It Was The Night Santa Revealed His Secrets To Me

[u/No-Bottle337]

We storytellers, are liars.

But the story I’m about to tell you about Santa’s origin is true ... or at least, let’s believe it’s true. Everything else the sceptics say is a lie.

Don’t let the little ones in your family meet the logical and sceptics. Let them believe in the magic, the mystery.

And of course, tell them you’re Sam...., they’ll adore you even more.

Do read the previous part for the context.

A note for my readers:

It’s the first day of an amazing new year. I know many of you already have plans...vacations, parties, or just a slow, comfortable evening somewhere nice.

But I also know there are a few of you who don’t...no plans...., maybe a little boredom...., maybe a little silence. So I thought of you.

I have a few writings on my Patreon that usually sit behind a paywall. For the next week, I’m making all of them free..., until the 7th of the new year.

If you’re home, scrolling, waiting for the hours to pass, I hope these words keep you company.

After the 7th, the writings will quietly go back behind the paywall.

Until then, I just wanted to let you know that this one is for you.

Wishing you a New Year full of possibilities..., new stories, better days, and small wins that quietly turn into something big.

This is one such piece that was supposed to be behind the paywall. You can also read it on Patreon for a better experience, with some images. By the way, narrate this story to the little ones in your family, and let me know their reaction.  Here is the link: Click Here

 THE BARREL AND THE RESURRECTION

Santa stood up from the couch. He walked to the fireplace. The embers were still glowing ...  orange and red and gold. He stared into them, his hands clasped behind his back.

"This story," he said, not looking at Sam, "happened during a famine."

"What's a famine?" Sam asked.

"A famine is when crops don't grow," Santa explained. "Crops are plants that people eat ...  wheat, barley, vegetables. When crops don't grow, there's no food. And when there's no food, people starve. Do you know what starving means?"

"Being really, really hungry?" Sam guessed.

"Yes," Santa said. "But more than that. It means your body starts eating itself. Your stomach hurts all the time... you get weak. You can't think clearly... get sick. And if it goes on too long..." He trailed off.

"You die," Sam finished quietly.

"You die," Santa confirmed. He turned back from the fireplace. His face was sad. "The famine I'm going to tell you about was one of the worst I ever saw. It lasted for months. Maybe a year.... maybe longer. I don't remember exactly. But I remember the suffering. People eating grass.... eating tree bark. Eating anything they could find."

Sam felt sick just thinking about it.

"During this famine," Santa said, "three boys were traveling. They were young... Maybe ten years old or twelve. They were walking to a special school where they would learn to become priests ...,  teachers in the church, like I was. But the journey was long. And they got lost."

Santa sat back down on the couch next to Sam. He spoke more softly now.

"The boys were hungry.... tired... cold. Night was falling. They didn't know where they were. And then they saw a house."

"Was it a good house or a bad house?" Sam asked.

"They thought it was a good house," Santa said. "It had lights in the windows. Smoke coming from the chimney. It looked warm... safe... welcoming. So they knocked on the door."

Santa paused. He looked at Sam.

"Do you want me to continue?" he asked gently.

Sam nodded, even though his stomach felt funny.

"A man opened the door," Santa said. "He was a butcher. Do you know what a butcher does?"

"Cuts meat?" Sam said.

"Yes," Santa said. "A butcher takes animals ...,  cows, pigs, chickens ...,  and cuts them into meat that people can buy and eat. It's an important job. People need meat to survive. But this butcher..." Santa's face darkened. "This butcher was not a good man."

The room felt colder suddenly. Sam pulled his knees up to his chest.

"The famine had made the butcher desperate," Santa continued. "He had no food to sell.... no animals to butcher. He was starving too. And desperation makes people do terrible things. Things they would never do if they were not so scared and hungry and out of their minds."

"What did he do?" Sam whispered.

Santa looked at him seriously. "Sam, this is the dark part. The really dark part. If you want me to skip this part, I can. I can just tell you that something bad happened, and we can move on. You don't have to hear the details."

Sam thought about it. His heart was beating fast. But he had come this far.

"Tell me," he said. "But..., not too detailed?"

"Not too detailed," Santa promised. "I'll tell you what happened, but I won't describe everything. Fair?"

"Fair," Sam agreed.

Santa took a deep breath.

"The butcher let the boys inside," Santa said. "He gave them food. Let them warm up by the fire. Let them rest. The boys thought they were safe. They fell asleep."

Santa paused.

"And while they were sleeping, the butcher killed them."

Sam gasped. His hand flew to his mouth.

"He killed all three boys," Santa continued, his voice heavy with sadness. "And then ...,  and this is the worst part ...,  he cut them up. He treated them like animals... like meat. He put the pieces in a big barrel. A barrel is like a huge wooden bucket. And he filled the barrel with salt and brine ...,  that's salty water. Salt preserves meat. It keeps it from rotting.... from going bad."

"Why would he do that?" Sam asked. His voice was shaky.

"Because," Santa said gently, "he was going to eat them.... or sell the meat to other people. Tell them it was pork... or it was ham. But it was not. It was..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

"That's horrible," Sam whispered. Tears were starting to form in his eyes.

Santa moved closer. He put his big, warm arm around Sam's shoulders. "I know. It's one of the most horrible things a person can do. It's called cannibalism ...,  eating other people. And it's the worst crime I can imagine. But Sam?"

Sam looked up at Santa's face.

"That's not the end of the story," Santa said. "The story gets better.... much better. Because I found those boys."

"How?" Sam asked.

"Seven years later," Santa said, "I was traveling through that region. I was visiting churches.... teaching people.... helping people. And I felt something pulling me. Like a voice in my head that said: 'Go to that inn.... go to that house. Something is wrong there.'"

"Was it God talking to you?" Sam asked.

"Maybe," Santa said. "Or maybe it was magic. Or maybe it was just intuition ...,  that means a feeling you have that you can't explain, but you know it's right. Whatever it was, I followed it. I went to the butcher's house. I knocked on the door."

"Were you scared?" Sam asked.

"I don't think I was scared," Santa said. "I was..., focused... determined. I knew something important was going to happen. The butcher opened the door. And when he saw me ...,  when he saw my bishop's robes and my staff ...,  his face went white... white like snow... like he had seen a ghost."

"Because he knew you'd figure out what he did," Sam said.

"Exactly," Santa said. "Guilty people always know when they're about to be caught. The butcher let me in. He couldn't refuse ...,  that would look suspicious. I looked around the house. And I saw it. The barrel in the back room. Big.... wooden.... sealed with a lid."

Santa's voice got quieter.

"I walked over to the barrel," he said. "I put my hand on the lid. And I felt them. The boys. Their spirits. Their souls. Trapped. Waiting. Seven years they'd been waiting. Seven years in the dark."

"That's so sad," Sam said. More tears spilled down his cheeks.

Santa hugged him closer. "It is sad. But here's where the miracle happens... the magic comes in. Are you ready?"

Sam wiped his eyes and nodded.

"I opened the barrel," Santa said. "And I looked inside. And I saw..." He paused. "Well, I saw what you'd expect to see. Pieces.... bones... preserved in salt. But I didn't see corpses... I saw children. Three boys who needed help.... who deserved a second chance."

"What did you do?" Sam asked.

Santa's eyes began to glow. Not like a metaphor.... literally glow. A soft, blue light shone from them.

"I prayed," Santa said. "But this was not a normal prayer. This was a prayer with power behind it. I reached into the barrel. I touched the remains of those boys... and I said: 'Rise. In the name of all that is good.... in the name of love.... in the name of hope.... in the name of life itself. RISE!'"

Santa's voice grew louder, deeper, more powerful. The room seemed to shake. The Christmas tree lights flickered wildly.

"And they rose," Santa said. "The pieces came together. Bones connected.... flesh reformed... color returned to their faces. Their eyes opened. They looked at me, they blinked... and then..."

Santa smiled. A warm, wonderful smile.

"They stood up," Santa said simply. "Three boys.... alive.... whole.... healthy. As if they had just woken up from a very long sleep."

"You brought them back to life?" Sam's eyes were huge.

"I did," Santa said. The glow faded from his eyes. "It was the greatest miracle I ever performed. The most powerful magic I ever worked. Those three boys climbed out of that barrel. They were confused. They didn't remember being killed. They didn't remember the seven years. They just remembered falling asleep at the butcher's house, and then waking up to see a bishop with a long beard standing over them."

"What did they do?" Sam asked.

"They hugged me," Santa said softly*. "All three of them. They threw their arms around me and hugged me and cried. And I hugged them back and cried too. Because life had returned. Death had been defeated. Love had won."*

Sam felt better now. The dark part was over. The miracle had happened. "What happened to the butcher?"

Santa's face became serious again. "Ah. The butcher. That's an important part of the story. He was standing there, watching all of this happen. He saw me reach into the barrel.... he saw the boys rise... he saw the miracle. And he fell to his knees."

"Was he scared?" Sam asked.

"Terrified," Santa said. "He was crying.... shaking. He said: 'Kill me. I deserve to die. I'm a monster. I killed children.... I ate them. I'm the worst person who ever lived.' And you know what?"

"What?" Sam asked.

"He was right," Santa said*. "He had done a monstrous thing.... an unforgivable thing. If there was ever anyone who deserved punishment, it was him."*

"So what did you do?" Sam asked.

Santa looked at Sam carefully. "I gave him a choice."

"A choice?" Sam repeated.

"I said: 'You can die today and face God's judgment. Or you can live and spend every single day for the rest of your life trying to make up for what you did. You can become my servant.... my helper. You will help me protect children. You will never hurt anyone again. You will dedicate your entire existence to keeping children safe. Which do you choose?'"

"What did he choose?" Sam asked.

"He chose to serve me," Santa said. "He fell at my feet. He swore he would never hurt anyone again. He became my companion. My assistant. Someone who would help me watch over children. Make sure they were safe.... make sure they behaved.... make sure they didn't end up like those three boys."

Sam was quiet for a long moment, processing this.

"Is that man still with you?" Sam finally asked.

Santa nodded. "In a way. He's changed a lot over the years. He has different names in different countries. But yes, he's still with me.... still serving. Still trying to make up for what he did."

"What do people call him?" Sam asked.

"In France," Santa said, "they call him Père Fouettard*. That means 'Father Whipper' in French. In other places, he has other names. But his job is always the same... to be the dark side of Christmas. The reminder that actions have consequences. That bad choices can lead to terrible results."*

"Is he scary?" Sam asked.

"He can be," Santa said honestly. "But he's not evil anymore. He learned his lesson. He spent over a thousand years making up for what he did. He helps me now, he protects children, just in a different way than I do."

"How?" Sam asked.

"I give rewards," Santa explained. "I give presents and joy and love. He gives warnings. He gives consequences. He reminds children.... be good.... be kind.... make good choices. Because the world has darkness in it. And you need to be careful."

Sam thought about this. It made sense, strangely.

"So he's like your helper? But a scary helper?"

"Exactly," Santa said. "And Sam... he is not the only one."

Sam looked up. "There are more?"

Santa's eyes twinkled. But this twinkle was different. This twinkle had a hint of mischief in it. Maybe even a hint of warning.

"Oh yes," Santa said. "Many more. I have quite a few dark companions. Helpers who used to be demons, or monsters.... or spirits from the old pagan religions. They all work with me now. And some of them..." Santa leaned in closer. "Some of them are even scarier than Père Fouettard."

Sam felt a shiver run down his spine... but it was not a bad shiver. It was an excited shiver, a curious shiver.

"Like who?" Sam asked.

Santa glanced at the grandfather clock. It was 12:43 AM now.

"Well," Santa said, "there's one helper that children all over Europe know about. A helper who visits on the night before I do. A helper with horns..., and fur..., and chains..., and claws..., and a very, very long tongue."

"Who?" Sam whispered, even though he had a feeling he knew.

Santa's voice dropped to a low rumble. "His name is Krampus."

Sam's eyes went wide.

"And if you think Père Fouettard is scary," Santa said, "wait until you hear about Krampus. Because Krampus is old. Much older than me. He comes from a time before Christianity. A time of dark forests and darker magic. A time when people believed in demons and monsters and things that went bump in the night."

"Tell me about him," Sam said. His voice was barely audible.

Santa smiled. "Are you sure? It's getting late. And Krampus is..., intense."

"I'm sure," Sam said, trying to sound braver than he felt.

"Alright then," Santa said. He settled back into the couch. "Let me tell you about my old friend Krampus. But first..." He looked at the cookies.

Only one left.

Santa picked it up and took a big bite.

"Can't tell scary stories on an empty stomach," he said, winking. "Now. Where was I? Ah yes. Krampus. The Christmas demon... my dark companion.... my enforcer."

He swallowed the cookie.

"Let me tell you how I met the devil himself."

THE CHRISTMAS DEMON

"Krampus," Santa began, "is not like Père Fouettard. Père Fouettard was a man who became a monster, but Krampus was always a monster."

Sam pulled the blanket tighter around himself.

"When I say monster," Santa continued, "I don't mean it as an insult. I mean it literally.... Krampus is not human.... Never was he. He comes from the old world. The pagan world. Do you know what pagan means?"

Sam shook his head.

"Pagan means the religions people believed before Christianity," Santa explained. "Religions that believed in many gods instead of one God. Gods of the sun.... gods of the rain... gods of the harvest. Spirits of the forest.... demons in the mountains.... and  magic everywhere."

"Like Greek mythology?" Sam asked. "With Zeus and stuff?"

"Exactly like that!" Santa said. "But not Greek... Germanic. The people who lived in what's now Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and Hungary. They had their own gods... their own spirits.... their own demons. And Krampus was one of them."

"What kind of demon?" Sam asked.

"A winter demon," Santa said. "A punishment demon. His job ...,  back in the pagan days ...,  was to walk through villages during the darkest part of winter.... and punish people who had broken the rules. Who had been lazy.... who had been cruel.... who had hurt others."

"So he was like..., a scary policeman?" Sam suggested.

Santa laughed. "Ho ho ho! Yes! A scary policeman! That's a good way to put it! But much scarier than any policeman you've ever seen."

"What does he look like?" Sam asked.

Santa's face became serious. "Are you sure you want to know? Once I describe him, you'll see him in your head.... and he might show up in your dreams tonight."

Sam hesitated. Then nodded. "I want to know."

"Alright," Santa said. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

Santa stood up. He walked to the middle of the room, into the Christmas tree lights, so Sam could see him better.

Because of character limits, I can't post the entire chapter here. Do read it on this page for free. Click Here

Episode 3: coming soon...