Stuff of Nightmares: A Collection of Short Horror Stories

Santa Claus is Coming

Every year on Christmas Eve, I sat in front of the fire with a hot steaming cup of coffee. I would usually go through six or seven mugs a night to ensure I stay awake until daylight. It'd worked for the past twenty years and I sure as hell weren't going to stop now, not when I know that monster was out looking for me.

I groaned, swallowing another mouthful of bitter espresso. The kids had fallen asleep several hours ago. Every year they got so excited about Christmas, particularly as Daddy – me – allowed them to stay up all night to wait for Santa. Inevitably, though, they couldn't stay awake. Tommy fell asleep at about ten o'clock and Mia at one – Mia's best record yet in all of her six years. It helped me for the initial build-up to an all-nighter, keeping them entertained. I'd exhausted all the children's songs and dances I knew and they were drooping by the second Dora the Explorer film. Deep down, I wished they could stay up with me; at least then we had the highest chance of surviving the night.

You'd better watch out; you'd better not cry.

It was even worse that Naomi, my wife, had to work tonight on-call. A colleague had rung in sick and she was the first port of call as replacement. She'd stayed up with me every year since I told her why I never slept on Christmas Eve. She was indulging in my idiosyncrasies, but I appreciated her gesture nonetheless. Especially with the kids now... I couldn't risk my – our – chances.

The kids snuffled in their sleep, their small, perfect faces relaxed and peaceful. Both of them had a headful of corkscrew black curls and shining dark eyes. Mia's ones were always brewing with mischief; she definitely took after her Dad. Tommy was soft, kind, and always so considerate at the tender age of four. He would make a wonderful carer one day. My lovely children.

My eyelids were so heavy. The realisation came at snail-pace before slamming me in the face. I shook my head and slapped my cheeks with my hands, before picking up my empty coffee cup and filling another cafetiere. Three a.m. Another five hours or so to go.

Better not pout I'm telling you why.

Every year in the week building up to Christmas I would always think of Joe. I poured boiling water into the cafetiere and let it brew on the table. Joe was always the good kid; I was always the scruffy one with the snuffly nose and scraped knees. He loved Christmas, as did I. He was so good, so kind. I wasn't sure if Tommy took after his Uncle Joe or his mum, but definitely not me. Joe would always go along with my bad ideas without a protest. I remember my mother telling me off, saying I set a bad example to Joe and I was going to get him into trouble one day.

I didn't realise how right she was.

It was a pure accident, but the fault lay entirely with me. I shouldn't have bugged Joe about that log that ran over the stream in the woods. He couldn't swim. He was embarrassed and he wanted to try and impress me, his cool big brother, and he would do anything I asked him to. And I knew all that, so well. My parents told me off on several occasions when I'd been lugged home by neighbours who'd found me frolicking there. The currents were too rapid, they said. The fallen trees there were rotten and friable, they said, and it being such an obscure part of the woods with such a windy river meant it was bad news. I wasn't to go there again, they said. But like with all kids, the more they cautioned me against it and forbid me from going, the more appealing it was.

It was just an accident.

I poured myself another cup and winced when the coffee scalded my lips. I licked my upper lip; it was numb. Joe would be twenty-six now. Maybe he would be a dad, too. He would make a great dad. I was a bumbling one. I skipped parenting classes and didn't help with the kids' homework. Naomi did most of the proper parenting despite working full-time at the hospital. She ensured they ate healthy meals, did their chores, and went to bed on time. I just messed around with them. I was the favourite parent, but I was definitely also the worse.