The first time I met Wally, he was propped in a corner of the solarium, drooling onto his straightjacket. A fat man in his late fifties with unkempt grey hair and a bushy beard that was heading toward white, he looked slightly crazy without moving a muscle or saying a word.

They called it a “solarium”, but it was the same as every other part of the institution—concrete block walls, fluorescent lights, and every wall either a pale blue or green that I guessed was meant to be “soothing” to the crazies. The few windows there had the milky cast of decades-old security glass and were threaded through with wire mesh—just in case one of us decided to get a bit more sun.

I was a short-timer in for observation after my second suicide attempt in a year. The first time, it’d been more for attention, but that last time…well, I’m glad the air bag did its job as well as it did. That’s the tricky thing with suicide though. Hindsight is a real bitch.

Back then though…I was afraid and ashamed and angry and I didn’t want to be around anybody. The fact that we had two hours of compulsory “social time” every day really pissed me off, so I decided I’d post up next to the comatose veggie in the corner. I even talked to him some, even if most of it was just random bitching about the place we were trapped in. But still, they couldn’t say I wasn’t socializing, could they?

It wasn’t until the third day that Wally actually responded. I’d been complaining about how loud everything was at night, and that I wasn’t sure they weren’t keeping everyone sleep deprived just to keep them crazy and keep the money coming in, when a deep rumbling voice sounded nearby, causing me to jump.

“They’re not that bad. I’ve never seen anyone get treated too rough, and some of these jokers will spit or throw piss at the orderlies.”

Eyes wide, I turned and stared at Wally. “What?”

He shrugged as much as his jacket allowed. “I’m just saying. They’re people too, and they have to put up with all our bullshit. They could be worse.”

Nodding slowly, I let out a slow breath. “Shit, man. I thought you were a turnip. Have you just been pretending while I ran my mouth the last couple of days?”

He shrugged again. “No, not the whole time. They had me dosed hard the last few. Started easing me off yesterday, and I’ve been more with it today. Still fuzzy though.” He waggled his eyebrows. “They tell me if I’m a good boy, the jacket comes off this afternoon.”

I leaned forward conspiratorially. “Why’re you in that shit to begin with?”

Wally sighed and glanced toward the nurse station before answering in a lower tone of voice. “Last week, a commercial came on for the Northridge Mall. They were advertising for Christmas. Started talking about their Santa…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Mall Santas are kind of a trigger for me. I freaked out, and when the orderlies came, I think I popped one of them by accident. I don’t know. It’s still muddled.” He gave me a sheepish grin. “I do feel better now though.”

I wanted to ask more questions about the whole mall Santa deal, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings or make him mad, so I left it alone. After a few moments of awkward silence, I blurted out:

“Last week, I tried to drive my car off into a concrete culvert. Or like the ditch leading into it, I guess. But I fucked it up, clipped the edge of a guardrail, and wound up smacking into a telephone pole instead.”

Wally’s thick eyebrows knitted together. “You were trying to kill yourself?”

I nodded, feeling a flush of embarrassment. We’d just started talking, but I found myself liking Wally already, and I didn’t want him thinking badly of me. “Yeah…I…I felt like I needed to at the time. Like I was no good for anybody. Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t. Things are still kind of shit, but I don’t really want to die. But…well, this wasn’t the first time I’ve tried something, so I got a 14-day observation period this time.”

He nodded. “Well, I’m glad you made it through. It can be hard when things look dark, but it does get better.”

“Um…what about you? You been in here a long time?”

He gave a soft chuckle. “I guess it depends on what you consider long. This month makes two years.”

I couldn’t hide the surprise on my face. “Shit, man. Are they going to let you out?”

Wally wobbled his head in a see-saw motion. “Eventually, sure. I was actually up for review in a couple of weeks, but I have a feeling my little episode is going to kick that right in the balls.”

“Shit, man. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind being in here most of the time. Things are simpler.” His face fell a little. “Safer.”

We hung out for a few more minutes that day, and the next I was happy to see Wally was back in his spot, but this time without any restraints. Waving to him, I headed over and asked how he was doing.

“Doing much better out of that monkey trap. Bored though. Want to play some chess?”

---

For the next couple of days we played games during most of our time together—chess, checkers, card games like Rook and rummy that usually took more players but that Wally knew how to play with just two. It was strange—now that he was up and around, it was clear that he was well-known and well-liked by most of the patients and staff there, but he never invited them to play with us or suggested it. It was like he sensed I would be uncomfortable if I had to deal with more than just him, and he was okay with that.

So we played by ourselves and shot the shit. He told me about being in the military when he was just a kid. Getting married and divorced, working at an insurance company for twenty years before getting laid off. Taking odd jobs after that—security guard, delivery driver, and around Christmas, a mall Santa.

I looked up at him when he said the last, and he was looking at me too. This was my chance, his expression said. If I wanted to know, he’d tell me what his deal really was. I weighed the choice. I didn’t really care any more why he was in there—he was a cool dude and my friend. But maybe if he was bringing it up, he wanted to talk about it. So taking a deep breath, I jumped in.

“So you were a mall Santa? I thought you hated those guys.”

He grimaced a little. “I used to not. Used to love them. But now? Yeah, now I do.”

And when I asked why, he told me.

---

I grew up in Florida. Didn’t see much real snow until I joined the Army at eighteen, and Christmas that far south is…well, it’s weird. You grow up watching all these shows and movies of what Christmas should look like, and then you walk outside and it’s like seventy degrees. That’s why I always loved going to the mall to see Santa.

I wasn’t a dumb kid. I knew Santa wasn’t real and I sure knew this guy wasn’t Santa, but it was still cool. It was something special and different than the rest of the year, right? And even when I got too old for it, I always got a happy feeling when I passed a Santa in a mall.

I guess it was an easy thing for me to start doing the Santa thing myself the last few years. I’ve got the beard and the belly for it, and if you get at a nice mall, the pay isn’t half bad. And I was at a very nice mall in the north part of the state. The kind of place that didn’t hire drunks or skinny guys in a padded suit. Their customers expected the best, and that included a legit-looking Santa.

People may not realize it, but a lot of places have at least two or three Santas on rotation. Lots of time you’re going from ten in the morning until eight or ten at night, and its hard to stay high-energy for more than five or six hours. Plus people get sick, need time off, that kind of thing. It’s usually only a six-week gig, but the big malls really don’t want to have even an hour or two where Santa isn’t sitting his fat ass up in that chair.

So this place I was working? We had three Santas. Me, a guy named Tony that had been doing it for like ten years, and a really old guy named Marcus that had been there forever. We didn’t really overlap enough to hang out, but they seemed like okay dudes. A little weird and standoffish maybe, but nothing bad. And that first year there, everything was fine.

But the next year, I started to notice odd things. Tony and Marcus were at the mall all the time. Like all the time. If they weren’t working they were still hanging out somewhere in the unseen parts of the mall, usually together. I started to wonder if they had a thing going between them, but then they invited me to come hang out after work one night.

I was tired and didn’t really want to, but it was the first time they’d ever been friendly, so I figured I should make the effort. I almost just said yeah, but something stopped me. I asked what they had planned? Going out and getting a drink or getting some late dinner?

They shared a look and then Marcus said that no, they were going to hang out at the mall. They had a place set up down in the basement where we could go. I laughed at first, thinking they were kidding. But they just stared at me, like they didn’t see the joke.

I politely told them I’d have to hang out some other time.

After that, they went back to being kind of aloof, but they would periodically mention us hanging out again. I’d always blow them off in a nice way, but it was starting to make me uncomfortable. I was only halfway through the season, and instead of enjoying going to work, I was starting to dread it a little, because inevitably I’d see one or both of them lurking around at some point.

It was around that time that I started to see the other Santas.

There were no new people added to our shift rotation, but over the next week I saw at least six different men dressed up like Santa coming through the mall. This may not seem like that strange of a thing—it is Christmas after all. But you usually see one or two people dressed up like that a year, not six in five days. It caught my attention, but more than that, it made me feel a little worried and scared in a way I didn’t quite understand.

So the next time I saw a strange Santa—a pair of them this time, walking in lockstep toward the food court, I told the kid that was my assistant elf I needed a bathroom break and followed them. I expected them to just stop and get something to eat—they were probably bell-ringers that went to lunch together or something. Nothing weird or sinister at all, just me being bored and having an over-active imagination.

Except they didn’t stop at the food court or head outside. Instead they went through a staff entrance into the back halls. There were only two things back there—service halls for the food kiosks and a freight elevator that headed down into the basement. Stopping around a corner, I heard the elevator whir to life, and when I peeked out, I saw the tops of twin fur-lined red hats sinking down into the lower level.

I should have just went back and finished my shift. It was none of my business, after all, and it was still a good job. But that was just it. It was a good job, and I didn’t want it ruined by wondering what was going on. Better to just see enough to put my mind to rest and then I could let it go.

So I headed to the fire stairs and went down.

There are actually three basements in that place. Two of the big department stores have their own, and then there’s a third that covers about half the rest of the mall. It’s mainly used for deliveries and stock storage, so it’s divided up into a bunch of big hallways and large and small rooms filled with boxes and shelves. I’d only been down there a couple of times, and never by the stairs, so it felt kind of like a maze.

I crept along what I thought was the main hallway, looking and listening for any sign of the Santas or anyone else. At first there was nothing, and I started worrying that I had either missed them entirely or was going to turn a corner and smack into them. That was when I heard the squeaking scrape of something heavy being pushed along somewhere ahead of me. Stepping into a shadow, I watched as another strange Santa wheeled a large chest across the main hallway and back out of sight.

I quietly followed behind.

He went down a couple of paths to a room that was fairly large but seemed small in the murky light of the torches lit there. I could only see part of the room from my spot down the hall, but it was enough to see a dozen Santas clustering around the chest that was being opened. Tony and Marcus were at the front of the semi-circle, their pallid faces split into grins at the soft crying I heard once the chest was opened.

Oh God.

Tony pulled something from inside his jacket—it looked like a crooked dagger of some kind, but it was strange—its handle curved like a shepherd staff and it looked…fuck, it looked like a fucked-up, dangerous candy cane. He handed it to Marcus, who bent down and started cutting and stabbing at whoever was inside the chest. The cries got louder and then softer again, and then he was standing back up. The dagger was bloody and he had a handful of wet strips of meat in the other.

I…I watched as they all cut their palms with that bloody knife. They all ate a piece of that meat too. It was like I was watching a communion or something, except every part of it felt terrible and wrong. I was terrified, and I wanted to run away. Maybe to get help, or maybe just to escape, but I didn’t know what else I could do. Then the person in the chest cried out again.

And the Santas started to laugh.

Something came over me then. A kind of blind, righteous anger maybe. I wasn’t going to leave them to torture or kill whoever was in that box. I’d try to get them out, and if the Santas got me down? Well, they’d fucking pay for every inch.

I rushed in quiet and fast, shoving two of them down and punching a third hard enough to send them sprawling. The others were still reacting when I yanked up one of the standing tiki torches they were using and waved it warningly in the crowd’s direction.

“Back off, you sick fucks. I have no problem jamming this down your fucking throat.” They recoiled as one, and while their eyes were angry, none of them made a move toward me. Steeling myself for what I was about to see, I looked down into the chest.

It…I thought at first it was a child. But no, it was the size and general appearance of a small, hairless adult, but looking at its face…this thing wasn’t human. The eyes were too big, the features too sharp. And its torso, which had been opened bloody and wide…the thing had two sets of ribs. The larger, inner set looked like bone, but hooked through with several small and wetly shining bells. On top of that was a delicate lattice of silver and gold. How was any of this…

“It is an elf. Or that is what they are called now.” I looked up at Marcus’ voice, staring at him in disbelief as he continued. “They are nothing but slaves. Dogs that think themselves kings. But they have opposed and defiled the thing we serve. Stolen places of its power. And we will reclaim them in the Rot’s name.”

“You’re…you’re all insane.” I looked back down at the poor creature in the box. They had killed this person or whatever it was, and nothing he was saying made any…

The thing opened its eyes and met my gaze. Suddenly, a single word blossomed in my mind.

Run.

It wasn’t even a real choice. I was turning and bolting away before I realized it, terrified that I would take a wrong turn and they would run me down from behind. But no, I made it all the way back out to the food court, tiki torch still in hand, dirty and covered in sweat and no doubt looking like a lunatic. The off-duty cop that was paid to patrol the court was already heading toward me even before Tony and Marcus stepped out and said I’d gone crazy and attacked them.

I was arrested and stupidly told everybody the truth. Then I wound up here and at first I still stuck to being honest about what had happened. I’d like to say it’s because I’m such a stand-up guy, but I think I knew they’d keep me in here if I didn’t change my tune. And I didn’t really want to be out there. Still not sure I do.

But…anyway…that’s why I’m here.

---

I sat silent for a few moments after Wally finished. I didn’t believe any of it, of course, but it still affected me deeply. He seemed like such a nice guy, such a smart and sane guy, and to be so delusional that he thought that shit was real…It was so sad.

Still, what did it matter? He was trying his best, right? We all were. And he was still my friend.

Giving him a smile, I nodded. “Damn, man. You’ve seen some shit. Glad you got through it okay. Want to switch to Uno?”

---

We never talked about the Santas again, and the next week I was out. I promised I’d come visit him every week, and I did. I think it helped him…or at least made him miss more of the outside world. Maybe that’s why he started being careful to give the answers they wanted and never misbehave. And when he came up for review this past November, they decided he was ready for release.

I told him I’d come and pick him up when they let him out. December 20th at 6pm. I’d already worked on getting him an apartment, had a couple of interviews lined up for him, and my girlfriend was prepared that this strange friend of mine was probably going to spend the holidays with us.

The snow started early that afternoon, and by the time I was on the interstate, the first of the accidents had slowed traffic down to a crawl. I called ahead and told them I was Wally’s ride and was going to be a few minutes late, but I still felt bad. I didn’t want him to think I abandoned him, and when traffic finally started moving, I went fast to make up the difference.

It was 6:04 when I made the last turn. It was already getting dark, but the lights in front of the institution lit up everything—the fluttering snow, the white van pulled up to the curb, and Wally, backing up as men dressed as Santa poured out of the vehicle and began pulling Wally toward the open side of the van.

Screaming his name, I ran up behind the van and slammed on the brakes. Jumping out, I heard the side door slam shut, so instead I went to the back doors and tried to pull them open. Finding them locked, I started beating on the glass. What were they doing in there? Were they undressing him? It was hard to see everything in the light from outside, but I thought they were taking his clothes off and…

Oh God. They were dressing him up like Santa.

I beat on the windows again, and this time they seemed to finally notice. Several turned around, and one of the oldest Santas started opening the side door again. Looking terrified, Wally shoved a couple of men off and got to his knees. At first I thought he was going to make a break for the door, but instead he shoved his way to the back glass, his forehead pressed against it as the other men fell upon him again.

There was just a brief moment when our eyes met through the frost-rimed glass. But it was long enough for me to see how scared he was, not just for himself, but for me. And long enough for him to mouth a single word to me.

Run.

Then he was gone from the window and the van was pulling away. I thought about following and confronting them or calling the police. Telling everyone what had happened. Then I looked down the snow-covered road in the direction they had went.

I knew where the path of honesty led, didn’t I?

Shaking, I walked back to my car and got in, locking the doors. The thought that they could come back for me hit then, and before I knew it I was driving away, taking a convoluted and circuitous path away from that place and from helping my friend.

Heart pounding, I was scared and sad, but also grateful. Thankful they hadn’t taken me and that I was still free and alive. The thought warmed me even as it made me feel ashamed and lonely. And as I threaded my way home, I tried not to think about the world pressed against the other side of my windows’ glass.

A world that was cold. And strange. And terribly, terribly dark.