SANTA BLOGS XLV

Dear Santa Boggle:

     I am writing this to let you know I have given up on you completely.  Every year I ask for your help in getting my relatives to stop giving me mainstream girly clothes and books and stuff at Christmas.  I have written to you in the past (AND let the family see my letter) to explain how I need black leather furniture for my bedroom and graphic novels dripping with blood instead of the Little House books and plush puppies THEY think I need.  And still I get books about good manners for girls instead of the drooling nocturnal cryptids I need.  Worse, you keep recommending they give me USED stuff, like trashy postcards.

     THIS year, I have convinced an uncle of mine, by emailing him my own Goth prose and poetry, that I need something more robust.  So skip my house, Santa Bogey: my gifts are guaranteed this year.

                                                                            Terror Under The Tree

TUTT:

     I hope your Christmas, like your future life, holds many, many surprises. (By the way, did you know that the author’s daughter refused to let her mother put the story about a serial killer getting burned alive into one of the Little House books?)

     It may also surprise you to know that the world of trashy postcards is just as filled with horror and shivers up the spine as trashy literature.  Oh, they may be brightly colored, but Goth is a state of mind not to be confined to black leather recliners.  Cryptids, for example, abounded on postcards for decades.

     We can also provide you with zombies,

     Aliens,

     And fearful fates for the (marginally) innocent.

     Postcards can fill your bright red plush stocking (yes, I’ve seen it and I agree: always too small) with mortal peril enough for three or four holidays.

     With nightmares to keep you up at night with all the lights on.

     Speaking of staying up late at night, you might just skim those books on good manners for girls.  Nightmares can come in the morning if you don’t get the hint early on.

     I hope your uncle sends presents which will both alarm and horrify you.  I’d put in a call to Krampus, but he seems to be over-scheduled these days as it is.

                                                                               Yours, as ever,

                                                                                        Santa Blogs.