Speaker 1: Calarogu Shark Media, Hello, and welcome to ghost Scary Stories.
This episode is titled The Mall Santa Massacre, Episode three.
Speaker 2: Below retail, the loading dock tunnel leads us into darkness.
Our flashlight beams catch decades of abandoned retail mannekins from
every era, covered in dust, their faces somehow expectant waiting
according to the blueprints. Dave whispers the original store's storage
should be through here, where they kept the discontinued merchandise.
Kelly's flashlight illuminates faded signs display storage staff only, and
beneath it scratched in desperate handwriseing feed the store. The
teenage girl Amy clutches her Forever twenty one bag closer.
Maybe we should go back to the Mannikin apocalypse up there,
Her mother, Susan asks, at least these ones aren't moving yet.
A crash echoes from the tunnel behind us. The Santa
Thing's voice carries through ancient ventilation. Running only increases store
credit debt. All purchases must be finalized. We push deeper
into the sub basement. The walls change from modern concrete
to original nineteen fifties brick, stained with something that might
be rust might be worse. Display Cases line the halls,
containing Mannikins from every decade, their styles a timeline of
retail horror. Look at this, Kelly says, examining a dusty ledger,
records of inventory maintenance. They were feeding people to the store,
keeping it satisfied every Black Friday, Dave reads a sacrifice
to maintain retail harmony. The tunnel opens into a massive chamber,
and there, surrounded by the first generation of Mannikins, stands
a display case inside an ancient Santa figure. Its painted
smile more hunger than joy, the original I breathe, Patient
zero of retail horror. The display case bears a plaque,
its brass surface tarnished with age. Original Saint Nicholas display
last stop Shop Grand Opening nineteen fifty two below scratched
into the metal, feed it or face the consequences. Check
this out, Kelly says, pointing her flashlight at old photograph's
pinned to the wall. They show the stor's opening day,
crowds of shoppers, smiling employees, and at the center, this
same Santa figure. Even in black and white, its eyes
seem to gleam with unnatural hunger. The first Christmas season
was a miracle. Dave reads from a yellowed newspaper record sales.
But then workers started disappearing. Customers too. The store demanded inventory.
Kelly finishes human inventory. A sound behind us, plastic limbs
scraping concrete. The vintage Mannikins are waking up, decades of
dust falling from their bodies as they move. Their faces
are different from modern displays, cruder, more primal, hungry in
an older way. They're not attacking Amy whispers. The Mannikins
form a circle around us, swaying slightly. They're waiting, I
realize for him. The original Santa's display case begins to crack.
Dark liquid seeps between glass panes as something inside moves.
The ancient figure stands, joints creaking like old wood. When
it speaks, its voice carries the weight of seventy years
of detail hunger. The children have been undisciplined, letting the
store go hungry. But now its plastic face splits open,
revealing rows of metallic teeth from some ancient cash register.
Now we feast properly. The store must maintain its inventory.
The ancient Santa thing grates, shambling forward, and you you
are all overdue for processing. The vintage Mannekins close in
their movements, jerky but purposeful. Unlike their modern counterparts, these
ones are built sturdier. My candy cane weapon bounces off
their solid frames. The ledger Kelly shouts, flipping pages frantically.
There's a ritual here. How they used to contain it.
They'd feed it, but there were rules. Rules. Dave swings
his flashlight at an approaching display figure, like return policy rules,
like containment rules. The store needs fresh inventory, but it
also needs She squints at faded handwriting, balance, light and dark,
naughty and nice. The original Santa laughs, a sound like
receipts shredding. The old ways are gone. Now we feast freely.
Susan screams as vintage Mannikins grab her arms. Their touch
leaves frost like patterns on her skin. Amy swings her
shopping bag in desperate defense of her mother, and something happens.
The Mannikins recoil the receipt. Kelly yells, Amy, what did
you buy? Just a Christmas Angel? On sale? Angels? The
ancient Santa hisses, symbols of light, of giving, rather than taking.
That's it. Kelly grabs the angel decoration from Amy's bag.
The store needs balance, good and evil, giving and taking.
When they stop the ritual sacrifices, it went hungry, but
also lost control. I finish went full black Friday. The
Santa Thing lunges for Kelly, but she holds up the angel.
Its cheap glitter and plastic halo somehow force. The ancient
horror back light emanates from the decoration, driving shadows from
the chambers corners. If we can't feed it properly, the
Santa rasps, we'll feast improperly your modern retail. Its face
splits completely open, revealing a void filled with rusty gears
and ancient hunger. No more balance, only consumption. The chamber
shakes above us, sounds of the male transforming further, becoming
something monstrous. The vintage Mannikins press closer, their ancient plastic
cracking to reveal what lies beneath. Pieces of their original
victims preserved in retail amber run. I grab the ledger
from Kelly. Back to the tunnel. We flee through darkness,
pursued by seventy years of retail horror. The walls crack
behind us, releasing decades of trapped darkness. The Santa Thing's
laughter follows, promising an eternity of post Christmas exchanges. Two
days until Christmas, the store hungers for fresh inventory, and
somewhere above in the twisted mal the real shopping season
is about to begin. Hey, Kelly pants, as we run,
at least we found the return policy from Hell. Sometimes
Gallow's humor is all you have when facing down retail damnation.
That and a heavily armed goth girl with an angel decoration.
The night grows darker, the store grows hungrier, and the
original Santa's children are coming home for the holidays.
Speaker 1: Ghost is a Calorogus Shark Media production written and hosted
by Alexander Ian McIntyre, produced by Mark Francis. Executive producers
Mark Francis and John McDermott. Portions of this podcast may
have been created with the assistance of AI. This show,
along with hundreds of others from Calaroga Shark Media, is
available commercial free on any player hassel Free. Just look
for the link in the episode or show notes. Calaroga
Shark Media