The Night Behind Christmas

‘Twas two nights before Christmas, and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, because they were dead.

This was the story I read in the paper
As I slipped into bed twenty-three hours later.
By chimney the killer escaped to the roof,
And police found the prints of what looked like a hoof.

I set down the paper and turned off the light,
Gave a kiss to my wife as I told her goodnight.
Turning, she asked how playing Santa had gone;
As I tucked myself in, I said what I had done.

“The stockings I filled by the chimney with care,
Santa’s Presents I set ’neath the tree by my chair.
And the children were sleeping, I made sure of that,
But just to be sure I was wearing a hat.”

We both went to bed but then to my surprise,
A clatter outside made me open my eyes.
It sounded like something was out on the lawn;
I went to the window to see what was wrong.

It looked like a sleigh hit the side of my house,
“Honey, get up,” I then yelled to my spouse.
Amongst the debris I saw someone in red,
Who, pushing and pulling had dislodged the sled.

He called to his coursers, he knew them by name,
I saw them: eight reindeer that didn’t look tame.
On their legs I saw armor attached to their joints,
Their antlers were sanded to razor-sharp points.

“Now Slasher, now Basher, now Cancer, and Satan
On Vomit, on Stupid on Dahlmer and Nixon!”

Then up to the top of the roof did they fly,
The glint of pure evil I saw in their eyes.
And then in a jiffy I felt from the roof,
The stamping and stomping of each armored hoof.

As I crept down the stairs holding onto a bat,
I saw from the hearth fall a red tasseled hat.
“You’re dreaming,” I calmly explained to myself,
When from the chimney above fell the scariest elf.

He was dressed all in fur from his head to his toes,
Which a spatter of blood had dyed red as a rose.
A bundle of heads he had flung on his back,
In his tiny right hand he was holding an axe.

The axe in his hand and the suit smeared with red
Soon gave me to know that he wanted my head
From down the stairs I yelled up to my wife,
“Wake up the kids, dear, and run for your life!”

In his droll little mouth he was clutching a pipe;
Yet I knew that it wasn’t tobacco this night.
His blurry red eyes peered behind swollen lids
As he uttered the phrase, “I have come for your kids.”

I with my baseball bat, he with his axe
Circled, forecasting the other’s attacks.
Santa, so evil, he started to taunt,
I screamed in despair, “St. Nick, what do you want?”

That simple question it altered his mood
He then looked at me and said, “Got any food?”

I nodded affirmative, he dropped his axe,
And straight to the fridge we went looking for snacks.
We entered the kitchen and from there he filched
Holiday cookies, a pie, and some milk.

My story it ends on a happier note,
The food I gave Santa, it saved me my throat.
With a full belly and much clearer head,
Santa packed up his things and loaded the sled.

He leapt in the sleigh and I watched from below,
As both reindeer and driver all flew from the snow.
The reindeer they carried that agent of death,
At the mouth they were frothing with every last breath.

And I heard him exclaim as he flew cross the sky,
“I want milk and cookies, or else you will die!!”