[ WP ] After a screw up occurs at the post office , Santa starts receiving damned souls while Satan is stuck with thousands of wish lists .


 
 It was, rather unsurprisingly, snowing in Lapland. It pounded upon the ice, compacting it denser than the toughest steel. Just visible through the relentless snowstorm was the faint silhouette of a large cabin. 
 
 It looked big. *Far* to big to be structurally sound, and yet, the aging wood brushed off the ferocious beating like it was light drizzle. As a matter of fact, anyone who got close enough would be able to see the that the cabin was protected from the elements by some form of huge, invisible dome; The scene looked very much like an inversed-snowglobe. 
 
 But it did n't matter. No-one *ever* came here. 
 
 Now, if you thought the outer dimensions were huge, think again. It was as if the architect responsible for constructing the cabin had a complete and utter disregard for the laws of physics, and haphazardly constructed the insides from an old blimp hangar. It was *cavernous. * It stretched for a mile in every direction, all made of a pleasantly brown, varnished wood. An intricate carpet which could have smothered a whale covered the entirety of the floor. 
 
 And it was, of course, filled to bursting point with little elves. 
 
 Green suits, big ears, everything. It was all *very* stereotypical.'Stereotypical' was a word which sprang to mind when you saw the little conveyor belts full of toys, tended to by elves. Also when you saw the Christmas trees, the holly wraiths, those little red/white candy canes, and the general scene of thousands of little people toiling away into the Arctic night, preparing for that special day. 
 
 A huge oak door led to a impressive office, which overlooked the entire facility - a vantage point from which to view the festive operations. all four office walls were covered in shelves, filled with ancient leather bound copies of two books. One was called'Naughty', and the other was titled'Nice.' Both had many volumes, and stretched upwards into a ceiling which was completely out of view. 
 
 The only light came from a grand fireplace. Carved from a single piece of marble and covered in stockings, it basked the office in a gently flickering golden light. Just visible, hidden in the shadows, was a monumental desk covered in scroll and quills, partially obscured by the even larger man behind the desk. 
 
 It was saying something. 
 
 `` What the *fuck* do you mean, you're the'souls of the damned?' I have a business to run here, and if you fucking think that-'' 
 
 It went on for some time, in a impressively unshakeable bad mood. Alas, the only thing that *wasn't* stereotypical was Santa himself. *Yes*, he lived in a magical cabin in Lapland. *Yes, * he had thousands of toy-making elves. *Yes*, he had naughty and nice lists. But the big man himself was the love child of Malcolm Tucker and a grizzly bear. The mustache and beard just made him look angrier. 
 
 ``... So, fuck off before I set the reindeers on you.'' He finished gruffly. 
 
 He was talking to a shapeless black void, hovering over his desk. Every now and then, a pained and screaming face took form, before vanishing back into the swirling darkness. When it spoke, it did so with thousands of voices, in unnerving sync. 
 
 ^ ( `` WE POSSESSED YOUR ANIMALS.'' ) It screeched. It sounded as if it was in considerable agony, yet it's voice was robotic, monotonous. 
 
 
 ^ ( `` THEY ARE CHILDREN OF HELL NOW.'' ) It added, with what Nicolas thought was a hint of smugness. 
 
 `` Like fuck they are.'' He grunted. 
 
 He threw a small piece of firewood in the general direction of the fireplace behind him, and it flared brightly, throwing his face into sharp relief. *Technically, * he looked like what Santa should look like. Red suit with the black belt, huge bushy beard and eyebrows, small little spectacles atop a shining red nose - but the body language was all wrong. He looked like he was ready to beat an elephant to death with his bare hands. It was because of the huge muscles that the suit was tight, not gentile pudginess. 
 
 Probably why the elves were working so fast. He learned in, and glared silently into what could only be described as the gates to infinity. 
 
 `` I will not ask you again.'' He growled. *'' What. The fuck. Are you? `` * Was it the Easter Bunny? Has he set you up to this? That bastard always wanted my secrets, well tell him to go f-'' 
 
 ^ ( `` WE HAVE TOLD YOU.'' ) It groaned, ^ ( `` WE ARE THE CREATURES OF HELL. THE CHILDREN OF DARKNESS. THE SOULS OF THE DAMNED. WE ARE FREE, AND NOW WE SHALL DESTROY THE PLAGUE THAT FESTERS ON THIS ROTTING EARTH. YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED, WE WILL WIPE YOU FROM THE FACE-'' ) 
 
 Which was as far as they got, because Nicolas pulled his firewood bucket from under his desk and slammed it over the black... thing. 
 
 `` Yeah, yeah'' he barked. `` Shut the fuck up, you emo pricks. I have to make a call.'' 
 
 He dusted away a few pieces of parchment from his desk, and picked up a battered old telephone and pushed a few buttons, waiting impatiently. He kept his huge arm on the bucket, as the souls of hell tried, unsuccesfully, to escape. 
 
 Six kilometers below him, Satan's phone rang. 
 
 -- -- -- -- -- - 
 
 
 Thoughts? Criticisms? Let me Know! 
 ^/r/DunsparceWrites 
 
 *** ( CURRENTLY WRITING PART 2 ) *** 

