very much. In her kindergarten class she was in the smallest of minority groups, kids who had parents who were still together.

Hannah hoped that one day she would be as happy with someone as her parents were with one another.

As Hannah was day dreaming about the future, a series of rapid knocks began to pound on her front door. Her parents looked at one another in confusion.

“Well who in the world is that?” asked Hannah’s mother.

Her father shrugged his shoulders.

“Why, I haven’t gotten a clue. I’d assume everybody is spending Christmas Eve with their family, and we aren’t expecting anybody.”

Hannah felt as if she were in a Christmas special that had been playing on television since November. It all felt like a traditional holiday themed variety show where random celebrities would show up to the host’s home.

Hannah hoped it wasn’t anybody with fruitcake.

Hannah’s father walked over to the door and looked through the peephole.

Quickly, he stepped back, looking at the peephole as if he were questioning exactly who or what he saw on the front porch.

“Is it anybody we know honey?”

Hannah’s father turned around, the color was completely drained from his face as he shook his head. Hannah could have sworn she even saw a bead of sweat coming from his hairline down to his left brow.

“Honey what is it?” Hannah’s mother asked, obviously now a bit frightened.

The knocking returned, this time it was even louder than before. Nothing currently playing on the television could brighten the mood.

“Let’s just ignore him and I’m certain he’ll go away,” Hannah’s father said in a whispered tone of voice. “I’m sure it’s just a cruel sadistic prankster who gets his kicks only in the sickest ways.”

A couple of minutes passed, which felt like hours before Hannah’s father began to unfreeze from where he stood and began to nod.

“I’m certain he’s gone by now.”

It was the last thing Hannah’s father would ever say. Hannah could barely process what she saw as an axe came through their front door, splitting it in two like very weak wood and sinking into the skull of her father.

Her father took a few steps forward with blood running down his face, giving him quite the crimson mask and staining the Christmas sweater he was currently wearing that resembled something Frank Sinatra would wear in a holiday promotional photoshoot or Christmas card, posing with his family as he held a golf club and flashed his pearly whites.

As Hannah’s father stepped a few feet away from the door, the owner of the axe was revealed to Hannah and her mother.

He was a man who looked to be in his early thirties. He had a smile that was without a doubt the cruelest and most sadistic of smiles, the type of smile that would be on the face of a man walking through a graveyard and laughing at the casket in front of all of the family members to see.

He wore a Santa costume and hat. The costume itself looked dirty and greasy, like something in the backroom at a Salvation Army that nobody would even pay a quarter for.

The family wouldn’t be surprised if they were told a mall Santa died while wearing the costume.

Hannah and her mother were frozen where they stood as the man stepped forward holding his arms out as if he were waiting for a hug. To their surprise the maniac began to dance.

“Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus, right down Santa Claus lane.”

The man who was dressed as Santa and covered in blood danced around Hannah’s father, who resembled a zombie. The lunatic continued to sing and then noticed Hannah as he gestured to her.

“So jump in bed and cover up your head, cause Santa Claus comes tonight!”

The man looked at Hannah in mock disappointment and shook his head.

“Kids today I tell ya, they just can’t follow the rules. You ain’t supposed to see Santa Claus. You’re supposed to be in bed dreaming of sugarplums. But don’t worry little girl, instead of coal I’m just gonna take your daddy.”

After stating this, the lunatic gripped the axe as if he were removing a sword from stone and pulled it out of Stan’s skull. Blood began to shot out like a super soaker gun as he fell over dead.

Hannah screamed as she watched her father fall down face first into a pool of his own blood, his body never even twitching.

Yeah, that’s a real shame,” the killer said looking over his kill with false sympathy. “But on the bright side, YOU get to decide when your bed time is now!”

Whitney fell to her knees and began to crawl over to Stan, hugging his lifeless body and holding his hand.

The killer patted her on the back, placing a bloody print onto her bathrobe. Whitney shrieked and inched away from the killer’s touch.

“There there, there are plenty of fish in the sea. You just gotta get out there and find Mr. Right. And hey, maybe this time he won’t die from a splitting headache.”

The killer laughed hysterically and looked over at Whitney and Hannah for some recognition and approval.

“Christ, the last house didn’t go for that one either. Guess I better work on some new material before next year. Well, I suppose I’ll be on my way now.”

The killer began walking towards the door and stopped, he then looked over at the Christmas tree.

“Wait a minute……”

He then walked over to the tree, looking over Hannah’s presents.

“Little girl….did you open your presents before Christmas day?”

He turned around and looked at Hannah waiting for an answer.

“What is your name little girl?”

“H-Hannah…”

Whitney turned up and looked at the sadistic killer with makeup running down her face.

“P-please, leave my baby alone.”

The killer held out his axe towards Whitney, as if he were Babe Ruth calling his shot.

“Honey, your husband’s skull didn’t dull my axe down in the slightest. Just some food for thought.”

The killer returned his attention to Hannah.

“Now…Hannah, care to explain how on earth you could do such a horrible thing to good ol Santa Claus?”

Hannah started to bawl.

“I-I-I’m s-sorry Santa.”

The killer let out a traditional ho ho ho Santa Claus laugh.

“Only because you were caught dollface. I’m really going to need to get to the bottom of this one.”

The killer walked over to the corpse of Hannah’s father and brought down the axe with all of the strength in his body upon the corpse’s neck. Hannah and Whitney watched in horror as Stan’s head slowly rolled away from his body.

The sound of the axe coming down into the flesh of Hannah’s father and her mother’s loud blood curling scream which soon followed would haunt Hannah for the rest of her life.

The killer picked up the decapitated head by the hair and held it up to his.

“Now, Hannah’s dear ol daddy, care to explain why your beloved daughter would do such a terrible thing?”

The killer did a stereotypical father knows best deep tone of voice for Stan.

“Well, we raised her right and yet she still embarrasses the family name like this.”

“Well, obviously you didn’t bring her up as well as you should have.”

The killer then took the decapitated head and whipped it at the television. The television exploded and sparks flew in all directions. Hannah could barely hear the explosion since both she and her mother screamed while watching her father’s head fly through the air.

“O yeah baby! Even Felix Hernandez would be impressed by that fastball.”

Hannah and her mother crawled over to one another, holding each other and shaking badly.

“My apologies for the television, I’ll put on some tunes so there isn’t an overwhelming amount of silence.”

The killer walked over to the record player Hannah’s parents had just purchased and put on the holiday record they had, Michael Buble’s Christmas. It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas filled the room.

“Much better, and now, time for punishment.”

The killer grabbed Whitney by the hair and pulled her up and threw her face down onto the couch. The way she landed it was revealed that she was not wearing underwear.

“Well that saves me a lot of time, and good thing since I have more houses to visit.”

The killer hovered over Whitney and pulled down his red pants. Hannah looked at the man’s bare ass in horror as he thrusted his hips. Hannah’s mother screamed with every thrust.

“O ho ho ho! Stan didn’t visit the back door that often.”

He continued to thrust while singing along to the next song currently playing.

“Santa Claus is coming…….to town.”

The killer laughed hysterically after singing this single line. He then turned around to Hannah.

“Go to bed while Santa enjoys his milk and cookies sweetheart.”

He turned his head away from Hannah and continued. After a few more seconds, he looked back and no longer saw Hannah standing in the living room.

“Guess I’ll have to go upstairs and make sure she’s tucked in.”

The killer slowed his pelvic thrusts. He then kissed Whitney’s face and licked away the tears flowing from her eyes.

“Don’t worry, Santa isn’t gonna shoot down your little brown chimney just yet. The prediction for snow isn’t for another few minutes.”

The killer followed this up with a psychotic laugh as he smacked his head repeatedly.

“I can hear the bells when I do that, I love it. The church bells ringing, letting us know that Christmas is almost here.”

The killer heard footsteps but didn’t turn around.

“Hannah, I thought I told you to go to bed sweetie.”

After saying this, the killer felt a sharp pain in his right calf muscle. He was absolutely certain he did once Hannah removed the knife from his leg and he applied pressure without thinking onto his right leg and fell over.

“F-f-fuck. O fuck.”

Now Hannah was sitting on top of him. Before he could plea for his life or strike Hannah, she brought the knife down upon his right eye. His sight went out in that eye like a ruined security camera.

His left eye watched in horror as his right eye stared blankly at him, pierced on the knife resembling an olive pierced upon a plastic sword swirling around in a martini.

The knife came down once more in his mouth and through his tongue. Before losing consciousness, the killer noticed the texture of the eyeball against his tongue, like a lubricated marble.

 

 

 

 

 

 

When the police arrived thirty minutes later, they found Hannah covered in blood stabbing away at the lifeless body of the killer. Her mother was still face down on the couch with her rectum exposed and bleeding, she would live but mentally had died that night.

Throughout the years Hannah would visit her mother inside of the local mental institution. She tended to avoid the holidays because her mother was known to mutter the lyrics to Santa Claus is Coming to Town while smacking her head against the padded walls and crying. The site was far too much for Hannah to handle.

Hannah was forever haunted by the events that transpired, but she tried to not let it ruin her holiday spirit and the holiday spirit of those around her. She believed it would only hold her back from a bright beam of light around the corner.

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