Little Jacky lay awake in bed on the Eve of Christmas. 9:46, well after bedtime and still wide awake. Soon, Santa will come, he will come with his jolly laugh and respectable girth, a bulging sack of presents slung over his shoulder, reindeer pacing the moonlit snow outside. Little Jacky was going to catch Santa Claus. Little Jacky was going to tie him up and get everything he could ever want for Christmas. This was his year.
10:23. Still awake, but barely. Eyelids drooping but still determined. Little Jacky knew Santa would come at exactly 12 midnight, so he needed to stay up until just before, maybe 11:45. Then sneak downstairs and stand guard with his popgun at the base of the stairs, aimed at the fireplace in wait for Santa to come tumbling down. Even to stay awake this long, Little Jacky needed to dodge two separate invasions from his parents by pretending he was sleeping, his popgun and flashlight hidden under his covers. On the second instance, he nearly fell asleep anyway. After that he kept himself upright in an uncomfortable position to make sure he didn't miss his chance.
11:09. Little Jacky had never stayed up this long before, the latest he had ever been up was at his best friend's sleepover last June, where they had stayed up until 10:58 and 37 seconds precisely before they finally decided to go off to bed. It was a record for both of them but now Little Jacky had beaten it, but this time he was alone. In the dark. On Christmas Eve. Was capturing Santa illegal? Was he doing something wrong? No, he wasn't. He had every intention of releasing him once he had the presents he wanted. That can't be bad can it?
Jacky was sitting on the bottom stair, gun out and hands trembling. There was no sign of Santa, and the silence was starting to creep him out. He sat there for what seemed like hours, but the hands on his watch never moved. He started to hear whispers, ghostly voices in the walls, speaking English but not sounding human. Naughty Boy, they whispered. You have been a Naughty Boy, Little Jacky, you are on our Naughty List, Little Jacky, we are coming to get you, Little Jacky. Their haunting, sing-song voice surrounded Jacky. Naughty Naughty Boy, Little Jacky. Jacky held his gun closer, aiming at wherever he heard the sound. Then the gun was suddenly yanked out of his hands and thrown to the floor, where it instantly melted into a puddle. He looked up and there, towering over him, was Santa Claus. He was wider and taller than any picture had prepared him for, and his suit was a deep blood red along with his hat. From the sack on his back he drew an enormous lumberjack's axe and raised it over Jacky's head. You've been a Naughty Boy, Little Jacky, he whispered, or more echoed. Then the demonic Santa brought the axe down on Jacky's exposed neck and...
Little Jacky woke with a start, not realising he had been asleep. He felt under his covers and his hands felt the edges of his popgun. Suddenly realising why he had stayed up in the first place, his head darted to the clock. 12:02 am. Jacky leapt up from his bed, cursing himself for falling asleep, and grabbed his gun. He raced down the stairs, hoping it would take Santa more than 2 minutes to place all the presents and to eat his cookies. Halfway down he hesitated and nearly tripped, remembering the evil Santa from his dream, then dismissing it as just a dream and continued down. Just above the last step he whipped out his gun and took aim randomly into the living room while using his other hand to turn on the lights.
The living room was filled with presents, stacked high and nearly obscuring the tree. Colourful lights danced across the ceiling and beckoned towards the towers of goods. There was no sign of Santa. Jacky was too late. He slumped down onto the bottom stair in defeat, his popgun next to him. He had tried so hard, and he had let himself fail. He had fallen asleep despite his best efforts and had missed Santa by two minutes. Little Jacky started to sob into his knees. He sat there and silently cried on the bottom step at his failures, at the unlimited toys and games he would never get.
He must have stayed this way for at least 20 minutes, his crying cut short by a soft thump coming from the living room. He looked up and saw with his puffy eyes, a small square present about the size of Jacky's head. It was midnight blue with a deep purple ribbon tying it all up with a bow. The rainbow lights seemed to avoid this present as they beckoned to the rest of the stacks, but for some reason this present beckoned to Jacky even more. The deep blue drew him in, the perfect ribbon, the precise wrapping kept him entranced. He started to walk towards it. He was pretty sure he hadn't seen this present before when he ran in, maybe he did he wasn't sure, it wasn't the most attention grabbing package to say the least.
As he approached the gift, he found himself bending over, then walking on his knees, then on all fours to get to it. When he did, kneeling over it, he started to delicately unwrap the present. He didn't want to destroy the beautiful wrapping paper and bow by haphazardly ripping it off in a haze of excitement as he usually would. As the paper and bow fell away it revealed a simple pitch black square box. Curious, he lifted the lid ad peeked inside. At first, it seemed empty. Devoid of colour, shape or even space. The blackness of the inside of the box was so complete, Little Jacky couldn't tell if he was even looking at the bottom, or if it was a thousand miles away. He peered over the box, it had no bottom in sight, and Jacky wasn't about to stick his hand in there. It seemed to be almost the exact size of Jacky's head, which he found to be a bit of a curiosity. Maybe he could use it as a Halloween costume someday.
You've been a Naughty Boy, Little Jacky...
Everything clicked as Little Jacky heard the axe coming down.
4:30. Little Jacky's parents woke up and snuck downstairs, trying not to wake him. They pick their way down the stairs and look into the living room to check on the presents they had laid there last night. To their surprise, there was a small black box in the middle of the room that neither of remember placing there. They knew Jacky had been staying up to try and catch Santa at midnight, so maybe he snuck down and placed a gift for his two loving parents after the two of them were asleep. How kind of him. Excited, the two walked down towards the box, not realising they were both on all fours by the time they got there.
They tentatively opened the box and were greeted with Little Jacky's severed head, covered in blood and dead eyes still open, carefully placed in a perfectly fitted black box
Their very own Jack in a box.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This was supposed to be my Christmas special story but I didn't get around to writing it. Sorry about that for the people who actually care enough to read my work. Also sorry that it's bad, I did it in about 2 and a half hours on and off and its a first draft. I'll try and make the stories better as we go along.
Cheerio!
