Tag Archives: nightmare before christmas

What Happens If You Read HP Lovecraft as you Go To Sleep

I read before I sleep.  I read at least one book a week and have since I was twelve years old.  I estimate around 4,000 books so far.  My wife bought me a copy of HP Lovecraft’s Best of…  Over a dozen creepy stories.  I was kind of bothered at his blatant racism and condescension, which I had not remembered.  However, his writing is still quite good, and I have to make some allowances, but not all, for the time in which he wrote from 1899 to roughly his death in 1937 at age 47.  Coincidentally, in that twilight land before sleep but not quite wakefulness is where I think about story ideas.  For some reason, what to my wandering mind should appear, but a mash-up of HP Lovecraft and a traditional Christmas poem…

HP Lovecraft

HP Lovecraft

The Nightmare Before Christmas

by Michael Bradley

Suppose a popular Christmas poem, written by Clement Clarke Moore (1779 – 1863) “Twas the night before Christmas,” also called “A Visit from St. Nicholas” in 1822, was based on earlier pagan folk tales?  We know such is the way of many things, with Christmas and various other holidays replacing pagan ceremonies.  The decoration of the evergreen tree, the yule log, and other customs coming from there.

Yes, I know St. Nicholas was an actual person who rode in a sleigh, lived in what is now Germany, and was a Bishop who handed poor children toys.  So, I don’t believe this to be the case, but what if it were…

The Way You Heard It

The Way It Was

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

“Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”

 

Twas the night before shortest day, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes Satanic would smell them and not come in there.

The children were huddled in fear in their beds,

With visions of torture and their own severed heads.

And mamma with her kitchen knife and I with my axe,

Had just settled our nerves for the longest night’s watch.

When out in the yon there arose such a clatter,

I sprang in fear from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the boarded window I flew with my axe, Tore open the shutters and threw back the latch.

The gibbous moon on the scabrous new snow

Revealed the horror of the creatures below.

 When what to my fearful eyes should appear,

But Satanic’s sled and eight nasty Peryton eating a deer.

With a spry ancient driver, so evil and quick, I knew right away – it’s Satanic!

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled and whipped them and called them by name.

Now Gasher! now, Basher! Now Lancer

and Vixen!

On Vomit! On, Stupid! On, Conner and Blitzed One!

To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall!

Let’s slaughter them now!  Yes, slaughter them all!

Dry leaves crackle in death, then fall from the sky,

There was no obstacle past which they could not fly.

So up to the house-top the demons they flew,

With a sleigh full of dead, and bloated Satanic too.

And then with crashing, I heard upon the roof

The thrashing and stomping of each vicious hoof.

As I jumped back from my window turning my head around,

Down the chimney Satanic slid and came down.

We was dressed in fur stained red with blood from head to foot,

His clothes covered with brimstone, ashes and soot.

A bundle of bones he had flung on his back,  he looked like a butcher just opening his shack.

His eyes how they burned, his dimples so scary!

His cheeks were like coals, his nose like a ferret.

His lipless mouth was drawn up like a nightmare,

His teeth carved sharp and his beard like a goat’s in a snare.

 The stump of a chewed hand he held tight in his teeth,

And smoke encircled his horned head like a devilish wreath.

His face was broad, he was bloated of belly It shook drops of blood when he laughed, like a bowl full of guts.

 He was chubby and plump, and eaten quite well,

And he laughed when I saw him, despite his stomach’s swell!

In a wink of his eye, he twisted my head.

I was left on the floor, unable to move, but not quite dead.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

Filled all  the stocking with kids, cutting throats with a jerk.

And laying his bloody finger to his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

 He sprang to his sleigh, and gave his minions a shrill whistle,

And away they all went, back into the earth beside a thick thistle.

But I heard him his warn as he disappeared out of sight,

“I will be back next year, for another tasty bite.!”

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