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Santa opened his arms and kept on waddling forward, as though we’d just happily hug a random person in a scratchy felt suit. His grin stretched, and beneath those plump lips, jagged teeth began to fill his mouth.

“Oh-kay . . .” Zee recoiled.

Santa’s shoulders twitched, jolting at odd angles. His neck bent, and his large body began to ripple in ways human bodies did not ripple. Glamor. And it was unraveling fast. Beneath the melting Santa mask, a jagged, woody, skeletal figure emerged.

“Ho, ho, fuck no!” Zee stabbed his spork into Santa’s thigh and sprang back. We all stopped to stare at the spork sticking out of Santa’s flesh, and Santa looked down, as shocked as we were to see the spork there—in his leg.

I had a horrible feeling about this.

A creepy, about-to-be-murdered feeling.

Santa’s glamor collapsed, exposing his towering, skeletal figure. Murder-Santa flung out dagger-length claws and roared around a lashing forked tongue.

Zee grabbed my arm and we bolted back into the tunnel. Mariah started up again, but the music had slowed, warping it like Santa’s jolly glamor had melted, and turning Mariah’s iconic voice into a monstrously twisted, howling version.

We shot out the end of the tunnel like two rounds from a shotgun, and Victor tore out of the tunnel behind us, then quickly piled some of the Christmas gnomes on top of the snowy blanket to keep Santa from escaping.

Santa’s screeching roar echoed through the store, reaching every nook and aisle.

“Run!” Victor yelled.