Felicia’s Christmas Vengeance

By

Benjamin Kardos

A Novelette

2023

This story contains violent scenarios designed to ruin your holiday spirit.

Enjoy.

Chapter 1

It was nearly midnight. ‘I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus’ played softly on the radio. The warm smell of cookies and hot chocolate filled the living room as the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights cast a calming luminescence across the walls. Outside a light snow was falling.

Sasha Trautman was splayed out on the couch wearing nothing but a silk robe, rubbing her clit with her favorite vibrator, warming herself up for

her husband, Brad, who was currently in the bathroom preparing what he suggestively called her “Christmas treat.”

“You just wait here,” he’d told her in a teasing tone, “I’ll be right back with you Christmas treat.”

“I can’t wait,” Sasha said as she fell back on the couch, lifting her robe and opening her legs so he could see her blond haired pussy. “I’ll just get your Christmas cookie warmed up in the microwave for you.”

Brad had been in the bathroom for several long minutes during which time she got her pussy plenty warm. Finally, his voice arose from down the hallway. “Ho, ho, ho,” he said merrily. He walked around the corner dressed in a red latex speedo. Two Christmas bulbs were printed on the front, pushed out by the massive bulge between his legs. He had also adorned a pair of black leather boots, but what delighted Sasha the most was the white bushy beard and red Santa hat.

Her eyes went wide with surprise. “What’s this?” she exclaimed, sitting up, eyeing her husband hungrily.

“Just here to bring you some good old fashion Christmas cheer,” Brad told her. He raised his arms and flexed his biceps. The massive muscles swelled. Just looking at his body made Sasha’s pussy throb. She felt so lucky to have such a man. Under the light of the Christmas tree she studied the contours of his perfect body; his chiseled abs, wide shoulders, powerful legs and arms, and of course, the massive package still wrapped behind a thin layer of red latex.

“Mmm, am I allowed to open my presents now, or do I have to wait till morning like a good girl?” Sasha crooned.

Brad stepped up to her, gyrating his hips in her face like an exotic dancer. “Tonight, Santa is bringing his toys to bad little girls.”

Kneeling down, he slid her off the couch, laid her on the floor, and crawled on top of her. “So what’s on your Christmas list this year?”

Sasha reached a hand down and cupped his swelling cock. “I’ve got a big list this year,” she whispered as Brad began kissing and nibbling at her neck. She giggled. He opened her robe and began kissing down her body.

“Are you sure Felicia is asleep?” Sasha asked before things went too far.

Brad nodded his head, his face between her breasts. “I just checked on her; she’s out like a light.”

“Good,” Sasha said, thrusting her hips in anticipation. “She doesn’t need to see the dirty things I’m going to make Santa do to me tonight.”

“Well, she knows if she isn’t asleep that Santa won’t… come.” He winked.

Sasha grabbed the back of her husband’s head as his face disappeared between her legs. She moaned as his great beard tickled her thighs. “Oh fuck…” she gasped as his tongue circled her clit. “Santa’s not the only one coming tonight,” she moaned as he slowly slid first one finger inside her, then two.

Sasha squirmed as Brad ate her out on the floor. His tongue worked feverishly as he thrust his fingers in and out. She put a hand up to her mouth to stifle a scream as the pleasure built up inside her. She felt a gush between her legs. Brad lifted his head from between her legs with surprise. Clear liquid was dripping from his beard.

“Fuck Sasha, did you just squirt?”

“I… I think I did,” she said, her body quivering.

“You’ve never done that before, at least as far as I know.”

Sasha smiled at him. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

Brad smiled back; there was a twinkle in his eye as he slowly lowered the latex speedo, revealing all 9 inches of his thick, veiny manhood. “Let’s see if we can’t make some more miracles happen,” he suggested as he fell upon his wife with animalistic lust.

Chapter 2

Upstairs in her bedroom, Felicia’s chest burned with anger. She clutched Roxy, her stuffed bunny rabbit, in a tight fist, squeezing the neck of the stuffed animal as if intending to choke it to death.

She’d pretended to be asleep when her dad last checked on her. She saw the light from the hallway through her closed eyelids when he slowly opened her bedroom door. She listened as he crept back downstairs to the living room where they had all enjoyed hot chocolate and cookies earlier that evening.

“You better go to sleep,” he’d told her at about 10pm. “Santa won’t show up unless you are asleep.”

Like a good girl Felicia did as she was told. She didn’t understand exactly how Santa operated, but it seemed that he didn’t appreciate witnesses when he delivered presents. If there was any truth to this, then it only stood to reason that her parents should also be in asleep when he flew over. So what was her dad doing sneaking back downstairs near midnight?

Did he and mom want to shake Santa’s hand or something? What if she didn’t get any presents because her parents were such fucking night owls? What if he saw they were still awake and flew right over their fucking house?

She listened expectantly for the sounds of her parents’ footsteps on the stairs as they went to bed. Felicia glanced at her digital clock. It was 12:30. What time did Santa usually visit their house? Had he already passed them over? The very thought made Felicia grind her teeth. She sat up and angrily heaved Roxy across the room. There was no way she would allow her parents to ruin her Christmas morning by staying awake all night. She had to confront them.

Walking across the upstairs hall, Felicia became aware of a strange fleshy slapping come from downstairs, like two massive hands clapping together. She slowed her pace, taking careful, silent steps, ears perked toward the odd sound. She took the stairs just as cautiously, walking on the edges to avoid making any noise. She was a big girl for her age and walking down the stairs silently proved to be difficult. At the bottom she heard not only slapping, but moaning. She recognized sound of her mother’s voice.

“Fuck me… please fuck me… oh Santa…”

Peering around the corner into the living room, Felicia gasped silently.

Her eyes went wide with shock as she clasped her hands over her mouth.

What she saw was her naked mother on her knees being pounded in the ass by Santa Claus. Her tits swayed as the bearded man gave it to her with his massive cock, slapping his torso against her ass cheeks with each violent thrust. His long white beard swept against Sasha’s back as he fucked her.

So, Santa had paid their house a visit after all.

Felicia didn’t know much about sex and was baffled by how her mother could enjoy having something so large plunged in and out of her butthole. Didn’t it hurt?

Santa was much more muscular than she’d expected; not at all the fat elf she’d believed him to be. As Felicia watched the proceedings, she felt rage welling up inside her like acid. Clearly, her mom was fooling around with Santa behind her dad’s back. Felicia wondered where her dad was during all this; maybe he’d gone to bed after all. Or perhaps mom had slipped some sleeping pills into his hot chocolate earlier and dragged his unconscious body into the closet before Santa arrived. .

From her dark corner Felicia watched until Santa’s body stiffened. On some unspoken cue, he pulled out of her mother’s ass. Sasha quickly spun around and opened her mouth as Santa shot a load of white fluid out of his cock onto her waiting lips. She licked it all up, swallowing it with a smile.

Felicia’s stomach churned at the sight. She gagged, almost vomited.

She wanted to scream, and barely refrained from doing so. She glared at the bearded fuck in the ugly red hat. In a matter of seconds she learned the true

meaning of the word hate. How could her mom cheat on her dad like this?

What had he done to deserve it? He was a good man.

As Santa and her mom cuddled naked on couch in front of the family Christmas tree, Felicia sulked back upstairs to her bedroom, jaw clenched, her eyes narrow. In the moonlight beaming through her bedroom window she saw Roxy crumpled against the wall. Felicia picked the stuffed rabbit up, staring into the black button eyes. Her fingers stabbed into the little stuffed body. Her hands shook as her brain replayed the awful sight she’d just witnessed downstairs. Finally, as if something exploded inside her, she began savagely ripping Roxy apart. Stuffing flew all over the room as the soft toy was shredded. Once Roxy had been reduced to a shapeless pile of cotton and stitches, Felicia fell to the floor, crying quietly. What was she to do about the situation? Talk to her mother about what she saw? No, the bitch would just deny it.

She was stunned that her mom would cheat on Daddy. Daddy was the greatest man in the world. He was always taking them to cool places on vacation, played all her favorite games, and always made the best snacks for movie night. Felicia would never say it out loud, but couldn’t deny the fact that she loved Daddy more that her mother.

And now she hated her mom. And Santa.

Surrounded by the remains of her favorite stuffed toy, the girl made up her mind. She wouldn’t talk to anybody about what she saw. Not mom, not Daddy. Instead, she would make things right in her own way. When the time was right, she would take vengeance against the man who destroyed her family.

The solution was simple; Santa needed to die. Felicia had once year to figure out how to make it happen.

The next morning her dad woke her up with a greeting of “Merry Christmas!” He was extra jolly that morning. He hummed Christmas carols as he bounced around the kitchen making pancakes for both her and her mother. Felicia felt sorry for him; he was so blissfully unaware of what had transpired last night.

“Shall we see what Santa brought you?” her mother asked as they made their way to the living room. Felicia stared blankly at her mother. She could still picture Santa’s cock in her ass. The awful image was burned in her brain.

Felicia feigned excitement for Daddy’s sake as she ripped open her presents. It wasn’t easy. Every toy she got from Santa felt tainted. She looked

up at her parents as she opened them. They watched her with eager anticipation. One gift was a large stuffed teddy bear.

“Now Roxy can have a friend to play with,” her mother said as Felicia held the bear up in front of her like a big slimy fish.

Later that afternoon the bear met the same fate as Roxy did. Felicia threw the shredded remains of both in an alleyway dumpster.

It was the worst Christmas of Felicia’s life. After opening presents she spent the rest of the day alone in her room, plotting her revenge against that evil bastard from the North Pole, Santa Claus.

Chapter 3

For the next week Felicia struggled with whether or not to tell Daddy that she saw mommy fucking Santa Claus. It was an awful thing to keep to herself. She knew the truth would hurt him, and hurting Daddy was the last thing she wanted to do. She also wasn’t sure if he’d believe her: Mommy fucking Santa Claus? Really?

In any case, she never got the chance to tell him as he died the second week of January. The news came in the form of a phone call from the police.

With tear filled eyes Sasha sat Felicia down on the living room couch and explained to her what had happened.

“Your dad hit a patch of black ice on his way home from work; he lost control of the car and slid into the wrong lane where he was hit by a large truck. According to the police he died instantly. There was… no pain…”

Sasha broke down sobbing, holding her daughter in a tight embrace.

Felicia didn’t hold her mother back. Instead, her eyes narrowed and her body went turgid. What was her mother not telling her?

“You know your dad loved you very much,” Sasha managed to say.

“And I love you too, nothing will ever change that.”

“Will we still have Christmas?” Felicia finally asked in a monotone voice.

Her mother pulled out of the hug, held her by the hands and said, “Yes, Christmas, birthdays, Halloween… we’ll still do all the things we’ve always done as a family. All the things your dad loved.”

Felicia gave her a tight smile. “Good,” she said.

Face glistening with tears, Sasha gazed into her daughters eyes. “It was just an accident, Felicia. It could have happened to anyone.”

“Sure mom, just an accident.”

Chapter 4

Felicia spent the months following her father’s accident (no, murder) reading true crime and serial killer biographies borrowed from the library.

There was something about the stories psychopaths that made her feel…

good. Reading these books, it amazed her how long murderers got away with their crimes. Years could pass before they were caught and brought to justice. Nobody suspected Ted Bundy of being a killer rapist. And John Wayne Gacy had the bodies over two dozen young men buried in his crawl space by the time he was arrested. Walking with her mom in the grocery store Felicia eyed the strangers they passed in the aisles, wondering if there were any killers among them… or if her mother was the only one.

Sasha was slightly concerned about her daughter’s new interest, but she was never the type to censor her daughter’s reading. She assumed it was just part of Felicia’s mourning process; dark reading for a dark chapter in her life. However, she was worried that Felicia might sink into despair so deep she would never escape. So Sasha did what she could to try and bolster the girl’s spirits.

“What do you want for your birthday?” Sasha asked in April, the month Felicia would be turning 9.

Shrugging, Felicia said, “nothing.”

“Oh, come on,” her mother coaxed playfully. “You can have anything you want.”

“Anything?”

Sasha nodded enthusiastically.

Felicia thought a moment before answering. “Shooting lessons. I want to go to the gun range with Uncle Cliff.”

Sasha hesitated; “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“You said I have anything.”

“Oh, ok. I’ll ask him.”

Sasha was still apprehensive, but nevertheless, called her brother up and explained Felicia’s birthday wish. Over the phone Cliff was enthralled that his young niece was taking an interest in firearms.

“I’d be more than happy to teach her to shoot,” he said.

“Don’t you think she’s a little too young?” asked Sasha of her brother.

“Oh, you’re never too young to learn about self-defense,” he insisted.

“Don’t you worry; I’ll take good care of her.”

So a date was set and Felicia went to the shooting range with her uncle. Sasha spent that afternoon pacing the house, watching her phone, waiting for the news that Felicia had blown her hand off or worse.

Instead, the girl returned home with Uncle Cliff, wearing a big smile on her face. There was a spark in her eyes Sasha hadn’t seen since before Brad died.

“She’s a natural,” Cliff said proudly, patting Felicia on the shoulder.

“Look at this,” Felicia said excitedly. She was carrying a large piece of paper. Unfolding it she revealed a paper target drawn with the outline of a man’s upper body. There were bullet holes clustered around both the head and chest.

“See, killed that sucker dead,” Felicia declared.

“Nobody’s gonna mess with this girl, that’s for sure,” Cliff added.

“She’s got a better aim that some of the snipers I worked with in the Marines.”

Sasha forced a tight smile. She wasn’t crazy about this new found passion for shooting stuff, but at least it seemed to bring her daughter some semblance of happiness.

“Can we go again next week, mom?”

“Well… as long as you’re careful.”

“Don’t worry I will.”

There was a sinister look in Felicia’s eyes that caused a chill to travel up Sasha’s spine as the girl looked at her bullet riddled target. She looked as proud as if she had actually killed someone.

Chapter 5

The North Pole, Eight months later…

It was Christmas Eve. The sleigh was loaded with toys all carefully arranged under a large green tarp. Dozens of tiny elves dressed in velvet suits ran here and there on the loading dock making their last minute checks, insuring everything was ready for Santa’s big night.

Pinky, the supervisor elf, was leading the reindeer into position in front of the sleigh when Santa burst through the double doors on the side of the large room. He was dressed in his signature red coat and hat. The coat hung loose around his body. He’d lost 100 pounds over the past year. Mrs.

Claus had been worried about his health as of late and insisted that the fat man start eating right and exercising. Santa’s sudden change in lifestyle caused huge controversy throughout the North Pole headquarters. Some of the elves felt it would be detrimental to his image if he lost all his weight.

Pinky had been one of them.

“The belly like a bowlful of jelly is your trademark,” he argued with the big boss during a staff meeting when the issue was addressed. “If you lose that, all our marketing is out the window.”

“Ah, I don’t give a corn shit about marketing,” Santa countered with a wave of his hand. “I’m Santa, and last I heard, I’ve got a monopoly on Christmas. I don’t see anyone else lining up to deliver presents around the world in one night. Besides, Mrs. Claus is enjoying my new trim figure.”

He gave a suggestive wink at his wife who sat across the conference table from him. “Oh hush,” she said, blushing.

Pinky looked at Mrs. Claus and licked his lips. She was a real babe with large round breasts and hard nipples poking through her tight red dress.

Occasionally he saw her walking through the workshop, inspecting the toys for quality. Sometimes they made eye contact and Mrs. Claus would wink at him. He’d often violently masturbate thinking about all the ways he would fuck her if only Santa was out of the picture. It was a frustrating life.

In any case, Santa had spent all year hitting the gym and was now sporting the body of a Greek god.

“Is everything ready boys?” Santa asked that evening as the elves completed the last minute preparations.

Pinky was polishing Rudolph’s red nose with a rag. “I believe so boss; toys are packed, reindeer fed, the sleigh inspected. It should be a smooth night.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Santa said. With the grace of a jungle cat, he leapt upon the sleigh and took the reins.

“Have a good night,” said Mrs. Claus.

Pinky spun around on his heel to find Santa’s wife standing behind him. His face came up level with her tits. A surge of blood rushed to his crotch as he briefly glanced into her deep cleavage.

“Thank you my dear,” Santa said. He leaned down out of the sleigh and kissed his wife deeply. Their tongues danced together. Pinky gazed at the floor to hide his jealously.

“Alright boy, open the bay doors,” Santa ordered. One of the elves ran to the wall and pushed a large button. An alarm sounded and the massive steel doors swung open, revealing the snowy landscape outside.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Santa exclaimed jovially as he thrashed at the reins, coaxing the reindeer into motion. Pinky stood by and watched as the sleigh slide across the floor and took off into the sky. Ever since Santa got into shape his signature phrase just didn’t have the same ring to it. As soon as Santa disappeared from view Pinky ordered the bay doors closed. He then wandered off down the hall considering maybe later paying Mrs. Claus a visit

in her room. Perhaps this would be the Christmas Eve he would finally fuck her. An elf can dream at least.

Chapter 6

Tonight was the night Felicia had been preparing for, the night she would make things right. All year, her hatred had time to fester. She’d learned to keep it hidden. Many nights were spent lying awake in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, mentally rehearsing all the things she would say and do when the time was right. Now, her time had come.

Sasha was brushing her teeth in the downstairs bathroom. Felicia watched from around the corner of the door as the murderous adulteress prepared for bed. Felicia’s hatred oozed out of every pore as she watched her; this was the woman who had taken her Daddy away from her. Oblivious to the girl spying on her, Sasha brushed her hair. Felicia scowled. Her mom was trying to look good for Santa, preparing for her Christmas fuck fest. The fucking bitch deserved what was coming to her.

As Sasha washed her face, Felicia walked up behind her, holding something behind her back.

“How did you do it, mom?” Felicia asked.

Sasha spun around with a gasp, water dripping from her face. “God, Felicia! You startled me!”

“How did you do it?” Felicia repeated.

“What are you talking about?”

“How did you kill Daddy? Was Santa driving the truck when it hit him?

Did you call him to let him know Daddy was on his way home from work?”

Furrowing her brow in confusion Sasha said, “What are you talking about Felicia?”

“I’m talking about how you and Santa killed Daddy.”

“That’s not funny,” Sasha scolded. “Your daddy’s death was an accident. You know that. Why… why would you say I killed him?”

“Not just you… you and Santa.”

Sasha’s jaw was set firm. “That’s so not funny, Felicia. You shouldn’t make jokes like that.”

Felicia sneered. “There’s no joking. I saw you last year; I saw what you did with Santa Claus. You were… FUCKING him. That’s why you wanted Daddy out of the picture, so you could fuck Santa instead!”

“Watch your language, young lady,” Sasha said firmly. “You’re going to bed now.” She reached a hand out to take Felicia by the arm, but Felicia stepped away.

“What are you holding behind your back?” Sasha asked.

Taking her hands from behind her back, Felicia revealed the crowbar that she’d nabbed from the garage earlier that day.

“What are you doing with that?” Sasha asked, her eyes wide with growing fright. Felicia grinned at the flash of panic she saw in her mother’s eyes.

“It’s time to avenge Daddy,” she said, stepping forward, “Time to avenge his murder.” Without another word she swung the crowbar with all her strength. The steel bar connected with her mother’s knee with a sickening crack. Sasha howled in pain as she fell to the linoleum floor.

“Felicia! What are you doing?”

Felicia brought the crowbar down on the other knee. She felt the bone break like a twig under the force. Her mom shrieked and tried to escape her daughter by sliding across the floor on her ass. She backed up against bathtub, unable to going any further. “Felicia, you’re hurting me!”

“Shut up, you cheating bitch!” Felicia spat as she swung the crowbar against her mom’s face. A shower of blood and teeth splattered against the wall like a wave of baby spit-up. Sasha’s temple struck the edge of the tub when Felicia hit her again. Blood began flowing down the side of her face.

Spitting teeth out of her mouth, Sasha tried to speak. Her words bubbled with blood and spit.

“Fel… Felicia… wh… why?”

Felicia didn’t hear a thing the woman was trying to say. She stood over her, brandishing the crowbar like a broadsword.

“Why? Why did you cheat on Daddy? Why did you kill him? What did he do to deserve it?”

“I… I didn’t…ch… cheat,” Sasha mumbled. She felt on the verge of losing consciousness. The pain throbbed up from her broken knees like two pulsating hearts.

“Now you will pay for what you’ve done.” Felicia lifted the crowbar high like a spear and with a driving thrust pushed it into her mother’s eye socket. Blood spurted up from the wound like a volcanic eruption. Weakly, Sasha lifted her arms as if to defend herself. She managed to wrap a hand around the crowbar, but the growing shock and loss of blood caused her to drop it back to the floor.

Grinning demonically, Felicia pulled the crowbar out of her mom’s eye socket. Immediately Sasha keeled over on her side. Blood and ocular fluid pooled on the floor. Felicia noticed with sadistic satisfaction that her mother’s eyeball was stuck to the end of the crowbar.

Flipping the weapon, Felicia held it over her head, bringing the curved side down like a club on her mom’s skull. Felicia’s system rushed with adrenaline hearing the iron hit bone. She swung it again and again, crushing her mother’s skull as if it were made of cardboard. She laughed as her mom’s brain became visible through the hole in her skull. She couldn’t believe how much she enjoyed murdering her mom. It felt absolutely incredible. Blood and brain matter splashed across her face with each heavy strike.

Finally, Felicia stopped swinging the crowbar. Bending down, she tugged her mother’s pajama bottoms off. Then, spreading her legs, Felicia took the crowbar and jammed it up her mother’s vagina as far as she could.

“Big enough for you bitch?” she asked mockingly as a fresh puddle of blood flowed out of her mother’s pussy, spreading evenly over the bathroom tile like mirror glaze on a cake.

Sasha felt the pain of the crowbar lancing up through her body. She groaned in anguish as she slowly succumbed to blood loss. With the vision fading in her one good eye, Sasha feebly glanced up Felicia. The girl stood over her triumphantly, licking blood and chucks of brain off her lips. With what remained of her brain, Sasha’s Trautman’s last thought of her life was to wonder what she ever could have done to deserve dying like this.

Chapter 7

The adulteress bitch was dead. Felicia stood over her, breathing heavily. She was tired, but it was time for the real work to begin. Felicia looked at the clock; it was just after 10pm. She ran up to her mom’s bedroom, opened the closet and pushed a layer of hanging clothes out of the way, revealing her dad’s steel combination gun safe against the back wall.

Spinning the dial, Felicia entered the combination. It had taken many weeks of sneaking into her mother’s bedroom and fiddling with number sequences before Felicia finally hit the right one. In the end, the combination was so obvious she was almost embarrassed she didn’t think of it earlier: her birthday. It was just like her dad to do something like that. As she opened the safe that night Felicia felt a twinge of sadness thinking about her Daddy. He was such a good man; she missed him so much…

“Thanks Daddy,” she whispered as she reached a hand into the safe. In addition to a small collection of rifles and shotguns, Felicia found his 9mm Beretta revolver from his days in the military. Behind it was a box of ammunition. She loaded the gun and took it with her to the kitchen where she enacted the next part of her plan.

The kitchen was filled with the aroma of baking cookies. As they baked, Felicia worked on her mom’s body with a hacksaw, cutting her up into little pieces, stuffing her arms, legs, torso, and internal organs into garbage bags and taking them to the basement. She only kept one bag upstairs with her. She then cleaned the bathroom of any remaining blood and bile.

When the oven finally dinged Felicia pulled the cookies out and dished them out onto the rack to cool. She took another look at the clock. It was almost midnight; time to go to bed. She put the cookies on a plate next to a glass of milk. On a piece of notebook paper she wrote a short note; Hi Santa, I hope you enjoy the cookies I made for you. I put all my love into them. Sincerely, Felicia.

Felicia went to bed, tucking her father’s 9mm under her pillow. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. To anyone watching, she appeared to be sound asleep. She’d spent all year learning to feign slumber, all in preparation for this night. For extra effect she even added a little snore. Other than that, the house was silent as death.

Chapter 8

Other than a few minor bumps of turbulence, the night had been going exceptionally smooth. Santa calculated he would be finished with his deliveries at least an hour earlier than usual. He was circling over the Trautman house, scanning the yard for the perfect landing zone. He knew Felicia, the little girl who lived there, had had an extremely difficult year. Her father died in a car crash last January and she’d been struggling with his loss ever since. With this in mind, Santa made a point of packing some extra presents for her; it was the least he could do to try and contribute a little light to her otherwise terribly dark year.

The reindeer landed softly in the snow covered yard and Santa got out of sleigh carrying a bag of presents over his shoulder. Contrary to popular belief, he never landed on roofs. He also never entered houses by going down the chimney. Instead, he always went through the door using a special universal key he’d fashioned in the workshop years ago.

Inside the Trautman’s dark living room he spotted the Christmas tree set up in the corner. Moving silently, he made his way to the Christmas tree, but stopped when he saw a plate of cookies on the coffee table. He had promised Mrs. Claus he wouldn’t overindulge in cookies this year, and he’d been mostly good to his word, only taking a nibble every other house that he stopped at. He figured just one more cookie wouldn’t hurt. Dropping his bag next to the coffee table, he picked up Felicia’s note, and read it under the light

of the moon. He then picked up one of the cookies. It was thick, soft and smelled delicious; chocolate chip, his favorite. Smiling with delight he opened his mouth and shoved the entire thing in his mouth.

He then began screaming as sharp pain exploded across his tongue.

At first he thought perhaps a venomous spider had crawled across the cookie and bit him. Reaching a hand inside his mouth he discovered with horror that it was full of sewing needles and broken glass.

“AAAAAHHH!” he screamed as he began clawing at the needles. They filled his mouth like porcupine quills. Some were lodged deep into the roof of his mouth, others speared through his tongue. One managed slipped down his throat. He gagged as it went down and lodged in his esophagus. He coughed and pulled desperately at the needles in his tongue. He managed to extract several, dropping them to the floor. Bits of glass shredded at his gums and stuck between his teeth. Blood collected in his beard as he tried spitting the glass out.

Sticking his tongue out as far as he could, he felt for more needles. The wet, bloody organ felt like a pin cushion. His entire mouth felt like it was on fire. He fell to his knees, spitting and clawing. He felt like he was choking. His vision began tunneling as the panic set in.

Suddenly, the living room lights turned on. Squinting against the sudden harsh glare, Santa looked up and saw a short figure standing in the corner.

“Hello Santa.”

Santa mumbled, blood dribbling from his lips. Felicia walked into the room. She was wearing a pair of pajamas and carrying a revolver in her hand, holding it with the steady comfort of a seasoned gunslinger.

“Wh… what?” Santa managed to articulate as the girl slowly approached.

“No, no,” said Felicia, “don’t try talking, Santa. It’s bad manners to try talking with your mouth full.” She snickered at her own joke.

“Please… help…” Santa burbled, rising unsteadily to his feet.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment all year,” Felicia said. “Ever since I saw what you did with my mom last Christmas, after what you did to my Daddy, all I’ve wanted to do was show you how much I hate you.”

Santa’s eyes furrowed with confusion. His eyes brimmed with tears of pain. For a moment he stopped trying to pull the needles out of his tongue, staring at the young girl before him, trying to understand what she was telling him. Bits of glass felt from his mouth on rivers of saliva and blood. He stared at the gun in her hand.

“I don’t understand,” he said with his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

He started backing away from her. He knew if he could just get out the door he would be ok…

A sharp blast from the revolver filled the room and Santa felt his knee shatter. A thick spray of blood squirted out of the hole where his kneecap had been just a moment ago. Howling with agony, he collapsed on the carpet.

“Why are you doing this?” he cried.

Felicia cackled bitterly. She walked towards him with the gate of a girl much older than her tender years. Aiming the gun with grim accuracy, she took out his other knee. With bulging eyes Santa scooted backwards in a pathetic attempt to get away. He fell against the Christmas tree. The branches brushed against his neck and back. Felicia knelt down next to him, holding the revolver to his head. Santa closed his eyes and convulsed with sobs.

“Please, don’t do this,” he begged.

Ignoring him, Felicia said, “You know, Santa, I believed all my life you were a good person, I never would have thought you could be such a big…

doody-head!”

She slapped hard him across the face with the gun. “I have to ask, how many other moms have you been sticking your dick inside? Or was it just mine?”

Slowly, Santa lifted his eyes to look at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh Pu-leeze!” Felicia said with a roll of her eyes. “You stupid shit, I saw you with my mom last year! Don’t even try to deny it. I saw the way you put your big, ugly dick in her butt! It was so nasty!”

Jumping to her feet, Felicia reared back and kicked Santa in the balls.

Immediately his hands went to his crotch. He groaned with the pain; his body stiffened.

As he cradled his tender groin Felicia began pacing the room. “And then, as if doing the nasty with my mom wasn’t enough, you killed my Daddy just so you could have her all to yourself.”

“Your dad’s death was… an accident,” said Santa, his voice quavering and desperate. “I had nothing to with it. Felicia, believe me.”

Felicia scoffed. “Yeah right, an accident? You expect me to believe that? You travel around the world in one night on a flying sleigh; causing a car crash shouldn’t be any problem for you.”

Santa’s head spun with bewilderment, agony, and terror. The things the girl was saying, the things she was accusing him of, made no sense. Had the sorrow of losing her father caused her to lose her mind? Had his death turned her into a psychopath? Reaching blindly for any kind of weapon to

defend himself, his hand disappeared into the Christmas tree. He made contact with a smooth glassy ornament. Seizing the fragile bulb he threw it at Felicia. It bounced off her chest and rolled across the floor.

“What was that?” Felicia said, laughing at his pathetic attack. She aimed her revolver and in quick succession shot him in both shoulders, shattering his Humerus bones. As Santa screamed, she bent down to pick it up the bulb and, grabbing the back of his head, ground it against his face. The thin glass tore into his skin in a series of nasty little cuts. Felicia grabbed more bulbs from the tree, slamming them into his eyes. Santa tried raising his arms in defense, but his shattered shoulders left him helpless. As the glass cut into his eyeballs, Santa felt his strength leaving him like air out of a leaking tire. Blood flowed freely from both his shoulders and knees. He shook his head against Felicia’s assault, but was unable to do anything else.

Standing back, Felicia took in Santa’s bloody face, his needle filled mouth, his blown kneecaps and shoulders. She loved every moment of torturing the evil fuck. But she wasn’t done.

Leaving Santa alone for just a moment she walked out of the room, returning with a black trash bag in one hand, a butcher’s knife in the other.

Defeated, Santa just watched her, whimpering softly, breathing heavily.

“You’re an asshole, Santa; fucking my mom, killing my Daddy. You’re a murderer, a fucking murderer!”

“I’m not a murderer,” Santa choked.

“Yeah,” sneered Felicia. “And I’m not Macaulay Culkin.”

Without another word, she used the knife to cut open Santa’s coat and shirt, exposing his washboard abs underneath.

“Aren’t you supposed to be fat? Why did you lose all your weight, Santa? Trying to look good for my mom?” Felicia traced the knife along the contours of his ridged muscles. “You know what I think? It was a bad idea for you to lose all that weight. You’re Santa after all; you’re supposed to be fat.

Who would recognize you this skinny?”

Santa’s mind drifted to the staff meeting where he and the elves had this very conversation. Thinking about the North Pole made him fall into another fit of desperate sobs. He thought about Mrs. Claus and the anxiety and fear she’d experience when he didn’t return home.

“Please,” Santa begged. “I have a wife. Let me go home to her.”

Felicia grinned cruelly. “Not before we make you fatter.” She then opened the garbage bag. “You know, watching you stuff your dick inside my mom last year, I thought of something. If you can stick your meat in her, why can’t I stick her meat in YOU?”

From out of the bag she lifted her mom’s severed head. Sasha’s remaining dead eye gaped at Santa as Felicia held the head up by the hair, dangling it like an ornament.

Felicia then took the butcher’s knife and stabbed it deep into Santa’s belly. Dark blood flowed out over his pants onto the carpet. Grunting from the effort, she sawed a long gash from one side of his body to the other. Santa groaned, but no longer had the strength to scream, to fight, to live.

With both hands Felicia grasped either side of the deep wound and ripped it apart like a potato chip bag. Santa’s intestines began tumbling out onto his lap like a pile of dead snakes. Taking her mother’s head, she placed it against the open hole and shoved it in. Squelching sounds like muddy boots emanated from the hole as Santa’s organs were pushed aside to make room for Sasha’s head.

“Now you and your bitch are together forever,” Felicia said when she finished. She gaze at her work, satisfied with the beautiful bulge her mother’s head made inside Santa’s torso. She laughed manically in a high pitched tone.

“Now THAT’S the fat Santa we know and love!”

Chapter 9

Santa expired moments later. Felicia watched his eyes flutter, gleefully noting the agony in his last few moments of life. Santa died in fear and pain, exactly how she wanted.

In the silence that followed, Felicia gazed around the living room as if for the first time in her life. It was all so strange. This was the very room in which she’d caught Santa and her mom in the throes of passion last year, and exactly one year later it was the room in which justice had been served.

Her body hummed with excitement, every nerve tingled. In the course of one night, she’d violently killed two people. It made her feel more alive that she’d ever felt before. Almost immediately, she began to wonder when she would have the opportunity to kill again.

She walked to the window and looked outside. Standing there in the snow she saw Santa’s sleigh and team of reindeer. The reindeer appeared restless; several stomped their hooves. Perhaps they’d heard the gunshots and Santa’s screams coming from inside the house.

Grinning from ear to ear, Felicia noticed Santa’s large bag of presents lying on the floor next to the coffee table. Felicia picked it up and shook out the contents. Colorfully wrapped gifts tumbled out onto the carpet. Felicia then ran upstairs to Daddy’s safe and began filling the empty bag with guns and ammunition. Going back downstairs, she used the hacksaw she’d

dismembered her mother with to remove Santa’s head, putting it in the bag with the collection of weapons. She then dressed up warmly in snow pants and a parka. Thus outfitted, she threw the sack over her shoulder and walked outside into the cold winter air.

The reindeer watched the little girl approaching them. They shook their heads anxiously, backing away from the stranger.

“Hello Rudolph,” Felicia said, noticing the leaders red nose. “Bet you were expecting Santa, right?” She walked up to the red nosed reindeer and reached a hand out to touch him. Rudolph shirked back as if the girl were made of fire. His dark eyes were full of apprehension, constantly looking at the house as if expecting Santa to appear. Felicia laughed. “Oh no, Santa is dead. I killed the asshole. But don’t worry, he had it coming. Bet you never expected that right?”

Rudolph huffed angrily.

“In any case,” continued Felicia, “you’re with me now and if you want to live you will do as I say.”

She ran to the sleigh and jumped in, dropping her bag at her feet.

“Take me to the North Pole!” she ordered. The reindeer looked back at her, unsure what to do. Felicia pulled her Daddy’s revolver out of the bag and pointed it into the sky. She let off one shot.

“Take me to the North Pole or I’ll shoot you all like fucking dogs!” she screamed.

The sleigh lurched forward over the snow as the reindeer reluctantly did as instructed. As they circled up into the sky Felicia gazed down on her family home, knowing full well she could never return. As they flew over the city, she surveying the countless houses and apartment complexes below, wondering how many other adulterers were destroying their families that night.

Chapter 10

“Oh fuck, that feels good!”

Glistening with sweat, Mrs. Claus writhed naked on the bed. Lying between her legs, Pinky had one arm buried deep in her pussy, the other in her ass. Up to his elbows, he thrust one arm after the other inside her, as if hitting a punching bag hidden in her body.

“Yeah, you like that, you dirty bitch?” he growled as he double fisted her. His mouth was open, a trail of drool dribbling out. Mrs. Claus arched her back in pleasure as he rammed her in both holes.

He could hardly believe it, his fantasy had come true. He was actually fucking Mrs. Claus. It all came to pass after inviting her into his apartment for drinks. After sharing a few cranberry vodkas and an hour of flirtatious conversation, a loose lipped Mrs. Claus shared one of her dirties fantasies.

“I’m always fantasized about being doubled fisted by an elf,” she said in a slurred, giggly voice. “Your elf arms are the size of good, thick cocks.”

Pinky gazed down at his arms, realizing she was right. “Well,” he said, grinning drunkenly, “what do you say we make your dreams come true?”

Mrs. Claus had never cheated on Santa before, but if this was how good it felt, she had no doubt she would be doing it again.

“Damn, you’re one sexy woman,” Pinky said. He was grinding his elf sized cock into the mattress as he fist fucked her. His arms burned from the exertion, but holy hell, was the experience was unbelievable.

“I’m gonna cum!” Mrs. Claus screamed.

It was then that the alarm went off, signaling Santa’s return.

Pinky stopped pumping his fists into her body. “What? No, it’s too early.”

“Get your damn hands out of me,” demanded Mrs. Claus. She leapt from the bed, got dressed, and hastily brushed the tangles from her hair.

Pinky did the same.

Together they rushed down the hall towards the loading dock, where the other elves stood by the open bay doors, observing the sky. The frosty North Pole air cooled their hot faces as they stood by, watching as the sleigh came into view and taxied onto the loading zone.

“Husband, you’re really early! How did your night go?” Mrs. Claus asked, trying not to sound flustered as she hurried up to the sleigh. Pinky was right behind her. She gasped with shock to see not her husband, but a young girl behind the reins.

“Who are you? Where’s my husband?”

Felicia stared the woman standing slack jawed before her. “Mrs.

Claus?” she asked.

“I am. Now who the hell are you?”

“That’s weird,” Felicia said, “I always thought you were old. You’re way too young and pretty to be Mrs. Claus.”

“Well, I am,’ Mrs. Claus said haughtily. “Now where is my husband, little girl?”

“Oh, don’t worry, he’s here.” Felicia reached down and grabbed her bag. Opening it, she reached in and extracted Santa’s bloody head. Dangling it by the beard, she dropped it at Mrs. Claus’ feet.

Mrs. Claus fell to her knees, placing her hands on the severed head’s cheeks. “No!” she howled. “No! No! Nooooo!”

Pinky collapsed beside her, his complexion pale, his eyes big as Christmas wreaths. He put a hand on Mrs. Claus’ back. She put her head into his chest and sobbed.

“How could you do this? How could you do this to Santa?” She raised her fists to her eyes and bawled. Instinctively, Pinky planted a kiss on her cheek. “It’ll be ok,” he said. “We still have each other.”

Felicia arched an eyebrow at his statement.

Meanwhile, the other elves, two dozen in all, slowly circled the sleigh like wolves stalking prey.

“Don’t even think about it,” Felicia warned. She held up her Daddy’s revolver and swept it around the room. The elves immediately backed away.

“You BITCH!” Mrs. Claus snarled, rising to her feet. “You killed Santa.

You little fucking cunt! I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking KILL you!”

Pinky stood behind her. Felicia couldn’t help but notice the way he briefly glanced at Mrs. Claus’ shapely ass.

Mrs. Claus stepped forward. Felicia aimed the gun at her face. “Stay where you are.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me too? Do you know what you’ve done, you cunt? You’ve destroyed Christmas for the entire world!”

“Christmas was already destroyed for me last year,” Felicia said coldly,

“when I caught your husband fucking my mom in the ass on our living room floor.”

Mrs. Claus blinked away tears in rapid succession. “Wh… what? He would never…”

“Oh, but he did,” Felicia interrupted. “Believe me, the greatest Christmas present I have ever got was watching the life fade from his eyes as I shoved my mother’s head inside his fucking body.”

Mrs. Claus backed away from the sleigh, swaying as if on the edge of blacking out. Pinky quickly jumped to her aid, putting his body behind her, preventing her from falling. “It’s ok baby. I’m here; I’ve got you.”

“What?” Felicia exclaimed, her eyes bouncing between the two of them. “Baby? What the fuck are you saying, little man?” She noticed the way Pinky grasped Mrs. Claus’ hand, rubbing his thumb over her fingers tenderly.

Felicia laughed bitterly with realization. “Oh, I see; so Santa isn’t the only one getting some on the side. What’s this, Mrs. Claus? You got a thing for little guys?”

“Now you listen here!” Pinky said, pointing an angry finger at Felicia.

“You have no right to judge her! Who do you think you…”

A blast from Felicia’s revolver and the top of Pinky’s head exploded into a cloud of gore. Mrs. Claus gasped as Pinky’s brains splashed across her face and body. He collapsed like a mannequin at her feet, his body quivering.

“Oh god! You… you…” Mrs. Claus gagged and a long stream of red vomit erupted all over Pinky’s body.

“How long have you and brainless there been fucking each other?”

Felicia asked.

Mrs. Claus screamed in response, her face bright red with rage.

Shaking, she charged at the sleigh like a bull at a matador’s cape. Calmly, Felicia killed her with a single shot to the forehead.

“I hate cheaters,” she mumbled in the silence that followed.

It was in that moment the other elves broke out of their shocked stupor and began running for their lives. Felicia reached into her bag and grabbed her dad’s sniper rifle. From her perch in the sleigh she took shots at the elves as they fled for the exit. She downed half of them like gophers in a field. Jumping from the sleigh she followed the remaining elves into the hall.

Chasing them up and down the halls of the North Pole headquarters, she shot them one by one, laughing with each kill. It was like a video game and way more fun than shooting paper targets at the gun range with Uncle Cliff.

It didn’t take long before the elves were exterminated. The hallways were littered with tiny bodies, the walls splashed in their fluids. Alone, Felicia walked the quiet halls of the North Pole headquarters, exploring every room she passed. She found the workshop where the toys were assembled and the apartments were the elves lived. She came across a conference room with a long oak table and later a large kitchen and pantry stocked with a massive supply of food. If necessary, Felicia thought, she could live here for years.

She soon found Santa’s office. There was a computer on his desk.

Felicia moved the mouse and the dark screen lit up with the viewpoints of multiple hidden cameras. Scrolling through the video feeds, Felicia saw images from households all over the world.

“So this is how he sees us when we’re sleeping,” Felicia said to herself.

She was suddenly hit with an exhilarating realization; with unlimited access to Santa’s headquarters, she had access to the entire world.

She returned to the loading zone where the reindeer still stood harnessed to the sleigh, unable to move and unsure what to do. They looked to be trapped in a car’s headlights, frozen with panic.

“Well, it’s just us now,” Felicia said to them, her rifle hanging over her shoulder. The reindeer huffed in fright at her approach.

“Don’t be afraid, I’m not going to hurt you. In fact, I think I may have some use for you.” She looked into Rudolph’s eyes. She lifted a hand and

petted his nose. Rudolph went rigid under her touch, but slowly relaxed as she continued petting him in soft strokes.

“Flying reindeer could come in handy for what I have planned,” Felicia said. “But we won’t be carrying presents in the sleigh anymore. Do you want to know what we’ll be carrying?”

Rudolph’s ears twitched as if anxious to hear her answer.

“Justice,” Felicia whispered.

Conclusion

The mutilated corpses in the Trautman’s house were discovered when Sasha’s friend Eva stopped by for a visit a few days after Christmas. When nobody answered the door she peered through the living room window to discover a man’s mutilated body collapsed under the Christmas tree.

Screaming, she called the police.

Sasha Trautman’s dismembered remains were found tied up in garbage bags in the basement. Her decapitated head was found stuffed into the body of the unidentified man with the long white beard and Santa clothes. An autopsy was performed on him, but his identity remained a mystery.

“Probably a new boyfriend she was having over,” Eva suggested during the police investigation. “Sasha once told me she had a sort of ‘Santa fetish.’ Apparently sometimes her late husband Brad would dress as Santa for role play during sex. Kinda weird, but it was their thing I guess.”

The Trautman’s daughter, Felicia, was never found. The police speculated that whoever butchered the mystery man and her mother had kidnapped her. Another theory suggested that she was the one who had committed these heinous acts. This however, was quickly ruled out. How could a 9 year old girl be capable of such violence?

The following Christmas saw no presents from Santa Claus under anyone’s tree. In place of gifts were screams of horror as families the world over awoke to find someone they loved brutally murdered. Wives found their husbands decapitated, husbands found their wives bludgeoned to a pulp.

It was an event social media coined “The Christmas Carnage.”

Investigators looked into this world wide slaughter, but were unable to find any evidence as to who was responsible. The killings seemed to be completely random as the victims had no connection to each other.

In time, a similarity between the thousands of victims was discovered, even though it brought investigators no closer to locating the perpetrators; all the deceased were adulterers.