As kids we’re told that Christmas is a magical time when a mysterious man from a mysterious place sneaks into your home to leave gifts. But only, if you were good. Because this mysterious man, this Santa Clause, has been watching you the entire time. Santa sounds like a pervert. But what if this Santa, isn’t that Santa we were describe as kids? The fat, jolly man with a white beard. Last year, Deadman’s Tome explored the idea that Santa is actually Krampus, and had a great time doing so. This year we’ve drawn our attention to one of the biggest and baddest monsters of all time: Cthulhu. Who else would be capable of watching all, hearing all, and reading the thoughts of all? The real Santa is Cthulhu, and as kids we’ve been duped. Don’t believe me? You will after reading this!
Deadman’s Tome presents Cthulhu Christmas Special and Other Lovecraftian Yuletide Tales – a smooth blend of the holly jolly merry vibes of the holiday season with the dread and unfathomable horror of Cthulhu and Lovecraft. This collection of horror pairs nicely with a glass of eggnog, or if you prefer, a glass of whiskey. With over ten stories, this collection offers plenty for H.P. Lovecraft fans and general horror readers.
Become a patreon member and get access to Deadman’s Tome Cthulhu Christmas Special and other great titles like Monsters Exist and Real American Horror
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After dinner Dad took me upstairs, helped me put on my pajamas, counted to 120 as I brushed my teeth and told me a story about a girl who followed a rabbit into a mysterious world. Poppy was downstairs cleaning up dinner and humming “Santa Claus is Coming to Town”. Dad read for a bit until my eyes fluttered and I fell asleep. He tried to be quiet as he slipped away from my room and down the stairs but the top step always creaks and I woke up.
I listened, hoping that tonight would be different because Christmas was coming.
Daddies were so happy during the day, smiling as we decorated the tree, holding hands as we walked in the snowy park and taking turns messing up my hair when I begged for a new toy. It was not the same when they thought I was asleep. I would first hear Dad talking very low, saying things like “house” and “bills”. Poppy would also be talking low except for when he said, “we can do this”. I don’t know what bills are but I hate them.
Poppy would keep talking low, but Dad would move something a little bit too loud and Poppy would tell him “Shhhhh”.
One year Poppy got a doll for me. He said it was a special doll from Santa that would make sure I behaved. It wore a green jacket with a red belt and had a pointy green hat. He put it up on a high shelf and it sat there with big eyes that would stare and stare.
As I watched TV it stared. Eating dinner it stared. Poppy even moved it to my room where it would stare at me.
I kicked my robot covers off of me and tiptoed to where the doll sat staring.
I thought maybe daddies needed someone to watch them to make sure THEY behaved, then maybe they wouldn’t yell so much.
I opened the door just enough so that the doll and me could squeeze through. I was good at making myself small and I was really good at hide-and-seek so I was able to get around to the part of the upstairs hall where I could spy on daddies without being caught. I lay down flat on my tummy and made the staring doll sit up and look downstairs. He watched daddies as they pointed at each other with angry faces. The doll watched as Poppy showed Dad something on his phone, which made Dad angry and Poppy cry.
“Who is this?” the doll heard Poppy ask Dad.
I left the doll alone as I snuck back to my room and into bed. I hope Daddies see the doll and stop yelling.
*
I was dreaming that a goat was running downstairs in the house. It must have been a big goat that worked on a farm because I could also hear chains making a lot of noise as they hit the ground and slammed into furniture. The goat growled like a lion, which was weird. I think my daddies were in the dream too because I heard yelling. Then one of them yelled out my name…
I woke up and then quickly stood in my bed getting a little dizzy.
“Dad?”
I jumped down to my bedroom floor and while holding my head called out,
“Poppy?”
The house was quiet. No daddies yelling and no goat with chains. I could see that the lights were on from the little line of light at the bottom of my door, so I thought daddies were in the living room.
The top step did not creak because I was too afraid to go downstairs. I stood at the top frozen. I wasn’t dizzy anymore, but I felt sick. I could see why Daddies were so quiet. They were not there.
The black leather couch that I was not allowed to have snacks on was covered in a red thick mess. All over the pillows were long sausages that were also covered with red.
Small chunks of meat hung from the lamps at the side of the couch. They were stringy and slowing plopping down onto the side tables. Behind the couch on the wall it looked like black snails were moving down towards the floor. Across the TV it looked like someone used a brush to paint long streaks of crisscrossing red with lots of red dots in-between, above, and below. I looked more and the red was on the ceiling, the drapes, the carpet, the cabinet, the lights, the chairs, the blanket, on Dads book, on Poppy’s phone…
Poppy’s phone…
Poppy’s phone was in Poppy’s hand.
Poppy’s hand had no arm, or body.
I was shaking very hard. My pajama pants got very warm for a second, but then it quickly got cold and wet. I could smell pee, and it reminded me of when I used to wet the bed. The house now smelled like my pee, daddies’ red and a dirty animal.
I was too scared to move but I did turn my head to see the doll still sitting, still staring out where daddies had been and where the red puddles are now. In its’ lap was a piece of ripped paper. There was a red streak on it but it did not cover the two words that someone had written. The first word I knew because it was in the story Dad had read. It was “Behave”. The second word I didn’t know but I tried sounding out the letters.
This is a fantastic anthology which really captures the darker side of the holiday season. Each of the six stories (one poem) takes great glee in showing the reader just how dark and disturbing Christmastime can be, and from the very first page the pace never relents. Read this in one sitting, preferably with the lights turned down low.
Are you sick of Christmas? Do you have ungrateful children that don’t even deserve a lump of coal, but you give it to them anyway just to shut them up? Do you cringe at the sound of Jingle Bells, and just one ‘Merry Christmas’ away from going on a murderous killing spree that would rival Stephen King’s The Shining?
Then Deadman’s Tome Krampus Christmas will make your Christmas much more tolerable. This horror anthology contains demented, twisted anti-Christmas tales coupled with Krampus greeting card art, and together it makes for a great experience.
Deadman’s Tome Krampus Christmas can be enjoyed on your Kindle and smartphones, and is now available in print. You can even read it for free through Kindle Unlimited.
Santa Claus was running late. His black boots bounced and his stomach wobbled as he hustled to his seat. He almost tripped on the red carpet before the large wooden chair, but managed to keep himself upright. Exhaling, he took a seat, while ignoring the rum on his breath. Though his duties had been downscaled in this day and age, he was a man who still worked with pride. He patted the head of one of the reindeer in front of him and shifted in his seat; comfortable, he indicated to one of his helpers that he was ready.
She rang a bell.
An army of kids invaded the Christmas themed spot in the mall from every direction. Santa Claus, or Torben Gunderrson as he was known when not in the role, pressed a button at his side which activated a red light on one of the plastic reindeers’ noses in front of him. He cleared his throat, hearing the familiar jingle bells track play on the store’s tinny-sounding speakers.
“Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas” he boomed, straightening the fake beard which caused his chin to itch.
A boy in a yellow hooded sweatshirt broke free from the horde. He made his way along the red carpet and stopped a few feet from Santa’s chair. Torben leaned forward, his back creaked. “Come closer, little one.”
The boy took a step forward, but Torben could not see his face with the hood covering it. “Don’t be shy, tell good old Santa Claus what you would like for Christmas?”
The boy ignored him. Torben looked around, something was off. He noticed that all of the children wore clothing to cover their faces and that none of them were accompanied by adults. Trying to remain calm, he looked back at the boy. “Tell me, young one, what would you like for Christmas?”
“You,” the boy whispered.
“Sorry, I must have heard you wro—”
Torben heard a muted scream. Looking to his side, he saw a member of the store’s staff that had been assigned to assist him being dragged behind a large snowman. He couldn’t see the persons face, but he caught a glimpse of the blue vest over white shirt uniform that the staff wore. Crimson blood streaked across the white floor in their wake. Swinging his head from side to side, he searched for any of the other assistants, but located none. Even the lady who had rung the bell alongside him had vanished. The bell, however, was lying a few feet from him. Blood splatter now its keeper.
“What the hell is going on?” Torben said, standing.
The boy in front lowered his hood.
It was not the face of a boy, but rather a man. Torben felt his blood turn solid and cold like steel in winter. He recognized the pointy ears and a sharp nose. The realization of what he was looking at hit him like an unwarranted slap to the face. These were definitely not the friendly, beautiful images of the myth he had read in books during his youth.
The elf smiled, yellow canine-like teeth appeared. “No more ho-ho-ho?”
Torben screamed, falling back into his seat. His whitened knuckles gripped the sides of his seat as his face resembled one transfixed by horror. His breathing quickened, the short bursts of air were not sufficient and he felt the dizziness clog his thoughts.
The sounds of chains being whipped against the hard floor stopped Torben’s panic. The elves had all moved back, almost in rows. Looking up, Torben saw something move between some of the Christmas displays leading to him. The large pitch black creature shifted between rows of Christmas trees, taunting him. Torben would have run had his feet not felt as if they had been weighed down by anchors resting on the ocean floor. The creature then jumped out from the displays, only a few feet ahead of Torben, who had at first though it was a bear. But he was wrong. It was something worse, much worse.
The creature had long curved horns reaching into the air, just missing the golden tinsel that hung above it. Thick, wild, black hair grew all over its body. It had the eyes of a dangerous old man and a large red tongue hung out its mouth. Its cloven hooves clacked as it took a step forward.
Torben moved back, only to feel the back of the chair preventing him from retreating any farther. The horror pained within like metal rods being inserted into his veins. The elves were but a distant memory, even the fates of the staff around him no longer concerned him.
The creature leaped forward, and spat out a black substance that splattered all over Torben’s face. Torben being too slow to react panicked as he tried to remove the substance. His hands clawed at his face like rats in a hot bucket. The substance would not come off. It had the consistency of warm honey, only stickier. Torben, needing to inhale, braced for a foul stench. The substance however, was not unpleasant in smell, but rather had a fruity and alcoholic aroma.
Torben felt his skin burn, then contract. The world around him shuddered and he shut his eyes, trying not to scream. But the pain and discomfort did not last long. He opened his eyes, feeling his face. The substance was gone, but something was wrong. Torben climbed off the chair, only to topple forward, tripping over himself.
Standing up, Torben realized he was now the same height as the elves that were drawing close on him like a noose.
“Take him to the Black Forest for reconditioning. He will serve out his days in servitude for playing this false God,” the creature said.
The elves obeyed and grabbed Torben. Torben shut his eyes, praying that this was all some bad dream. But he knew better. He had simply been performing a job, a job he had done for many years. The frigid truth of who and what this creature was dawned on him. This year, a dark myth now proven true, the Krampus had endured enough and had sought revenge. Some of the other Santa’s that it would hunt down would surely just be killed.
Torben realized his punishment would be less merciful.
…how dare you release such a fucking awesome anti-christmas theme anthology! Sensationalized headline aside, Deadman’s Tome Krampus Christmas has received some amazing reviews on Amazon. Check out what MA Book Reviewer had to say:
A vulgar and demented Christmas! A focused anthology, the six stories (one poem) play off each other attacking the holidays in decidedly different (and perverse) ways.
Deadman’s Tome Krampus Christmas is certainly very vulger, obscene, and is absolutely not for children, and that unadulterated, unfiltered edge is what the readers enjoy. Check out these reviews:
This is a fantastic anthology which really captures the darker side of the holiday season. Each of the six stories (one poem) takes great glee in showing the reader just how dark and disturbing Christmastime can be, and from the very first page the pace never relents. Read this in one sitting, preferably with the lights turned down low.
This anthology is a tight, six story excercise in horror that is an ideal ebook gift for any lover of the genre. I liked that the stories could be consumed in short sittings and the originality on display here is very, very good. We have deadly snowmen of a different kind, a deadly visitor that brings a lot more than presents to a family one Christmas, and a horrendous holiday discovery in some backwater woods. For the price you can’t argue. Give it a bash. It’s very good.
It’s hard to argue a price of $2.99, the price of a tall RedBull. A RedBull that you’ll down and end up just pissing away. This terrifying horror anthology, however, will stay with you, and quite possibly haunt you.
Little Jimmy crept down the stairs, peeking over the railing. He knew it was early and his parents wouldn’t be awake yet.
But he just had to know.
He had been extra good this year and he knew Santa would reward his good behavior. He crept down the stairs and his little hands left sweaty trails on the shiny wood of the banister.
As he stepped onto the floor, he heard the slightest sound.
His ears perked up and the noise stopped.
He could feel his heart beginning to race and he had to pee but he could hold it. His feet shimmied across the cold tile.
As he approached the living room, he could see the lights from the tree dancing across the walls. The strange sound started again only louder.
He knew he shouldn’t be up but that was alright.
He had been extra vigilant at finding his elf on the shelf and knew it would not betray him.
Every day he would make his bed and help his mommy do her chores. The elf stared down at him and he tried not to look at it but he knew it was there.
He could almost feel its eyes following him as he did his work. He smiled as he went to bed every night knowing the elf would report back to Santa what a good boy he had been.
He turned the corner to the room and his eyes lit up as the tree, in all of its expectant glory, stood before him. He could see the shiny packages lying underneath, just waiting for him to tear open. As he stepped into the room, movement caught his eye.
He turned and the elf stood there, knife in its hand, its eyes blood red.
At first, Jimmy didn’t understand how the elf could be standing upright.
As he tried to grasp the weirdness, the elf ran towards him, the knife glinting from the lights on the tree. Jimmy’s brain was confused but he soon realized he was in danger.
He screamed and turned to run away.
The elf began to laugh and Jimmy could feel his bladder releasing as he tried to make his way back up the stairs.
He made the stairs just as the elf grabbed his leg.
Jimmy screamed again and kicked the elf off.
He continued to try and get up the stairs but the elf regained control and grabbed Jimmy’s leg again.
As the knife plunged down, Jimmy wondered what Santa would think of his naughty little elf.
Horror writer Mark Slade has agreed to meet with Mr. Deadman to talk about his latest story Santa’s Bag, which is featured in Deadman’s Tome Krampus Christmas. Listen to the interview as it goes live Wednesday 12/7/2016 at 10PM CST by clicking this link http://www.spreaker.com/user/8056632
Mark Slade is an author whose work has appeared in The Stray Branch, Wicked Gardens, Weirdbook #32, Detectives of the Fantastic vol. 1 and other publications for Horrified press/Rogue Planet press. He also writes audio plays for 4077th productions, created the audio series The Sundowners and The Hangman’s Dozen. Mark also has a story on Manor House as well, which you can check out on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RpYII9bGbGg
Mark Slade is also featured in Dark Dreams, a gripping horror anthology. Dark Dreams contains stories from the minds of: Mark Slade, Thomas M. Malafarina, D. S. Scott, John C. Adams, Emerian Rich, Jason Norton, P. J. Griffin, Mr. Deadman, David Ludford, Joseph J. Patchen, Mark Tompkins, E. S. Wynn, Shawn Clay, Kevin Rees. Cover and Art by Cameron Hampton
Will there be a Friday show? No. But there is a good chance Deadman’s Tome podcast will go live Saturday night at 10pm CST.
Grace eased out of her slumber, rubbing a hand over her eyes. When she opened them, she realized that night had fallen, the living room now covered in shadow and moonlight. The TV was on but its screen was black, the movie they’d been watching long since over and the Blu-ray player having shut itself off.
Blake was snoring lightly beside her, his head hanging over the top of the sofa, face pointed up to the ceiling. So much for their romantic rendezvous.
Grace yawned, her breath fogging up before her in a wisp. She shivered and rubbed at her arms, finally noticing just how freezing cold it had become inside.
A harsh wintery wind blew against the house—and across Grace’s face.
As her sight grew sharper in the dark, Grace looked off to her left, towards the sliding glass doors leading out to the deck. One of the doors had been opened, the drapes around it blowing and snapping about as the December wind kept up. Snowflakes were dancing through the air, a fine dusting of them already covering the floor before the doors.
Grace began to rise up, as did her confusion. How the hell did — ?
She hadn’t even made it off the sofa when she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, a shadow that shouldn’t have been there. A figure loomed over them from behind the sofa, with large protuberances sticking out of its head. It was raising its arm up high, a thin, pointed something clasped in its hand. The shadow brought it slashing down as it let loose an enraged and inhuman growl.
Grace screamed as the weapon cut straight into Blake’s throat, a splash of his warm blood streaking right across her face as it flew out from the wound. Her boyfriend jolted awake, his eyes wide, his body convulsing, and a nauseous gurgling noise creeping out of his gaping mouth.
The figure wrenched the weapon out and again brought it piercing down into Blake’s neck. His limbs ceased to shake as a final choked gasp trailed off into stillness.
Grace jumped off the sofa and made to run across the room, to flee. She hadn’t even made it past the end of the sofa when the figure came dashing around, tackling her to the ground. They landed on the snowy floor, Grace on her back, the figure straddling her as it brought its weapon to bear with another snarl.
In the moonlight, Grace could see wild eyes staring at her through a twisted, animalistic mask of papier-mâché. Strands of long white hair had been glued onto it to make a stringy beard and matching mane. The long shapes coming out of the masked man’s head were horns, painted black, likewise crafted from papier-mâché, and tied about his head with string. He wore a ragged red bathrobe which smelled of both feces and antiseptics.
The thing in his hand was a birch stick, one of its ends sharpened to a point that was now coated with red. He brought its other end smacking across her face, the wood stinging her cheek and bringing more tears to her eyes.
“You’ve been bad . . .” the psycho said, his voice gruff and muffled by his mask. “Bad, bad, bad . . .”
He gripped her throat and raised his bloody stake over his head. “And bad boys and girls must. Be. Punished . . .”
The killer jumped as a scraping sound raked across the ceiling above, followed by an enormous thump. He and Grace looked up, both confused by the strange racket. A lighter thump echoed through the wood and plaster, followed by another, and then another—as though someone large were walking about up there.
A moment of silence crept by. And then a metallic rattling rose up from within the chimney across the room.
The masked psycho hollered and fell away from Grace as a flurry of rusted chains came shooting out of the fireplace like long, lethal cobras. They came right for him, twisting around his neck and his shoulders and dragging him to the fireplace as he let out some screams of his own. His stick clattered to the floor as he was pulled up and into the chimney, his slipper-covered feet kicking like mad.
Then, in a burst of falling soot, he went shooting up the chimney, his cries echoing upwards.
Grace lay there a moment as she heard more footsteps across the roof. That scraping sound struck up again, punctuated by a monstrous roar that hurt her ears.
She glanced out the sliding doors, peering into the cold night at what looked to be a sleigh soaring through the skies and across the glow of the moon. It was pulled by what looked like reindeer, and in its driver’s seat was a hulking figure with huge, twisted horns of its own.
It gave another ferocious roar as it disappeared into the night, carrying off its masked captive, who sat screaming in the back of the sleigh, calling for help.
About the author:
I am a recent graduate of Illinois College, in Jacksonville, IL, where I earned a degree in English Literature and Creative Writing. I have been published in the likes of Sanitarium Magazine, The Sirens Call, and other such titles; my first novel, I Was a Teenage Gila Monster, is set to be released shortly through Frith Books. A full list of my previous publications may be found at my author’s site, if you are so inclined to know: http://wintersauthor.azurewebsites.net/Pages/Previous%20Publications.
Krampus is here. Do not bother running. Do not bother hiding, and do not bother deleting your internet history. Rest assured that Krampus knows everything you’ve done, and there is nothing you can do about it. Don’t believe me? Read the stories featured in Deadman’s Tome Krampus Christmas to get an idea of what’s in store for you and any and every deplorable friend you know.
Deadman’s Tome Krampus Christmas contains six demented horror shorts perfect for those that get sick from all that Holiday cheer and pages of hilarious Krampus art such as this:
