Page 8 of Unholy Night

At least the wailing has stopped. I throw the thing in the corner and climb down from the chair.

That’s when I realize what I have done. I left Mandy next to a stranger that broke into our home. Not just any stranger. But Lucifer, the Devil himself.

It’s difficult to explain why I accept their identities so readily.

A part of me recoils from the idea that either of these beings are real, let alone standing in my apartment arguing. I’m not exactly religious and my belief in Santa is long gone.

The logical explanation is these two men are robbing me. Maybe they’re partners who planned this together. Maybe these are their disguises to keep from being identified, though they’re about as effective as Superman’s glasses.

Maybe they’re part of a local theater group doing a strange—and invasive, not to mention dangerous during a pandemic—kind of performance art.

All of these possibilities scramble through my mind, but they are all rejected just as quickly and all for the same reason.

In my deepest of hearts I can feel the truth of who these men—if you can call them men—are. I know this sounds ludicrous. Like a crazy lady grasping at fantasy. But I have no better way of explaining it.

For anyone who has fallen in love, it’s similar in a way. The way you can go from being a complete stranger to someone to loving them so completely… it’s a strange kind of magic that binds your heart and soul to another. It’s an inner knowing. A surety of something that is impossible to prove or quantify or study objectively.

This is like that. Not love of course, but that inner knowing and surety. When you are in the presence of something so full of magic, it’s impossible to misidentify. To look at these men and think they are robbers or performers or crazy people would be to mistake a poorly drawn circle on a piece of paper for the moon itself. It’s a ridiculous comparison. You know when you are in the presence of true love, or when you are witnessing the moon and not a drawing of a circle. Just as anyone would know that these men are who they say they are.

Not to mention one of them can summon fire in the palm of his hand. I’m sure there are ways to fake that, but it doesn’t look fake to me.

Which puts me in a very tricky position.

Because right now Santa is pissing me off.

“Why don’t you just leave the presents and go?” I put my hands on my hips, sadly aware that I no longer have my shoe handy. Not that it was really going to help against either of these two.

“That’s not how it works,” Santa sneers. “One kid, one wish, one present.”

“Seriously?” It’s my turn to throw my hands in the air. “It’s Christmas. Look at all the time you’re wasting. Just leave the present and get out of here.”

“Fine then. Let’s just prove who really knows what Mandy wants for Christmas.” Santa plops back down on the sofa and quick as a snake grabs my daughter’s wrist before I realize we’re so close to him.

Just as my fingers close around her free arm another hand encircles her wrist.

“Back off.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

Lucifer and I speak at the same time and I can’t help but glance up at the man--or is he an angel--no, now isn’t the time for that train of thought. His jaw is clenched tight, his dark eyes flashing with some kind of power I don’t understand. The hairs on my arm stand up like they say happens just before being struck by lightning. And for the first time, I notice small black horns blending in with the curls of his wild hair.

Demon horns?

“I was going to have her sit in my lap and tell me her Christmas wish.” The older man--elf--whatever he is, doesn’t let go of Mandy, and my anger ignites into something louder, harsher, more violent.

“Let. My. Daughter. Go.” I keep my voice calm, so as not to further terrify my child, but I enunciate each word and lob them at Santa like weapons.

I feel Lucifers’ eyes on me, but he doesn’t say anything. Neither does he look back at the elf. It’s as if he suddenly finds me to be the most dangerous being in the room and the direct attention of his stare only heightens my rage.

A tug pulls Mandy closer to Santa and I growl like a predator before a kill. The sound surprises me, but I give it little thought as I lunge forward, wrap an arm around her waist and practically fly to the other side of the room with her tucked against me.

“Mommy?” She looks up at me with watery eyes and I brush the tears away before they can fall.

“It’s okay, bunny. Don’t leave my side.” She gives me a quick little nod, but I see the quiver in her lips and it ignites my rage all over again.

“Stay where you are,” Lucifer says to us, and I realize he’s positioned himself between us and Santa Claus. “I’ve always known there was something wrong with you--having children sit in your lap to tell you wishes--but you’ve really gone too far here. Grabbing a child? Yanking her away from her mother?Pullingher onto your lap by force?”

His voice is almost a hiss, but fills the tiny room like thunder. Blue and orange flames dance across the skin of his hands, but oddly I’m not afraid of him. Not even a little bit. Which really makes me question my survival instincts. Shouldn’t I be terrified of an angry Satan standing in my living room? But his fury isn’t directed at me. No, it’s directed at the man in the red suit.

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