Preface by Author, Lucille Femine: I came across this short story I wrote a few years ago and I think it’s very apropos for Christmas as well as for The Liberty Beacon. I hope you enjoy the message as well as your holidays. Gather family and friends, no matter how many, and have a blast!
The Real Santa
It was thirty degrees. Jenny walked barefoot into the backyard at three AM in her nightgown. She felt nothing physical or mental. Soon the spaceship came and she simply entered. No words were needed because the vibrational pull was enough.
Inside, she was startled to see a heavyset, grinning human instead of an outer space man with slanted eyes and no mouth. He was dressed in a Santa suit but looked like he had a genuine beard and mustache. “Hello,” he greeted her with sing song.
She was fully awake now that she was inside the ship. All she could do was gasp.
“Come in, dear, have a seat,” he offered with a complacent smile, friendly except for a brief shift of his eyes to the right.
She stared. “Who are you? Where the hell am I?” She backed off, turning to see if she could pull the door open. But there was no handle.
“Oh, come on, sweetie. You’ve watched enough horror movies to know better.” He swiveled around from a huge panel with beeping, pulsing lights, very like a computer or airline monitor. “Have a seat,” he repeated and waved again at a curved, translucent one.
“No! Tell me where the hell I am!” She shouted, nearly out of control.
“Sit, I’ll tell you,” he answered with a calm nod as his smile got broad and his blue eyes glistened with glee.
Jenny looked down at the chair, assuming it was hard plastic but when she sat in it, it molded to her shape and was surprisingly comfortable. She put her hands on the sides which also adjusted to her touch. She stared at him. “This is a dream,” she stated with some relief at explaining it to herself.
“You think?” He said, humored. “Well, wake yourself up.”
Her eyes shifted in panic as the scene remained intact and even more real. It didn’t change like a bad editing job, the way dreams did, or go non sequitur. “Then it’s an abduction.” She looked back at him.
He shrugged. “I guess you could call it that.” His eyes went dull as he smirked. “But those guys are just employees.”
That made him more menacing. “You’re going to rape me. Or take out my organs. Depends what brand of insanity you like.”
He laughed. “I see you have watched some movies.”
She looked around as she spoke. ”What do you want?” The walls were rounded and seemed to go iridescent, changing colors. No windows, just a few panels that looked like they could open. There was no sound. But then she heard a hollow hum. “Are we taking off?”
“Yes, we are.” He swiveled to the screen and read. “Says you’re twenty-eight and married with a child. How nice.” He was examining it but not smiling.
“Will I see them again?”
He studied her in sympathy. “Probably not. Well, maybe to say goodbye.”
“Oh God! Who the hell are you? Is this a publicity stunt?”
He looked down at his jacket and pulled the fabric out with two fingers. “I’m Santa. Can’t you tell?”
She didn’t answer, just began to gasp as she breathed.
“You’re frightened.” He murmured.
“Funny you should say that.”
“Ah, nice,” he said, dropping his head back with a blissful smile.
Her mouth opened with understanding. “You’re a sadist.”
He was undisturbed as his head went up straight again. “Well, you folks down here would think so, yes.” He frowned in thought and nodded to the side. “But I come from a different culture, you might say.” He looked at her, absorbed in his explanation.
“What do you want?” She repeated. There was a faint sensation of motion but nothing like a plane.
“Why, to enjoy you,” he smiled, as if she should see the obvious.
She sneered at him. “By kidnapping me and getting off on my fear?”
“You’re getting angry,” he grinned.
“You’re a freakin’ pervert!” she whispered.
He closed his eyes, sedated by her growing outburst. “That should fill me up for a while.” He yawned and stretched, his big belly getting bigger.
She stared, terrified of his next move.
He rested his head back, then rolled it toward her with drug-like eyes that drifted to hers. “You’re so sweet.”
She tried to squeeze further back into her seat, squeezing her legs together, sure he was going to attack and rape her now. All it did was mold to the pressure.
“Don’t worry. I don’t need that,” he snickered. “We’ve evolved. We’re superior.”
“Really? You’re a fat sadist!” She shouted.
“Ah! Wonderful!” He moaned. “You’re anger feels so much better than your fear, you know that?” He raised his head.
“Can you please take me home.” Her voice shook.
“Oh, now you’re back in fear.” “Well OK, that’ll still fill me up.” He turned quickly to her and his brows furrowed. “Don’t die on me, okay?” He paused and reconsidered, waving the thought away. “Nah, you’re too young for a heart attack.”
“Why are you dressed like Santa?”
“Because I am Santa, I told you.” He smiled, pretending impatience. “But you don’t know who Santa really is.”
“Well, my job for all these centuries was to mentally inundate everyone on Earth, especially children, with the need for things.”
“Why?” Despite her anxiety, she was interested. She’d read about certain evil forces in the universe and he seemed like a prime example.
“Well, to keep them docile and preoccupied, of course.”
“For what purpose?” She frowned in confusion.
“So they will accept all the control and manipulation and misery we give them.”
She paused, taking in the shock. ”Why did you pick me tonight?”
“Because you were searching online for extraterrestrials in government and you were getting too savvy and happy.”
She stared at him, recalling the videos she’d looked at of that exact thing. How scary, she realized, that she was being spied on by aliens outside the earth. Is it safe anywhere?
“We do spot checks now and then.” He turned fully to her, raised his hand and continued his lecture. “You see, you Earth people are not smart enough to control your own lives and the data you find is too dangerous for you to handle.”
“You sound like the government.”
He looked bored and rolled his eyes. “We run the government. As I said, we are superior and far more intelligent.”
“Many highly intelligent people are insane,” she fumed.
He smiled with pleasure and closed his eyes. “Nice. Like a prayer.” He turned back to the console. “I’ll be taking you home now. But I’ll be back. You’re a nice feisty one. Your anger is bellisimo!” He put his fingertips to his lips, kissed them and threw them toward her. “I was going to dump you somewhere if you didn’t work out. So you’re lucky.” He raised his eyebrows and grinned at her.
Her impulse was to scream at him but she kept it in check. No reason to make him happier
Five seconds went by. “Okay, we’re back.”
She didn’t trust him to let her go and decided to try an experiment. What if I’m happy? She looked at him. “I’m very thirsty for some reason. Do you have some orange juice before I go?” That always gave her intense pleasure; she could use the help.
He was puzzled and shrugged. “Sure, you’ve been good to me.” He seemed to meditate on the wall and in three seconds, he pulled out a wineglass filled with the juice. He handed it to her with a flair.
She sipped it. Her smile was a bit cunning but she couldn’t help that. The juice was heavenly and she had to trust it wasn’t poisoned. “So you thrive on other people’s misery.”
“Immensely. Your emotion motivates us to do our work,” he said with cheer. He waved minutely and the door opened. ”The only way we can control you is to make you too unhappy to rebel.” He smiled, then sighed. “But some of you are getting too smart-ass. That’s why I came to check on you.”
That was the most convoluted, cockeyed and evil reasoning she’d ever heard but glad to hear she was a smart-ass. She stepped out backwards, took a deep breath and filled her mind with the happiest memories she could muster – her wedding, her child’s birth, the day her husband’s business went into extreme affluence. She drank more juice and manufactured more joy about their new house. It all rose, effervescent, in her chest. She threw it all at him, a fully-charged, emotional bullet.
He flinched and glared at her through the still open door with an open mouth. “What are you doing?”
She backed off but continued. Stay happy. Stay happy.
He stood straight up and turned greenish. His whole face distorted like melting wax and then went solid. His body narrowed down to about a hundred and fifty pounds. His ears bent forward, a brilliant red. His eyes were like tiny, purple rhinestones below thick white brows that tossed hair around in all directions. His voice bellowed and echoed with no aid from a megaphone. “You will not be happy! You will remain an obedient and willing laborer!” He pointed a long finger that ended in a curved black fingernail.
“The real Santa,” she whispered, approaching dread. She was getting dizzy, a heavy drugged sensation. Her stomach got nauseous. A stabbing shock, like pin prickles, traveled throughout her body, accompanied by high-pitched whining. She covered her ears because they hurt. “Oh, shit!”
“Nice,” he murmured, his anger abated.
No! Be happy! She commanded herself, replaying the same moments but they barely made a dent, like cowed children in the face of a beating.
She took deep breaths, holding down the nausea. Be happy.
He laughed. “Give it up, my lady. You can never beat this.” He shook his purple head, “Silly ass you are. Like all the rest.”
“Be happy,” she chanted, breathing deeper. All the discomfort quieted a moment, enough for her to see another option. She looked up at him and imagined him happy helping others, being happy for their happiness. She tossed it at him. What a chore. She had to fight through concrete resistance that threw it back at her or dissolved it midair. Plus, he was so repulsive, in looks and spirit. But she didn’t stop.
He looked close to vomiting and went grim and pensive; then he panted and bent forward with an apparent pain in his chest. He started gasping, his eyes now pulsating a flashing yellow light in the midst of the purple. Suddenly, the door slammed shut and she stared at it. In literally no time, it was silently airborne.
She watched it with wide eyes and bent forward. The ship stopped, hovered and trembled. “Oh, no, he’s coming back!” She sipped and created joy to make sure he didn’t drop to the ground. She threw in a fantasy that Tom Cruise gave her a lead in his new movie. In five seconds, she saw the ship blow up in the air and crash to the ground about half a mile away. “Oh, my God! Touchdown!” Then she fainted, barely breathing.
Bill, her husband was running to her, a tall, lanky guy. He bent down on one knee. “Jenny! What’s wrong!”
She was unconscious. He went close to her mouth. Barely a breath. “Oh, my God…Jenny!” He shook her lightly.
Her head turned, her eyes opened to blank slits, like someone waking from a bad LSD trip. But in a moment, they cleared and she smiled at him. “Hi.”
“What happened? What are you doing out here?” He pulled off his bathrobe, lifted her and wrapped it around her.
“I’m okay,” she murmured, putting a palm to her forehead and getting up on one elbow. She looked up into his puzzled, worried face. “I’m fine… More than fine.”
He could tell she was fully conscious and not delirious but still, he was concerned. Something had changed. He ran his hand down the side of her face. “Are you sick? Is this your period or something?”
She held a steady gaze and smiled. “No. You know what this world needs?”
He was moved by her open joy. “What?”
“To be happy no matter what.”
He paused, considering that obvious and not the time for philosophy. “Well, of course.” He reconsidered if she was really lucid.
“No, no. I’m serious.” She stood up and wobbled. He steadied her as she put a palm on his chest. “We need to be as happy as we can and help as many people be as happy as they can. It’s a matter of pure survival.”
He paused, taking in her fixed brilliance. “You got it. But…can we start being happy by going back inside?” He chuckled and shivered in the cold.
“Sounds like a plan.” They walked back toward the house arm in arm.
“You ever imagine you could think your way to happiness?” She asked him.
“Hmmm, have to work on that one.” He rubbed his chin and laughed.
“We will.” She moved closer to him, then looked off, amused at the thought:
Santa gave me what I need this year … and the next.
Read more great articles by Lucille here
To find out more about her art, visit Lucile here
The Dark Lane – A Great Novel By Author & Artist: Lucille Femine
A fictional story yet one all too true in the world of psychiatric drugs. Two brilliant, young boys forced to take these drugs and the resultant havoc on their physical, emotional and spiritual selves. The fight is on to save them.
(click on the image below to find out more about this outstanding book)
Stay tuned to …
The Liberty Beacon Project is now expanding at a near exponential rate, and for this we are grateful and excited! But we must also be practical. For 7 years we have not asked for any donations, and have built this project with our own funds as we grew. We are now experiencing ever increasing growing pains due to the large number of websites and projects we represent. So we have just installed donation buttons on our websites and ask that you consider this when you visit them. Nothing is too small. We thank you for all your support and your considerations … (TLB)
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