At The House on the Hill.
The Devil was visiting,
Which he thinks is a thrill.
I was trying to sleep,
Which never goes well
When I’m being watched
By the Ruler of Hell…
“Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!”
The deep, jolly voice woke me from my slumber. I slowly opened my eyes, and the first thing I noticed was that someone was standing next to the bed.
I saw a lot of red, a long white beard, and a Santa hat, but it still freaked the Hell out me. You know, seeing as how I live alone and there shouldn’t be anyone else in the house.
“What’s going on?” I mumbled as I reached for my glasses.
“It’s Christmas Eve, Austin,” the stranger continued in a voice that was vaguely familiar. “Don’t waste the day in bed.”
I put on my glasses, and the world finally came into focus. My Christmas Eve guest, dressed in an impeccably tailored Santa Claus suit and wearing a flowing white beard, was no other than The Devil himself.
“I know how blue you get on Christmas, so I thought I’d help this year,” Lucifer explained as he removed the beard and adjusted his Santa hat.
“Well, starting Christmas Eve with a near heart attack definitely would make this a Christmas different than any other,” I pointed out with a slight growl. “When I said I hated waking up alone on Christmas, I had something much less creepy in mind.”
“I did consider leaving a sexy gift in your bed for you to unwrap this morning, but I assumed that would freak out the good little Catholic boy in you,” The Prince of Darkness quipped with a sly grin. “Besides, this is a family friendly blog, and you’d never be able to write about that wonderful experience.”
“So I get this delightful one instead,” I grumbled as I sat up and reached for the sweatshirt I always kept within arm’s reach. “How about we move this downstairs to our regular set? I need a Snapple and I worry the lingering stench of Satan will make my insomnia worse.”
I threw in that last thought as a joke, but I loved it when I caught Satan Claus taking a quick whiff of his armpit to check for a malodorous presence.
Moments later, we were settled in our usual positions on the couch. We each had a Snapple and were picking at a plate of Christmas cookies that had materialized with a snap of The Devil’s fingers.
“I’m glad Christmas Eve fell on a Sunday this year so I could spend it with you,” Lucifer confessed after a long sip of iced tea. “I’m also thrilled that I never visit on Monday because tomorrow is going to be far too white of a Christmas for me.”
“President Trump and his more devout followers might disagree when you say there’s such things as too white of a Christmas,” I joked.
“Those clowns can make all the racist comments they want, but I promise you, they will pay for every one of them once they end up in Hell,” The Prince of Darkness promised ominously. “I might have them build a border wall for all eternity.”
Of course, my guest in the Santa suit had originally been commenting on tomorrow’s weather forecast before I slipped an anti-Trump joke into this post.
According to the weather experts, Santa is bringing Mainers a foot of snow.
“I wonder if Santa is bringing us all that snow as a reward because we’ve been nice, or as a punishment for being so naughty,” I asked more in an attempt to be witty than because I expected an actual answer.
“I think you should just be pleased he’s bringing you anything at all, even if it is a ton of snow,” Satan chided with a devilish grin.
As much as I hated to admit it, The Devil was right. Santa Claus, who usually bypassed The House on the Hill, would finally be leaving something for me this year.
I could either see it as an annoying reminder that winter in Maine was just getting started, or as an opportunity to get in at least an hour’s worth of cardio as I cleared the driveway.
Since it was Christmas Eve, and magic was in the air, I was going to be positive and choose the latter.
But I didn’t care how horrible my voice sounded.
It was Christmas, and teacher says that every time a voice sings a Christmas carol way off key, an angel gets his wings. And, from what I could tell, it also gives Lucifer a splitting headache.
Merry Christmas, Modern Philosophers!