Eek! It's A Holiday Script Criteek!

Hey all, Abigail here.  It's my first "Eek! Criteek" and while one of my resolutions is to start writing fiction again in the New Year, for now all I've got is some silly sketch comedy scripts from the past couple of years.  Here's a holiday-themed sketch I wrote to perform live two years ago and recently dusted off again a couple months ago hoping to film it.  Unfortunately I got the critique that it was a little too expected and overdone the way I'd originally written it featuring another big red guy (I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out) and so I changed it to something more obscure and made it a little bit more twisted, but it still wasn't right, and I was told to start from scratch.  But then five million other things happened and here it is. Anyone have any suggestions on how to make this less cliche?

Open on DAD and pregnant MOM in the kitchen.  MOM is at the stove.  DAD is reading the newspaper and smoking his pipe at the kitchen table.  Kitchen looks ready for Xmas in the 1950s.

BILLY

(Offstage) Mom!  Dad!  I'm home!

MOM

Take off your snow boots at the door, Billy, I don't want you tracking snow all over, I just mopped!

BILLY

Sure thing, Mom!

Enter son BILLY, dressed in winter outside clothes.

DAD

How was sledding, champ?  

BILLY

It was great, Dad!  Me and Joey and Kevin must have gone down Grinder's Hill about a thousand times!  Then Mrs. McLeary called Joey back in to help decorate the Christmas tree so me and Kevin made a snowman army in his front yard and we had a snowball fight!

MOM

(laughing) Sounds great, sweetie!  Here, I made you some cocoa with a little bit of cinnamon, just how you like it!

MOM brings over mug of cocoa.

BILLY

Thanks, Mom!

MOM

You want to decorate our Christmas tree in a bit?  Then maybe we could go down to the mall and get your picture taken with Santa!

BILLY

(takes a long sip of cocoa, then sighs) I guess so.

MOM

Is something the matter, Billy?

BILLY

Well . . .

DAD

What's wrong, champ?

BILLY

Dad, Kevin says Santa Claus isn't real.

MOM and DAD look at each other, surprised

MOM

Do you have enough marshmallows in your cocoa, sweetie?  Let me go get some more for you.

MOM gets up and rummages around in the cabinets

DAD

Billy, you know Kevin likes to make up stories.  Remember that time he told everyone Abraham Lincoln was his grandpa?

BILLY

Actually Dad, it wasn't just Kevin.  Charlie and Timmy and Richie were talking about it at Cub Scouts last week.

MOM and DAD look at each other for a beat and nod

DAD

Well, Billy, you're growing up more and more each day now.  I suppose it's time you knew the truth about Christmas.  

BILLY

I knew it.  There is no Santa Claus.

DAD

I'm afraid not, champ.

BILLY

So Kevin was right, it was just you guys buying my presents and saying they were from Santa all along.

MOM and DAD look at each other and laugh

MOM

Not quite, sweetie.

DAD

Why, that would cost an unbelievable amount of money, champ. You don't think the average American family can afford to spend like that every single year, do you?

BILLY

I don't understand, where do all the presents come from then?

DAD

Well, Billy -

cue music, to the tune of "Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer"

DAD

You thought Santa was bringing you presents for Christmas

And now that you're older you think that they're from us

But they weren't  made by elves

And we didn't buy them ourselves

You see Billy

Santa is really Slepnor

A demon from beyond the void

He brings us our yearly presents

And our sacrifice brings Slepnor joy

BILLY

Our sacrifice? (music continues in the background as they talk)

DAD

Yes, Billy, our insane master from the basement of the universe emerges from his year-long undead slumber with a satchel full of goodies and a nearly unquenchable thirst for misery borne of human flesh and spirit.  On special nights during the Christmas season, when you're all tuckered out on egg nog all cozy asleep in your bed, we sneak into your room and drain just a little bit of blood and tears from your body, then your mother bakes it into cookies to leave out for Slepnor to eat.  But that's not the only way to get the sacrifice of body that our Dark Lord requires.  Why, where do you think all those teeth go that you leave for the tooth fairy?

MOM

And don’t forget all the urine-soaked sheets from when Billy was having those psychosexual nightmares after Grandma died.  Slepnor relished the confused terror in your nocturnal emissions, honey!

(music)

MOM

Santa is really Slepnor

His dimension’s full of screams and flame

All of this mass consumption

Reality is just a game!

DAD

Each December Yuletide nears

We don't see Santa's sleigh

But Slepnor feeds on pain and fears

Who else would enter through the chimney way?

MOM

It's to cover up the reek of brimstone!

BILLY starts crying

DAD

What’s wrong, champ?

BILLY

This is horrible!  I don’t want presents that bad!  I don’t want a space demon drinking my blood and tears and pee!  

DAD

Shhhh!  Never speak such blasphemy of Slepnor!  

MOM starts frantically mopping BILLY’s tears and wringing the rag into the cocoa mug

MOM

A sacrifice unwillingly given is a sacrifice most pleasing to the seven unblinking eyes of Slepnor!

BILLY

No Mom!  No Slepnor!  No!!!

BILLY is fighting her off, takes the mug of tears and shatters it, parents gasp.  Music turns sinister.  MOM grabs her belly and screams in pain as blood and fluid gush out onto the floor.

DAD

Slepnor hath chosen another of our birthlings for servitude in his darkened hallway, just as he hath done two years past!

BILLY

I thought baby Susie died of polio!

MOM screams.  DAD bends down and dips his fingers into the blood and gore on the floor and begins drawing symbols on his own face

DAD

The asterisk spawn makes its approach!  

DAD reaches for BILLY and starts drawing on his face

DAD

The mark is the doorway!

BILLY

No Dad!  NOOOOoooooo!!!!

Fade out to the sound of screaming, demonic noises, tearing sounds, then that sound fades and a gentle Christmas instrumental musical comes on as does the message “Merry Christmas”