Morbid Morsals Season 2. Episode 6. Twas a Gory Night

In the heart of winter’s cold embrace, where the line between magic and madness fades, two chilling tales intertwine.

One, of a shadowed cabin deep in the woods, where children’s laughter is twisted into cries. The other, of a quiet town blanketed in snow, stalked by a figure draped in crimson—his gifts far from merry.

Here, the season of joy becomes a season of survival. Where innocence meets the macabre, and those who dare to defy the darkness must find strength within.

One escape. One fight. Two stories. One nightmare.
This Christmas… some gifts can’t
be returned.

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Transcript

SPEAKER_03 0:36

I've been here for years and collected stories. I will tell you the tale to last the time. Short stories of horror. Tiny tales of the creeping. I will show you by the end you'll be screaming with madness. Morbid Morsels is a new chapter of terror. A shorter tale of madness. To let's just say, carry your tremendous suffering over to the longer, fuller episodes. Your torment and endless suffering has helped me go stronger. To reunite my brothers once again to open the portal for here, the nether realm to your world. To release darkness and chaos upon all mankind. We have grown stronger by passing these tales of madness on to you. Not only will we feast on your souls, but we will unleash hell on earth. We'll be seeking new, unfortunate souls to torment, new chapters of fear, tales of the unbelievable, and more skin between episodes. Remember, your dark thoughts lead you to me. I won't have to find you. It will be you that seeks me out.

SPEAKER_00 3:17

The old cabin sat in the heart of the woods, hidden beneath the shadow of twisted pine trees that seemed to claw at the sky. Snow blanketed the ground, but the crunching footsteps of children were muffled by fear. Their tiny hands trembled as they were forced inside by a figure cloaked in red, his beard tangled and stained. This was no jolly Santa, but this was the toy maker. Inside, the workshop bore no resemblance to the festive North Pole children dreamed about. The air was thick with a stench of oil, sweat, and blood. Rusted tools hung on the walls, their edges glinting menacingly in the dim light of flickering lanterns. Rows of unfinished toys sat on crooked shelves, wooden dolls with hollow eyes, jack-in-the-boxes that screeched instead of sang, and teddy bears sewn with crude, uneven stitches. Santa's laugh wasn't a ho-ho-ho, but a guttural, chilling cackle that seemed to scrape against the walls. He was massive, with icy blue eyes that pierced through the dim haze of the workshop. His face twitched with sadistic glee as he spoke to his captives. You wanted to meet Santa, didn't you? His voice was a growl, low and menacing. Well, here I am. And now you get to be my elves. The children, plucked from their warm homes on Christmas Eve, were shackled to long rickety benches. Their wrists bled from iron cuffs, and their small bodies shivered in the cold. The toy maker demanded they work through the night, assembling toys with shaking fingers. If they slowed down or faltered, the punishment was swift. A boy named Ethan, no older than eight, dared to stop from holding, his tears freezing on his cheeks. Santa loomed over him, dragging a spiked whip behind him. Slacking off, are we? He hissed, his breath fogging the air. Maybe you need a little encouragement. The whip cracked, and Ethan's screams echoed through the workshop. The other children winced, but they knew the consequences too well. Above their heads, cages hung from the ceiling, filled with the ones who'd broken entirely. Their gaunt faces appeared down, hollow and lifeless, as a grim reminder of what awaited those who defied the Toy Maker. As the days blurred together, a girl named Lily whispered to the others, We have to escape, she said, her voice barely audible over the sound of clanking tools. If we don't, he'll kill us all. Their plan was risky but simple. Sabotage. That night, as Santa slumped in his chair by the furnace, clutching a bottle of foul-smelling liquid. The children made their move. They spilled oil across the floor, loosened bolts on the machines, and rigged a jack in the box to explode. When the chaos erupted, the toy maker roared in fury. His boots skidded on the slick floor as the children darted between shadows, using their small size to their advantage. The rigged jack in the box detonated, sending shrapnel into Santa's leg. He howled in pain, dragging himself toward the escapees with a twisted grin. You can't run from me, he bellowed, his voice booming through the forest as they fled into the snowy night. I'll find you. I always find the naughty ones. The children didn't stop until the lights of a distant town appeared on the horizon. They were free, but the horrors of the workshop would haunt them forever. Back in the woods, the toy maker limped back to his lair, muttering to himself as he tightened the chains on his remaining captives. He would rebuild, and next year there would be more children. Because Christmas wasn't about joy and cheer for him. It was about fear, control, and the sinister pleasure of breaking those who believed in magic.

SPEAKER_05 7:49

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the town, not a creature was stirring, all shutters were down, the stockings were hung by the chimney with care, unaware that St.

unknown 8:02

Nicholas soon would be there.

SPEAKER_05 8:04

The children were nestled snug in their beds, while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads. But outside their homes in the cold winter's mist, lurked a shadowy figure with blood on his fist.

unknown 8:20

He moved through the streets with a grin so obscene, his boots left a trail of red on the green, a sack on his back, not of toys, but of blades, a butcher of joy in the night's icy shade. At one lonely house he crept to the door, his knives clinking softly, his soul craving more.

SPEAKER_05 8:46

He slid through the chimney, slick with decay, his breath reeking foul as the dead where he lay. A mother awoke to a sound in the hall, a scrape, then a whisper, a thump, and a fall.

unknown 9:03

She peeked round the corner, her heart filled with dread. And there stood the killer, his face drenched in red. Ho, ho, ho! He chuckled, his voice thick with glee, as he carved up his victims under the tree.

SPEAKER_05 9:23

His cleaver, it glittered, his hooks caught the light, a symphony of screams.

unknown 9:30

On that cold Christmas night, the tree lights they flickered, reflecting the gore, while the killer kept working, his hunger for more. He gutted the stockings, ripped tinsel apart, adorning the walls with pieces of heart. Then out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, he turned from his carnage to see what's the matter. Through crimson streaked glass, he peered to the snow and saw a survivor, their face all aglow. The child wide-eyed held a bat in their hand, a spark of defiance, a line in the sand. You're no Santa, they said, their voice filled with hate, and swung at the killer to seal his grim fate. The killer, he staggered, his grin turned to fright, as the child brought the bat down with all their might. With one final blow, he collapsed in a heap, a monster defeated forever to sleep. The child stood triumphant, their face streaked with tears, a hero who banished their worst of all fears. And as dawn broke the sky, the town found the scene, a nightmarish tableau of what might have been. So heed this dark tale on each Christmas Eve. Lock your doors tightly, lest you too grieve. For though the killer lies cold in the snow, evil's a shadow that's never too slow.

SPEAKER_02 11:15

What did you think about that?

SPEAKER_03 11:26

What the hell do you believe? Your dogs.

SPEAKER_01 13:54

Hi, I'm Troy Birch, creator and producer of the short horror story audio podcast Into the Abyss. If you like what you're hearing so far, please consider leaving me a five-star rating and review wherever you can. This helps get my show out there to listeners just like you. Also, uh like, subscribe, download, and uh hit the notification bell. That way you'll get a heads up every time a new episode drops. Thanks to everyone who listened so far, and um I'll have my information in the show notes.

SPEAKER_00 14:25

I have the QA feature on Spotify as well. Drop me a comment or ask a question, and I'll definitely respond. Thanks again for listening and downloading. Keep sharing the show, either through social media or with your friends or family.

SPEAKER_01 14:41

If you'd like to support the show, you can go to buymeacoffee.com forward slash the shadow dweller73. This is a one-time donation and will be greatly appreciated. Any donations that I receive will go directly to the show, better equipment, and to put out the best product out there for you guys to enjoy. So that's buymeacoffee.com forward slash the shadow dweller73. And anything helps. Thanks, guys. Follow me on Facebook or Instagram. Facebook is into period the period abyss period podcast. Instagram is into underscore the underscore abyss underscore podcast. Be sure to check out DJ Trillum tracks. These are most of the songs that I make up to put in the show's outros. These are sick dope beats to keep your head ringing.