Santa or Satan?

Another day, another victory for the OGs, I thought to myself as I listened to my science teacher drone on about how we could calculate the mass of the solar system with the equation for photosynthesis. And it’s only first period…

As he continued, I could feel myself start to fall asleep. 

Hey, don’t you need to know this stuff? a voice in the back of my head said.

I know science is kinda important, but so is getting 40 more minutes of sleep. Gotta get a head start on my New Year’s Resolution to sleep more, right?

And with that conflict resolved, I put my head down and conked out almost immediately. 

Instantly, I was transported home. I glanced at the Amazon Alexa chilling under my TV. The date read December 24. 

“One day before Christmas!” I yelled with glee. “Can’t wait for my V-Bucks from Santa.”

“You know you still have to write your letter to Santa, right?” my sister said as she passed by.

“Uh, I already wrote it,” I said quickly. This was, of course, a masterful lie that I had created using my superior intellect to cleverly conceal the fact that I had procrastinated.

“Nuh-uh, you didn’t,” my sister replied.

Dang, I thought. Better get writing.

Right when I sat down to write my letter, my mom called for me to finish the laundry and go upstairs to sleep, forcing me to rush my letter, and then skedaddle to do my chores. 

Later, it occurred to me that I might have misspelled some words. 

What’s the worst that can happen? As long as I didn’t misspell V-Bucks or something, I’m fine, I reassured myself.

The next morning, I woke up to Christmas music blasting throughout the house. I flew down the stairs and saw my family waiting for me so we could all open our presents together. Scanning the room, I saw a large box adorned with a giant golden ribbon and a tag. I lunged towards it and tore it open. 

A man dressed in a collared shirt and a red suit rose slowly out of the box, cackling loudly. As he emerged, the flames in our fireplace flared violently, and sparks danced gleefully. Though he was not very tall, the metaphorical and literal fire in his eyes added an aura of intimidation.

“WHO HAS SUMMONED THE ALMIGHTY ONE??” he questioned as he clumsily clambered over the box and began eyeballing those around the room.  

“I AM SATAN. BECAUSE YOU AWAKENED ME, YOU MUST SACRIFICE A SOUL.”

He turned to look at my cat.

“HMM... NO. TOO MUCH EVIL.”

“Wait!” I yelled. “Are you sure that’s... ours?” 

He pulled out a piece of paper that looked like a sloppily written letter. As he unfolded it, I noticed some very familiar handwriting.

He pulled out a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses. “HMM. IT SAYS DEAR SATAN, AND THERE’S A REQUEST FOR V-BUCKS… SO YEAH, I GUESS. WHO ASKED FOR V-BUCKS?” I shakily raised my hand, and he tossed me a stack of gift cards.

“MERRY CHRISTMAS. AND FOR THAT YOU MUST SACRIFICE ANOTHER SOUL! MUAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA—”

“But anyone could ask for V-Bucks.” I countered quickly. “Wrong house, buddy.”

“OH. WELL, SEE YOU THEN,” he said, sounding disappointed. He grabbed the present box and strolled out.

After some silence, my sister remarked, “Well that was weird. Let’s get back to—”

Satan burst into the room again. “NUH-UH, I COMPARED THE ADDRESS TO THE ONE ON YOUR MAILBOX. THIS IS THE RIGHT ONE.”

He turned the letter around and it showed the letter I had hastily written, with my full address, as well as “Satan” written instead of “Santa.” 

Dang, I knew I should have used Grammarly. 

“REFERENCES TO ACADEMIC DISHONESTY COST ANOTHER SOUL,” Satan boomed. Oops, did I say that out loud?

“Wait!” I blurted. Thinking quickly, I asked, “What if we play rock paper scissors for our souls?”

“I LOVE ROCK PAPER SCISSORS! BEST OUT OF THREE, THEN.”

For the first round, I chose rock and he chose scissors.

“I THOUGHT I HAD THIS!” Satan roared. “OKAY, ROUND TWO.”

For the second round, I chose scissors and he chose paper.

“Easy,” I scoffed.

“WAIT, WHAT? BEST OUT OF FIVE RIGHT NOW,” he demanded.

The third round didn’t go as well. I chose paper and he chose scissors.

“AHA!” he cried. “THIS IS MY REDEMPTION ARC!”

The fourth round was even worse. I chose paper again to trick him, but he went with scissors again.

“I AM A TACTICAL GENIUS!” he crowed. “LAST ONE.”

No pressure, I thought. Just beat Satan in a gamble for my soul.

“HERE WE GO.” he announced. “ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS, AND...SHOOT.”

I threw rock and he threw... scissors! 

“I’ll take your soul now!” I yelled triumphantly.

“WHOA, WHOA, WHOA. HOW ABOUT A BEST OUT OF EIGHT?” he tried.

“Go to h-e-double hockey sticks,” I said, already celebrating my victory.

“FINE, BUT THIS ISN’T THE LAST YOU’LL SEE OF ME.” 

He grabbed his soul and tossed it to me. I caught it, then dropped it, surprised by its weight. It fell down with a solid thump.

“MAKE SURE TO WATER IT AT LEAST TWICE EVERYDAY. OTHERWISE IT MIGHT… LOSE ITS EVILNESS.” He shuddered and started walking back toward the box he came from.

I looked down at the rock-shaped item that had been tossed to me—the area around it seemed to be decaying. I picked his soul up, held it as far away from me as I could, and dropped it right into a flower pot.

Satan watched this, smiling with pleasure. Right before he hopped into his box, he said, “REMEMBER, WATER TWICE A DAY. I’LL SEE YOU...YOu...You...yo…”

“You! Hey you, wake up!” 

I raised my head to see a janitor tapping my shoulder. 

“It’s past 10th period. What are you doing here, kid?”

“Uhhh…” I mumbled. “Must have dozed off.”

Then I remembered something.

“Dang, I gotta go water Satan’s soul! Thanks for waking me up!” I yelled over my shoulder as I rushed off.

“What? Is ‘Satan’s soul’ an Apple product or something?” the janitor called. Then he shook his head and muttered, “Kids these days and their newfangled gadgets.”