Santa Claus tells of, “BLACK PETER” and Tells 2 Scary Stories for Kids! #SpookySanta
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Ho ho ho! Well hello again children, it's Santa with another edition of Spooky Santa, where I tell you spooky tales around the holidays. Today I have three more very creepy stories. Twelve-year-old Vivi, she sent me a creepy true story that actually happened to her. It's called "She's Going to Be Mad".

Author Boyd Reynolds brings us a holiday horror called "Binder's Keepers." But first, I'm going to tell you about a demonic little dwarf in Belgium called Black Peter. And remember, if you want to write a scary story for me, you can email it to me at [email protected]. I love scary stories from children.

Now, bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights, pour a mug of hot cocoa. It's magic, you know. And come with spooky Santa for another holiday chiller.

Many people have never heard of Black Peter or Zwarte Piet. He is a demonic dwarf from Belgium and the Netherlands, and he appears every Christmas as an evil helper for me. Now, for the Dutch and the Belgians, they know me as Saint Nicholas, and according to legend, I triumphed over this devilish dwarf in a fight and made him my slave.

That's not true. I would never enslave anyone. But that is the story. Black Peter, he lives in a coal mine in Spain. And his skin is black because of the soot and the coal dust from the mine. His hair is singed by the fire from all the chimneys that he has to climb down.

He spends the year spying on the children of Belgium and Holland, taking note of who's been good and who has been wicked. He helps me keep track of the good in the naughty kids. On Christmas Eve, he sets out from his coal mine, squeezing himself through the narrow tunnels and riding off on his coal cart, which is pulled by plague-ridden undead rams.

Every Christmas, Black Peter accompanies me all through Belgium and Holland. We go from house to house. I, of course, give presents to the good little children, and while I do that, Black Peter takes delight in punishing the kids on my naughty list. Children who misbehave, they do not receive any presents from me. Instead, Black Peter will leave a bundle of twigs or a lump of coal in their Christmas stocking as a warning.

I don't leave the coal. That's Black Peter's job.

If the children have been really bad or they've not heeded Black Pete's warning, he will snatch them from their beds and throw them into his sack, which is full of hungry rats. He kidnaps the boys and girls and takes them back to his coal mine, where he chains them up and makes them his slaves. The poor children are forced to dig coal forever, while Black Peter amuses himself by poking them with sharp pins.

If they ever grow too sick or tired of working though, Black Peter will eat them. So, as the song goes, be good for goodness sake. Email, we get email, we get your email every day.

Here's your mail today. I love getting emails from all of my good boys and girls. And I especially love those who send me scary stories that they've written or of things that have truly happened to them.

If you would like to send me your scary story, you can email it to me at letters at SpookySanta.com. That's letters at SpookySanta.com. Or tell your story to your mom and dad and they can email it for you. Then, when I receive it, I'll be able to share it with all of my good boys and girls in a future episode.

Today, I received a very creepy story from Vivi. She's 12 years old and lives in Boulder, Colorado, and she wrote a story that she says is true that it really happened to her. She calls it, "She's Going to Be Mad." Here is Vivi's story.

"I was babysitting my three-year-old sister once. We were playing out in the yard, and I asked her why she wouldn't ride her tricycle. She told me she's going to be mad. Well, I didn't think anything of it. I picked my sister up and tried to sit her on her trach."

I never heard my sister scream so loud, kicking me and crying while saying, 'She's going to hurt me! She's going to hurt me!' She said it over and over. Well, I freaked out and just walked inside the house with her. All day I kept asking her if everything was okay, and she said, 'Yes, she's not mad anymore.'

Ooh, I wonder who your three-year-old sister was seeing? A ghost, perhaps? Ooh, that is a scary story, Vivi! Thank you so much for sending it to me! Now for my final story. It's from Boyd Reynolds and it's called "Finders Keepers." You see, in Germanic folklore, Christmas is not only a time to rejoice, it's also a time to fear. For wherever children sleep,

Krampus is near. Here's the story. Which present do you want to open? Ricky stared at his mountain of gifts. Wrapped boxes of every size mushroomed out from beneath the red glowing Christmas tree. Remember, his mother said, you can only open one on Christmas Eve. Her smile grew wide as she teased him, wagging a finger in the air. A crease ran across Ricky's brow.

"Just one," he said, irritated. "I want them all. Now!" "You know the rules," his father's voice was stern. "Don't be greedy. You'll have your fill tomorrow morning. Now, pick one before we change our minds." Ricky frowned, making sure that both his parents saw him. Then he made his way toward the enormous Christmas tree.

It towered over him, glowing like a fiery inferno. Like a detective examining a crime scene, Ricky investigated each box. As per usual, he reached for the biggest gift he could find. Yet before touching it, something else caught his attention. Out of the corner of his eye, an oddly shaped present made him stop.

Quietly, he withdrew his hand and looked at the strange prize sitting atop the mantle above the fireplace. It was bright red and poorly wrapped. He didn't know why, but his hand was drawn to it. "Good choice," his father said. Sitting in front of the roaring fire, Ricky gazed at his gift. The shape was awkward, much like a warped banana.

He opened it carefully. Emerging from the wrapping was the weirdest doll he had ever seen. It was made of dark wood and had a huge head with tiny legs and arms. It wore a half-moon jester's hat on its head, big black eyes, and a rather alarming smile. "What is it?" Ricky said. "It's creepy!"

"I found it when I went to Germany last month for work," his father said, settling deeper into the couch. "Some of the locals didn't want me to take it. Legend says it belongs to Krampus." "Krampus?" Ricky asked. "Think of it as a bad Santa," his father said. "On Christmas Eve, he punishes greedy children."

Ricky grumbled, shrugging his shoulders. "It's mine now! Finders keepers!" "Just like all the rest of them!" His eyes glistened as he looked at all the toys he was to receive the next morning. "Someday," his father continued, "that selfishness will come back to haunt you." Ricky continued to stare at his future gifts. "Whatever."

His father glared at him. "Time for bed. I'll put out this fire so Santa can get down the chimney and add to this year's haul for your highness." The thought of even more presents sent a wild smile across Ricky's face. He picked up his doll and walked right past his father. He gave his mom a kiss on her cheek and went upstairs.

Quickly, he tucked himself behind the hallway wall. Edging his eyes around the wall, he peered down at his parents through the handrail posts running up the stairs. "We've made an eleven-year-old monster, you know," his father remarked. "He's a good boy," his mother said in defense of her son. She sat up from her comfortable spot on the other side of the couch. Crossing her arms tightly, she turned away from her husband.

"Yeah," he scoffed, "good at getting whatever he wants. He's spoiled, but one day he'll learn. Hopefully sooner than later." Irritated with what he had just heard, Ricky disappeared down the dimly lit hallway. He entered his bedroom and turned on the overhead light.

Looking out at the hundreds of other playthings littering the floor, table, and two beanbag chairs, he wondered where to put his new present. It was unique, but it was still just one toy among many. "I guess it doesn't matter where this little thing goes," Ricky thought to himself. He tossed it into a pile of toys on his bedside table. The doll's eyes looked up at him,

Leaning down, he turned on the nightlight. From the table of toys, it appeared something had moved. He wheeled his head around, but there was nothing. Only his new trinket stared back. "Pre-Christmas jitters," he muttered. He stood up and made his way over to the door. As usual, he closed it only partially, leaving the door open a tiny crack. Then he flicked off the light and made his way into bed.

That Christmas Eve, Ricky tossed and turned. He couldn't get his mind off of the presents awaiting him the next morning. After a few restless hours, he opened his eyes and stared out the window. A full moon floated in the night sky. Bored, he turned his attention to his new doll. It was still looking at him. Closing his eyes, he thought of how no one at school had such a toy.

Smugly, he pulled his head up to look once more at his gift. Only this time, it was gone. Sitting up straight, his eyes nervously looked around the room, scanning every corner. Finally, they rested on the doll, sitting upright on the carpet next to his bed. Fear constricted around Ricky like a serpent. The tiny knick-knack sat as if it had been placed on the ground. If it had fallen off the table, wouldn't it be lying face down or on its back?

Ricky's nerves went into overdrive. He buried his face in his pillow, but his mind wouldn't let it go. Where was the doll now? His eyes peered back out from the confines of the pillow. It was nowhere to be seen. He glanced at the door. A sliver of light came in from the hallway, and suddenly, a tiny shadow appeared in the gap. It was the doll.

Ricky shut his eyes with all his might. When he looked again, the door was open even farther, and the tiny toy was gone. As quiet as I Kris Kringle on Christmas Eve, Ricky pulled his body from his bed, opened the door, and peered down the hallway. There it was, the doll standing near the far end. Without looking back, the doll descended the stairs. Taking careful steps, Ricky walked the length of the hall,

He made his way down the first few stairs and then sat. The Christmas tree illuminated the entire room. He keenly watched from behind the white handrail posts as the toy faced the fireplace and sat down. The once burning logs had now turned to ash. All of a sudden, he heard something. It was coming from the roof and sounded like someone walking. Tiny kernels of dirt dropped into the fireplace.

Ricky's heart erupted in delight. "Santa?" Something rustled its way down the chimney. First there was something black that poked out the bottom, like a boot. Then came a red leg. Finally a figure stepped out of the fireplace, but it certainly was not me. No! Before young Ricky appeared a creature as tall as the Christmas tree itself. It balanced on two hooves, dark red skin climbing up its knees.

On its thighs ran long, dark hair which continued right up to its neck. Its arms were much like its legs, fiery red from its long black fingernails to its elbows, with hair covering its upper arms. Most terrible of all was its face, leathery, red and sunken like a skull. Large spiral horns rested on the sides of its forehead, curling angrily around, much like that of a ram.

"Hello, my old friend," the creature said in a deep and menacing voice, bending down in front of the doll, Ricky's doll. "Hello, Krampus," the doll said. "I have a gift for you." "I know." Krampus licked gigantic fangs with a forked tongue. It reached out and scooped up the plaything, much like a mother would a child. Lifting a brown sack off its shoulder, the monster dropped it in the middle of the room

Carefully, it opened the bag and dangled the doll above. Coming out of the sack was a bombardment of children's voices, all screaming and crying. Ricky covered his ears. Krampus dropped the toy inside and resealed the bag. The moment it did, the bawling stopped, but Ricky's present was gone.

A selfish fire brewed in Ricky's belly, overtaking his fear. "That's mine!" he shouted. He couldn't believe he'd said it. Krampus' long, pointy ears turned toward him. Its demon eyes followed. "It's yours, you say?" "Finders keepers!" Ricky's words quivered out of his mouth. In one long stride, the creature moved in front of him. Ricky stared at the Christmas Devil, paralyzed with fear.

"Look at how many presents you have, boy," Krampus said. "You cannot spare just one for me? And it is mine anyway. How greedy are you?"

A blanket of shame lay over Riki. "My doll brought me to you," Krampus said. "Now you will come with me to my castle on the mountain. I have more toys than you have ever seen and they will all be yours. You won't have to share them with anyone. Wouldn't you like that?" Riki's eyes bulged. "All I need is a signature." Krampus smiled.

Reaching behind his back, the diabolical brute unrolled a long scroll. What was on it, Ricky had no idea, for Krampus quickly pointed to the bottom. There sat a dotted line awaiting his signature. The fiend pulled out a long white pen that looked like it had been crafted from bone. Carefully, it pricked the pen's sharpest end on the back of Ricky's hand. "Ouch!" Ricky said.

A drop of blood formed. Only a scratch. The villain licked its lips and handed Ricky the pen. All Ricky could think about was a single image, a gigantic pile of toys, and Ricky standing high atop. He gave in to his selfishness and began to write, looking on in horror as the red blood from his hand wrote his name on the dotted line.

Just before finishing, a desperate feeling came over him. Something terrible was about to happen. He tried to pull the pen away, but he couldn't. It continued to write, as if having a life of its own, and completed his signature. "There," Krampus said. "This contract is official. Bound in blood. You are mine. Finders keepers."

Krampus grabbed Ricky by the scruff of the neck and tightened, pulling him over the handrail. Ricky gripped the rail with all his might, but Krampus was too strong. "Don't fight it," Krampus said. "You've already given yourself to me." The creature held the boy high above his head. Ricky kicked as hard as he could, but it was no use. Laughing, Krampus opened the bag and lowered Ricky down.

Inside the sack, children's hungry faces glowed up at him. Their chalk-white hands extended and grasped his feet. "Finders keepers!" the children chanted. "Finders keepers!" They pulled him into the darkness of the bag. The chant surrounded him, being sung over and over again, little hands pulling and prodding him. He curled into a ball and started to weep.

The chanting grew louder and louder as the children smothered Ricky. "Stop! Stop! Please!" he pleaded. "I won't be Mr. Greedy anymore!" He watched the top of the bag close. "I promise! I promise not to be greedy!" The chanting ceased. Ricky opened his eyes. The darkness was gone. He was in bed. Looking out his window, he saw the sun was up. Outside, snow fell lightly to the ground.

"It was only a nightmare," he said, as tears poured down his cheeks. He sprang out of bed and ran downstairs. His parents were waiting for him. "Well, this sets a precedent," his dad said. "Mr. Greedy sleeping in on your big day. Will wonders never cease? Time to open your gifts!" Instead of diving into his presents, though, Ricky walked past the Christmas tree and sat right between his parents on the couch.

He turned to his father. "I want you to go first." Stunned, his dad stood. "Last night you wanted them all! This morning you want to wait? What have you done with my son?" Laughing, he walked around the tree, looking for a gift to open. Bending low behind the fireplace, he picked up something small. "Will you look at this!" his father said. "I thought you took your new gift to bed last night!" Ricky's eyes grew wide when he saw it.

A queasy feeling consumed his stomach. In his father's hand sat Krampus's doll. A devilish smile crept across his father's face as he said, "Finders keepers." Ho ho ho ho ho! Oh, that Krampus definitely is a scary one, isn't he? And I wouldn't even want to mess with his doll.

Did you like the stories I told kids? If so, do Santa a giant favor and tell your friends and family members about the Spooky Santa Podcast. That way, they can listen to my stories too and you can all talk about them. And remember, you can write your own scary story for me and email it to me at letters at spookysanta.com. You

You can make up a brand new horror story, or you can tell me about something scary that really happened to you. Send it to me at letters at SpookySanta.com. Spooky Santa is a registered trademark of Marlar House Productions. Copyright Marlar House Productions. Now, be a good little boy or girl and join me next time for more creepy tales from Spooky Santa. Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho.

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Ranger, for the ones who get it done. Hey, weirdos. Our next Weirdo Watch Party is Saturday, January 18th. And sci-fi film host and all-around nice guy, Jukesua, is back with another terrible B-movie. This one from the infamously inept Roger Corman. From 1958, it's War of the Satellites. And yet you propose to follow this tenth failure with another attempt?

Using more of your volunteers? An unknown force declares war against planet Earth when the United Nations disobeys warnings to cease and desist in its attempts at assembling the first satellite in the atmosphere. We are obviously in the grip of a force stronger than we can oppose. It's a movie eight weeks in the making, and it shows on every frame of film. See the last few seconds with a wire holding up a planet.

See the satellites spinning in different directions every time you see them. There it is, the barrier. All those men in that satellite will die. See shadows somehow being cast onto the backdrop that is supposed to be outer space. Sigma barrier dead ahead. Crash emergency. All hands secure for blast. You'll even see actors wearing the same clothes day after day after day because...

Who knows?

and even join in the chat during the film for more fun. We're always cracking jokes during the movie, usually at the actor's or director's expense, but hey, it's all worthy of criticism. It's Jukesua presenting Roger Corman's War of the Satellites from 1958.

You can see a trailer for the film now and watch horror hosts and B-movies for free anytime on the Monster Channel page at WeirdDarkness.com. That's WeirdDarkness.com slash TV. And we'll see you Saturday, January 18th for our Weirdo Watch Party.