Disclaimer: I own nothing. All Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters, all Clement Clark Moore characters, and all Robert L. May characters are the property of their original owners.
Giggling as he lurched through the ankle-deep brown slush of last night’s snowstorm which had blown through a tired East Coast city just a week or so before the coming new year of 1968, Spike the vampire was actually finding it hilarious how his feet slipped and slid on the cracked, icy asphalt of the alleyway. His unexpected good mood was the result of feeding upon his latest meal a few minutes ago, right at the midnight hour. It wasn’t until the blond demon had actually ambushed the now-dead bloke back there and started drinking this unfortunate victim’s blood that Spike learned the other man must’ve been celebrating the entire Christmas eve in the nearest bar. Starting with downing what had to have been at least a dozen rum eggnogs.
Feeling no pain as the second-hand booze sloshed around in his stomach, Spike amiably staggered onwards--
Peeling himself off the bricks of the alley side wall he’d hastily plastered himself against to keep from falling flat on his face at being startled by that out of the blue voice coming from behind, Spike warily turned around on his wobbly legs. The vampire now gawked in total shock at the colorful being standing in the middle of the alley a few yards further up.
Shaking a reproving finger at the drunk demon, Santa Claus once more said in his booming voice, “Spike, you’ve been a very bad boy this year! Just like last year, and the year before that, and every other year too, come to think of it--”
His head was already beginning to throb in response to the approaching ungodly hangover, and the loud nattering of the insane sod in the red and white costume wasn’t helping at all. This resulted in Spike forgetting himself enough to snarl a slurred response, “What’s it to you,
“Dear me!” disapprovingly said Santa. Snapping his fingers, an immense stack of paper materialized out of thin air next to the man with a beard as white as snow. Standing on tiptoes in his black boots, Santa reached up to take the topmost paper (at about the eight-foot level), and pulling out a pen from somewhere in his scarlet clothing, he started to write down several comments concerning Spike’s latest bad behavior, all while absently stating, “That’s another black mark on your naughty list, young man!”
The vampire didn’t react right off to this, being more preoccupied with opening and closing one eye to get rid of his sudden double vision which had created in the alley two Santas with their dual round little bellies. As a matter of fact, he was feeling a little peckish at the moment, what with the abrupt thought of jelly oddly appearing in his mind, so he might as well shut up the pillock and satisfy his appetite at the same time by eating that idiot there!
Beginning to saunter forward, Spike plastered a truly fake expression of innocence upon his handsome features and chuckled, “Oh, so what’re you going to do about it, mate? Put a lump of coal in me stocking?”
Casually waving a hand which caused the paper stack to disappear right away, Santa then put both gloved fists on his pudgy hips, and the spirit of the season had a rare sardonic look flash over his dimpled countenance when he eyed the advancing vampire clearly up to no good. Evidently coming to some sort of decision, Santa snorted, “Oh, you’re getting a gift from me tonight, but it won’t be coal, and
it won‘t be in your stocking! Judging from the way you’ve acted ever since becoming a vampire, your present about to be given to you in the next thirty seconds is exactly what you deserve!”
Spike didn’t have the slightest idea what the other bloke was talking about, but it seemed to make this gobshite annoyed enough so that his face had turned as red as his clothes. Which just showed him to be chock-full of lovely blood, so it was time to stop messing around and become the big, bad, villain Spike had happily showed off to the entire world for decades. Abruptly changing his human visage into the aspect of a demon, Spike was about to lunge towards his latest snack.
However, in the middle of this, Santa didn’t appear to be very much concerned. Instead, he lifted his face to the skies between the buildings arising around the pair in the alley, and the North Pole resident again used his resonant voice, calling out, “Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donder and Blitzen! You, too, Rudolph, and make it a good one!”
Stopping short in his sudden bewilderment at such odd behavior from someone who ordinarily should’ve been screaming for help or begging for mercy, Spike then heard the faint sounds of rushing air coming from on high directly above him, as if an unknown object was plunging to the ground. Tilting back his head, the vampire stared upwards, until--
A few minutes later, Santa was joyfully guiding his flying sleigh through the night skies, with every reindeer pulling this magical means of transportation also appearing just as pleased as their master. The constipated expressions which had previously been upon every animal’s muzzle had changed into very relieved looks, and Rudolph’s red nose was blazing like a torch. Announcing in his loudest tone which sent icicles shivering throughout the entire neighborhood, Santa benignly rumbled, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”
Back in the alley, Spike wasn’t so happy, what with this enraged vampire staggering around screaming in fury while attempting to scrape off what now completely covered every inch of his body. He was at the moment totally sober, and not the least bit glad of this, despite discovering the what might have been the quickest cure ever for drunkenness. Not that it’d be easy to find other volunteers to investigate this potential for instant sobriety, since it was unlikely anyone besides an extremely unlucky vampire would actually want to be drenched by fifty pounds of reindeer shit.