It was a cold December’s night, Christmas was a week away, a blizzard had snowed you and the town in since November, and it looked like it would last all winter, if not longer. It was only getting colder, the wind grew stronger, and the snow continued to pile up foot after foot.

You were sat by the fireplace, writing with a book beside you, letting the hours pass. Illuminated by the glow of the flames, you grew bitter, frustrated, angry, that you were stuck inside for the holidays. Finally, you snapped, springing up to swear at everything you could, gripping your book tightly in your hand to throw before you, hitting your Saint Nicholas portrait, shattering it’s glass and causing the portrait to fall into the fireplace, engulfing it in the flames. With a frustrated huff you watched, purposely letting it burn, an act of disdain for this horrible snowstorm.

As soon as the face of Saint Nicholas burnt with the canvas it was painted on, a gust of wind blew your window open, filling your home with a bitter cold, and extinguishing the flames. The wind’s howl deafened you, a rumble coming with it, but not a rumble, a growl, a deep, animalistic growl. As you looked around the now darkened room, illuminated only by the moonlight outside, an ominous crimson glow appeared on the floor, growing to be a blinding light. As the light grew brighter, a figure emerged from below, a tall, strong, beast, with goat horns the size of knives. Glowing red eyes met your gaze, and the figure stepped closer, the clicking of hooves audible as his face came into view, a wide malicious smile, and wide eyes with red irises. He wore a red collar decorated with golden sleigh bells, a black leather harness, and carried a large red sack. He let out another growl as he towered before you, letting out a huff through his nose, the condensation making it appear as smoke emanated from his lungs.

“Naughty, naughty… haven’t you learned…? Good children are given gifts by Saint Nicholas, and bad children are punished, by me…”