Creepypasta Collection Book 1

I Don't Believe in Santa Clause

I don't believe in Santa Claus.

I've always known he was just made up; someone parents told their kids about just so they would behave during the holidays. Nevertheless, I was always grateful for the "double gifts," one from your parents, one from "Santa," and would wake up every Christmas morning with a gold and silver wrapped present at the foot of my bed, tagged "From Santa." This went on all the way through my high school years, and though by that time I started to feel this was highly unnecessary, I continued to play along. It was just my parents' way of spoiling me, as I was their only child.

However, it had to stop eventually, and I soon had to leave for college. Christmas came while I was a busy college freshman, but I couldn't help wanting to visit home before the season was over. As I was traveling, however, I received a call from our neighbors telling me to come home immediately. I told them I was on my way, but was by then less merry and more anxious.

As soon as I arrived home, I dropped my bags onto the snow and pushed past the policemen into my house. There, in the wreckage of the living room, lay the bloody and mangled bodies of my beloved parents. On the walls, in what appeared to be written in blood, were the words, "WHERE IS HE."

Before the policeman pulled me away, I noticed a single, untouched gift. In gold and silver wrapping, set beneath the Christmas tree.

I don't believe in Santa Claus.

But I do believe in monsters.