We have a winner! Ho, ho, ho!
Here is the winning entry for our ghetto-fabulous Bad Santa Contest. Pour yourself some yuletide cheer and enjoy: On Ice
Sunlight on ice. Ow. He squinted against the glare, but that made his head throb. His brain felt like it was trying to escape. Escape sounded good.
He shaded his eyes and unexpectedly scraped his forehead. He squinted again. Long, yellow, fingernails curled from his reddened fingers which met raw-skinned hands and peeling arms and thick torso. Shit! He was naked! His body looked like it had been scalded with greasy wax, and what the fuck was he doing outdoors in the snow naked?
A log cabin with broken, green shutters interrupted the frozen, empty landscape. Icicles hung in thick curtains from the roof, glittering in the sunshine, but smoke rose from the stone chimney. Footprints, his own he assumed, led from the cabin to where he stood. He retraced them at a run, shuddering from the cold.
The plank door opened into a single dim room. A huge wooden tub steamed with hot water, and a low table held a bowl of soft soap, a scrub brush, and towels. He stopped, his hackles rising.
A tinny chuckle came from a dim corner. "Every year ye bolt before ye be fully awake. When will ye learn?"� The elf stepped forward. "The year of sleep is over, Mr. Claus. Scrub off the year's filth and don the red suit."� The little creature slapped the control wand against his leg, creating a shower of lavender sparks. "Now," it barked. "The reindeer arrive soon."
Santa obeyed his warden.So who is the author of this prize-winning gem? Who knows? Our mystery writer sent an email address but no name! Come out of the closet, Jeanne won't bite (hard).