The blackened finger of evil rolled down the elf's face, leaving a trail of blood behind it.
"Where's the fat man?"
"My loyalty is to Kris Kringle."
"You stupid imp, I am Kris Kringle."
"Then you should know where you work!" The demon recoiled at such bravery. The spirit disposed of the elven trash. If Santa's helpers were close, so was the mode of transportation Kris needed.
"Come." He called to the hellhounds with antlers tied to their heads. Soon, they would touch every house on Christmas Eve with the help of Santa's stolen sleigh. All Hell would break loose.
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alt="Stone Jaws by Evan Baughfman"
class="motion-reduce"
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height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Mannequin People by Michael J. Stiehl"
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>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Gator by Randall Andrews"
class="motion-reduce"
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>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Rude Awakening by Richard Lau"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>