Dean Koontz - Santa's Twin

Well, now Thanksgiving is safely past,

more turkey eaten this year than last,

more stuffing stuffed, more yams jammed

into our mouths, and using both hands,

coleslaw in slews, biscuits by twos,

all of us too fat to fit in our shoes.

So let’s look ahead to the big holiday

that’s coming, coming, coming our way.

I’m sure you know just what day I mean.

It’s not Easter Sunday, not Halloween.

It’s not a day to be sad or listless.

It’s a day of wonder. It’s Christmas!

Charlotte and Emily love this season.

They’re kids, so they have good reason

to dream all year of that special

eve because they truly and deeply believe

a gift-giving fat man flies the sky,

with toys and goodies galore. No lie!

He’ll soon be up there and on his way

in a maximum-cool, cherry-red sleigh

with camouflage stars on the underside,

taking the wildest of all thrill rides,

like a roller coaster on tracks of air,

pulled by reindeer harnessed in pairs.

So someday soon, they’ll put up a tree.

Why only one? Maybe two, maybe three!

Deck it with tinsel and baubles bright.

It’ll be an amazing and wonderful sight.

String colored lights out on the roof-

pray none are broken by anything’s hoof.

Salt down the shingles to melt the ice.

If Santa fell, it just wouldn’t be nice.

He might fracture his leg or even be cut,

perhaps even break his big jolly butt.

They don’t want Santa’s butt in a sling.

What a ghastly, bad, unthinkable thing.

Oh, wait! I just heard terrible news.

Hope it won’t give you Christmas blues.

Santa was mugged, tied up, and gagged,

blindfolded, ear-stoppled, and bagged,

locked in his cellar under the Pole,

down in a dismal, deep, dark, dank hole.

Hark! The sound of silver sleigh bells

echoes high over the hills and the dells.

And look-reindeer far up in the sky!

Some silly goose has taught them to fly.

The driver giggles quite like a loon-

a madman, a goofball, a thug, or a goon.

Something is wrong-any fool could tell.

If this is Santa, then Santa’s not well.

His mean little eyes spin just like tops.

So somebody better quick call the cops!

A closer look confirms his psychosis.

And-oh, my dear-really bad halitosis.

Beware when Christmas comes this year,

because there’s something new to fear.

Santa’s twin-who is rude and mean-

stole the sleigh, will make the scene.

He’s pretending to be his good brother.

Guard your beloved children, Mother!

Down the chimney and into your home,

here comes that deeply troubled gnome.

Reindeer sweep down out of the night.

See how each is brimming with fright?

Tossing their heads, rolling their eyes,

these gentle animals are all so wise-

they know this Santa isn’t their friend,

but an imposter and far ‘round the bend.

They would stampede for all they’re worth,

dump this nut off the edge of the earth.

But Santa’s bad brother carries a whip,

a club, a chocolate-cream pie at his hip,

a blackjack, spitballs-you better run!-

and a fearful, horrible, wicked ray gun.

They land on the roof, quiet and sneaky.

Oh, but this Santa is fearfully freaky.

He whispers a warning to each reindeer,

leaning close to make sure they hear:

“You have relatives back at the Pole-

antlered, gentle, quite innocent souls.

“So if you fly off while I’m inside,

back to the Pole on a plane I will ride.

I’ll have a picnic in the midnight sun:

reindeer pie, pate, reindeer in a bun,

reindeer salad, and hot reindeer soup,

oh, all sorts of tasty reindeer goop.”

At the chimney, he looks down the bricks.

But that entrance is strictly for hicks.

With all his tools, a way in can be found

for a fat, bearded burglar out on the town.

From roof to backyard to the kitchen door,

he chuckles about what he has in store

for the good family that’s sleeping within.

He grins his biggest and nastiest grin.

Oh, what a creep, what a scum and a louse.

He’s boldly breaking into their house!

With picks, loids, gwizzels, and zocks,

he quickly and silently opens both locks.

He enters the kitchen without a sound.

Now chances for devilment truly abound.

He opens the fridge and eats all the cake,

pondering what sort of mess he can make.

First he pours milk all over the floor,

pickles, pudding, and ketchup-and more!

He scatters the bread-white and rye-

and finally he spits right into the pie.

At the corkboard by the phone and

stool, he sees drawings the kids did at school.

Emily has painted a kind, smiling face.

Charlotte has drawn elephants in space.

The villain takes out a red felt-tip pen,

taps it, uncaps it, chuckles, and then,

on both pictures, scrawls the word “Poo!”

he always knows the worst things to do.

His mad giggles continue to bubble,

while he gets into far greater trouble.

He’s hugely more evil than he is brave,

so then, after he loads up the microwave

with ten whole pounds of popping corn

(oh, we should rue the day he was born),

he turns and runs right out of the room,

because that old oven is gonna go BOOM!

He prowls the downstairs-wicked, mean-

looking to cause yet one more bad scene.

When he sees the presents under the tree,

he says, “Time for a gift-swapping spree!

I’ll take out all the really good stuff,

then box up dead fish, cat poop, and fluff.

“In the morning these kiddies will find

coffee grounds, peach pits, orange rinds,

old stones, mud pies, and rotten potatoes,

hairballs, dead fish, and spoiled tomatoes.

Instead of nice sweaters, games, and toys,

they’ll get slimy stinky stuff that annoys.”

Charlotte and Emmy are up in their beds,

dreams of Christmas filling their heads.

Suddenly a sound startles these sleepers.

They sit up in bed and open their peepers.

Nothing should be stirring, not one mouse,

but the girls sense a villain in the house.

You can call it psychic, a hunch, osmosis,

or maybe they smell the troll’s halitosis.

They leap out of bed, forgetting slippers,

two brave and foolhardy little nippers.

“Something’s amiss,” young Emily whispers.

But they can handle it-they’re sisters!

Down in the living room, under the tree,

Santa’s evil twin is chortling with glee.

He’s got a collection of gift replacements

taken from dumps, sewers, and basements.

He replaces a nice watch meant for Lottie

with a nasty gift for a girl who’s naughty,

which is one thing Lottie has never been.

Forgetting her vitamins is her biggest sin.

In place of the watch, he wraps up a clot

of horrid, glistening, greenish toad snot.

From a package for Emily, he steals a doll

and gives her a new gift sure to appall.

It’s slimy, rancid, and starting to fizz.

Not even the villain knows what it is.

The stink could stop a big runaway truck,

it’s such gooey, gluey, woozy-making muck.

In jammies, slipperless, now on the prowl,

the girls go looking for whatever’s foul.

Right to the top of the stairs they zoom,

making less noise than moths in a tomb.

They’re both so delicate, slim, and petite,

and both of them have such tiny pink feet.

How can these small girls hope to fight