Santa’s Watching
The first card arrived on December 1st. The envelope was red, the handwriting jagged. “Be good, or else. —Santa.” Monique chuckled nervously, tossing it aside. “Weird prank,” she muttered.
But then the cards kept coming. Each one darker than the last.
“Silent night, deadly night. —Santa.”
“Mommy’s been naughty. —Santa.”
“Better watch out. I am.”
She stopped reading them aloud to her kids after her daughter, Tasha, asked, “Mommy, is Santa mad at us?”
Monique told the landlord, who shrugged. “Probably some crazy neighbor. Christmas brings out the weirdos.”
By Christmas Eve, Monique had double-locked the doors, her nerves frayed. The final card lay on the table, unopened. She didn’t need to read it to feel the threat.
That night, as snow blanketed the city, Monique tucked her kids into bed, trying to soothe their fears. “Santa doesn’t hurt people, baby. He’s not real.”
At midnight, she heard it. The soft crunch of snow outside the window. Slowly, she turned to see him: a figure in a Santa suit, his face obscured, breath fogging the glass. In his gloved hand gleamed a knife.
“Mommy…” whispered Tasha, standing behind her. “Santa’s here.”
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Creepy Meter | How Creepy it was
