Wild Night

Here’s another entry in our November Flash Fiction Contest that deserved honorable mention.

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Don’t got a lot of time left, so I’ll make this quick. Gotta say something though. Somebody’ll miss me sooner or later and go looking, and if they look in the right place—this is my goodbye, I guess.

I was headed home, thought I’d take the shortcut through the woods. It was a wild night at the bar. Always is Christmas Eve. Those of us with no family or family we’d rather avoid make a yearly tradition of it—beer and dancing is so much sweeter than stockings and cheesy Christmas specials. Loud music and a few drinks drown out the guilt and obligations, I guess.

Maybe more than a few drinks.

Anyway…

Must’ve taken a wrong turn. Found myself in a backwoods area I didn’t recognize. Roads were bad. Then I realized I wasn’t even on the road anymore and tried to back outta there, only to have the truck go down a slick part and there I was. Stuck in the snow, no light but the stars, not even the sound of traffic, nothing.

Figured I couldn’t be far from home, so I got out to walk. Better than staying there to freeze.

Did I say it was silent? Cuz it was. A real silent night, except for the sound I made.

Quiet. The kind of quiet only a night in the dead of winter in the middle of the woods can be.

But then I heard something.

It was just a weird whining at first, like a dog crying. Figured it was just the wind in the trees, so just ignored it.

Then the barking started—far away, ringing clear through the woods. Didn’t sound good. Don’t want to be out alone when a pack of dogs is loose and hungry. They sounded hungry.

Wish they were only hungry…

Picked up my pace, though by then I was starting to worry I was lost. Still knew what direction I was going—I ain’t an idiot—but didn’t recognize anything. But I hurried anyway. Even home and facing the ear-burning I’d get was better than lost in the woods.

Then there was another sound too. A crashing rumble. Like a crowd, or a riot.

Next thing I knew, I stumbled out of the treeline into a clearing I didn’t see ahead. Woulda been more careful if I’d seen it.

It was too late though.

Something came down at me along that clearing. It was what made that noise, rushing, rumbling, crashing through the sky. Cuz it was flying—a whole crowd of things galloping across the sky, blotting out the stars, going so fast I didn’t have time to get out of the way before they were right over me.

There were the dogs—hunting dogs, sure, but like nothing I’ve seen before. Huge, black, with eyes too big for their heads glowing red.

And person-shaped things, but stretched out and see-through—ghosts, but not like you see in movies. They’re shouting and screaming, though can’t always hear them.

The people on horses have bows and hatchets, but also guns. And they’re carrying bags, with something shining inside. They’re elves, I think. Can’t look at them long enough to be sure.

Then there’s the guy at the front of this whole procession. He’s riding a big gray horse but with horns, and he’s taller than any man I ever saw with a beard so long and white it flows out behind him like smoke. He’s wearing a red cloak. His face…

Don’t laugh when you read this.

Took me a minute to recognize him, but it’s Santa Claus.

Who else would be riding the skies on Christmas Eve? Who else would have elves behind him, carrying gifts. Gifts that I can’t even look at. Can’t even

Understand

What

I knew it was Santa Claus with just one look at his face, though he’s not like any of those plastic pictures that fill stores like rot every December. It was Santa Claus, truer than anything. But Santa Claus with a face like death.

So, this is my goodbye.

Cuz I can’t survive seeing this.

The hounds are after me.

Worse—he’s pointing at me, beckoning.

“Come,” Santa Claus says in a voice that booms through my bones like a horn. “You must follow in my train, hunt with me through the ways and winds of the world, ride until your soul is bare of your sins as your bones are bare of their flesh. Come! The gifts of the good that must destroy you wait to be given. The darkness cannot stand before us, for light has come.”

Can’t

Finish

This is it. Pulling me—

Goodbye to everyone I—I’m sorry—

My God! What is this—?

* * *

From a workman’s notebook found approximately one and a half miles from the abandoned truck belonging to Terry Corden, who was reported missing the morning of December 25th. No other trace of him has yet been found.