By day, Brad is a mild-mannered Account Manager. But at night and in the wee hours of the morning, he summons the muses and transcribes the tales that their devilish tongues whisper in his ear. Always a horror fan, Brad loves writing and telling scary stories.
Brad haunts the neighborhoods in Central Texas with his wife and their ever-hungry, never-satiated four teenagers. His debut novel “The Night Crew” is set to be released in 2024 by Wicked House Publishing. You can learn more about Brad by following him on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/BradRicksAuthor or visiting his site https://BradRicks.com
‘TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
by
Brad Ricks
'Twas the night before Christmas,
when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
Our living room was decorated and the fireplace aglow
The outside was frigid, and everywhere snow.
My parents lay cuddled, all snuggled in bed,
And I waited up to see Santa instead.
As the night grew colder, the fireplace it died
In the cold winter night, a stranger I spied.
I jumped from the couch and wiped frost from the glass,
Through the window I stared past the white winter grass.
The only light that shone 'cross the snow covered land,
Came from the moon, the late night hour at hand.
Can you guess what my weary eyes rested 'pon?
It wasn't St. Nick, but the devil's own spawn.
It stood in the lawn, and gazed at the house
Then leapt to the sky with a single quick bounce.
It flew in the air, on the roof it did land.
In fear I was frozen, all my hairs they did stand.
Above me I could hear it walking around
Trying to get inside this house that it found.
I ran to the couch and hid under the covers
Hoping it wouldn't be me it discovered.
Claws they clicked, down the chimney they came,
Frozen with fright, I couldn't shout or proclaim.
Suddenly it arrived, from the fireplace it entered
Basked by the lights, its features were rendered.
Its eyes were black, as black as the night
And its teeth were sharp, how they glistened in light.
Its skin was green and covered in scales,
and hands were claws with sharp razor nails.
The tongue slithered out o'er the fangs in his mouth
Red and grotesque, it flicked all about.
My young mind it hoped and continuously prayed
That this was the Grinch, so don't be afraid.
The black eyes stared at the lights on the tree,
A deep glow abiding in a vast and dark sea.
And there as I stared at the creature in fear,
It picked up its head as there was something to hear.
From the staircase I heard the stomping of feet,
The creature then turned as it smelled some fresh meat.
Before I could warn whomever was there,
It sprang up the stairs and started to tear.
A pool of thick blood on the floor it did spread,
Even the white walls quickly turned red.
My father lay bloodied at the top of the stairs,
His eyes looked down, his insides laid bare
The green beast continued, up the steps it went.
I started to cry. I cowered and wept.
It didn't take long before the screams they did start,
Moments later, it returned, chewing a heart.
Finally without warning, its eyes saw me crying,
Its mouth did widen, a smile no denying.
Between its sharp fangs filled with blood and with gore,
I knew in that moment, my life was no more.
Each step that it took, the claws clicked and they scraped
'cross the stairs and the floor, its mouth all agape.
It stood o'er the top of me, and in the seat as I set,
My bladder let go, and the couch I did wet.
From deep in the guttural throat of this Grinch,
I heard a wretch'd sound that caused me to flinch.
Laughter sprang forward from its scaly, green face,
It leaned back its head and cackled in place.
It must've thought this was funny that I pissed on myself,
But what else could I have done before this evil elf?
Right past me it went and to the chimney it stood,
Before grabbing a Santa hat and dawning the hood.
One last glance my direction, it shot me a look,
Then sprang up the chimney as if straight from a book.
I couldn't move you see, I was frozen in place.
Knowing I'd never forget the look on its face.
As I sit here penning the story that occurred,
Hoping for Peace, though that's probably absurd.
Can you guess what happened on that cold Christmas morn?
I was locked away, and from my home I was torn.
The authorities believed I slaughtered my parents.
Guess they figured I did not like my presents.
And now on this night with me grown and now old,
I stare through iron bars and watch over the cold.
Each year I do wonder on December Twenty and Five,
Why did that evil Grinch leave me alive?