Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27905100-20160326210524

 I'm hoping to get this reveiwed and I'll edit it before I post it on the wiki.

 Every Christmas eve, I stay up to look for Santa, but sadly, every year, he eludes me. I have never seen Santa, but this year’s gonna be the year. I just know it. I know that Santa will come to me this year. Now, the only problem is that my parents always stay up the point where I am just too tired to stay up. But that was last year. This year I’m ten years old. I’m big enough to stay up to the point where my parents go to bed. And after they do, I’m going to go out and wait for Santa on the couch. I can’t wait to finally meet Santa. I know I will this year. I know it.



 My parents are staying up so late this year. Like 11:30 late. Of course, I never stayed up until they went to bed before, so maybe they stay up this late every year. I don’t know. But they’re making strange sounds. What the fuck? Oh. Shoot... Dad told me never to use that word. When he finds this I’ll be in trouble. I’ll probably get a time-out when he sees this. Dang.

 But what are those noises they’re making?



 Finally! Mom finally went to bed! Well, not yet. But they started talking about going to bed anyway. She was yawning, and seemed really tired. Strange, because she seemed wide-awake earlier when they were making the strange noises. She finally started to get up, though, and Dad said he would be right behind her. I nearly got up, but then Dad turned on the news. "Turn on the news to channel nine, and you will have a good time!” The jingle rang in my ears. It’s a really stupid jingle. At least, that’s what I think. But once that was finished, it started to talk about something awful. I can’t quite remember what it was, but there was something about a serial killer. It sounded like he had been very successful. He hadn’t been caught yet, but I don’t know what’s so bad about eating cereal. Or maybe it’s another word I don’t know yet. I am only ten years old.



 Dad finally went to bed. Finally. I can’t believe I stayed up until they went to bed this year. I knew this year was the year. So know I just need to wait. Wait until I heard Dad’s snoring because they might hear me sneaking down the hall otherwise. So I waited. And I waited. And I waited until I was bored. And then I waited some more. God, I was bored. I couldn’t wait until I heard Dad’s snoring. Normally this is a comforting sound that has helped me fall asleep on those sleepless nights. I don’t usually wait for it, though. Sometimes I dread it. Sometimes on those nights that I have an overactive imagination, I find myself wondering if that’s truly my Dad or really something else. And what if that’s true?



 Finally the sound of his breathing relaxed. But I can’t be hasty. If I rush in to this, Dad’ll wake up and send me to bed. He’ll keep me there until I fall asleep, and then I’ll have wasted yet another year when I could have met Santa. So I needed to wait. Wait until they finally fell asleep. And then I can finally go out onto the couch. The couch looks right out at the tree, so no matter what, when Santa puts out the presents, I will wake up. But right now I need to wait. Wait until I hear Dad’s snoring. And then I’ll know it’s safe to go out.



 I finally started to hear Dad snoring, and I knew that it was safe to go. I couldn’t wait. I walked down the hall very carefully, making sure not to step on any of the floorboards I knew were creaky. Nonetheless, I heard a few of those generic “horror movie” noises as I snuck down the hall. I knew the way from my room to the tree very well, but I still got scared on the way there. Everything is different at night. Everything is dark and forbidding. My imagination got the best of me. I had to bring a flashlight. Yeah. That was the rational decision. A flashlight would keep me from tripping over anything. And I could light my way. And, if I got a little scared, I could shine it just in case.



 I finally got to the couch. I’m lucky it’s just down the hall and a flight of stairs, as my nerves were at an end. I’ve never been a very brave person. I can’t calm myself in scary situations. I can’t even watch horror movies, of anything like that. If I do, I’ll have awful nightmares. When I watched “The Sixth Sense” I couldn’t even go to the bathroom for a week. Not my proudest moment. But now that I know that there’s nothing that can hurt me in the dark, because I can just turn on my flashlight, I can walk to the couch. Good thing I had my flashlight.



<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"> On the couch there was a strange stain. It was white, and looked fresh. I don’t know what it was, and I don’t know what my parents were doing, but it was there. It looked fresh, too. I touched the stain. Normal human instinct is to touch it. You know, that might not have been the best idea to have Touch It! As default human instinct. But anyhow, I touched it. It felt really weird and sticky. Gross. I moved to the other side of the couch, not wanting to get too close to it. It was incredibly disgusting.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none">

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"> I can’t believe that I stayed up as long as I did. I considered staying up as long as I did a huge feat. I mean, 1:00 AM is not something that I normally stay awake long enough to see. My Dad says that staying up later than 10:00 means something bad will happen in the morning. And so far that I’ve heard him say that, it’s been true. The first time I did it I got a cold. I attributed this to coincidence, but then the next time I did, my fish died. So I try not to stay up that late. But tonight’s different... Right?

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none">

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"> I don’t know how long I slept. Probably about 2 hours or so. I think. I know that when I woke up, my flashlight was starting to show signs of low battery, like starting to shut down on their own. That wasn’t good. I probably shouldn’t have left it on when I slept. But I can’t change that now. Maybe I could get some batteries? Yeah. That would probably be the best course of action. But wait… What if the batteries ran out on the walk there? But if I don’t go then I’ll have no batteries. But I’ll be vulnerable when I’m changing them… Shit.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none">

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"> I’m just remembering now… I had an awful nightmare when I was asleep. It’s kind of hazy, but I think it was about a… Murder? I don’t know… I think it went something like me walking down the hall, and hearing a creak. I turned around and there was something there. I don’t quite remember what it was, but it disappeared after that. It stalked away. Then I went down the hall, which looked infinite. It felt infinite, too, but during my walk, I found a door. The door looked… off… somehow, and when I stepped through it, I found a silhouette of a man standing over my parents and sister. They looked strange. And that’s when I woke up… Hot Shit! What was that?!

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none">

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"> Okay. That was just a tree scratching the window. Nothing more. Nothing more. I’m really scared. But I’ll be fine. A person who’s 10 shouldn’t be scared of things like that that scare babies. I shouldn’t be scared of that. Screw it. I’m going to get the batteries. Oh! Crap! There it is again! That scratching. God, that’s scary… I wish that would stop. The noises in this house are really wearing down my nerves. I wish it wasn’t so windy. I wish it would stop. Please. I really need to stay up, and meet Santa, but I’m scared to shit.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none">

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"> My flashlight just ran out of power. I can’t turn it on again. I can’t turn on the light. I’m stuck in the dark. Anything can sneak up on me, and I can’t see for shit. I am screwed. Screwed to hell. I won’t be able to see the things in the dark. And I can’t defend myself from things I can’t see…. Wait… That scratching again!

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none">

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"> I fell asleep again. It was a dreamless sleep. Oblivion. The oblivion. A dreamless oblivion. When I hear the word oblivion, I can’t help but think about death. Death and darkness. Darkness forever. Death. I can’t help but think about that, what with all of the darkness around me, spiraling and sprawling out in every direction. I need to see. My batteries are dead, though. I need to make the walk. But, I’m scared. I need to see. I could turn on the lights and run… But I can’t be seen, or else I’ll be sent to bed. And Dad’s not snoring. I need to run in the dark to get them.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none">

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"> As I’m running I trip over something. It felt like a soccer ball, but harder. More bony… I turned on the lights to see what it was. With a flick, all of the horrors of the room invade my consciousness. Like some mad dissection, I see my family’s heads on the floor, rolling around like balls. Their lungs blown up and tied off like balloons, and on the wall, using their intestines as ink, “MERRY CHRISTMAS” was written. I recoiled in horror and found myself collide with something. I turn around to see a silhouette in a grotesque, somewhat human shape. I bring to myself the courage to say one thing.

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<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"> “I-Is that you, Santa?" <ac_metadata title="Is that you, Santa (2nd draft, unedited)"> </ac_metadata>