In the diverse landscapes of America, from Minnesota's heartland to Chicago's bustling streets, Joseph A. Sackett's early years unfurled. But it was his two-decade-long journey in the military's special operations that profoundly shaped him. Within these years, he witnessed humanity's darker shades, glimpsing the fragility beneath society's facade, understanding how swiftly it could crumble to its knees.
Joseph's writing is an extension of this fascination, a canvas where he paints the vulnerability and resilience of mankind. He draws from his experiences, crafting narratives that reveal society's weaknesses and the indomitable spirit that arises in response.
You can read more from Joseph right HERE.
THE YULETIDE TERROR
by
Joseph Sackett
The cold starlit sky stretched endlessly above as my sleigh, guided by my faithful reindeer, descended towards a remote cabin nestled in the woods. It was a Christmas Eve and I was filled with the usual joy and merriment, yet something about this cabin beckoned me, a mysterious allure I couldn't resist.
Upon entering, the warmth of a crackling fireplace greeted me. Its flames casting playful shadows around the room. I set about my task, placing gifts under the tree. My eyes were suddenly drawn to an old painting above the fireplace. There was something intriguing about it.
"Hmm, what's this?" I murmured, nudging the frame. It swung open revealing a secret nook. Inside rested a book. The surface stitched with human flesh, creating an unsettling illusion of a face staring back. I opened the book and the title 'Necronomicon' was embossed in dark red, its mere sight sending a shiver down my spine. The air around me seemed to grow colder, as if the book itself exhaled a chilling breath from its ancient pages.
"Santa? What are you doing?"
Turning, I saw a young boy, one of the children of the house, rubbing his eyes sleepily.
"Oh, hello there! Just admiring this old painting," I replied with a chuckle, hiding the book behind my back. "Shouldn't you be in bed, young man? Santa has many more stops to make tonight."
He nodded, yawning. "What's that behind your back?"
"Just a book I found. Nothing for you to worry about," I assured him. "Now, back to bed with you."
The boy nodded, casting a curious glance at the book before scampering back to his room. Alone again, I opened the Necronomicon, its pages filled with cryptic texts and eerie illustrations.
As the strange words slipped from my lips, the wind outside morphed into a monstrous gale, howling with the anguish of lost souls. A creeping terror enveloped the cabin, its oppressive grip tightening with each syllable I spoke. In that instant, I understood the grave error I had made, having awakened a malevolent force that lurked beyond the realm of understanding.
"Great gingerbread!” I gasped, closing the book hastily.
Suddenly, the ground trembled, and groans echoed through the forest. My heart raced with fear.
Christmas Eve was no longer just about delivering gifts. I needed to protect this family and ensure that the joy of Christmas wasn’t overshadowed by the darkness I had accidentally awakened.
Clutching the Necronomicon, my heart raced as the eerie sounds of the undead grew nearer. Through the cabin’s window, I saw shadowy figures moving in the woods.
As I turned from the window, a sudden noise made me jump. The father of the family stood on the staircase, his eyes wide with disbelief. In his hands, he held a shotgun, pointing it shakily in my direction.
"Who the fuck are you? What are you doing in my cabin?" he demanded.
"It's me, Santa Claus," I said, raising my hands in a calming gesture, the Necronomicon still in one of them. "I know this is hard to believe, but I need you to trust me. There’s danger outside, and I'm here to help."
The mother appeared beside him, her eyes flickering between me and the shotgun. "Santa Claus?" disbelief etched on her face.
"Yes, and there's no time to explain. Please, keep your children safe upstairs. I’ll handle what’s coming," my gaze fixed on the shotgun.
The father didn't lower the gun. "Why the hell should I trust you? You break into my home, and now you expect me to believe you're Santa Claus?"
Before I could respond, a chilling, screeching voice pierced the night from outside, its words repeating in a haunting mantra, "Dead by dawn! Dead by dawn!" The sound was like nothing of this earth.
The front door began to rattle violently as if something was trying to force its way in. The mother gasped, clutching at her husband's arm.
On the roof, the unmistakable sounds of my reindeer in distress. Their screams were agonizing, filled with a terror that tore at my heart.
"Alright," the father said. "We’ll stay upstairs. But I’m keeping this with me," lifting the shotgun.
I began battling the demonic living dead. The creatures, twisted and relentless, surging towards the cabin. I chanted spells from the Necronomicon, each incantation sending a creature back to Hell. The air was thick with the stench of magic and blood. The ground was littered with the remnants of the undead.
As the last of the creatures fell, I wearily made my way back to my sleigh. Only a few of my reindeer remained, the others lost to the night’s horrors.
As I took off into the sky, I glanced down at the family emerging from the cabin. Relief washed over me until I saw the boy. His face was twisted grotesquely, spider veins sprawling across his skin, his eyes a milky white. In that horrifying moment, the father reacted with a primal instinct, firing his shotgun and ending the boy's monstrous transformation in a violent burst.
But the horror didn't end there. The daughter, once sweet and innocent, turned into a similar demonic creature, lunging at her mother with a sharp candy cane. The scene below me unfolded in a hellish nightmare.
As I guided my sleigh away from the cabin, a sharp pain suddenly pierced my hand. Glancing down, I saw a bite mark, dark spider veins swiftly spreading from it. A chilling transformation began; my eyes darkened, no longer the warm, merry windows to my soul. A disturbing smirk twisted my lips. “L…le…let’s spread a different kind of cheer,"I murmured. Turning to my reindeer, my smirk grew wider. "Onward!" I cried out into the cold night air. The reindeer, sensing the change, galloped faster, racing through the night as a new, ominous chapter of Christmas Eve unfolded.