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The mall was packed with families rushing to and fro from store to store, hands gripping bags of early Christmas purchases. Holiday lights draped from the ceilings emitted festive glow, and the faint sound of carols and jingle bells floated through the air wherever one went. Amidst this festivity, a line of children eagerly awaited their turn to meet Santa Claus at the holiday photo booth.
The air buzzed with the frenetic energy of last-minute shopping, the muted thump of footsteps on polished tiles blended with the occasional jingle of coins or keys in pockets. Every corner of the mall seemed to be illuminated by the soft, festive glow of twinkling holiday lights, which draped elegantly from the ceilings, casting warm, colorful reflections on the shiny surfaces below. Strings of red, green, and gold lights coiled around every bannister, while large wreaths and garlands dotted the walls, their shimmering ornaments and bows adding to the overwhelming sense of seasonal cheer.
Above the constant murmur of conversation, the faint, soothing sounds of Christmas carols echoed from hidden speakers, mingling with the occasional ring of sleigh bells. The familiar tunes—"Jingle Bells," "Deck the Halls"—floated through the air wherever one walked, giving the whole mall an almost surreal quality, like stepping into a manufactured winter wonderland.
Children clutched the hands of their parents, eyes wide with anticipation, as they wove through the throngs of shoppers, their voices rising in excitement as they neared the central holiday display. Ahead of them, tucked beneath a towering Christmas tree adorned with oversized ornaments, a long line of children eagerly awaited their turn to meet Santa Claus at the holiday photo booth.
The booth was a carefully constructed spectacle—an elaborate backdrop of fake snow, candy canes, and towering presents piled high around Santa’s oversized, throne-like chair. A massive Christmas tree glittered behind him, its branches heavy with tinsel and blinking lights, casting a soft glow over the scene. At Santa’s feet, mechanized elves jerkily hammered away at toy drums and wrapped faux presents, while a tiny train circled endlessly around the display, chugging out faint puffs of artificial steam.
Parents milled about the booth, adjusting coats, brushing hair, and straightening tiny holiday sweaters. Each family awaited their brief moment of magic, the chance to capture that perfect Christmas memory—one immortalized in a single snapshot with Santa. Some children bounced excitedly on their toes, while others clutched stuffed reindeer or candy canes as they approached the jolly figure.
The mall was packed with festive shoppers, and Jenna, cradling her baby, finally reached the front of the line for Santa photos.
Santa sat on his oversized chair, greeting each child with open arms, his classic red suit bright under the strings of twinkling lights.
“Ready to meet Santa?” Jenna cooed to her baby. The boy squirmed slightly but didn’t fuss, just staring intently at the man in the red suit. Jenna smiled, convinced the photo would be a perfect memento. As she gently placed her son on Santa’s lap, she noticed he stiffened, his little fingers curling into fists. His face tightened, and his eyes locked onto Santa’s face.
Jenna chuckled. “Oh no, sweetie, don’t be scared. It’s just Santa!”
But her baby’s face betrayed more than discomfort. It was fear. Raw, wide-eyed terror. His mouth trembled as he let out a sharp cry, his tiny body shaking as though gripped by something far worse than a stranger’s lap.
The photographer, unbothered, lifted his camera. “Hold on, this will be quick.”
Jenna sighed, feeling embarrassed by her son’s reaction. “Come on, buddy, just a quick picture. You’ll love it when you’re older,” she said, though doubt was starting to gnaw at her.
The flash went off.
And in that split second, Jenna saw it.
Where there should have been the familiar, smiling face of Santa, there was something else.
His white beard wasn’t a beard at all—it was a thick, bristling mane, like that of a wild animal. The face above it was no longer a man’s but something twisted, animalistic. The man’s rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes had twisted into a mask of horror. Large, pointed ears jutted from the sides of his head, twitching like some predatory beast. And the mouth—oh God, the mouth—it hung open in a frozen, gaping scream, sharp teeth glistening in the mall’s bright lights. The creature’s glassy, empty eyes locked onto hers, dark and hollow.
Jenna’s breath caught in her throat. She stumbled back, blinking rapidly, trying to reconcile what she’d just seen. Her mind raced—what was that? Her heart pounded in her chest, and she pulled her baby close, trying to shake off the feeling.
She looked again, expecting the creature to be gone, for Santa to be back to normal. But nothing had changed.
The wide, grotesque mouth remained open. The eyes—black, hollow, unblinking—stared right at her. And then the horrible truth sank in.
This wasn’t some momentary shift or strange illusion caused by the camera’s flash. No, her baby had seen it the whole time. The creature had always looked like this. Her baby’s terror, his frantic cries—they weren’t because of an overwhelming mall scene or being placed on a stranger’s lap. He had seen what Jenna was only now seeing.
The thing that wore Santa’s suit had never been human.
Her legs went weak, her stomach twisting as she hugged her baby to her chest. How had she missed it? How had she sat back, smiling, while this monstrous thing held her child? The thought made her feel sick.
The photographer looked at her, concerned. "Everything okay?" he asked, oblivious to what was sitting just feet away.
Jenna couldn’t speak. She could barely move. The other parents, the families, no one noticed. They kept smiling, chatting, preparing their own kids for photos. It was as if only she and her baby could see the truth. The horrible, twisted truth that something otherworldly, something predatory, had taken Santa’s place, and no one else could see it.
She backed away, her legs shaking as her baby whimpered into her chest, his tiny hands clutching her shirt. Jenna’s breath came in shallow gasps as she hurried toward the exit.
Before she left, she dared one last look over her shoulder.
The creature in the red suit still sat there, smiling that grotesque, jagged grin. Its black eyes locked onto her, unblinking, as if daring her to return.
And she realized with chilling certainty—it had been smiling at her the whole time.
But as she turned to leave, clutching her child protectively, she swore she heard it whisper, “See you next year.”
The mall was alive with Christmas cheer—bright lights, festive music, and children squealing in excitement as they lined up for a picture with Santa. Jenna swayed gently, calming her baby, as they neared the front of the line. The little boy had been fidgety, but she was certain a picture with Santa would be a perfect holiday memory.
As they stepped up, Santa waved and patted his lap. He looked every bit the part—rosy cheeks, fluffy white beard, and the familiar red suit. Jenna smiled and placed her baby on Santa’s lap, even though the little one immediately tensed, his tiny hands clenching his mother’s sleeve.
“It’s okay, baby, it’s just Santa,” she reassured him, stepping back slightly for the picture. The baby, however, was staring intently at Santa’s face, his little body trembling. Then, the screaming started.
Jenna winced, embarrassed as her baby’s cries filled the mall. “He’s just not used to this,” she said with an apologetic smile to the photographer, who only shrugged and adjusted the camera.
But the baby kept screaming. He was staring at Santa’s face, his eyes wide with terror. Jenna couldn’t understand it—there was nothing wrong with the mall Santa, just an old man in a suit, the same as every other year.
The photographer lifted the camera and aimed it at them. “Alright, big smiles!” he called. The flash went off.
And in that instant, Jenna saw it.
Where Santa’s jolly face had been, there was now something monstrous.
Jenna’s breath hitched, her body paralyzed with shock. She blinked, her mind trying to make sense of what she was seeing, but the image stayed. The thing on the chair—this was not Santa.
Her heart pounded in her chest, her pulse racing in her ears. She reached for her baby, her hands shaking as she grabbed him from the creature’s grasp. The child’s cries reached a fever pitch as he clawed at her sweater, his terror mirroring her own.
Jenna stumbled backward, clutching her baby to her chest. She blinked again, desperate to see the man she had expected—the friendly old Santa with the rosy cheeks. But the face remained. It was still watching her, the horrible white mane twitching as if alive, its sharp teeth clicking together. The creature’s mouth widened impossibly, as if to swallow her whole.
“Are you okay, miss?” the photographer asked, his voice breaking through the fog of her horror.
Jenna looked around. No one else seemed to notice. Parents smiled at Santa, children laughed, oblivious to the terror she had just witnessed. She turned back, but now, Santa was… normal. The wide, grotesque mouth had closed, his face back to being jolly and kind, with the twinkling eyes of a man in costume.
Jenna’s hands were trembling. Her baby’s cries had quieted to a whimper, but she could still feel his tiny body shaking against her. She stared at Santa, her breath shallow, her pulse still racing. But there was nothing to see now—nothing but a man in a red suit, waving to the next family in line.
She didn’t wait to find out if it would change again.
Clutching her baby tightly, she hurried toward the exit, her heart still pounding. She glanced back only once. The Santa watched her go, his wide smile frozen in place, his dark eyes gleaming under the lights.
She could have sworn, just before she stepped out of the mall, that he had winked.
As they neared the front of the line, Jenna adjusted her baby boy in her arms, smoothing his tiny red sweater. His wide eyes darted around the bustling mall, captivated by the swirling colors, the glittering tinsel, and the massive Christmas tree towering nearby.
The moment came. The mall Santa waved them over, a friendly, red-suited figure with his white beard gleaming under the festive lights. "Say hi to Santa!" Jenna said softly, placing her baby on Santa's lap with a smile.
But the baby’s face contorted instantly. His small body stiffened, his eyes wide and trembling. Jenna chuckled nervously. "Oh no, don’t be scared of Santa," she cooed.
But the baby’s gaze was locked on Santa’s face, and the screams started. Jenna, bewildered, looked from her baby to Santa, and back again. She saw nothing wrong, just the same jolly old Saint Nick sitting patiently, his hands carefully holding the child. His eyes twinkled kindly behind wire-rimmed glasses, his white beard perfect and comforting.
But to the baby, Santa’s face was something far worse.
From his small, innocent eyes, the creature on the chair wasn’t a jolly old man in a red suit. No, what stared back at him was something hideous. The beard was gone, replaced by a wild, bristling white mane that surged out from the base of its neck. The once cheerful, chubby cheeks of Santa Claus had been twisted into a grotesque, snouted visage—its mouth wide open in an eternal scream, revealing rows of sharp, glistening teeth. Its long, pale ears were twitching, unnervingly sharp, standing tall and angular above the creature’s skull. The eyes... they were hollow, black pits, staring back at him with a hunger no one else could see.
The baby screamed louder.
Jenna panicked. She reached for her child, trying to calm him, but his body was rigid, his cries echoing through the mall. She glanced around, seeing the others in line beginning to murmur, but none of them could see what he saw. None of them could see the horror that had taken the place of Santa.
"Is something wrong?" the nearby photographer asked, confused. To everyone else, it was just a baby overwhelmed by the holiday excitement.
But the baby’s screams didn’t stop. His tiny hands flailed in the air, trying to push himself away from the creature, his eyes wide and locked in terror. His whole body trembled, his little fingers clawing at the air. He saw the creature lean closer, its gaping maw twitching, the teeth clicking together as if waiting for the moment to bite down.
“Take the picture!” Jenna urged, wanting to make the moment pass quickly. Maybe he was just overtired. Maybe the lights were too much.
The flash went off.
The creature’s maw jerked open wider in that instant, its sharp teeth almost grazing the baby’s cheek. The baby flinched violently, a new wave of terror in his eyes. He couldn’t speak, but Jenna saw the wide-eyed panic, felt the trembling in his small body as if he had just barely escaped something terrible.
She grabbed him back from Santa’s arms. “It’s okay,” she whispered, hugging him close, but she could feel his heart racing like a trapped bird against her chest.
Jenna looked back at the Santa, who simply smiled and waved to the next family. "He must’ve been scared of the suit," she muttered to herself.
But as they walked away, her baby boy kept looking over her shoulder, his tiny hands gripping her sweater tight, tears still streaking his red cheeks. The creature remained seated on the chair, looking just like Santa Claus to every other parent and child in the line.
But the baby knew the truth.
At first glance, the scene looked familiar and joyful—a typical December afternoon. But then came the Santa.
He sat on a massive chair, draped in the familiar red suit and surrounded by fake snow and wrapped presents. But his face… his face wasn’t Santa’s. It was something far worse. His head was that of a bizarre white animal, something that didn’t belong in any known category. The thing had long, pointed ears that jutted out awkwardly, and its mouth was stretched wide open as if frozen in a perpetual, grotesque scream. What should have been Santa’s white beard was now a wild mane, thick and bristling, giving the creature a feral, untamed look.
No one seemed to notice the horror, save for the children. Each one who was placed on this Santa’s lap would immediately begin to cry, as though they were peering into something primal, something that tugged at a deeper fear. Their parents, oblivious, would smile awkwardly, trying to get the perfect picture.
Then it was her turn. A mother, pushing a stroller with her giggling infant, approached the front of the line. The baby cooed, grabbing at the air as they neared the terrifying Santa.
"Come on, sweetie," she said in a soothing voice, lifting her child from the stroller. She smiled at the strange Santa. "Thank you for this! He's going to love it."
The creature didn't respond, its mouth still frozen in that unnatural, toothy grin. Its glassy eyes didn’t blink, didn’t move, but seemed to pierce through everything in front of it.
As the mother set her baby on the creature’s lap, the infant immediately stopped cooing. Its face went pale, eyes wide, locking onto the creature’s gaping maw. A low whimper escaped its lips before the child began to scream, thrashing in terror. The mother, momentarily startled, tried to calm the baby, bouncing it lightly in her arms as she looked at the Santa-thing apologetically.
“Sorry, he’s not usually like this," she laughed nervously, but the laugh was hollow. Her eyes lingered a little too long on the creature's face. She blinked, suddenly unsure.
Was its mouth open wider than before?
She took a step back, instinctively pulling her baby closer, her heart beginning to race. She looked around, but the mall employees were focused on other customers, and the parents in line seemed distracted. No one else noticed. No one saw what was wrong.
She turned back to Santa, hoping to see the normal, jolly figure she had expected—but all she saw was the mouth. That impossibly wide mouth, now stretched even further, almost as if it was about to unhinge. She heard a soft creak, like the grinding of bone.
The creature’s clawed hands—once gloved, now visibly pale and sharp beneath the fur—grasped her child’s waist a little too tightly. The baby screamed louder, its voice shrill with panic.
The mother yanked her child away, the force almost causing her to stumble. Her heart thundered in her chest as she hurried back from the Santa, but her feet felt glued to the floor, her legs sluggish. Her breath came in quick, shallow bursts.
And then, it spoke.
"Ho… ho… ho…"
But the voice wasn’t Santa’s. It wasn’t human at all. It was guttural, primal, more of a growl than a greeting. And that mouth… it was moving now, closing slowly, the sharp teeth grinding against each other with a nauseating scrape.
She didn't wait. She ran.
Behind her, the lights flickered. The cheerful Christmas music warped and slowed, distorting into something dissonant. She heard the creature’s voice again, but it wasn’t calling to her—it was laughing.
Twisting, choking laughter.
The baby wailed in her arms as she pushed through the crowd, her heart racing, her mind spinning. When she finally looked back, the Santa was sitting still again, as if nothing had happened. His mouth was shut, his eyes glassy and dead.
But she knew what she had seen. The thing in the Santa suit was no mall employee. And whatever it was, it had been hungry.
The mother clutched her baby tighter and ran for the exit, vowing never to set foot in that mall again.
Behind her, in the fake snow, footprints appeared. Large, clawed, and slowly fading into nothingness.
The baby squirmed in its mother’s arms, its tiny face screwed up in distress, but the woman was too distracted to notice. She was fumbling with her camera, trying to capture the "perfect memory" of her child’s first Easter visit with the Easter Bunny. The mall around them buzzed with families, the cacophony of chatter and footsteps blending into a background hum.
Ahead of them, the Easter Bunny sat on a worn, velvet-covered chair, its gaping maw frozen in a permanent, unnerving smile. The costume was old—frayed at the edges, its white fur now a sickly grayish hue under the fluorescent lights. The bunny's eyes, glassy and wide, seemed to follow each passerby. No one paid it much attention—after all, it was just a holiday mascot. But the child, in its infantile wisdom, knew better.
The mother, satisfied with her camera adjustments, finally set the baby down in the bunny’s lap. The creature’s oversized paws closed in around the child, its grip oddly tight.
"Smile for the camera!" the mother chirped, positioning herself for the shot.
But the baby’s face contorted, eyes wide with terror, a scream bubbling up from its throat. As the flash went off, the scream erupted, filling the mall with an eerie wail.
The mother stepped forward, trying to comfort the baby, but she froze. For the briefest of moments—just after the camera flash—the Easter Bunny moved. Not a subtle twitch, but a deliberate shift. Its mouth opened wider, as if to swallow the child whole.
The mother blinked, shaking her head. Must have been a trick of the light.
“Come on, sweetie, it’s just a picture!” she coaxed, her voice more tense now.
The baby squirmed again, its tiny hands batting against the bunny’s fur. But when the mother reached down to lift her child, she found the bunny’s grip had tightened. She tugged, gently at first, but the bunny wouldn’t let go.
Her heart pounded in her chest. This wasn’t right.
“Hey!” she called to one of the nearby workers. “I think the bunny’s... stuck.”
The worker, distracted by the rush of families, barely glanced her way.
The baby’s cries grew louder, its face turning red with the strain. The mother yanked harder, panic settling in as the bunny’s frozen grin seemed to stretch impossibly wide. The eyes—those glassy, unseeing eyes—locked onto hers, and in that instant, she saw something dark, something hungry lurking behind the costume.
“Help me!” she screamed now, struggling to pull her child free. The people around her continued moving as though in a daze, completely oblivious to her frantic pleas.
Finally, with a sickening rip, she tore the baby from the bunny’s grip, but something wet and warm smeared across her hands. She gasped, looking down to see the bunny’s white paws stained with red. Her child, still screaming, was unharmed, but her hand... her hand was smeared with blood.
Before she could comprehend what had happened, she heard a low, guttural sound. It was coming from the bunny. The once-stiff costume was moving now, twitching, convulsing. The glassy eyes rolled back, and the mouth—once frozen in a mocking grin—began to open wider, revealing rows of sharp, jagged teeth.
The mother stumbled backward, clutching her baby tightly as the bunny rose from its chair, towering over her. Its fur rippled unnaturally, as though something inside was shifting, something trying to break free.
The crowd around her remained oblivious, moving in a slow, dream-like trance. She wanted to scream for help, but her throat had closed up in terror.
The bunny took a step forward, its maw still stretching wider, a sickening crack coming from its jaws as it prepared to lunge.
And then the lights flickered. For just a moment, everything went dark.
When the lights came back on, the bunny was still.
Its hands lay limp in its lap, its eyes glassy once more. The grin was back, but this time it was smeared with something dark.
The baby had gone quiet, its tiny fist clutched against its chest, eyes wide and tear-filled. The mother stared in disbelief at the once-again inanimate figure.
No one seemed to notice.
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