Grinch Santa Claus Novels & Stories

JUPITER POV Keeping tabs on Grisha was as fun as it got. I still couldn’t believe that the little naïve girl with big-ass framed reading glasses was the golden phoenix who was going to bring us salvation and save the world from the hands of Anuka. It was still a very foreign concept even though I wanted to make deal with it. From the scrolls, Grisha would be strong, domineering, unstoppable. And the little girl who was not only 18 but also man-blood was really far from what was written in the scrolls! Well, except for her insanely dominating aura even though she was just meek, and pretty much killable!

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Jaxon said low and careful from his place at the door to the living room, his hand resting on the frame. His eyes were on me, like he was trying to gauge whether I meant it when I said everything was fine. I stood at the window, staring out as snow fell in languid flakes, casting a pale luminance over everything in sight. Christmas was looming, yet somehow, it didn't feel quite as festively joyful as it had other years.

Mrs Willow never mixed business with family but when her stepson insisted she couldn't deny. Christmas was near...and as the city had snow everywhere it was a great time to cherish the Christmas spirit. People roamed around with their children and buying gifts for their loved ones. The decorated reindeers...fake and real were standstill in the streets. The fake Santa was waving the little kids...giving candies to them. At night, the decorated streets with Christmas lights enhanced the view. It was so perfect for Pidge...she was excited.

I tilted my head to the side, not understanding what he was driving at. He grabbed my hands and walked me to a mantled bed, leveling up on it, before he continued with his sermon, "Every year Santa gives out gifts and helps people to fulfill their wishes, but none ever care if Santa too needs a gift or has a wish that needs to be fulfilled, so why don't you grant this Santa his wish then?" I snaked my head backwards, my face squeezed in total confusion. I was the one who needed help, not him, right? "I don't understand; do you want me to fulfill a wish for you?" He gave a sharp and quick nod, the mysterious grin never leaving his lips.

He smirked: "I'm not so easy to die, you go first." Elias charged at two hairy beasts with red eyes just like them. His claws are also longer and sharper than usual. His claws cut deep into their flesh, blood trickling down to the ground. But just a few seconds later, those cuts completely disappeared, as if Elias had never cut sharp cuts into them. The two beasts let out a few ghastly screams, their whole bodies emitting a strong fishy odor, and jumped towards him. Elias raised his arm covered in steel to support it.

“You wish. Here does not feel like Christmas, so let us go shop for Christmas trees, flowers, and lots of roses.” “Put those clothes down. Let us go.” I was about to drag her out, but she stopped me. “We do not celebrate Christmas around here, Lisa.” Huh? What was she saying? I noticed that she was twisting her fingers. She only does that when nervous. Are they pagan? That explains it. “Here is the Silvercrest Dominion pack, the strongest of all packs. My father is the Alpha… we are werewolves, Lisa. It is high time I come out of my closet.”

But tonight, exhaustion mixed with a restless heat low in her belly, making her shift uncomfortably. "Dory, still at it? The reindeer need their rest, and so do you." Santa's voice boomed from the doorway, warm and gravelly, like a hearth fire. At 50-something in appearance but timeless in spirit, Nicholas Claus filled the frame, broad-shouldered, belly rounded from centuries of cookies, his white beard trimmed neat, eyes twinkling with that knowing glint. He wasn't the jolly myth; he was real, weary from the endless rush, shoulders carrying the weight of a world's wishes.

Help. Hey everyone, I need help. Two days ago, my five-year-old sister said she saw Santa Claus in our house, but her description doesn't match the traditional image at all. She said this "Santa" had long, spider-like fingers, too many joints, crawled like a four-legged animal, and after climbing out of our chimney, it just stood silently in the corner of our living room, watching us for an hour. Most importantly, when I asked if this "Santa" had a gift sack, she said no. Just a lumpy, wrinkled, moving sack on its back.

the driver announced. Her stomach twisted as the town's main street came into view—unchanged, frozen in time. Patterson's Drug Store with its faded awning. Miller's Diner advertising pecan pie in peeling letters. And there, at the end of the street, the white steeple of her father's church rising against the grey December sky. The bus hissed to a stop. Ayana gathered her leather jacket—the one her mother would definitely have opinions about—and stepped into the cold. Snow caught in her newly cut hair, the shoulder-length waves a small rebellion her family hadn't seen yet.

It scratched the itch that she didn't know existed all these years. This man who looked like a college professor, a nerd, was actually a bedroom monster. Her personal bedroom Grinch, and she loved it.