Scholarship "story" about the "adventures of Santa Claus"

Day by day, he grew weaker.

Just like any other monster, Claus fed on belief, fear, and stories. But today, the youth of the world doubted his existence a younger and younger age. The media made fun of him. Parents no longer respected his work. There were thousands of him all across the world, sitting drunkenly in malls with eager children on their laps.

It made him sick.

Claus started out as just another monster – just another bedtime story told to keep the kids quiet at night. After all, the demon saw them when they were sleeping – he knew when they were awake. He was judge, jury, and executioner, so be good for your life’s sake.

As belief in him grew, so did he, flesh swelling to enormous proportions. He was fat, but far from jolly. Now, his popularity dwindling, he became thin and sickly, eyes sunken and flesh sagging. He needed to be believed in, and would do anything necessary to make that happen.

With a clap of Claus’s bony hands, several of his tiny green minions scurried towards him, presenting his red robes. He shrugged them over his stocky frame and made his way towards the stables, hunger glowing behind those beady eyes.

Santa Claus was coming to town.

Ho. Ho. Ho.