December 5, 1989

When I was growing up we didn’t have terrorists, and gangsters. All we had was innocent villains like the Joker, and innocent bystanders who save the innocent civilians.

 

I got sick of that and decided Santa was Satan. The dope pushing junkie infecting our youth. The Pusher Man of a faith we all know is seriously and irreparably flawed. Read it and weep kids, just don’t be like Johnny.
He got out of his blue Pinto and slammed the door closed. In front of him was Jojo's Video Repairs and he could see a reflection of his face in the bright, glistening mirrors surrounding the display case. His cheeks and chin were bathed in a speckling of fine dots and his hair, turning slightly grey at the edges, was ragged and sleep-worn. He reached up and rubbed his face, feeling the sharp ends of his whiskers dig into his flesh.

"Need to shave again" he thought as a large volley of cars roared by behind him. He glanced up at the entrance and saw a small blue sign hanging from a suction cup.

 

SORRY, WE'RE CLOSED

 

He turned and nailed the parking meter real hard with the toe of his boot, making the glass on the top clatter annoyingly. He grimaced and glared at the store again and then walked back to his car, muttering under his breath as he went. He grasped the car door-handle and squeezed.

"Stupid car. Needs a good fix right about now." he muttered as he jerked the handle down and yanked on it. He thrust himself backwards as a grinding pain ripped up his arm. The door opened with a loud screech and he climbed inside.

 

Outside the snow fell in an endless flurry, covering the town in a soft, white glow.

 

At nine-thirty he walked into the mall, spectacularly clad in a clean, red suit and a white beard. His black boots clanked across the tiled floor, leaving a trail of melting snow behind them as he headed toward the display. He carried a dark brown briefcase and as he reached the setup he staggered into the plush, red Santa chair and set the case in his lap. He unlocked and opened it, and took out a small, metal box. In it were seven needles, like the kind diabetics used, and he took them out one by one, gazing at them lovingly. Then he stuck them in the inside arms of the chair, down near the bottom, and set his case down on the floor.

 

Then he reclined and waited for the long day to begin.

 

Johnny hadn't been able to sleep last night and he knew why. He was going to see Santa in the morning, right after breakfast. He was excited. He loved seeing Santa because last year Johnny had received a jumbo candy cane when the elves had taken his picture. His mommy had told him that he had got it because he was such a good boy, but Johnny knew that that wasn't right. Santa just liked him more than the other boys and he believed in that. More than anything else he believed that. He liked Santa too, not only because the jolly old man in the red suit gave him presents but because Santa was loving and actually cared about him.

"Santa's the boss" Johnny thought and he drifted, finally, into a short, excited sleep.

 

The large dome clock on the wall of Brinkley's Fashions read 10:17 and the stores were starting to open up their security walls. People bustled past the Christmas display with their arms full of newly-bought merchandise but so far nobody had passed through the carpeted pathway that lead to the setup, and that was just luck, seeing as ol' Santa wasn't really in the mood for cheering up little kids right then.

 

He slouched into the padding, complaining to nobody in particular.

 

'Stupid prick." he muttered, barely audible even to himself, above the noisy swarms of people shuffling through the halls in their new ski coats.

 

 

 

'Shut up already!" he said, this time a little quieter than the first so nobody else would notice that Santa was talking to himself.

'That Jojo really pisses me off." he thought,” He tells me to be at the store to pick up the new shipment and the little prick isn't even down there. Jesus Christ! The guy can't even keep an agreement."

And he needed that shipment too. Why, without it he wouldn't be able to recruit new users to his clan.

 

The clan of the druggies.

 

The clan of the street people with needles in their arms and joints in their mouths. People who lived on the needle and died by the stick. That was his clan. Not really something to be proud of, for most people.

 

Most people, that is, except him.

 

 

Johnny woke up as his mother shook him vigorously against the bedsprings.

 

"What mommy, what?' he mumbled drowsily, Santa and his elves seemingly dropped to the deep realms of his subconscious.

"Get up Johnny; we're going to the mall now. You know, Santa?"

 

"Alright! I forgot about him.' he said enthusiastically, pouncing out of his bed like a wildcat.

"Well, get ready quickly, O.K?" his mom said with a hint of desperation in her voice. She was happy that John was having a good time-he was having trouble with that Bobby guy beating him up again-but she still had a feeling in her heart, in the heart that only mothers have, and that something was drastically wrong. She went downstairs anyways, that feeling weighing in on her.

 

Their '72 Beetle cruised down Morley Trail, the windows opened and the stereo playing some George Harrison out to the rest of the lonely world. Their car, chipped and rusting, groaned as she stepped on the pedal and floored it. She didn't have far to go but she had this feeling and she was nervous. Her hands shook ever so slightly as she turned the wheel but she didn’t know why, and that was what made it worse.

"I gotta go to the washroom, mommy. Mommy, I gotta go." little Johnny piped up from the shotgun seat in his small, squeaky voice.

"You should have gone when we were at home. You know that I won't let you go until we get there so you'll just have to wait." the mom spoke quietly and in monotone. Her nerves were racked by now and as she neared the mail her anxiousness increased.

"But why?" she reasoned, 'They were only going to see Santa."

And there's nothing wrong with Santa.

Right?

 

 

The time was now 10:52. Three or four kids had been by already but the steady flow was soon to erupt what with all of those kindergarten kids getting out in a half-hour. With the first kid, a mop topped red head, he had an almost uncontrollable urge to use one on the little brat but it's mom was looking too closely. The others were easier and they were both really ugly. There had been a four year old nerd with slicked back hair and a bowtie, a prissy young girl in a pink see-through dress and hair bows and an ugly kid with a head too big for his body. They all looked like they were going to be unsuccessful in life already so he shouldn't waste his ammunition on geeks and turds but on the well-off popular kids.

Because there were only seven needles.

 

The Beetle pulled up into a parking stall right by the door. Johnny was still yelling at his mom about going pee and his mom was still talking calmly, a throbbing ache in her head, when the church bells rang announcing eleven o’clock. She shoved open her door and scrambled outside, her feet slipping on the loose gravel. Johnny ran in front of her, scurrying towards the washrooms like a rat scurried toward its hole, and caused a car to skid on the fresh fallen snow. She didn't really care about that because she knew that her son wasn't going to get run over today. Johnny opened the door and hurried inside, letting a draft of warm air flow onto her face. Then he stopped and the look of rushed pain turned to one of wonder and excitement.

"Look mom, it’s Santa!' he said, the words spilling out of his mouth in a jumble. Johnny then grasped his mothers protruding hand and led the way towards the exhibit, his close encounter to spilling his bladder onto the worn carpet of the car now covered by the glory of Santa's Workshop.

They didn't have to wait at all for Johnny's wish to be granted because not many people were interested in Santa right then. Johnny walked up the red carpet toward Santa, his feet leaving a trail of freshly melted snow in little puddles on it. His mother waited for him at the beginning of the isle, waving and smiling.

 

He looked up from his chair and saw a little boy advancing. The kid looked well to do wearing Oshkosh coveralls and Buster Brown loafers.

 

 

The kid reached the chair and reached out his arms towards him obviously wanting a lift to his lap.

"Hello kid," he said, grinning falsely, "what do you want this year?"

"Hi Santa. You know, you're cool."

 

What a way for a kid to start off his visit with Santa. This particular kid made him sick and that wasn't helped at all by his mother's shit-eating grin in the background. He reached out his arms and picked up the kid. He was a heavy one but that wouldn't stop the needle. No way, Jose.

 

The kid was on his lap, squirming to find the right place to sit as his hand ever-so-slowly reached over to the inside of the chair. He asked the lad some questions as he got his familiar grasp on the needle.

 

(plop plop fizz fizz oh what a relief it is)

 

This time he didn't stop his subconscious from butting in. He had the kid where he wanted him. There was no turning back.

All he had to do now was wait for the mom to look away.

For just one moment.

So she wouldn't see the surprise on her son's face.

 

Johnny was nervous.

 

"What if Santa doesn't like me anymore? What if he doesn't want me to be his best kid anymore?" he wondered. He was supposed to have the time of his life today so why wasn't he? He knew that last year was cool but was this year going to be better or worse?

All those questions plagued his mind, flooding him in a mix of fear and wonderment. Just then he realized that nothing could be wrong with Santa because he was smiling so he opened his mouth and said that Santa was cool. He reached out his arms and was lifted onto Santa's lap. He was having fun. He knew that Santa was fine. He knew that...

Suddenly a rush of pain burst into his mind. He looked at Santa with his bright blue eyes and asked Santa if he loved him. There was another bolt of pain and then Johnny was in euphoria, gazing at the ceiling and at the rounded pillars of heaven.

"Santa, I love you." he said as he dropped off of Santa's lap and fell onto the ground in a little heap.

 

The kid wasn't supposed to do that. The little shit wasn't supposed to fall down like that. He had seen dozens of kids get shots of heroine and never had one of them fallen down. Yeah, sure they got that glazed look in their eyes and they ran to their mommies in ecstasy but they had never fallen down.

 

Never.

 

Now he was scared.

 

 

That was it. He was allergic to them and since the heroine that the kid had received was just strong enough to make him high then it was strong enough to kill him too. Then he looked up at the mother, who was rushing toward him in a panic, and got down from the chair. He lifted up the kid's head and looked into his eyes. They were rolled up into his skull like a blind rolls into a window and his mouth was wide open, limply hanging.

From across the world he could hear someone screaming at him and the sound of footsteps.

 

 

They were both dead meat.

 

"Don't touch my baby!!" she screamed, "don't you dare touch him, you.. you demon! Get out of here!' she was in hysterics, hollering and crying at the same time. Her son seemed an eternity away and when she finally reached him he was on the ground, his head lolled back against the thick, red carpet. She kneeled beside him and looked at him. Then she slapped him on the cheek, hoping to revive him, hoping he just fainted, hoping that he wasn't what he looked.

Then she tried to take his pulse and started sobbing; Loud and long, the wails of the dead.

He sat back in his chair, dropping the kid's head against the carpet as he went.  Beside him were the rest of the needles. If he took them one by one, very quickly, he just might be able to slip away from this insanity.

Just maybe.

So he reached out and grabbed a hold of a needle.