Christmas Special Creepypasta: Some Kid Always Wants To Ride The Sleigh

The huge sleigh hurtled through the Christmas Eve sky, defying Nature, defying physics…below, Earth’s rotation slowed, so that the ancient magic could take place once again.

Eight reindeer flew at a mad gallop, nearly pulling the reins out of their driver’s hands. He didn’t mind. This was his favorite night of the year.

Except….Santa frowned. It had happened again, hadn’t it? He could sense someone else on the sleigh. He turned, and, sure enough, behind him, clinging for dear life, was a small boy, grinning maniacally, eyes wide with exhilaration.

A tough one, if he was actually grinning.

Santa sighed. Why did some kid always want to ride the sleigh? It never turned out well….usually, the hitcher’s brain simply exploded after mere minutes, overwhelmed by the sleigh’s speed and magic. If they did survive, they were catatonic, drooling messes, and died soon after landing….

Either way, Santa dumped them in the ocean. An unexplained disappearance was easier on the parents than finding their child with brains and blood leaking out of every orifice, on Christmas morning.

But this one was actually enjoying the ride. A problem. Exasperated, Santa addressed the boy.

"You’re…Timothy Nordwind, right?"

The boy nodded, incoherent with excitement.

"I’m taking you home, Timothy…and this all has to remain absolutely secret. You understand?"

Timothy nodded again.

"Good boy," said Santa. He patted the boy’s cheek, then taking Tim’s head in both hands, gave it a quick, sharp twist, snapping the boy’s neck. Tim sagged limply.

Santa sighed. Another one for the ocean, then. A shame. Why did some kid always want to ride on the sleigh?

—
Credits to: Queenofscots

Christmas Special Creepypasta: Just One Wish

An egnimated figure dropped from the fireplace, his eyes sunken, the lids peeling back.

Matted hair hung from his decimated frame like reeds on a riverbank.

He shuffled slowly to the bedside and surveyed the young boy sleeping in the cot.

"AHHHHH!"

A young girl stood by the door, watching him loom over her younger brother. She fled, sobbing and screaming.

The figure lunged, but its rotten feet gave way, and it lay on the floor, unmoving but very much alive. Yellow plasma leaked from a decaying eye as the boy started to sit up.

---

Santa looked into the room, his expression morose. The reaper stood beside him, and muttered “I told you so.” A black smog obscured his figure, then Santa was left standing alone by the dying fireplace.

Santa sighed. He took out a list and crossed off the top wish.

I want my daddy back.

—
Credits to: dev9x

Christmas Special Creepypasta: A Christmas Wish

“Well, its cold and snowing outside, as it should be on Christmas Day, but we’re all snug in here” announced Tommy’s mother. Tommy winced.

As she opened the door to show them all the blizzard raging outside, Tommy willed himself to get up and walk through the door, and go anywhere but here. As usual, his legs refused to obey.

“Hot chocolate”, his mother smiled, “specially for Christmas”. Tommy’s stomache turned over at the sight of the curdled milky drink, but he knew that what came later was much worse.

An interlude of boredom loomed, wherin Tommy unwrapped his Christmas presents, staring for the hundredth time at the same book and the same dvd, why hadn’t anyone had the foresight to buy him some food?

The chocolates he was able to eat each day did nothing to alleviate his hunger, and he had lost quite a bit of weight on this diet. In the background, the radio churned out the same old Christmas songs, which were beginning to drive Tommy crazy.

Then the finale of the day, the big meal, none of which Tommy could eat any more, and which he had tried on numerous occasions to avoid, but he found himself as ever sitting between his brother and sister at the gaily decorated table, as his father triumphantly carried out the huge turkey.

The smell was horrendous, between the turkey and the rotting vegetables.

As the platter was lowered, hundreds of maggots fell onto the table wriggling. Tommy closed his eyes and wished as hard as he could, but his original Christmas eve wish appeared binding.

As Tommy began to cry again, the radio started playing “wellll, I wish it could be Christmas everyday”.

—
Credits to: BECKYISHERE

Christmas Special Creepypasta: The Snow Globe Angel Told Secrets

The snow globe angel told secrets, but they were not nice secrets…

In the daytime, it was just an ordinary snow globe, left to Laura by her grandmother. The angel poised regally in a golden gown, smiling blandly. “Silent Night” chimed sweetly when the globe was wound up. But at night…

At night, it whispered:

" Your father loves Tim more than he does you; He never wanted a girl…"

"Your dad smothered your grandmother with a pillow; he was sick of taking care of her…"

And more, horrid secrets, but Laura couldn’t stop listening. Then, one night:

"Tim hates all of you. He’s going to kill you all Christmas Eve; he knows how to use your father’s gun…" Laura listened, as if in a trance.

"You can stop him…" the angel whispered. "A knife, while he’s asleep…"

Dreamily, Laura crept to the kitchen, got the big butcher knife and crept up to Tim’s room. Dreamily, she leaned over her sleeping brother, knife pointed toward his throat, when Tim’s light flicked on…

"Laura? What the—?! Laura!!" her father dashed into the room, and had the knife out of her hand before Laura could even shake herself out of her dreamlike state…

**************************

Laura’s mother sat morosely in Laura’s bedroom. They’d just returned from another disheartening visit to the psychiatric ward—Laura was still mostly uncommunicative. She occasionally whispered “It was the snow globe angel, don’t listen to the snow globe angel.”, but was otherwise silent and staring.

“I only ever heard it play ‘Silent Night’ her mother thought, turning the snow globe in her hands.

She wound it up…

"Your husband blames you for all this" it whispered…

—
Credits to: Queenofscots

Christmas Special Creepypasta: Christmas Presents

Every Christmas, my daughters and I put cookies and milk out for Santa and veggies for his reindeer.

When the girls are asleep, I sneak down and eat some of the food and drink the milk to make it look like Santa came.

Last night, after coming back from Christmas Eve mass and putting the girls to sleep, I ended up falling asleep on the couch.

When I woke up, I noticed that the snacks had been eaten and the milk was gone.

A note was left on the tree saying “Thanks for the Presents,” but I didn’t notice any were missing.

My daughters, however, were.

—
Credits to: xbeautyxtruthx

Christmas Special Creepypasta: Six Little Children

Father clapped his hands loudly to silence the noisy house.

“Now then,” he said, “are all you children ready for bed? Before you scamper off to dream of stockings and sugar-plums, Grandmother will tell you a story.”

The old woman hummed to herself while they gathered on the floor around her rocking chair. Once they grew quiet again, she spoke over the soft crackling of the fireplace. “When I was a girl, there was a tradition of telling scary ghost stories on Christmas Eve. But not this year. This year, I’m going to tell you the truth. Would you like that?”

Sleepy heads nodded. Grandmother cleared her throat and began to recite a poem.

“Six little children, all in a row.                           
Which one will be dragged out into the snow?
Santa brings gifts but he takes a gift too,
Each year a young tribute, as is his due.
He works them to death making next year’s toys,
Those we call elves, who were once girls and boys.
But Santa weaves magic and once morning dawns,
Good children forget the bad one who’s gone.
So which of you six was the naughtiest tot?
Can’t hide from Santa, you’re sure to be—“

“But Grandma!” the smallest girl interrupted, then covered her mouth.

“Yes, dear?”

In a tiny voice, almost a whisper, the girl continued.

“There are only five of us.”

Grandmother leaned forward, raised her spectacles, and slowly counted the children around her chair. When her finger reached an empty spot, she stopped.

“My goodness, so there are. I’m getting forgetful, too.”

Then she leaned back and began again.

“Five little children, all in a row…”

—
Credits to: IPostAtMidnight