Speaker 1: Calaogu Shark Media, Hello, and Welcome to ghost Scary Stories.
This episode is titled The Mall Santa Massacre. Episode two
Silent Shopping Night.
Speaker 2: Our fourteen of the Retail Apocalypse and I'm barricaded in
the Last Stop Shop's security office, watching the end of
the world. On twelve different camera feeds, the monitors show
a mall that's become a holiday horror show, Christmas decorations
mutated into predatory forms, mannekins hunting in packs, and one
very pissed off Santa thing, converting late night shoppers into
permanent display models. At least the Christmas music finally stopped.
I mutter cycling through cameras. That's because the PA system
is now broadcasting screams in four part harmony. Festive. Camera
three shows Victoria's Secret, where lingerie clad mannikins stalk through
a pink nightmare of silk and lace, their perfect plastic
bodies twisted into spider like forms. Two of them are
currently perfecting a trapped janitor, his skin taking on a
glossy sheen as they cocoon him in red holiday ribbon.
Camera six catches movement in sporting goods the athletic Mannikins
have formed hunting parties, wielding tennis rackets and golf clubs
like weapons. Their plastic muscles ripple impossibly as they chase
down survivors. A former yoga instructor learns the hard way
that downward dog is no defense against a Mannikin with
a Javelin attention shoppers, the Santa Thing's voice crackles through
my radio, because apparently being a nightmarish retail demon doesn't
stop you from loving announcements. Tonight's Blue Light Special eternal
perfection through plastic transformation. No no rain checks, no returns,
no escape. A bang on the security office door makes
me jump. I grab my now dented candy cane weapon,
but a human voice calls out, let me in. They're
coming through the door's window. I see a girl in
hot topic attire, combat boots and enough eyeliner to qualify
as armor. Behind her children's department. Mannikins skit her across
the ceiling like prehistoric retail reptiles. I unlock the door.
She dives in. Just as tiny plastic hands reach for
her ankles. The door slams shut on grasping fingers, snapping
them off. They continue to wiggle on the floor. Kelly,
She introduces herself, trying to catch her breath. I was
doing inventory when everything went toys r Us from Hell,
Cindy Night Security. I gesture at the monitors. Welcome to
the worst shift ever. Kelly peers at the screens. Well,
I always said retail would be the death of us all,
just didn't expect it to be so literal. Camera eight
shows the food court, where Mannikins have fused with restaurant equipment.
A former Burger Joint cashier flees from what used to
be the mascot statue, now a nightmare of plastic and
grill parts that leaks molten cheese. Any idea what started this?
Kelly asks? Cursed Santa Mannikin decided to make everyone part
of his permanent collection. Pretty standard holiday retail, really cool,
cool cool, just another Christmas in customer service. She pulls
a taser from her boots. Hot Topic prepared me for
this metaphorically and literally. We have a zombie apocalypse survival section.
A new movement on camera four catches my attention. Dave
from mall security. The kind of guy who treats a
segway like a swat vehicle is leading a group of
trapped late night shoppers through J. C. Penny. They're using
clothes racks as moving cover, but the formal wear section
has become a killing field of evening gown clad mannikins
performing a deadly catwalk. We should help them, I say,
though the thought of leaving our secure little box makes
my survival instinct scream. Wait. Kelly points at camera too.
Look at the old wing, The abandoned section of the
mall closed for renovation, shows strange movements in the darkness.
Ancient display figures covered in years of dust are awakening.
Their styles span decades, eighties power suits, seventies disco wear,
sixties mod fashion, all animated by the same horrible purpose,
vintage violence. Kelly mutters, very on brand for this apocalypse.
The radio crackles again, this time it's Dave Security Office.
If anyone's alive in there, We've got wounded, and the
bastards are closing in. These Mannikins. They're herding us somewhere.
I check the cameras. He's right. The Mannikins aren't just
attacking randomly anymore. They're coordinating, driving survivors toward the center court.
Kelly reel where the Santa display is camera Ie shows
the horror that the Christmas throne has become the Santa
thing has transformed the holiday display into a twisted workshop
where captured victims are being perfected on assembly lines of
living Mannikins. Peterson's posed body now serves as a grotesque
throne ornament. Found something, Kelly calls from the filing cabinet.
She's pulled out old newspapers, yellowed with age. Look at
this Christmas Eve tragedy. Nineteen eighty seven, dozens missing in
mal incident, and here nineteen fifty four, department store horror
on holiday night. This has happened before every few decades,
looks like but never this big. She holds up a
photo that makes my blood run cold. It shows the
same Santa Mannikin standing amid vintage holiday decorations, its painted smile,
exactly as hungry then as now. The security office door
rattles again. Dave's voice let us in. They're right behind us.
Through the window, I see his group five survivors, including
a mother and teenage daughter, still clutching shopping bags behind them.
Mannikins advance in an unnaturally synchronized tide of plastic death.
Attention last minute shoppers. The Santa Thing's voice echoes through
the mall. The store will be closing permanently in one hour.
All flesh must be converted to our preferred material before
Christmas Eve. And remember there's no return policy on Perfection.
I unlock the door, letting Dave's group scramble inside. The
mother is hyperventilating, her daughter still death, gripping a Forever
twenty one bag. Like normal shopping rules apply. Two college
guys in ugly Christmas sweaters help a wounded security guard
ted from the night shift, his legs showing patches of
glossy plastic where a Mannikin grabbed him. It spread wedding
ted groans. The Perfection can feel it, making me grateful
for holiday savings. Kelly barricades the door with a filing
cabinet while I scan the monitors. The Mannikins have surrounded
our position, but they're not attacking. They're waiting for something.
Look what I found in the old files, Dave says,
pulling out a blueprint this mall. It's built on top
of the original Last Stop Shop from the nineteen fifties,
first standalone department store in the state, and I'm watching
Ted's transformation spread his skin taking on a window display.
Sheene and according to this, there's a sub basement, some
kind of special storage area for discontinued merchandise. But these
notes in the margin. He squints at faded handwriting something
about feeding the display and maintaining retail harmony. The radio
hisses static before the Santa Thing's voice returns. The perfection
cannot be stopped. Every few decades, the store or must feed,
must update its inventory. On camera one, the holiday throne
has grown, becoming a twisted spire of fused Mannikins and
Christmas decorations, reaching toward the skylight. The Santa Thing sits
atop it like a dark retail god, surrounded by its
transformed victims arranged in perfect holiday displays. Your predecessors understood, it, continues.
They provided sacrifices kept the store fed, but modern retail
lacks dedication. Now we must feed ourselves. Tense transformation accelerates
his arms lock into a display pose. As his eyes
turned to painted glass the sails, he gasps, the incredible
savings we need to get out of here, Kelly says,
like clearance sale stampede. Fast the teenage girl finally speaks
up the loading docks my dad used to work receiving
There's a tunnel that connects to the ceiling caves in
children's department. Mannikins pour through like plastic piranhas, followed by
something worse. What used to be Martha from Housewares now
a towering fusion of Mannikin and kitchenware, wielding a Garland garrot.
Time for holiday mark down. Her voice grates through multiple
mouths filled with silverware. Move. I grab the blueprints and
my candy cane weapon. Loading docks. Now we run, leaving
Ted behind as he completes his transformation into a perfect
display model forever posed in holiday bliss. The monitors show
Mannikins converging from all directions, their movements more fluid, more confident,
more hungry. The store remembers the Santa Thing's voice follows us.
The store must feed, and now now we feed on everything.
Through the darkness of the mall, past unleashed retail horrors,
we run for the loading docks behind us, the sounds
of pursuit plastic limbs on tile, mechanical holiday music, the
screams of those being perfected. Three days until Christmas, the
mall is hungry, and the shopping season is far from over. Hey,
Kelly pants, as we run, at least we're getting our
cardio in Sometimes Gallows humor is all you have when
the Mannikins rise. That and a candy cane with really
good reach. The night isn't over, the sales aren't final,
and somewhere in the sub basement, The Truth about Last
Stop Shop Waits.
Speaker 1: Ghost is a Caloroga 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
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