Santa’s Naughty List - A Short Story

A Short Story - Santa’s Naughty List

Penulis: Grace Prikasih – UKI

A Night Devoid of Warmth

“Merry Christmas!”
A cheer that rings through the night — a day of joy, glowing lights, and presents waiting under trees. That’s what everyone thinks. That’s what I used to think too.

But now I know the truth: Christmas is only bright because the darkness behind it is so much deeper.

My name is Riko, and I wasn’t always running from monsters dressed in red and green. I was just a kid who made a stupid mistake. A mistake small enough that any adult would’ve forgiven me… but big enough to put me on his list.

It happened three weeks before Christmas.
There was a toy car — bright red, the kind that looked like it could fly if you pushed it fast enough. I didn’t have money for it, and some older boys dared me to take it.

“Come on,” they said. “Santa doesn’t actually care.”

I wanted to be brave. I wanted to impress them.
So I slipped the toy into my pocket.

The moment I did, the store lights flickered… just for a second.
I thought it was nothing.

That night, I found a slip of paper under my pillow. I thought it was a note from my mom, but when I unfolded it, I froze.

It was handwritten in swirling red ink:

Naughty.
– S.C.

At first, I laughed nervously and tossed it aside.
“A prank,” I told myself.
But the next night, something else happened.

I woke up to the sound of bells — not cheerful jingles, but slow, heavy clanks like metal dragging on the floor. The temperature in my room dropped so fast that my breath turned white.

Then I saw it.

A shadow on my bedroom wall shaped like Santa… but twisted.
Too tall.
Too bony.
Too still.

I blinked — and it moved.

A deep voice, rough like someone breathing through broken glass, whispered:

“Naughty.”

I scrambled under my blankets, heart pounding.
But the shadow didn’t disappear.

It stepped closer.

The next night, things got worse.
I was trying to sleep when the window latch clicked open by itself. Frost crawled across the glass like white fingers. A horrible cold wind blew my curtains upward.

I heard boots crunching in the snow — slow, heavy steps coming toward my house.

I sat up, trembling, and that’s when I saw him.

Not the Santa from TV.
Not the Santa from books.

This Santa’s coat was ripped and stained. His beard was knotted and stiff, like dirty bandages wrapped around his face. And his eyes… his eyes glowed a faint, hungry red.

He pressed his face against my window.
His lips cracked into a smile that showed too many teeth.

Then he lifted a long, hooked finger and tapped the glass.

“Riko… the Factory is waiting.”

Before I could scream, the window shattered inward. A freezing hand grabbed my ankle, pulling me out of bed. I felt snow on my skin, cold enough to burn.

The world spun into darkness.

When I opened my eyes again, I wasn’t in my room.

I was on a metal conveyor belt moving through a giant tunnel lit by flickering red bulbs. The air tasted like burnt sugar and rust. Chains rattled. Machines hissed.

And above me, written in giant letters:

WELCOME TO THE CHRISTMAS FACTORY
FOR NAUGHTY CHILDREN ONLY

I tried to crawl away, but voices surrounded me — high-pitched, clicking, and wrong.

The elves.

They weren’t cute. They weren’t happy.
Their skin was pale greenish gray, their eyes shiny and black like insect shells, and their teeth… their teeth were tiny needles.

One leaned close to me, smiling with broken lips.

“New material,” it whispered.

That was the moment I understood:
Christmas wasn’t about giving.

It was about taking.
Taking children like me and turning us into toys, decorations, and whatever else Santa needed.

And I had just arrived at the place where naughty children disappear forever.

The Heart of the Factory Beats Blood-Red

The elves dragged me off the conveyor belt and into the heart of the Factory. I thought toy factories would smell like candy and hot chocolate.
This one smelled like melted plastic, burning sugar, and something coppery that made my stomach twist.

The place was huge — endless assembly lines, clanking machines, belts carrying twisted toys that writhed and whispered. I saw dolls with too many eyes, teddy bears stitched with human hair, rocking horses whose wooden mouths dripped red paint.

And everywhere… children.
Some were locked inside glass tubes, their breaths fogging up the inside.
Others were strapped to tables while elves measured their limbs, comparing them to toy parts.

Every time one cried, the elves clapped their hands and cheered like it was music.

They pushed me toward a workstation marked:

SECTION 9: DOLL CASTING — MATERIAL TESTING

A cold metal table waited for me.
I tried to pull away, but their tiny hands were impossibly strong.

Before they strapped me down, a loud horn blared across the Factory.

The elves froze.
Their heads twitched toward a giant door at the far end.

It slammed open.

Santa walked in.

Every elf dropped to its knees, shaking. Santa didn’t walk like a human — he dragged one leg behind him, leaving a trail in the frost-covered floor. His coat was stitched together from different fabrics, some red, some white… some suspiciously skin-colored.

He smiled when he saw me.
The kind of smile you give a gift you’ve waited all year for.

“Riko,” he said, voice deep and cracked. “My special little naughty one.”

I felt my heartbeat in my throat.

Santa lifted a massive sack onto the table beside me. It writhed from the inside, and something hit the fabric, making a soft thump. He opened it just a little, enough for me to see an eye staring out — wide, terrified, still alive.

“You will be my finest creation,” Santa whispered. “A doll that never breaks.”

The elves giggled, sharpening their needles. One held a spool of red thread—too glossy, too fresh-looking.

I kicked, screamed, twisted, but there were too many of them.

Metal cuffs locked around my wrists.

Another around my ankles.

A huge machine above me powered on, gears grinding, a drill lowering toward my chest.

“Begin the casting,” Santa ordered.

That was it.
I was going to be turned into a toy.

The drill spun faster, screeching like laughter.

In panic, I yanked one last time with everything I had—
and the rusted bolt on the table leg snapped.

The table tilted.

The drill missed me by inches and stabbed into the metal surface, sparking wildly.

Elves screamed as the sparks lit their paper hats on fire.
I used the chaos to slip out of the loosened cuffs and roll off the table.

I ran.

Santa roared behind me, a sound so deep it made the floor shake.

“STOP HIM!”

Elves swarmed after me.
Gingerbread men leapt from conveyor belts, their jaws opening too wide.
Reindeer shadows galloped across the walls, antlers like blades.

Everything in the Factory wanted me back.

I bolted through narrow corridors, under chutes, across catwalks shaking under my weight. I didn’t know where I was going—only that anywhere was better than that table.

Everywhere I turned, bells echoed.

Not cheerful bells.

Chains hitting metal.

Santa’s bells.

“You can’t escape, Riko…”
“Naughty children always come home…”

I tripped, skidding into a large room glowing with red light.

It was the incinerator.

A sign above it read:

DISCARD BIN: BROKEN TOYS & USELESS CHILDREN

My breath hitched.

I almost died right there—burned alive like trash—if not for a crate on the side labeled “EXPORT CHUTES.”

The elves’ footsteps grew louder.
Santa’s shadow stretched across the wall.

I had one chance.

I dove into the crate, climbed the chute, and let the current of cold air suck me upward until—

WHOOSH.

I shot out of a vent and crashed into snow outside the Factory.

The cold bit into me… but it was freedom.

At least for a moment.

Because as I crawled into the shadows of the icy forest, I heard the Factory alarms blaring.

And then, Santa’s voice:

“NAUGHTY CHILD ESCAPED.
BRING HIM BACK.”

Everything in Northland began to move.

Everything began to hunt.

Barbs of Sugar, Ropes of Ribbon

The deeper I ran into Northland, the more the world twisted.
Snow-covered trees leaned like they were listening. The sky glowed faint red, as if reflecting the Factory’s burning machines. I could still hear Santa’s hunters spreading through the wilderness — elves clicking in the dark, gingerbread men scuttling under the snow, Rudolph’s hot breath melting paths through the frost.

I didn’t know where I was going.
Only that I had to stay ahead of them.

My lungs burned, but I kept running until I saw it — a faint line of warm, golden light in the far distance.

A portal.
The way home.

I sprinted toward it, heart pounding with hope for the first time since the nightmare began.

But Northland wasn’t going to let me leave.

A soft jingling came from the ground beneath the snow — the sound of bells buried just under the surface.

Before I could react, something snapped around my ankle.

I screamed.

I looked down and saw it:
barbed wire made of twisted candy canes, sharpened to a razor point. They wrapped around my leg like hungry worms, the red stripes gleaming like blood. Each movement made them cut deeper.

I tried to pull free — and that’s when the second trap sprang.

A bundle of fluffy Christmas ribbons dropped from a nearby tree, hanging like innocent holiday decorations. But when they touched me, I felt the truth:
they weren’t soft plastic.

They were braided rope, thick and strong, disguised in shiny red and green. The ends tightened and coiled around my waist, pulling me backward.

I thrashed, but the more I struggled, the tighter everything got.
The candy barbs dug into my skin.
The ribbon-ropes constricted around my ribs.

Behind me, a wave of footsteps echoed through the forest.

The elves burst from the snow first, their teeth clicking excitedly.

“Caught him! Caught him!”

Gingerbread men hopped into view, biting the air like starving dogs.

Then the ground trembled.

Santa was coming.

His silhouette emerged from the blizzard — towering, twisted, dragging his heavy sack behind him. His bells clanked like rusted chains. The red glow in his eyes pulsed with joy.

He smiled when he saw me struggling in the trap.

“Decorations,” he said softly. “How festive.”

I clawed at the candy wire, trying desperately to loosen it, but every strand cut deeper until my hands were slick with red. The ribbon-ropes around my waist tightened suddenly, lifting me just slightly off the ground like a holiday ornament being hung on a tree.

Santa reached toward me with his enormous hand.

“Come home, Riko. You belong on the shelf.”

The elves cheered.
The gingerbread men opened their jaws.
The portal in the distance flickered, almost fading.

I was seconds from being dragged back to the Factory — or worse.

But then—
I felt the wire shift under me. The tension from the ribbons pulling upward weakened the barbs’ grip. Pain surged through my leg, but I twisted hard, using every ounce of strength I had left.

SNAP.

The candy wire broke.

The ribbons yanked me backward, but that backward force helped — I flipped, rolled, and tore through the remaining strands. I hit the snow hard, breath knocked out of me, but I was free.

For a heartbeat, Santa froze.
He hadn’t expected me to escape.

Neither had the elves.

I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the burning pain in my ankle, and ran toward the flickering portal with everything I had left.

Behind me, Santa roared — a sound so deep it cracked the ice beneath my feet.

“RIIIIIKOOOOOO!”

His footsteps thundered after me, shaking the ground.

The portal dimmed.

I was losing time.

I sprinted, bleeding, stumbling, heart breaking against my ribs, while Santa’s shadow swallowed the snow behind me—

And I jumped.

Straight into the light.

Warm Light in a Cold, Cruel Night

Riko gasped as the last of the shadows peeled away, dissolving into drifting flakes of glittering snow. The Sweetbound Tree trembled one final time before going still—its monstrous decorations fading back into soft, harmless ornaments. The air, once thick with sugary rot, cleared into the crisp scent of pine and winter air.

He collapsed onto his knees, wincing as his foot—still marked with faint cuts from the candy-barbed wire—throbbed in protest. “It’s over…” he whispered, breath trembling. His hands shook as he brushed away the last sticky red ribbons still wrapped around his ankles.

A soft glow bloomed from above. The star atop the tree flickered gently—no longer red and hungry, but warm and golden, like candlelight on Christmas Eve. It hummed, almost like a lullaby, and a quiet warmth spilled across the clearing. Wherever the light touched, the chaos calmed: shattered ornaments mended themselves, torn garlands rewove with soft sparkles, and the snow regained its peaceful stillness.

Riko pushed himself up, swaying slightly. He expected fear or bitterness to linger… but instead, something else settled in his chest. Relief. Gratitude. And a small, strange spark of awe.

He took a careful step forward. The forest path—previously twisted and treacherous—opened gently before him, illuminated by strands of soft-lit fairy lights. Behind him, the Sweetbound Tree gave one last quiet chime, as though offering its own kind of farewell.

“Thanks,” Riko murmured, unsure who he was thanking—himself for surviving, the tree for releasing him, or the strange magic of the night for choosing not to swallow him whole.

With a tired, breathless laugh, he limped toward the edge of the forest. Dawn was breaking, pale gold over a world of quiet snow. Somewhere in the distance, he could already hear faint echoes of morning carols.

Christmas was still waiting for him.

He stepped forward—away from the nightmare, toward the warmth.

Toward home.

The Naughty List Never Forgets

By the time Riko reached the outskirts of town, the sun was fully awake, stretching warm light over rooftops dusted with gentle snow. From a distance, everything looked normal—peaceful, festive, safe. Children hurried outside in pajamas, laughing as they searched for presents under trees that had never tried to eat them. Parents sipped warm drinks, humming carols without a hint of fear.

No one suspected that deep in the North, the Christmas Factory still churned—its gears dripping syrup, its conveyor belts rattling like bones, its workers whispering Riko’s name as though he were a missing tool, not a missing child.

He paused on the quiet road, breath clouding in front of him. He should have felt comfort seeing home again… but instead, a chill slithered down his spine. He could still hear Santa’s voice echoing in his mind—too deep, too patient, too knowing.

“Riko… you’re not home yet.”

And from far in the night sky came Santa’s whisper, soft but unmistakable:

“…The Naughty List never loses a name.”

Riko wrapped his arms around himself. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the shadows behind him stretched just a little too long… that somewhere beyond the falling snow, something was still watching. Still smiling.

He forced himself to take a step forward anyway.

He survived.

For now.

But Santa had learned his name.

And Santa never forgets.

A Carol for the Damned

In drifting snow where secrets sleep,
Where candy whispers coil and creep,
Where ribbons tighten, sweet yet cruel,
And lights blink lies to every fool—
A name is etched in winter’s bone,
Called softly by the cold alone.
It echoes through the hidden gears,
A lullaby for stolen years.
Run far, dear child, but know this truth:
The night remembers, clawing youth.
And when the bells begin their hiss…
A voice returns, a haunting kiss—
“Merry Christmas…”

*****