By the second week of December, Oceanside Mall looked like Christmas had exploded inside a department store, and nobody had bothered to clean it up.

Garlands hung from every balcony. Gold ornaments the size of beach balls dangled above the food court. Fake snow dusted the windows of empty storefronts. A thirty-foot Christmas tree stood beneath the glass dome at the center of the mall, glittering with silver ribbon, white lights, and red bows so large they looked like warning flags.

Everywhere, speakers played the same twelve holiday songs in rotation.

“Jingle Bell Rock.”

“Winter Wonderland.”

“Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”

Again.

And again.

And again.

The music bounced off the tiled floors, slipped under metal security gates, and followed shoppers into every corner of the building, until the whole mall felt less festive and more like a music box.

Derek Hale had been Santa Claus for exactly nine days.

Nine days of polyester velvet itching at his neck.

Nine days of kids sneezing into his beard.

Nine days of parents demanding retakes because their child “wasn’t smiling naturally,” as if any child sitting on a stranger’s lap under fluorescent lights was supposed to look natural.

Still, Derek needed the money.

Oceanside Mall had seen better years. Most people in town had too.

Once, the mall had been the place everyone went on weekends. There was an arcade, a movie theater, a pet store, three clothing shops, a huge toy store, and a fountain where teenagers tossed pennies and made promises they would forget by graduation.

Now half the storefronts were vacant. The arcade was a seasonal calendar shop. The pet store sold phone cases. The toy store had become a discount mattress outlet.

But every December, Oceanside tried to come back to life.

And at the heart of that desperate little resurrection sat Santa’s Village.

It occupied the center court beneath the big tree: a red-and-green platform, a velvet throne, a fake fireplace, fake presents, fake snow, fake candy canes, and a painted backdrop of the North Pole that showed smiling elves waving from a cottage window.

The elves were the worst part.

Not the employees dressed as elves.

The painted ones.

Something about them bothered Derek.

Their eyes were too small.

Their mouths were too wide.

And no matter where he sat, he always felt like the elves in the backdrop were looking just over his shoulder.

“Big smile, Santa,” said Mallory, the photographer.

Mallory was twenty-two, exhausted, and too good at her job to be working for a mall photo kiosk. She wore striped tights, a green elf dress, and an expression that suggested she had already mentally quit ten times that morning.

Derek forced a smile.

The little girl on his lap screamed directly into his ear.

Her mother stood four feet away, clapping as if the child were a dog being trained.

“Smile for Santa, Harper! Smile! Look happy!”

Harper did not look happy.

Harper looked like she had been handed over to a judge before sentencing.

Derek shifted her carefully on his knee. “It’s okay, kiddo. Santa’s not so scary.”

Harper turned and stared at him.

She could not have been more than four.

She had pale blond curls, red cheeks, and a pink sweater with a glittery reindeer on it.

“What do you want for Christmas?” Derek asked.

Harper’s crying stopped.

Instantly.

Her eyes became calm.

Too calm.

Then she leaned toward him and whispered, “I want your teeth.”

Derek blinked.

“Sorry?”

The girl opened her mouth and bit him.

Hard.

Not a playful little toddler bite.

Not a scared kid nip.

She sank her teeth into the fleshy part of his hand between thumb and wrist and clamped down like an animal.

Derek shouted.

Harper’s mother gasped.

Mallory dropped the camera.

“Get off!” Derek barked.

The girl bit harder.

Pain flashed up Derek’s arm. He jerked his hand back, and Harper slid off his lap onto the padded platform.

She landed on her bottom and immediately began screaming.

Now she sounded like a normal child again.

Her mother rushed forward. “What is wrong with you?”

Derek stared at the bite marks on his hand. They were already swelling. Tiny crescents of blood formed along his skin.

“She bit me,” he snapped.

“She is four!”

“She bit me like a raccoon!”

“Do not yell at my daughter!”

“I’m yelling because she tried to eat my hand!”

Harper wailed louder.

A dozen shoppers turned to watch.

That was how these things happened now. Not quietly. Not privately. The whole world became an audience in seconds.

Someone lifted a phone.

Mallory whispered, “Derek…”

But Derek was already angry in the way tired people become angry: too fast, too hot, and too late to stop.

The girl’s mother picked Harper up and backed away. “I am reporting you.”

“Great,” Derek said. “Report your kid to the health department while you’re at it.”

Mallory closed her eyes.

“Oh no,” she whispered.

Within twenty minutes, Derek was no longer Santa Claus.

He stood in the mall management office, his beard in one hand and an ice pack in the other, listening to Mr. Voss explain professionalism.

Mr. Voss was the mall’s general manager, a thin man with silver hair, a red tie, and the dead-eyed cheerfulness of someone whose job involved pretending a dying mall was still thriving.

“We can’t have seasonal staff shouting at children,” Voss said.

“She bit me.”

“I understand there was an incident.”

Derek held up his bandaged hand. “An incident?”

Voss glanced at it with mild disgust. “Yes.”

“She broke skin.”

“And I’m sorry about that.”

“No, you’re not.”

Voss sighed. “Derek, look. The mother posted the video. It’s already getting shared locally. Corporate called. The Santa experience is a family-friendly attraction, and we cannot have our Santa referring to a child as a raccoon.”

“She asked for my teeth.”

Voss paused.

Mallory, sitting in the corner, looked up.

“What?” Voss asked.

“Before she bit me,” Derek said. “I asked what she wanted for Christmas. She said she wanted my teeth.”

Voss stared at him for a long moment.

Then he folded his hands.

“Are you under the influence of anything?”

Derek laughed once. “You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“I’m not drunk, high, or whatever you’re trying to imply. I’m telling you what happened.”

Voss leaned back in his chair. “I think it would be best if you left.”

“What about my paycheck?”

“We’ll mail it.”

“Of course you will.”

Mallory walked him out through the back hallway that led past storage rooms and employee bathrooms.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

Derek pulled the red Santa coat tighter around himself. He had been told to return the costume, but the mall’s storage room was locked, and Vosswasn was too irritated to deal with it.

“Don’t be,” Derek said. “This place is a nightmare.”

Mallory gave him a tired smile. “It does have its charm.”

“Name one charm.”

She looked down the hallway.

A fluorescent light flickered above a door marked SEASONAL STORAGE.

“I’m still thinking.”

Derek almost laughed.

Almost.

Then he heard it.

A soft, wet giggle.

Small.

Childlike.

Coming from behind the storage room door.

Derek stopped.

Mallory noticed. “What?”

“You hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Another giggle.

This time is lower.

Older.

Mallory’s face changed.

The sound came again from behind the door.

Then a whisper.

“Santa?”

Derek stepped back.

Mallory swallowed. “That room’s empty.”

The doorknob turned once.

Slowly.

Then stopped.

Mallory grabbed Derek’s sleeve. “Let’s go.”

They did.

Fast.

By the time they reached the public hallway near the food court, the mall looked normal again. Too normal. Teenagers walked in packs. Families carried shopping bags. A man in a reindeer sweater argued with a pretzel employee about mustard.

The Christmas music played overhead.

“He sees you when you’re sleeping…”

Derek looked toward Santa’s Village.

A replacement Santa was already on the throne.

That was impossible.

No one changed that quickly.

The new Santa sat perfectly still beneath the tree, white-gloved hands resting on his knees. His beard was fuller than Derek’s had been. His red suit looked darker, almost black, in the folds.

A line of children waited to meet him.

Mallory stared.

“Who is that?” Derek asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Did Voss hire someone else?”

“Not that fast.”

The new Santa slowly turned his head.

Across the crowded center court, through shoppers and glittering lights and drifting fake snow, he looked directly at Derek.

Then he raised one hand.

And waved.

Derek felt his bite wound throb.

The bandage darkened with fresh blood.

---

He should have gone home.

That was the obvious thing.

The smart thing.

But Derek had never been good at leaving things alone, especially not when he felt humiliated. He walked to his car in the employee lot, sat behind the wheel, and replayed the moment over and over.

The girl’s teeth.

The whisper.

The new Santa.

Mallory texting him fifteen minutes later did not help.

Are you okay?

He replied:

No. Who is the new Santa?

Three dots appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then appeared again.

Voss says corporate sent him.

Derek typed:

In twenty minutes?

Mallory answered:

I know.

A minute later:

Something else. The mom and kid are still here.

Derek frowned.

So?

Mallory:

The kid keeps asking to see “the real Santa.”

Derek looked through his windshield at the mall's rear.

The employee entrance glowed under a security light.

Above it, the mall’s sign buzzed.

OCEANSIDE MALL.

The O flickered out.

CEANSIDE MALL.

Then the C.

EANSIDE MALL.

Then, for one second, all the lights went black.

When they came back on, someone was standing near the employee door.

A child.

Small.

Blond curls.

Pink sweater.

Derek sat frozen.

Harper stood beneath the security light, staring at him.

She lifted one hand and pointed at his car.

No.

Not at the car.

At him.

Then her mouth opened.

Even from across the lot, he saw the blackness inside it.

His phone buzzed.

Mallory again.

Derek. The kid is gone. Her mom is freaking out. Security is looking for her.

Derek looked back at the employee door.

Harper was gone.

The parking lot was empty.

He did not remember getting out of the car.

He only remembered the cold hitting him, the smell of rain on asphalt, and the ache in his bitten hand pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

He went back inside.

---

By 8:45, Oceanside Mall had begun its nightly transformation.

During the day, it was tired but alive.

At closing time, it became something else.

The crowds thinned. Store employees pulled down metal gates. Lights clicked off in sections. The big tree remained glowing in the center court, but without the crowds around it, it looked less cheerful and more ceremonial.

Like an altar.

Mall security had shut down two exits and stationed guards near the main doors while they searched for Harper.

Her mother sat near the fountain, crying into her phone.

Mr. Voss paced beside Santa’s Village, red tie loosened.

The new Santa remained on the throne.

Children were no longer in line.

No one sat on his lap.

No one spoke to him.

He just sat there, watching.

Derek approached Mallory near the photo booth.

“You came back?” she whispered.

“I saw Harper outside.”

Mallory went pale. “Where?”

Employee lot. Then she vanished.”

“Don’t say vanished.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Something normal.”

“I’m fresh out.”

They both looked toward the new Santa.

“Has he moved?” Derek asked.

Mallory shook her head.

“Not once.”

“Who talked to him?”

“Voss. Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“He walked over, said something, then came back looking like he forgot why he went over there.”

Derek’s hand throbbed again.

Mallory noticed him wincing.

“You need a doctor.”

“I need to know what that thing is.”

She stared at him.

The mall speakers crackled.

The Christmas song cut out mid-verse.

Static hissed overhead.

Then a voice came through.

Not a recording.

Not an announcement.

A child’s voice.

“Santa?”

The word echoed from every speaker in the mall.

Harper’s mother stood. “Harper?”

The speakers crackled again.

“Santa, I know what I want now.”

The new Santa’s head tilted.

Derek whispered, “No.”

Mallory grabbed his arm.

The speakers whispered:

“I want to go inside.”

Every light in the mall went red.

Not off.

Red.

The Christmas tree bulbs shifted from warm white to deep crimson. Store signs buzzed and flickered. The fake fireplace in Santa’s Village glowed like real embers.

Then the mall gates slammed down.

All of them.

Every storefront.

Every exit.

Every corridor.

Metal shutters crashed into place with a sound like dozens of cages closing at once.

People screamed.

Harper’s mother ran toward the nearest exit and grabbed the bars. A security guard tried his radio, got only static, and cursed.

Mr. Voss shouted, “Everyone, stay calm!”

No one did.

The new Santa stood.

For the first time, Derek saw how tall he was.

Too tall.

The red suit hung loose on him, as if there was not quite a body underneath it. His gloves were spotless. His boots made no sound on the platform.

He stepped down from Santa’s Village.

The fake snow around his feet turned gray.

Then black.

The new Santa spread his arms.

“Ho,” he said.

His voice was deep and wrong.

It sounded like two people speaking at once, one buried beneath the other.

“Ho.”

The crowd went silent.

Even the crying stopped.

The new Santa took another step.

“Ho.”

The Christmas tree behind him shivered.

Ornaments trembled.

One glass ball fell and shattered on the platform.

Inside it was a tooth.

Then another ornament fell.

Another tooth.

Then dozens.

Teeth spilled from the tree like hail, clicking across the floor.

Harper’s mother screamed.

The new Santa turned toward her.

“Your little one asked so nicely,” he said.

The woman backed away. “Where is my daughter?”

Santa smiled beneath his beard.

It was not a human smile.

It was too crowded.

Too many teeth are packed behind the lips.

“Waiting.”

“For what?”

Santa’s eyes moved to Derek.

“For the one who was bitten.”

Derek’s stomach dropped.

Mallory whispered, “Why you?”

The bite on Derek’s hand split open beneath the bandage.

Blood ran between his fingers.

The new Santa inhaled.

Across the center court, his nostrils flared.

“There he is,” Santa whispered.

Then every child-sized elf painted on the North Pole backdrop turned its head.

Not in the painting.

Out of it.

Their flat eyes became wet and black. Their painted mouths opened, stretching wider and wider until they split the backdrop.

Small red hands pushed through the canvas.

Mallory screamed.

Derek grabbed her and pulled her backward as the elves crawled out.

They were not cute.

They were not human either.

They were small, crooked things wearing green felt and pointed hats. Their limbs bent too many ways. Their skin was the color of old candle wax. Some had jingle bells sewn into their cheeks. Others had tiny ornaments dangling from their ears.

All of them had children’s teeth.

Too many children’s teeth.

The first elf dropped onto the platform and sniffed the air.

Then it giggled.

The same wet giggle Derek had heard behind the storage room door.

“Santa,” it said.

More elves spilled from the backdrop.

Security guards rushed forward.

One swung a flashlight.

The elf caught it in both hands and bit through the metal.

The guard screamed.

The crowd broke.

People ran in every direction, but the mall had become a maze of closed gates and red lights.

Derek pulled Mallory toward the food court.

“This way!”

Behind them, Santa laughed.

The sound rolled through Oceanside Mall, rattling windows, shaking signs, and turning every Christmas song into a warped, dragging version of itself.

“He sees you when you’re sleeping…”

The lyrics slowed, taking on a threatening tone.

“He knows when you’re awake…”

---

The food court was chaotic.

A few dozen shoppers had gathered there, blocked by the lowered gate at the main exit. Employees from the pizza place and the smoothie stand huddled behind counters. Someone was sobbing under a table. Someone else shouted at their phone, demanding that 911 answer.

No signal.

Of course, there was no signal.

There was never a signal when the nightmare wanted to keep you.

Derek and Mallory ducked behind the counter of a closed burger place.

“What is happening?” Mallory whispered.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“I know.”

The bite wound burned now.

Derek peeled back the bandage.

Mallory recoiled.

The skin around the bite had darkened to a bruised purple. Thin black lines spread from the punctures like veins of ink.

In the center of the wound, something white pushed against the skin.

Derek squeezed his wrist.

A tiny tooth slipped out.

He slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from shouting.

Mallory looked like she might be sick.

“Derek…”

He flicked the tooth away.

It skittered across the floor, then stopped.

Turned.

And slid back toward him.

Derek crushed it under his boot.

Something squealed.

From the mall corridor came the sound of bells.

Jingle bells.

Soft at first.

Then closer.

A man in a puffy coat ran into the food court from the east wing.

“Don’t go that way!” he yelled. “They’re in the stores!”

Something leaped onto his back.

An elf.

It clung to his shoulders, laughing into his ear.

Two more followed.

The man spun, screaming, crashing into tables. People scattered. One elf looked up and saw Derek.

Its grin widened.

“Bitten Santa,” it said.

Then all three elves turned toward him.

Mallory grabbed a tray from the counter and threw it.

It hit one elf in the face, knocking it backward into a soda machine.

Derek grabbed a fryer basket.

The elves charged.

He swung hard.

The basket caught the first elf under the chin. Its head snapped back with a crunch, but instead of blood, peppermint-colored sludge sprayed from its mouth.

The second elf jumped onto the counter. Mallory smashed it with the cash register scanner. It squealed, bells jingling violently, and tumbled into a pile of napkins.

The third elf crawled across the ceiling.

Derek looked up too late.

It dropped onto him.

Tiny fingers dug into his face. Teeth snapped near his eye. He slammed backward into the counter, grabbing at the creature’s neck. It smelled like cinnamon, rot, and pennies.

“Open up,” it whispered. “Santa needs a door.”

Mallory stabbed it with a plastic soda nozzle.

The elf shrieked and fell.

Derek kicked it into the fryer.

The oil was cold, but the elf thrashed as though boiling alive. Its body collapsed inward until only the hat remained, sinking slowly into grease.

The food court went silent again.

Everyone stared at Derek.

Then a little boy under the table pointed at him.

“Mommy,” he whispered. “That Santa is bleeding bells.”

Derek looked down.

Blood from his hand had dripped onto the tile.

Tiny silver bells were forming in it.

Mallory stood very still.

“You need to tell me everything that happened with Harper,” she said.

“I did.”

“No. Every word.”

Derek swallowed. “I asked what she wanted for Christmas. She said she wanted my teeth. Then she bit me.”

“And then?”

“She screamed like a normal kid.”

Mallory looked toward the center court. “Maybe she was normal after.”

Derek understood.

“You think something was using her?”

“I think something got into you through the bite.”

A voice behind them said, “Not into him.”

They turned.

An older man sat at a corner table near the closed Chinese food counter. Derek had not noticed him before.

He wore a janitor’s uniform and a gray coat. His name tag read RAY. His face was lined and tired, and he held a mop handle across his lap like a weapon.

Ray looked toward the dark corridor.

“Through him,” he said.

Derek approached slowly. “What do you know?”

Ray laughed without humor.

“I’ve worked here thirty-one years. I know every leak in the roof, every dead outlet, every camera blind spot, and every place this mall tries to forget what happened.”

Mallory crouched beside him. “What happened?”

Ray looked at the Christmas tree glowing red in the distance.

“First Christmas after the mall opened. 1983. They hired a Santa named Nicholas Sayer. Really popular. Big laugh. Real beard. Kids loved him.”

Derek said, “Let me guess. Something was wrong with him.”

Ray shook his head.

“No. Something was wrong with the mall.”

The food court lights flickered.

Ray lowered his voice.

“People think places are just places. Concrete. Glass. Wiring. Stores. But you get enough wanting in one place, enough begging, enough disappointment, it soaks in. Kids asking for things their parents can’t afford. Parents pretending everything’s fine. Lonely people watch happy families walk by. All that hunger. All that wishing.”

He tapped the mop handle against the tile.

“Oceanside was built over something old. Don’t ask me what. I only know what the night crew used to say. The land wanted offerings. The mall gave it wishes.”

Derek’s throat went dry.

“What happened to Sayer?”

Ray’s eyes hardened.

“Christmas Eve. The mall stayed open late. A kid bit him. Just like you.”

Mallory whispered, “Then what?”

“He changed before closing. Started asking children what they wanted. But whatever they said, he heard something else. Toys became bones. Dolls became skin. Teeth. Eyes. Voices. Things kids didn’t know they were asking for.”

Derek felt the black lines in his hand pulse.

Ray continued.

“They found Sayer in Santa’s Village at midnight, sitting in the chair with every tooth pulled out of his head. Around him were presents wrapped in red paper. They never opened all of them.”

“Why not?” Mallory asked.

Ray looked at her.

“Because some were still moving.”

A woman nearby began to cry softly.

Derek leaned on the table. “How do we stop it?”

Ray looked at Derek’s hand.

“You were bitten but not taken. That means it marked you as a doorway. The thing wearing Santa needs you to finish opening.”

“Opening what?”

Ray pointed toward the center court.

“The chimney.”

Derek almost laughed.

“The chimney?”

“Santa’s Village fireplace,” Ray said. “It isn’t plugged into anything. Never has been. Every year, they set it up. Every year it gets warm anyway.”

Mallory’s face tightened. “I’ve noticed that.”

Ray nodded.

“At midnight, if it gets what it needs, it opens. Then the old Santa comes through.”

“The thing out there isn’t the old Santa?”

“No,” Ray said. “That’s just the suit.”

From the corridor, something began dragging across the floor.

Slow.

Heavy.

Metal scraping tile.

Ray stood, gripping his mop handle.

“Time to move.”

The red lights dimmed.

At the far end of the food court, Santa appeared.

He stood between the pretzel stand and the closed exit gate, head nearly brushing the hanging holiday garland.

Behind him came the elves.

Dozens now.

Crawling along walls.

Clinging to signs.

Peeking from trash cans.

Perched atop menu boards.

Santa held something in one hand.

Harper’s pink sweater.

Her mother screamed and tried to run to him, but two shoppers held her back.

Santa lifted the sweater to his face and inhaled.

“She is close,” he said.

Derek stepped forward despite every instinct telling him not to.

“Where is she?”

Santa smiled.

“Inside Christmas.”

The elves giggled.

Derek’s wound burned.

He heard a voice in his head.

Harper’s voice.

Not crying now.

Whispering.

He told me I could go home if I bit you.

Derek staggered.

Mallory caught him.

“What?”

“She’s alive,” Derek said. “Somewhere.”

Santa’s smile faded slightly.

Ray whispered, “He can hear through the mark.”

Santa’s head tilted.

“Then hear this.”

He opened his mouth.

The mall speakers screamed.

Not static.

Not music.

Screams.

Children, adults, old recordings, new voices, layered on top of each other until the food court shook with them. People dropped to their knees, hands over ears.

The elves charged.

Ray swung the mop handle like a bat.

Derek grabbed Mallory and ran.

---

They fled through the service hallway behind the food court.

Ray knew the way.

He slammed doors behind them, wedged carts under handles, and led them through corridors that smelled of cardboard, bleach, and old fryer oil.

The mall sounded alive around them.

Not crowded alive.

Hungry alive.

Pipes knocked inside the walls. Vents whispered. Holiday music drifted through the ducts, slowing and speeding like something learning how songs worked.

They passed a break room.

Inside, three employees sat at a table wearing paper crowns from the burger place.

Their heads were bowed.

On the table in front of them were wrapped gifts.

Derek slowed.

Ray yanked him forward.

“Don’t look.”

One of the employees lifted her head.

Her eyes were gone.

In their place were two small silver ornaments.

“Merry Christmas,” she said.

Ray slammed the door.

They kept moving.

“Where are we going?” Mallory asked.

“Security office,” Ray said. “If phones don’t work, maybe the old landline does. And there’s a cabinet with keys.”

“To what?”

“Everything Voss pretends he controls.”

The security office was down a narrow hall near the loading dock.

Inside were monitors showing camera feeds from across the mall.

Most screens were static.

A few still worked.

Center court.

The red tree.

Santa’s Village.

The food court, now empty except for overturned tables and crawling elves.

The west wing, where mannequins from a department store stood outside their windows, facing the cameras.

The children’s play area, where the foam sea creatures had rearranged themselves into a circle.

And on one screen, Harper.

Mallory gasped.

Derek grabbed the monitor.

Harper stood inside a dark room packed with Christmas decorations: wreaths, old garlands, broken reindeer, crates of ornaments, rolled-up backdrops.

Seasonal Storage.

She was not alone.

Behind her stood the fired Santa costume Derek had worn earlier.

Empty.

Hanging from a hook.

But its sleeves moved slightly, as if something invisible were trying it on.

Harper looked at the camera.

Her lips moved.

Derek leaned closer.

“What is she saying?” Mallory whispered.

Ray turned up the monitor audio.

At first,t there was only static.

Then Harper’s tiny voice came through.

“He wants his face back.”

The screen went black.

Mallory backed away. “Nope. Nope, absolutely not.”

Derek turned to Ray. “Where is seasonal storage?”

Ray’s expression said he already knew Derek would ask.

“Basement level.”

“This mall has a basement?”

“Old service tunnels. Maintenance. Storage. Most of it closed.”

“Of course it is.”

Ray opened a cabinet and searched through keys.

Mallory grabbed Derek’s arm. “We can’t go down there.”

“That kid bit me because something made her. I’m not leaving her.”

“She bit you, you so this thing could use you!”

“Then maybe I’m the only one who can find her.”

Mallory looked furious and terrified at once.

“That is very heroic and very stupid.”

“Usua,lly how it goes.”

Ray tossed Derek a heavy flashlight.

“Then take this.”

Mallory grabbed another.

Ray found a ring of keys and shoved it into his coat pocket.

The security office door rattled.

Everyone froze.

A soft voice outside said, “Mall security.”

Ray raised the mop handle.

The voice came again.

“Open up. We have a lost child.”

Mallory whispered, “That’s Mr. Voss.”

Derek moved toward the monitor showing the hallway outside the security office.

Mr. Voss stood there.

Or something wearing Mr. Voss.

His red tie was tied around his mouth like a ribbon. His eyes bulged. His skin had turned shiny and pale, like wax.

He knocked gently.

Beside him stood two elves.

One held a stapler.

The other held Voss’s tongue.

“Open up,” Voss said, though his mouth did not move beneath the tie.

Ray whispered, “Back door.”

They slipped out through a rear exit just as the office door burst inward.

Voss screamed behind them.

Not words.

Just one long ribboned sound.

---

The basement stairwell was behind the old movie theater.

The theater had closed six years earlier, but its sign still hung above the entrance:

OCEANSIDE CINEMA 8

The movie posters had never been removed. Their colors had faded, leaving all the actors looking dead. Someone had taped a paper sign over the ticket window:

COMING SOON: NEW ENTERTAINMENT EXPERIENCE

It had been there for three years.

Ray unlocked a gray service door.

Cold air breathed up from below.

It smelled like wet concrete and dust.

And pine needles.

Mallory wrinkled her nose. “Why does it smell like Christmas down there?”

Ray clicked on his flashlight.

“Because we’re going down.”

They descended.

The stairs went farther than Derek expected.

With each step, the cheerful noise of the mall faded until only the hum of old electricity remained. The walls sweated. Pipes ran overhead. Somewhere in the dark, water dripped steadily.

At the bottom was a corridor lined with storage doors.

Some had labels.

JANITORIAL SUPPLIES

HOLIDAY DECOR

SIGNAGE

DEFUNCT RETAIL FIXTURES

Others had no labels at all.

Ray led them to leave.

The black lines from Derek’s wound had reached his forearm.

He kept hearing Harper.

Sometimes close.

Sometimes far away.

Sometimes whispering his name.

Derek.

He had never told her his name.

The seasonal storage door was at the end of the hall.

It was painted green.

Someone had scratched words into it.

Not recently.

The letters were old, carved deep.

DO NOT HIRE SANTA

Ray stared at the words.

“They painted over that every year,” he said.

The green paint blistered.

Derek heard something inside.

A small sob.

Harper.

He unlocked the door.

It opened inward.

The room beyond was much bigger than it should have been.

Rows of Christmas decorations stretched into the darkness. Artificial trees stood like dead forests. Mannequin reindeer watched with glass eyes. Old sleighs leaned against walls. Boxes of ornaments were stacked to the ceiling.

In the center of the room stood Harper.

She held a candy cane in both hands.

Her pink sweater was gone. She wore a red velvet coat with white fur trim.

Like a tiny Mrs. Claus.

Derek stepped forward. “Harper?”

She looked at his hand.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

Mallory stayed near the door. “That is never a good thing to hear from a child.”

Ray whispered, “Careful.”

Derek crouched, keeping several feet between them.

“Harper, your mom is upstairs. She’s looking for you.”

Harper’s lower lip trembled.

“I want my mom.”

“Then come with us.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Harper pointed behind Derek.

He turned.

The Santa costume hung from a hook.

His Santa costume.

The one he had been fired from.

The red coat twitched.

The white beard hanging beside it lifted slightly, as if caught in a breeze.

Then the empty suit spoke in Derek’s voice.

“Ho ho ho.”

Mallory whispered, “Oh, I hate that.”

The suit dropped from the hook.

It landed upright.

Nobody inside.

Just red fabric, black boots, white gloves, and an empty beard.

The hood turned toward Derek.

The empty sleeves lifted.

“Santa needs his helper,” the suit said.

Ray pulled Derek back.

Harper screamed.

Boxes exploded open around them.

Ornaments flew into the air like insects. Garland snapped across the room. Plastic candy canes bent into hooks. Strings of lights slithered along the floor, sparking.

Mallory grabbed Harper.

The child fought at first, then clung to her.

The empty Santa suit lunged at Derek.

He swung the flashlight.

It passed through the coat and hit nothing.

The suit wrapped around him.

Red velvet smothered his face. Sleeves tightened around his throat. The beard filled his mouth with the taste of dust and old sugar.

Derek heard Santa’s voice inside his skull.

Wear the red. Open the chimney. Smile for the children.

The bite wound split wider.

More teeth pushed out.

Derek screamed into the beard.

Mallory shouted his name.

Ray stabbed the mop handle through the suit and pinned it to a crate.

“Get him out!”

Mallory shoved Harper toward the door and grabbed Derek’s arm.

The suit fought.

It clung to him like wet skin.

Derek saw flashes of another Christmas.

A bright new mall.

A smiling Santa named Nicholas Sayer.

A little boy is biting his hand.

A fireplace burning without fuel.

Children lined up in the dark after closing, eyes shining like ornaments.

Presents under the tree.

Moving.

Breathing.

Then a mouth in the fireplace.

Huge.

Red.

Laughing.

Derek tore free.

The Santa suit collapsed, writhing on the floor.

Harper shrieked.

The lights overhead burst one by one.

Ray grabbed a can of lighter fluid from a storage shelf.

“Move!”

He sprayed the suit and flicked a lighter.

The red velvet caught fire instantly.

The suit screamed.

Not like cloth.

Like a man.

The flames burned green, then red, then a deep, cold blue.

The Santa suit thrashed, crawling across the floor toward Derek even as it burned.

“Go!” Ray shouted.

They ran.

Behind them, the storage room erupted with the sound of thousands of ornaments shattering.

---

They made it halfway up the basement stairs before the mall shifted.

The stairs stretched.

One flight became two.

Then three.

Then ten.

Derek looked up and saw the door at the top receding, smaller and smaller.

Harper whimpered in Mallory’s arms.

Ray cursed under his breath.

“It knows,” he said.

“What does it know?” Derek asked.

“That we took the child.”

The walls of the stairwell bulged.

Something pressed against them from the other side.

Hands.

Faces.

Antlers.

Elf hats.

Teeth.

The Christmas music returned, muffled behind the concrete.

“Santa Claus is coming to town…”

The stairs shook.

A red glow appeared below them.

Derek looked down.

At the bottom of the stairwell, where the basement should have been, there was now a fireplace.

Huge.

Brick.

Burning.

Inside the flames, something moved.

A shape too large to fit.

A hand emerged from the fire.

It wore a white glove.

But the fingers were long and jointed like spider legs.

Ray looked terrified for the first time.

“The old Santa.”

The thing in the fireplace laughed.

The sound rose through the stairwell, making the concrete crack.

Harper covered her ears.

“He said I was bad,” she sobbed. “He said bad kids make good doors.”

Derek looked at the wound on his arm.

The black lines had nearly reached his elbow.

He understood then.

Harper had been used to mark him.

But Harper had also been marked.

The mall did not just need Santa.

It needed a child’s wish.

A doorway from both sides.

Derek pulled off his belt and wrapped it tight above the bite.

Mallory saw what he was doing.

“No.”

“I have to slow it down.”

“That is not a medical plan.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.”

The stairs jolted.

Ray stumbled. The key ring slipped from his hand and fell.

It bounced down the steps toward the flames.

Derek lunged and caught it before it dropped out of reach.

The gloved hand shot upward and grabbed his wrist.

Cold shot through him.

Not heat.

Cold.

Christmas morning cold.

An empty house is old.

The cold of waking up and realizing no one remembered you.

The old Santa whispered from the fire.

“Derek Hale.”

Derek froze.

Mallory shouted, “Don’t listen!”

But the voice was inside him now.

“I know what you want.”

Derek saw his apartment. Empty fridge. Bills on the counter. A voicemail from his ex-wife; he had not returned it. His daughter’s unopened Christmas card was sitting near the door because he was afraid of what it might say.

“You want another chance,” the old Santa whispered. “I give chances.”

Derek’s grip loosened.

The gloved fingers tightened.

“Sit in the chair. Wear the red. Smile. And I will give you Christmas back.”

For one terrible second, Derek wanted to say yes.

That was the worst part.

Not the elves.

Not the teeth.

Not the burning suit.

The worst part was how easily the thing found the soft, aching place inside him and pressed.

Mallory slapped him.

Hard.

Derek snapped back.

“Ow!”

“You were getting that face,” she said.

“What face?”

“The dumb man about to make a deal with a fireplace demon face.”

“Fair.”

Derek lifted the key ring and jammed the sharpest key into the glove.

The old Santa roared.

The hand released him.

Ray grabbed Derek’s coat and hauled him upward.

The stairwell snapped back to normal.

The door at the top slammed open.

They spilled into the abandoned movie theater lobby.

Behind them, the basement door burst into flames.

Ray slammed it shut.

Something pounded from the other side.

Once.

Twice.

Then silence.

Derek breathed hard.

Mallory looked at Harper.

The little girl had gone limp with exhaustion, but she was alive.

For now.

From the center court came a deep bell chime.

One.

Then another.

Ray’s face drained.

“What?” Derek asked.

Ray checked his old watch.

11:45.

“Fifteen minutes to midnight.”

---

The mall had changed again.

The corridors were decorated for Christmas in a way no mall would ever approve.

Garland made of hair draped from railings.

Wreaths hung on storefronts, woven with teeth and red ribbon.

Mannequins stood in family groups outside dark stores, dressed in holiday sweaters, their plastic heads turned toward the center court.

The big Christmas tree glowed brighter than before.

Beneath it, Santa’s Village waited.

The replacement Santa stood by the throne.

The elves surrounded him.

And at the fake fireplace, the bricks had begun to crack.

Red light shone from between them.

Mr. Voss knelt on the platform, wrapping presents with shaking hands. His tie was still tied across his mouth. Each box moved after he taped it shut.

Harper’s mother sat in Santa’s chair, bound in garland, crying silently.

Santa turned as Derek, Mallory, Ray, and Harper emerged from the theater hallway.

“There you are,” Santa said.

Harper lifted her head. “Mommy!”

Her mother sobbed against the garland.

Santa looked delighted.

“Family reunions,” he said. “Such a holiday tradition.”

Derek stepped forward.

The elves hissed.

He raised his bitten hand.

“You want this?”

Santa’s smile widened.

“Very much.”

“Then let them go.”

Mallory whispered, “Derek, what are you doing?”

“Improvising.”

Ray muttered, “I hate improvising.”

Santa descended the platform steps.

“You think sacrifice makes you good?” he asked.

Derek backed slowly toward the tree.

“No.”

“What, then?”

Derek looked at the ornaments.

Everyone had a tooth.

Maybe hundreds.

Maybe thousands.

“I think you’re hungry.”

Santa stopped.

Derek continued backing up.

“And hungry things get stupid.”

He grabbed one of the oversized candy cane decorations near the tree and swung it into the branches.

The first ornaments shattered.

The effect was immediate.

Santa screamed.

The elves shrieked.

Teeth rained down.

Derek swung again.

More ornaments exploded.

Ray understood first. He charged forward and slammed his mop handle into the tree. Mallory set Harper down behind a kiosk, grabbed a metal stanchion, and joined them.

They smashed everything they could reach.

Red glass.

Silver glass.

Gold glass.

Teeth scattered across the platform like seeds.

Santa staggered.

His body flickered.

For a second, Derek saw what stood inside the suit: not a man, but a chimney-shaped darkness packed with faces.

“Stop!” Santa roared.

The elves rushed them.

Ray went down under three of them.

“Ray!” Mallory shouted.

The old janitor jammed his lighter into a fallen wreath and kicked it toward the elves.

Flame crawled across the garland.

The elves recoiled.

Derek smashed another row of ornaments.

The fireplace cracked louder.

The old Santa’s voice boomed from inside.

“OPEN.”

Santa turned toward the fireplace, suddenly afraid.

That gave Derek an idea.

Maybe a bad one.

But all his ideas tonight were bad ones.

He grabbed the end of a string of lights wrapped around the tree.

They were hot.

Too hot.

He wrapped them around his bleeding hand and screamed through his teeth.

The lights flared red.

The bite wound opened.

The black lines surged.

Santa looked back at him.

“No.”

Derek ran toward the fireplace.

Mallory shouted, “Derek!”

He slammed his bitten hand against the cracked fake bricks.

The wound burned white-hot.

The old Santa inside the fireplace laughed triumphantly.

“Yes.”

Derek pressed harder.

“You want a door?” he growled. “Take the whole damn mall.”

The red light surged.

The fireplace opened.

Not outward.

Inward.

The center court bent toward it.

Air rushed past Derek. Fake snow, teeth, presents, broken ornaments, ribbons, elves — all of it began sliding toward the fire.

Santa screamed as the force caught him.

He clawed at the platform.

His gloves tore.

Underneath were not hands.

Just bundles of red string and bone.

Mallory grabbed Harper and her mother.

Ray pulled Voss up by the back of his suit.

The elves tumbled shrieking into the fireplace one after another.

Santa dug his fingers into the carpet.

Derek picked up the fallen candy cane and swung one last time.

He hit Santa across the face.

The beard flew loose.

The thing underneath had no chin.

Only teeth.

So many teeth.

Santa slid backward, howling, into the fireplace.

The old Santa inside screamed too.

Not in victory.

In rage.

The fire turned black.

The suction became violent.

The tree bent.

The platform tore free.

Derek felt himself sliding.

Mallory grabbed him.

Ray grabbed Mallory.

Harper’s mother grabbed Ray.

For a moment, they were all a chain of terrified people being pulled toward Christmas hell by a bitten hand and terrible timing.

Derek saw the old Santa inside the flames.

Huge.

Ancient.

Antlers of bone rising from its head.

A red hat stitched from tongues.

Eyes like dying stars.

It reached for him.

Derek lifted his bleeding hand.

In the center of the bite wound, one final tooth pushed out.

A tiny tooth.

Harper’s tooth.

He pulled it free and threw it into the fireplace.

Harper screamed once.

The tooth hit the black fire.

The old Santa vanished.

The fireplace collapsed inward with a sound like a house being crushed.

The red lights died.

The suction stopped.

Derek hit the floor.

Silence fell over Oceanside Mall.

Real silence.

No music.

No bells.

No laughter.

Just distant rain tapping against the glass dome overhead.

Then the emergency lights clicked on.

White.

Not red.

White.

Harper sobbed into her mother’s arms.

Ray lay flat on his back and whispered, “I quit.”

Mallory started laughing.

Not because anything was funny.

Because sometimes the body chooses the worst possible response and commits to it.

Derek sat up.

His hand had stopped bleeding.

The bite marks were still there, but the black lines were gone.

On the floor where the fireplace had been was a pile of ash, melted ornaments, and one red Santa hat.

No one touched it.

---

The police arrived at 12:17 a.m.

Then firefighters.

Then paramedics.

Then local news vans.

No one believed the full story.

Of course, they didn’t.

People believed in gas leaks. Mass hysteria. Electrical fires. Seasonal stress. They believed in anything that meant the world still made sense.

The official report blamed a carbon monoxide leak, faulty wiring, and panic during an emergency lockdown.

No one explained the teeth found in the Christmas tree.

No one explained why every security camera between 8:47 and 12:03 showed only static and the silhouette of a man in a Santa suit standing perfectly still in the center of the court.

No one explained why Mr. Voss resigned the next morning and moved out of state before New Year’s.

Harper recovered.

Mostly.

She remembered being cold. She remembered a voice telling her to bite Santa. She remembered a room full of presents that breathed.

Her mother never brought her back to Oceanside Mall.

Derek did go to the doctor.

He got a tetanus shot, antibiotics, and a lecture about infection.

He did not mention the tooth.

Mallory quit the photo kiosk before Christmas and started applying for jobs that did not involve children, costumes, or dying commercial real estate.

Ray actually did quit.

He left his mop in the center of the food court with a note taped to the handle:

NOPE.

Oceanside Mall closed for three days.

Then, because capitalism had a stronger stomach than common sense, it reopened the weekend before Christmas.

Santa’s Village was removed.

The big tree stayed.

Someone from corporate decided it would be best to replace the Santa experience with a “Winter Wishes Selfie Station.”

No throne.

No fireplace.

No elves.

Just a backdrop of snowflakes and a bench.

Derek saw the announcement online and almost felt relieved.

Almost.

On Christmas Eve, he sat alone in his apartment, staring at the card from his daughter.

This time, he opened it.

Inside was a photo of her standing beside a small Christmas tree, smiling shyly.

The message read:

Can we talk after the holidays?

Derek read it three times.

Then he cried a little, which he would later blame on stress, exhaustion, and possibly antibiotics.

At 11:58 p.m., his phone buzzed.

A text from Mallory.

Tell me you’re not near the mall.

He frowned and typed back:

I’m home. Why?

Her reply came immediately.

Look at Oceanside’s Facebook page.

Derek opened it.

The mall had posted a cheerful Christmas Eve photo from the Winter Wishes Selfie Station.

A family sat on the bench, smiling.

Behind them was the snowflake backdrop.

No Santa.

No fireplace.

No elves.

But in the reflection of the dark storefront window behind the bench, Derek saw something standing just out of frame.

A tall figure in red.

Watching.

The post caption read:

One more sleep until Christmas! Santa is always closer than you think.

Derek stared at the photo until his wounded hand began to ache.

At midnight, somewhere far away, bells rang.

Not church bells.

Not sleigh bells.

Jingle bells.

Soft.

Patient.

Waiting.

And from the hallway outside Derek’s apartment came a gentle knock.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then a deep, cheerful voice whispered through the door.

“Ho.”