Waiting for Santa

by Ben Bertoli

The public was under the impression, and rightly so, that Santa Claus was a fairytale. A collection of stories and tall tales passed down to enchant children, to trick them into fixing their act as the darkness of winter and the cheer of the holiday season both loomed. And who could blame the average adult for not believing? Nothing about who Santa was or what he could supposedly accomplish in a single night was remotely believable.

This all changed when Santa, the real Santa, revealed himself to the world nearly two years ago. He had tripped up, gotten sloppy and been caught on camera in various locations that Christmas Eve. Reluctantly, due to mounting tensions that a disturbed prowler was on the loose and at the behest of his elves, he came forward. 

Santa’s official press conference was a global event. Everyone, everywhere tuned in, holding their breath as an actual magical being leaned towards the camera. The real Santa didn’t look quite like the chubby elf everyone had imagined for the past 200 years. Though he did adorn a bright red suit and hat, his body was tall and lean. A well-maintained white beard sat neatly on his chin, but didn’t cascade onto his chest like so many Santa pictures in children’s books and TV specials. Santa spoke with purpose in a deep, smooth voice, his demeanor calm and somewhat menacing.

The press conference was quite brief. Santa provided assurance that many of the stories about him were true and covered a few of the misconceptions he had heard over the years. He did visit every home of a child or adult who wrote him a letter and left them a gift or two. His base of operations was not in the North Pole, though he would not disclose where his permanent residence was located. There were, sadly, no reindeer involved whatsoever. He wasn’t sure how that particular bit of lore had gained popularity, but he explained that he simply flew at unimaginable speeds to wherever he was going on Christmas Eve. 

Knowing this last statement would inspire the most doubt, Santa took the time to deliver a small gift to three of the world’s most prominent and well-protected world leaders, each thousands of miles apart, while the camera was still on him. He was gone for roughly two seconds. Each leader later reported the same gift had been delivered — a small box with a pin in the shape of a cookie that read “Believe”.

This was the last anyone officially heard from Santa. He admitted his existence and got back to his life, one of secrecy and stealth. Of course there had been no “Question and Answer” segment and Santa had left quite a bit unsaid. No one knew if his ties to Christmas were religious in any way or if his elves, which he only mentioned twice, actually made the gifts he delivered. Speculation ran rampant as humanity questioned if other mythical figures or long-rumored cryptids would also make themselves known in the near future.

Of course, some people, myself included, already knew of a handful of creatures roaming this spinning ball of dirt that most would consider supernatural. I had tracked them, trapped them, and killed them dozens of times. Why didn’t the people of the world know? They were better off that way. The panic that would ensue just wasn’t worth the notoriety.

Having dabbled in the thankless job of hunting the supernatural for 20 odd years, I had a keen sense when it came to detecting a threat. As I watched the Santa press conference that cold night in late December I felt a chill run down my spine. It was obvious Santa fell into the supernatural category, he was no ordinary man, but deep in my heart I was certain he was one of the worst beasts to trod this earth. I was quite certain Santa Claus was a vampire.

The more I thought about this theory, the more it made sense in my head. All the pieces fit. Santa’s abilities were in line with those I had witnessed while hunting vampires in the past. Based on remarks from the press conference he was ancient and seemingly immortal. His “elves” were likely his loyal minions and he worked exclusively in the dead of night. 

It was later noted by observers that each leader who had received a pin directly from Santa had been watching the broadcast in some form of the evening. Many insisted the cover of darkness was a way to make himself undetectable, and there was certainly something to that line of thinking, but if one could move at such speeds a shred of daylight wouldn’t make much of a difference — unless it turned you to dust.

The notion that vampires must be invited into one’s home was also a pressing issue. How did Santa attain such permission? How did he cross the threshold of one’s fireplace without bursting into flames. Why, with the letters upon letters he was delivered each year, every single one begging him to visit. He himself had stated that he only visited homes who had written to him, and now I knew why.

Suspecting Santa was a vampire left me with more questions than answers. If he had been around for hundreds of years and truly did deliver joy in the form of gifts to millions around the world each year, was there a reason to try and stop him? Or was this all part of some bigger scheme? Vampires are shifty and genuinely brilliant tacticians. Maybe there was some long con here. Maybe Santa was picking off children or adults in small numbers on Christmas Eve, or any other time of the year for that matter. The man worked one night. Surely he had to fill his leisure time with other activities.

And so I waited. I had written my letter weeks ago, asking for a pair of hearty wool socks. Now I sat in my darkened living room, lit only by a small Christmas tree in the far corner. I had lined the fireplace with crosses spritzed in holy water, bulbs of garlic dangling like ornaments from the mantle. If I could stop Santa for a split second I could trap him where he stood for a good while. I had my ways. 

I didn’t plan to kill Santa if I didn’t have to. I just wanted to talk. I just wanted to know more about his intentions, what drove him to this gift giving ritual year after year. If it meant I didn’t get my new socks, well, that was a risk I was willing to take.

And so, like I had many times as a child, I waited. 

I waited for Santa.

Published December 20, 2021