 Well, I don't care what you make for dinner, a pot roast is fine, dear. Great. I'll make deer for dinner. No, no, I don't mean cook deer. I meant yes, dear. Pot roast is fine. I understand. The answer is yes to having deer. You're not understanding me. I do not want any deer for supper. Not no venison, all right. It upsets the reindeer. Just make pot roast. Beef pot roast by schnozms. You want schnozms for dinner, too? No, no, not schnozms, I said schnozms. Oh, never mind. You don't come to think of it. Peppermint schnozms and the egg dog might actually be pretty tasty. But I'll have to wait until after I get back, of course. I can't drink and ride, you know. How about dessert, big man? What do you mean what do I want for dessert? It's always cookies and milk! Gotta go! The kids are here! Hello children! Just on the phone here with Mrs. Claus making dinner plans for Christmas Eve before I head out for the big night. But today, I'm excited to bring you more spooky Santa stories. So be sure to ask your parents permission before you begin to listen. And I'll know if you ask them, because I can see you when you're sleeping. And I know when you're awake. Coming up in today's episode. A spooky story by Laura Pauling. It's called Night of the Snowmen. One of the young ladies on my good list, Lydia, she's 14 years old and she lives in Cromford, England. And she emailed a story to me called Remembering Death. Oh, by the way, if you would like to write a scary story for me, you can email it to letters at spookysanta.com. And I can read your story in an upcoming episode. But first, do you know the name Hans Trap? Hans Trap is a legendary boogeyman from the Alsace and Lorraine regions of France. He accompanies me to punish naughty children at Christmas. Now, while I deliver presents and gifts to the good little girls and boys on my list, Hans Trap delivers beatings to those who are naughty. I'll tell you about him as we begin. Now, bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off all your lights, and come with spooky Santa for another holiday chiller. And Christmas approaches. Naughty children in Alsace and Lorraine tremble when their parents utter the words, Hans Trap is coming. Everyone knows the tale of Santa's evil counterpart. It all began in the 15th century. There was a rich and powerful man who lived in the heart of Alsace. His name was Hans Trap. The people of Alsace knew him to be vain, cunning, heartless and cruel. His life was given over to lawlessness and debauchery. He would most definitely have been on my naughty list. His only goal was to enrich himself by all means necessary. It was said that he worshipped Satan and used black magic and occult rituals to obtain his wealth and hold on to his power. Now that I really don't know, but that's what they say. Well, when the Catholic Church became aware of these misdeeds, Hans Trap was arrested and he was brought before the Pope in Rome. He was excommunicated from the Church for the crime of sacrilege. For those of you who don't know, excommunicated means he was kicked out of the Catholic Church for being a bad boy. When he returned to Alsace, he was ostracized by the local people. Everyone fled from him as if he was a wild beast. His money and his land were confiscated and he was left penniless. He was forced into exile in the forest and he isolated himself from the rest of society. He found shelter on the mountains of Geisberg in Bavaria, Germany and himself a makeshift shack made from sticks. The solitude caused him to lose his mind and he spent his days brooding and dreaming of revenge. His anger and resentment were intensified and he became more deeply devoted to Satanism. Descending into madness, Hans Trap began to dream of eating human flesh. The evil man was obsessed with the desire to bite into the flesh of a human arm, leg or thigh. He roamed the countryside and he disguised himself as a scarecrow by stuffing his ragged clothes with straw. He spent his time gathering sticks and hay in the field and lying in wait looking for the perfect human victim to consume. One day he spotted a young shepherd boy making his way through the woods. The boy was only 10 years of age but Hans Trap was determined to kill and eat him. As he stared at the young boy he began to drool at the mouth imagining biting into the delicious and tender flesh. Well, before the boy knew what was happening Hans Trap had pounced on him, attacking him viciously and running him through with a sharpened stick. Then he dragged the dying child back to his shack where he cut the boy into small pieces and roasted them over an open fire. When his monstrous meal was ready Hans Trap licked his lips and prepared to taste human flesh for the first time. However, before a morsel could enter his mouth a bolt of lightning came from the sky and struck Hans dead. You see, God would not allow the abomination to continue and God decided to end the crimes of Hans Trap once and for all. Ever since then Hans Trap has been cursed to roam the earth with me every Christmas. He goes from house to house, clad in his scarecrow disguise scaring the life out of small children and drooling greedily over their tender flesh. If you've never seen him be thankful that means you are likely on my good list but be careful if you end up on my naughty list you might end up being eaten by Hans Trap. He is a scary individual. He even scares me sometimes. I have to keep a bag over his head so the reindeer don't get startled when he hops onto the sleigh with me. It's true. Up next I'll share a great story from one of the girls on my good list. Lydia is 14 years old. She lives in Cromford, England and she wrote a very creepy story called Remembering Death and I'll tell you that story in just a moment. Thanks for listening to Spooky Santa. In a moment I'll share an amazing story with you that was emailed to me from one of the children on my good list. I love hearing stories from all of my good little girls and boys out there. If you would like to write a scary story for me to read you can send it to LettersAtSpookySanta.com I would love to read your story. That's LettersAtSpookySanta.com Just email the story to me or ask your parents to help you. Now, here is today's emailed story. It comes from Lydia. She's in Cromford, England. She's 14 years old and she wrote this disturbing tale called Remembering Death. Here's the story. I reached peace a few months after my passing. I was one of the unfortunate ghosts who were unable to recall life before death. This is usually because death has been so violent. Also, if you were a scatterbrain in life you would probably be a scatterbrain in death. Unfortunately for me the only thing I remembered about my life was my death. I remember being in a house. The oak furniture was old, grand and somewhat sinister. I could hear my panting breaths in the darkness. Shadows danced on the walls and the moon illuminated my slim silhouette. I ducked underneath an elegant chase lounge and I prayed silently to God. Even to me my ragged breathing sounded too loud in the unnaturally quiet room. I stayed lying on my belly for several minutes. After a while my breathing began to slow down. I felt my body relax and I began to press my back against the wall. I lay there for a few seconds before reality crashed in and I realized the wall was soft and it was attempting to wrap arms around me. As I started to jerk forward arms tightened around my waist and yanked me back. Cold, kiddiless laughter sounded close enough to my ear that I felt a breeze blow softly against my right cheek. I remember struggling for the feeling of desolation and isolation as I realized that no matter how hard I struggled my last moments on earth were not going to be spent cradled by loved ones but in the arms of a merciless, sadistic monster. Whatever you do, do not believe the stories that tell you that ghosts are troubled souls seeking justice for their death. My murderer was discovered to be the net store neighbor's son. I personally watched him as he was imprisoned for life in front of a weeping jury. No, I am still here because I have forgotten what it is to love. When you die, your feelings die with you. I came back as a cold and cruel shell of my former self. Since being dead I have committed some terrible acts but I am searching for the answer to my question. While in his arms I was thinking of loved ones. Who are they? During the day I would wander around parks looking for victims. I realized that children were the only people who could see me. I used this as a ploy to get close to them. Then I would wallow in their horror and despair as I finished them off. The only way I knew I had a shred of humanity left in my body but no matter how many I killed I could never look them in the eyes. I knew this was cowardly. I was taking away their life. The least I could do was give them the courtesy of eye contact. My killer had looked me in the eyes and smiled as the life slipped from my eyes. I never knew why but I couldn't. At the local park I watched an attractive man walking along with two children. Don't look into people's eyes. I had learned to read moods from body language. This man was heartbroken. His shoulders sagged. His skin was pale. His breathing shallow as if all the time he was fighting the urge to cry. From the way he gripped his girl's hands I could tell the only reason he was keeping it together was because of them. I could see the sweat glistening between his fingers and his hands on his trousers. The girls could not be more dissimilar. One was pale and dark-haired the other blonde-haired and blue-eyed. These two would do nicely for me. I already imagined ripping into their flesh with my bare hands as I heard them scream just as I had done beneath me. I stalked behind the trio as they trudged aimlessly along the path. Usually I tried to draw the children away from their parents but not today. This man was so close to the breaking point I wanted to see his face as his children were ripped apart. Finally they turned a corner and reached a deserted patch of grassland. I was ready. I approached the two girls and was more than shocked when they ran up and embraced me. When I had arrived I had many reactions terror and bemusement but never joy. They ran screaming and shouting moosey moosey. The minute the man heard this his head snapped to attention. The minute he lifted his head I could not help but look into his eyes. There was a raw loss that burned in his beautiful dark pupils. His pain so obvious and deep chased away all thoughts of killing from my mind. I just wanted to stare into his eyes forever. But instead of looking at me he looked through me. Girls he barked. We've spoken about this. The girls slowly started to follow him from the park. But they could not stop themselves from turning to stare back at me. I smiled at them and waved as tears flowed unchecked down my pale otherworldly cheeks. I had finally remembered my husband and my girls as I felt this wash of love pass over me. I felt myself leaving, leaving those I loved. But it wasn't a bad thing because I remembered I could love again. What an amazing story. It started off so creepy and dark but in the end there's actually a happy ending. Very good writing there Lydia. Thank you so much for sending your story. Again, if you would like to send me a scary story you can email it to me anytime at LettersAtSpookySanta.com Up next it's my final story. It's from Laura Pauling and it's called Night of the Snowman. Up next. Are you ready for my final story? This is a good one. It's called Night to the Snowman. It's written by Laura Pauling. Christmas Eve. The night air was crisp and clean. Almost magical. Snowflakes drifted through the midnight blue sky swirling and tumbling. Jagged flecks of silver pierced the velvet canvas. Playful yet majestic. A boy watched from a window. Tree lights reflected in shimmering colors. He wouldn't move but with his forehead pressed against the frosty glass he stared into the darkness. Every flickering shadow made him jump. Every creek or flash of white sent fear humming through his body. His younger sister stood on the bottom step leading upstairs. I can help big brother. I have an idea. He shoot her back upstairs wanting to protect her from the horror that was to come. Wanting to protect her childish fantasies of a winter wonderland and the magic of this night. Earlier that afternoon the snowman had followed the children home. Softly shaped shadows lurking but not attacking. Bodies deformed by days of play making them sideshow freaks from some snow-ridden circus. The boy didn't know what would happen next. He just knew they needed to be prepared. One by one windows slid open throughout the small neighborhood. Dark shapes climbed out landing in the snow with a crunch. The children hesitated some reaching out to catch flakes on their tongues but sharp looks and gentle tugs on their sleeves from friends reminded them of their duty and they clamped their mouths shut. They walked carefully fighting off the chill that crept down their necks past scarves and hoods. When twig like arms creaked alive and black button eyes blinked they broke into a run slipping and stumbling in the fresh snow. The inky night suffocated pressing in on them. Strange sounds clicked and whistled they raced the wind chasing them. When the boy at the window saw his friends appear none of them wanting to straggle behind he ran to the door not a word was spoken. They communicated with quick nods forced smiles and dim faces. Beyond them in the other room towered the tree. It was draped with love and memories blinking lights strings of popcorn even the ornaments the boy and his sister had made in preschool. Curiously the snowman ornament had disappeared. The red ribbon that held it on to the branch had been snipped and lay on the wood floor limp and lifeless. The children kept their gazes the tree. They gathered in the kitchen weapons in hand one girl gripped her dance trophy her most prized possession a boy held his skateboard the wheels hard and possibly deadly still another struggled to hold on to a bucket he trembled and the water sloshed over the sides on to the floor each child had a weapon of choice from dolls to water pistols to video game controllers the cords wrapped around their wrists outside the wind howling it ranted and raged and stormed it roared through the tree tops and whooshed down the streets windowpains rattled mothers and fathers snuggled further under their blankets shivering the snowman swished across the yards and down streets ratty scarves whipped about their necks buttons fell off round bellies and carrot noses hung limp and shriveled they called out a high whistling noise piercing the air others joined the sound growing louder and louder like the scream of a kettle to make cocoa they wanted something the group of children shivered inside their faces pale their breath shooting out it's time the boy said yet no one moved seemingly frozen to the floor the first ice ball hit the window cracking the glass and making a fine spider web spreading growing the next hit and the glass shattered frigid air leaped into the room a layer of frost spread across the furniture the floor and the walls no but the boy's voice rasped out his breath a cloudy mist freezing in midair another window shattered shot into the room swirling between them with its stinging bite a girl standing in the back yelled it fueled the fire of the children and they advanced they stumbled and tripped their movements already sluggish and slow outside the leading snowman skated up the yard one arm had been ripped from his body earlier that afternoon a child had plucked out his eyes but even without sight he knew where to go a shiver ran down the boy's spine the snowman's followers continued screeching whistling their demands and complaints from twisted narrow mouths made from licorice a thin red line slashed across the ghostly faces the children burst through the door into the frigid night their weapons gleamed and glinted and glittered hearts full of fright they slashed and sliced under the dark skies the snowman, these horrors that once brought such delight high above piercing the misty clouds a red light twinkled Santa's sleigh sword silhouetted against the sky the true spirit of Christmas was all but forgotten inside the boy's sister watched from her bedroom window a tear trickled down her cheek the boy stopped a fight marching on around him each child fighting a snowman his breath came slower now and the tips of his fingers and toes tingled the cold traveled up his legs and arms and icy streams slow and steady a high piercing whistle sounded behind him his heart shuddered the leader of the snowman towered over him, his face without eyes the boy remembered making this one rolling the snowballs until they formed the bottom, middle and head right, he had taken the new orange scarf that his aunt had knitted for him a birthday present and wrapped it around the snowman's neck if only he'd known what would have happened was it something about the snow? the scarf? was it magical perhaps? perhaps it was the batch of carrots they'd used for the noses the boy jabbed at this icy horror with his mother's frying pan the snowman slid easily away they danced and poked and ducked, each one at times on the brink of winning with one step the boy's foot slipped out from under him he slammed onto the ice his neighbor, the one with the bucket of water had tipped it over as soon as the water hit the ground it had started to freeze and began spreading and crackling until the yard was all ice his plan had backfired for hours the battle continued heads rolled noses crunched and broken half bodies were torn apart twigs lay scattered on icy snow a graveyard of sorts Santa came and went as the children slipped and slithered their footsteps uncertain the icy streams reached their hearts warped their minds slowly, bit by bit their limbs turned glassy and cold up in the window the girl turned away from the ghastly sight heard her nana and the twinkle in her eye when she spoke about hot cocoa and magic could it work? determined she slipped down to the kitchen as quick as possible she placed a mug of water in the microwave until it boiled the water bubbled and splattered then she dumped in the cocoa mix even though most of it landed on the counter in a layer of chocolate powder she stirred with a spoon and even added mini marshmallows her hands trembled sending ripples across the cocoa she went to the front door she opened it and the air blasted through freezing her nostrils hardening her tears to her eyelashes she placed the mug of cocoa on the first step and with her foot nudged the mug further out then she slammed the door the rest of the night she curled under her covers gripping her stuffed bunny outside steam wafted from the hot cocoa lifting into the air riding the air currents happiness and joy and peace and everything that comes with hot cocoa on a cold winter's night embraced the snowmen they remembered love they remembered the tiny hands that had formed them they remembered smiles and giggles and bright eyes slowly the howling wind died away the storm slowed hazy streams of golden light stretched across the neighborhood it twinkled on icy shards and glimmered against windows Christmas morning dawned the parents of the boy woke from their slumber and trudged downstairs puddles of water led to the front door questioning and confused they tugged the door open and gasped what they saw in the front yard pierced their hearts grief and sorrow settled on them icy statues of children littered the lawn their bodies were somehow frozen right in the middle of action a throw, a kick, a tackle frozen in mid-air on their faces the outline of a grimace the horror of their freezing bodies was captured forever the mystery was never solved they set the girl down and asked her over and over if she knew what had happened the policemen smiled and asked the same questions what was she to say that snowman came to life no one knew how or why this frozen fright had occurred but from that day forward the girl never built another snowman every Christmas Eve she and her parents lay out cookies for Santa she fills the water and makes cocoa before bed and long before I take to the skies each Christmas Eve this little girl places her offering on her front step hoping it's enough hoping it will work its magic for it was the kindness of a gift that frigid night that had warmed the snowman's impenetrable hearts that sent them back sliding and shuffling to their own yards the girl would never forget and that is why not only do I need cookies this year but along with that milk perhaps leave a cup of hot cocoa for me as well that magic will protect me on my travels well did you like the stories I told children if so please do Santa a favor tell your friends and family members spooky Santa so that they can listen to my stories too and remember you can write your own scary story and email it to me at letters at spooky Santa dot com if you want to learn more about the stories I've told or the authors who wrote them you can find links in the episodes show notes spooky Santa is a registered trademark of Marlar House Productions Copyright Marlar House Productions 2019 little boy or girl and join me next time for more creepy tales from spooky Santa