Black Christmas

Chapter 20

Santa shows up right on schedule. Almost immediately after getting into their positions, the elves are forced into battle. Greg hears the reindeer and sleigh land on the roof, and his body tenses up for the final confrontation.

Greg gets his first look at Santa since he began his escapade. The tall, fat man emerges from the chimney as Greg ever so slightly hears the clanging of Jerry's swords covering the exit. Greg doesn't yet give up his position. If the gunmen can get a clean shot, he'd prefer they take it.

Santa takes a step forward, and at long last the shots are fired. Something is wrong, though. The big man is alerted, but not dead. As he moves swiftly toward the bedrooms, Greg glances outside and instantly realizes that despite his brilliant plan, the killer remained one step ahead of the task force.

Lying dead on the ground outside the windows are Alan, Gavin, Eric, and Drew. The guns were working fine when the men had left the North Pole, so it's clear what had happened. During their first confrontation, Santa had rigged the weapons to backfire. "It's just us now," Greg announces to James as they give chase to the fat man.

As quickly as the chase started, it ends. Santa sends the blackness over the house as the two elves reach for their flashlights. As each one hits the switch on his device, he realizes that light will not appear. Santa's rigged these tools as well.

For the first time tonight, Greg has completely lost hope. As he listens to the screams of Santa's newest victims, he realizes the good guys have lost. The only thing left to do is curl back up as he did before and wait for Santa to kill him, too. He can't see a damn thing, his lights don't work, and his snipers are dead. It's all over.

The anger keeps Greg from blacking out this time. He's overwhelmingly pissed off that his mission has failed, and he can't believe he won't be able to avenge Gordon. He stays alert and listens to Santa's kills.

Each scream angers Greg more and more. The parents begging for mercy even though they can't see their assailant touches him, and he wants nothing more than the ability to help them.

He can hear that Santa has rounded up both children now. The three of them are rather close to Greg as he can hear the flesh being torn apart while the children choke out their last screams for help.

James has been desperately pleading the entire time. With little more to do, he's been screaming Santa's name and begging him to stop what he's doing. Suddenly, the begging stops as Greg hears James' body hit the floor. Now, he's alone in a room with the most dangerous killer mankind has ever seen. He can't even fight.

Greg summons the courage to find some words. "At least fight me like a man. If you're going to end my life, let me look at you as you do it."

Greg's words were the right ones, and Santa at last makes his first mistake of the night. As the light returns, Greg is given a fighting chance.

Looking around, the scared elf sees a familiar sight. He's surrounded by bloodshed. Two mangled bodies lie not three feet away from him, and more blood seeps toward him from the hallway. James' body looks as if it's been hit by Michael Myers, being help up on the wall by his own knife.

Greg finally looks straight forward to the opposite side of the room and views the main event. Staring at him are two eyes filled only by darkness and devilish intent. Covering the rest of the face is a blood splattered mask that used to belong to the most famous reindeer of all.

As promised by witness reports, the big man is armed only with a knife, the blade about four inches in length. Plenty enough for a man like Santa to get the job done.

Greg's had moments all night that strike fear into his heart, but this one outweighs all others. However, Greg feels no fear this time. His mind and body are filled with rage, and his heart is fueled by passion. He's been waiting for this confrontation all night, and even if it kills him, he will finish the battle right now.

The two fighters square up. Greg sees a small object fall to the floor next to his opponent. He looks on the left index finger of his clenched fist and sees no ring. Surprisingly enough, Santa has ditched his source of magic, and the psychopath has chosen for the final battle to be one of only brawn and wits.

It's amazing the first lunge hasn't happened yet. Both men, filled with so much rage and discontent, have just been staring each other down for a couple of minutes now.

Neither warrior shows any signs of backing down. Eye contact has been kept solidly the entire time. Both men grip their weapons tighter, ready to see either a sword or a knife go straight through their enemy.

Finally, the action begins. The men run toward the center of the room, and Greg knows this will be a one-blow knockout. It's imperative that he aims his sword better than Santa aims his knife.

As the men run, it seems to Greg as if the battle moves in slow motion. He wonders how so many thoughts cross his mind in such little time.

He first thinks about the old days of working with Mr. Kringle. Santa was so jolly and happy. He brought joy to children, and he loved doing so. He loved kids just enough to be a sweet old man, but not enough as to be labeled a pedophile. He was absolute perfection.

He then thinks about the last time he saw Santa in his near-sane state. Sure, he was acting a little weird, but he still appeared to be the holiday figure everyone knew and loved. Even these thoughts make Greg want to put his sword down and give up.

Then, comes the shit show that's almost pushed Greg over the edge several times throughout the night. In his head, he watches Gordon's intestines fall to the floor again. He replays each scene he's experienced that night – Santa's office, the house in California, the Khatanga incident – and rage fills his body again. He feels his arms lift the sword to a level that should put it right below Santa's rib cage and up through his heart.

Greg closes his eyes as he nears the collision with his formal idol. Instantly, he feels a sharp pain in his left shoulder as Santa's knife pierces his flesh. He doesn't make a peep to let his attacker know he's hurt.

He opens his eyes and sees perhaps the most disturbing sight of the night. Santa Claus is impaled on his sword like some kind of a serial killer kabob. For the first time, he sees something other than darkness in the man's eyes. That's fear.

As he'd promised himself earlier that night, Greg looks deep inside the eyes of the helpless killer and utters the words he's been rehearsing in his head for the last few hours. "It's going to be okay now, Kris." He twists the sword and watches all the hope and life drain from Santa's pathetic eyes. It' all over as Greg watches the enormous body fall to the floor upon removal of the sword. "Merry fucking Christmas, sir."

The fatigue of the night finally catches up with Greg. The final battle is over. The night has ended, and he can finally relax if he so chooses. Relaxation is the last thing on his mind, but he feels the weakness come over his body. With knees rubbery, Greg falls down to a kneel. He almost can't handle what he's been through prior to that moment, and it's all hitting him.

He again feels the searing pain in his shoulder and almost throws up all over his victim's body from the shear sting of it.

Not only from the pain, but from every emotional wound that's hit him tonight, Greg lets out a cry that could be compared to the dying people he's heard all night. With that, he passes out into the warm, bloody body that once contained the life of Christmas' greatest threat.