"Twas Christmas Eve in the workhouse, and the rain was snowing fast. The barefooted boy with clogs on, stood sitting on the grass." David Banks grinned as he watched his two children's faces. Emily was a mixture of disdain and boredom. Jack looked confused.

"What are clogs?" the nine year old asked.

"Wooden shoes," Emily muttered. "Dad recites that every Christmas Eve. Don't you remember last year?"

Jack shook his head. "And what's a workhouse?"

"A place poor people were sent to in Victorian England. We don't have places like that here in Miami," David said.

"Why do you do it?"

David looked at Emily, his grin broadening. "Because my dad always recited that verse to us on Christmas Eve, It's a sort of family tradition. You'll probably do the same with your kids."

Emily shook her head. "No, I won't."

"Okay, enough banter. Bedtime. It's Christmas Eve, and Santa's on his way."

Emily snorted her derision.

"Emily, for your brother's sake, show a little Christmas spirit."

She snorted once more, and settled back down into her bed. Jack was already asleep as David turned the light off and crept out of the door.

Emily woke up as the bedroom curtain was pulled back. 

"It's snowing," Jack said.

"What time is it? What are you doing out of bed?" It was at that point Emily realised what Jack had said. "Snowing? It doesn't snow in Miami!"

Then she heard a slight scuffling followed by a low moan. It was two sounds, neither of which belonged to Christmas.

It was not the whisper of snow against the window, nor the comforting tick of the landing clock. It was a low, wet groan, like something trying very hard to breathe.

She sat up in bed and listened. The groan came again, followed by a soft thump on the stairs.

From the window, her brother’s eyes grew wide.  "Did you hear that?" Jack whispered. "Is it Santa?"

Emily nodded. At twelve, she was old enough to know that monsters were not real. At twelve, she was also old enough to know when something was very wrong... and it certainly wasn't Santa. More likely a burglar. The thought sent shivers down Emily's spine.

They crept onto the landing. Moonlight spilled across the bannister, and at the bottom of the stairs sat a large sack. Red. Familiar.

Santa’s sack.

The pair slowly descended the stairs, one slow step at a time. The air seemed to be alive with the feeling of tension and fear.

The groan came from inside the sack.

Jack edged closer. "Maybe Santa’s hurt."

The sack twitched.

Before Emily could stop him, Jack pulled at the drawstring.

A teddy bear fell out.

It was once brown. It had once been soft. One ear hung by a thread, one glass eye was milky and cracked, and the other seemed sinister. Its stitched smile had been pulled wider than any smile should go. When it landed, it did not lie still. It pushed itself upright.

Then it groaned again, and bared its teeth.

"It's got fangs for teeth," Jack said in a squeaky, fearful voice.

Emily grabbed Jack and dragged him backwards as the bear lurched towards them, stuffing spilling from a split seam like pale entrails.

"Zombie teddy," Jack breathed.

Behind them, the living room door creaked open.

Santa Claus stood in the shadows.

His suit was dull, as if the red had been leached away. His beard hung in clumps, and his eyes glowed faintly green.

"Children," he said, his voice layered, as though something else spoke beneath it. "It is time for your gift."

The teddy charged.

Emily seized the nearest thing to hand, the old brass bell they rang on Christmas morning. She rang it hard, right beside the bear’s head.

The sound was sharp, bright, and pure.

The teddy screamed.

It collapsed, twitching, and lay still.

Santa staggered, clutching his head.

"Emily," Jack said urgently, pointing at the fireplace. "Mum said bells scare bad spirits away."

Emily understood.

She rang the bell again, louder this time, and Jack joined in, clapping the brass bell against the hearthstones. The sound filled the room, echoing up the chimney like a challenge.

Santa howled. Black smoke poured from his mouth and eyes, twisting into the shape of something thin and hateful before being dragged upwards and gone.

Santa fell to his knees.

When he looked up again, his eyes were kind.

"Oh dear," he said, brushing ash from his sleeve. "That was most unpleasant."

He snapped his fingers. The zombie teddy crumbled into dust.

"Thank you," Santa said softly. "I think I’ll stick to trains and books from now on."

With a wink, he vanished up the chimney.

Emily and Jack stood in silence.

"Best Christmas ever?" Jack said at last.

Emily smiled, and rang the bell once more, just in case.

Copyright © Tom Kane December 2025

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