Flames burned upwards from his fingers, engulfing the latest chicken scratch of a letter until still lit embers were all the remained, drifting slowly to the ground.
Did human kind no longer teach their young ones to spell? He had far preferred the middle ages, when the masses were uneducated and could not write at all. The plagues, the famines, the hell on earth that had reigned. When religion was drummed into those who were educated, and no one ever sent their Christmas lists to Satan!
There were sacks of them still, letters he would have to go through one by one on the off chance that someone wanted to make a deal, maybe sell their soul. He couldn’t even give the tasks to the demons who worked beneagh him, busy as they were with all the corrupted souls the modern era had spawned. So many damned, so little time.
Enough was enough. This Santa needed to get his act together, and if he couldn’t… well, there was a place in the Hellfire that would gladly await him.
His pitchfork tore a rift in reality, snowflakes steadily drifting through and melting in the heat of his palace. The droplets of water that hit the ground sizzled as they boiled, and as the devil himself set foot on the North pole his cloven hooves melted the ice around him deeply enough to make walking difficult.
The building before him disgusted him immensely. Gingerbread walls and a sugarwork roof, all on a gigantic scale, were decorated with toys and candies. Lights of every colour shone from every window, and laughter arose from within.
Growling low in his throat, he stalked up the stairs, pitchfork at the ready, arching his leathery wings at his back and baring his fangs. He would not deal with these ridiculous letters a moment longer.
His clawed hand struck the door, the knock echoing in the sudden silence as the laughter stopped within.
“Hello, friend,” a horribly friendly voice greeted not from within, but to the side of the building. “Ho ho who do we have here?”
Satan spun, flame spitting fromt he end of the pitchfork and catching on a holly bush nearby. A man, pot bellied and dressed in a leather apron and gloves over a fluffy red suit, quickly lifted snow with a sparkling magic and doused the flames.
“You,” he growled, advancing down the stairs, the pitchfork levelled at Santa’s beard. “Your letters keep turning up at my door, and I am about done with it…”
“Oh, i had wondered where they had gone to!” The jolly man boomed, beaming from ear to ear. “Have you brought them with you? So many good children who will not get their favourite presents if their letters do no not come.”
“I,” Satan sniffed haughtily, “am no delivery boy.”
“Of course, of course, I shall ready the reindeer! We shall leave in half an hour, and I will take those letters off your hands good Sir. Perhaps you would like some egg nog while you wait?”
Satan slowly lowered his pitchfork, scowling at the unintimidated present giver, not sure what to make of him. Still, if he had to deal with this ridiculous old man… “Perhaps something stronger?”
“Oh,” Santa frowned at him, for the first time looking less than friendly. “One for the naughty list?”
“Well, no matter, no matter, I am sure we can arrange…”
Santa rushed away up the stairs and inside, calling together a number of elves to bring drinks and ready the reindeer. They gave Satan a wide berth, wider still when he stuck out his forked tongue at one of them who strayed a little too close.
It did not take the full half hour to ready the reindeer. Satan was glad of it. He could not tolerate a moment longer in this place… except, something had caught his eye. Amongst all of the elves making toys and other presents were a few sooty, filthy ones creating… coal.
“What children ask you for coal?” He wondered once the old man returned, gesturing to the production line.
“Oh,” that unhappy scowl was back again. “Children do not ask for coal. It is given to children who are on the naughy list.”
“You punish children who are naughty?”
“Their parents often get them gifts instead,” Santa sounded resigned. “The coal does not help them change their behaviour as it once did.”
“So… you need a better way to punish them for being naughty?” He could admit to being intrigued by this. Punishment was his speciality. Perhaps children did not need the fires of Hell just yet, but some smaller things to try to change their bad behaviour… a world of possibilities came to his mind.
“We give coal,” Santa shrugged. “It is what you have always done.”
“Perhaps,” Satan grinned quietly to himself, “if you take all of those letters off my hands, I could help you with your… naughty list?”
“No children can get hurt.”
Satan gasped falsely, hand over where his heart would be if one still beat in his breast. “What do you take me for? I would never hurt them!”
There were other tortures that would be more fun.
Santa still looked cautious, but as he looked back at the elves making coal, actual tears drying on their cheeks, he nodded.
Satan could picture it now, the chaos he could cause, the fun he could have with this. All in the name of helping teaching naughty children to be good. Reaching out, he clapped Santa on the back with a clawed hand. “Come, good Sir, let’s get you those letters.”
