"Ho ho ho! Have a merry Christmas!" The boy grinned as he hopped down off Santa's lap and hurried back to his mother. Santa, or rather Gerald P. Schmegeggy, took a deep breath. It had been a long day, and he was sweating profusely under the layers of padding, the smothering white beard and wig atop his balding head, and the thick red suit. The general heat inside the mall was welcomed by the patrons who were coming in from the biting winter wind outside, but it was not helping Schmegeggy much at all.
It had been a long week, but it was worth the hassle. Working double holiday overtime on Christmas Eve meant he would get no less than quadruple his usual wages. He patted his chest, feeling for the small box in his front pocket. Yes, it was still there. It contained a small, unassuming silver band that was inset with a single, humble, clear stone. Even this small trinket had set him back many weeks' worth of pay, though the cost meant nothing to him. Tomorrow he would propose to Sheila. That would be the true beauty, greater than any piece of jewelry anyone could buy.
"Say," came a raspy voice from just over Schmegeggy's shoulder. He whirled around in his seat, but saw nothing. His throne sat up against the back railing of the area. Beyond were only the bubbling fountains of the wishing pool, over which this "Santa's Workshop" island was situated. His female elven assistant stood off to the side, but her attention was directed toward the twisting line of parents and their children. He supposed that it had been the sound of some distant shopper coughing or clearing his throat.
"Here we go," she chirped as she guided a little girl up to the chair, her hand resting on the girl's back. Schmegeggy lifted her up by her underarms and set her down on his lap. His back had a dull ache after repeating the motion so many times.
"And what's your name, little girl?" he asked in his deep and jolly Santa voice.
"Suzie," she replied.
"And have you been a good girl this year, Suzie?"
"Yes, Santa!" She smiled proudly.
"Ho ho ho! That's good to hear. And what would you like for Christmas this year?"
"Ten," came a raspy voice again, seemingly from all around this time. Schmegeggy paused, startled and still unable to determine who or what was making that sound. He was sure it was not the sound of someone coughing.
A bright flash brought him back to reality. Suzie's father knelt a few feet away holding a camera. He shifted about slightly as he tried to reach just the right angle for the next photograph. As Schmegeggy's eyes refocused he became aware of a slight burning sensation at the back of his skull.
"Santa?" He looked down at the girl. "Santa, didja hear?"
He shook his head, as if to recover from a dizzy spell. "Yes, of course. That's a fine choice, Suzie." Now his entire head was filled with a vaguely painful tingling sensation. "You know, Suzie, sometimes Santa wants some things for Christmas too. Some presents."
"Like milk and cookies?"
"Something like that." He twitched suddenly, and his hand clenched briefly around the girl's arm. "The cookies, maybe, but there's something Santa likes much better than milk."
"Chocolate milk?"
"Ho ho ho!" It was a deep laugh, but this time thoroughly devoid of joy. "No, Suzie. Santa doesn't want milk or chocolate milk. He would much rather have blood." Suzie stared up at the man with an inquisitive look, not quite understanding what he was saying.
"Blood, Suzie. I want to taste the blood of the innocent. I want it to spill over my lips and into my beard. I want it drip down and collect in my upturned hands, that I might taste it again. It will pool around and flow as the rivers." She looked up at him with wide and confused eyes. He looked back at her with a crazed smile. From some distance away it likely looked like a very cute and picturesque scene, and the father took the opportunity to preserve the image.
The iris had just sprung into action when Schmegeggy struck. With an animal growl he plunged two fingers into the girl's left eye socket. She squealed at the alien sensation, and squirmed backwards out of reach. His thick black gloves were left covered with some strange moisture. It was not enough. He wanted to feel it with his bare hands; he tore off his gloves and whipped them off to the side.
He suddenly swung his leg out to the side, his knee digging squarely into the diaphragm of the girl's father as he charged forward. The strength went out of him, and his momentum carried him forward. He toppled over, almost somersaulting, then continued rolling forward. His back and legs slammed into the railing, which gave way with a loud crack. He hung halfway over the edge for a moment before sliding over into the fountain. The people in line swayed back and forth, trying to look over each other's shoulders to see what was happening.
"Get security down here!" his coworker yelled. She turned to him. "Are you insane?!" He didn't reply, but picked up one of the amusingly large plastic candy canes that decorated the set. With demonic strength he hurled forward like a javelin. She leapt out of the way, but it continued on towards the crowd. Ribs broke with a wet snap, and the people nearest, all too aware now of what was transpiring before them, turned to flee, fighting their way through the tightly packed mass of those behind.
Schmegeggy himself leapt from the island through the broken railing and landed knee deep in the fountain. The tepid water soaked through the thin fabric of his pants and poured into his boots, but he took no notice. He glanced around in search of his prey. There it was, leaning against the side of the pool, groaning softly and clutching its stomach. He dug around inside the suit and pulled out the little black box. He pulled the ring out of thin cotton fabric and jammed it onto his middle finger; scraping past the first joint, then crushing the second. He was oblivious to the pain. There was nothing but the glorious, unquenchable thirst for blood.
His left hand gripped the man's throat, the nails digging deeply into the skin and drawing blood. He clenched his other hand into a fist and drove it repeatedly forward, even while his prey kicked at his chest. The small jewel on the ring sliced easily through the tender flesh, lacerating the man's face almost beyond recognition. With one final, mighty swing the back of the man's head was driven into the edge of the pool, rendering him unconscious. Small trails of blood seeped out from the dozens of cuts, and he licked at them before they could collect at the water's surface, reddening it.
Then he was off. There were screams behind him from those who saw his handiwork, but he could not be distracted now. There. The camping goods store. The hatchets. The cashier died screaming.
He was dimly aware of an announcement over the public address system ordering all patrons out of the mall. No. He would not be denied now, not even by the assembly of mall security and local police currently storming the entrances and setting up barricades. He finished chewing on what had once been a piece of a cheek. He could see the bright sheen of the fluorescent lights off their riot shields.
"Gerald! Drop your weapon and surrender, and you will not be harmed!"
"Ho ho ho ho ho!" It no longer mattered. His body could be ripped asunder, but his all-consuming hatred transcended life and death. He took a step forward. A shot rang out, and blood spurted from the wound in his leg. It could no longer support him, and as he toppled forward he whipped the hatchet forward. Someone cried out a moment later, and more shots came. He could see his own blood beginning to puddle around him. "More!" he yelled.
"Jerry!" a voice shrieked. He lifted his head. Through his blurry vision he could make out the form of a woman running towards him. His eyes softened; the burning in his brain subsided.
"Sheila?" She knelt beside him and peeled the red and sticky beard off. Blood soaked into her jeans.
"Why?" she whispered, cradling his head in her lap. Her eyes brimmed with tears. He lifted his hand up to her face. The jewel shimmered briefly.
"I..." He lifted his other arm up and around her neck. Something flashed across his eyes. He smiled, and blood flowed from between his teeth. "Because...human suffering...gets me hard." He stabbed the small jewel into her and drew it across her neck.
Far away, an officer barked orders. The air filled with a sound not unlike that of fireworks. Schmegeggy's bullet-riddled body finally slumped over, and the holocaust was complete.