XMAS
Copyright© by Rick Yost
“Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature
was stirring, not even a mouse.
Our children were hidden under their beds, hoping by morning they wouldn’t
be dead.
My wife and I sat, weapons in hand, if need be we would die making our stand.”
Welcome to Far Pass, Montana. Just far enough beyond the outer edge of anywhere,
to be nowhere- Far Pass is a rural community of three hundred hearty wilderness
folk living off the land by trapping and fishing. Shadowed by the Northwest
Peak of the Purcell Mountains, we’re seven miles South of British Columbia,
and twelve miles East of the Idaho border.
With nine months of winter weather a year, this secluded enclave is out of
the reach of civilization. Far Pass is bereft of any modern technology or
communication. Santa Claus doesn’t even make it out to Far Pass. However,
we do have a visitor every Christmas. Every generation here has grown up fearing
him, though no one living can say when his reign of terror began or why.
From high in the mountains, he comes every Christmas Eve- swift and silent
in his rust covered 1950 Studebaker coupe. The vehicle has no engine, no transmission,
and no wheels. The top has been cut off with a torch. The one reclining bucket
seat is covered with duct tape. There’s a bobble-head Jesus on the dashboard,
a “Debbie Boone Christmas” CD dangling from the mirror, and an
“I Still like Ike” sticker on the rusted rear bumper.
Six, two hundred pound Rottweilers pull the evil vehicle through the air by
way of magic dust. They circle their target and slam the cruiser down atop
the snow-covered roof ridge. It can only be a wicked magic that holds it teetering
without falling to one side or the other. It must be this same sorcery that
gives the dogs their sure footing.
With no apparent rhyme or reason, every year he chooses a different house
to attack and force his way into. Once inside, his victims try to defend themselves,
but he has a demon’s magic and no weapon can harm him.
Survivors give accounts of a skinny old man with great physical strength.
Even in freezing temperatures he wears only boots and a ragged brown poncho
over his naked body. He smells as if he’s never bathed. His eyes are
sunken, yellow orbs with gray pupils. He is mostly bald with a long stringy
white beard. What’s left of his brown teeth give him a sick, decaying
breath. With his phlegm gurgling, gravely voice, he speaks in only the foulest
of language. Yet, as hideous as he is, his deeds are far more revolting.
He will drag children out from where they hide and molest and slobber all
over them. He will rape women in front of their husbands who have no power
to stop him. He has even been known to molest men on occasion.
Efforts have been made to defend the village. Two years ago another attempt
was made by three brave men with guns. They sat up waiting Christmas Eve.
Once he arrived and made his choice of homes to invade, they approached intent
on killing him. However, before they could fire a shot he wiggled his red
bulbous nose and their weapons were instantly rendered useless. Then, after
he had beaten all three of them unconscious, he proceeded to enter the chosen
home and continue with his night of terror.
Last year he chose our neighbors house. The parents were tied up and forced
to watch their little girl being molested and beaten. She lived but the family
dog was killed and hung above the fireplace. It was horrible.
The year before that, it was another family just up the hill. The mother was
raped and locked in the pantry. The children were bound, gagged and their
entire bodies were licked, but they were not injured. The father was knocked
unconscious, stripped naked and hog-tied with barbed wire.
He has been known to kill, but it seems only as the result of a would-be victim’s
fight to the death.
Through the years he has raped or otherwise physically abused half the families
in this town- one house and one Christmas at a time. Curiously, he never repeats
his visits on the same home. Once he’s had your family, you’re
apparently safe from then on.
As a community it’s such a horrible and frustrating ordeal. After the
holidays and then into spring and summer we live in quiet and peaceful harmony
with our neighbors. Things begin to change with the first chill of fall. The
closer it gets to Christmas again, the more nervous and frightened we become.
Our attitudes toward each other change. We become short-tempered. We turn
argumentative and confrontational. By the time Christmas Eve arrives we’re
at each other’s throats.
Each family spends Christmas Eve night huddled in the dark with their loved
ones, praying their house will be spared. When morning arrives we all do what
we can for the victims. Then life slowly begins to return to normal.
We envy the rest of you. Never take for granted your ability to share the
real spirit, joy and brotherhood of Christmas with each other all year long.
And
now it is Christmas Eve. We’ve done all we can. The windows are shuttered.
The doors are locked and barred. The children are all hidden. We’ve
built a roaring fire in the fireplace. My wife and I wait.
“Listen!” She whispers. Our eyes open wide and we look to the
ceiling, as if endowed with x-ray vision to scan the roof.
“I hear him.” I say as I run to the window, pull back the curtains
and throw up the sash. “He’s here! God help us woman! He’s
chosen our house!” I exclaim with panic.
“Oh, Jesus,” She says with tearing eyes. “I guess our luck
is with the others tonight my darling.”
We reach for the comfort of each other’s arms, instantly fearful for
our children and ourselves. I say to her with a trembling yet hopeful smile,
“Merry Christmas to you my love.” And she replies, trying her
best to be brave, “Merry Christmas to you too.”
And he was heard to say as he flew out of sight, “Merry Christmas to
all and to all a good night.”