Dear Satan, I Have Been a Very Good Boy

It isn’t often that Lucifer Morningstar received a letter. When the envelope came across his desk, the King of Hell was intrigued. He held it, examining the childishly scrawled words on the front. There was no return address. There was hardly anything to indicate it was actually for Lucifer. It said “Satan’s Workshop” on the front and it had found its way to his desk.

Taking a hold of an ornate letter opener (because Lucifer found pleasure in having nice things), he sliced open the envelope. The letter fell into his hand.

“Dear Satan,

My name is Billy. I have been a very good boy. I eat all my vegtabls, and I do what my Mommy says. I am nice to my litle sister Anna and our dog Max. I want to do art, but I don’t have paint. Can you pleese bring me some for Cristmas?

Love,

Billy”

Lucifer read the letter twice and smiled. He held the paper and let the essence of the letter flow inside of himself. His mind conjured up an image of Billy, five years old and living in Montana. Lucifer saw flashes of Billy writing the letter, putting it in the envelope, addressed with all the information he had. The boy hadn’t even affixed a stamp to the letter, yet through the magic of a child’s wish, it had reached the intended recipient.

Or had it?

The letter was filled with misspellings. Billy was at a young enough age where spelling errors were considered charming and not something to be corrected. One would assume this letter was not actually meant for Satan. However, there was no reference to the North pole. Merely a workshop. Lucifer felt the child was likely to know that Santa lived in the North pole. All children knew that.

Lucifer considered the request. The boy was not asking for expensive electronics or demanding a long list of branded toys. Billy wasn’t coveting the kind of gifts that provided a big dopamine rush upon receipt but quickly became forgotten in some toy chest.

Billy wanted paint. Billy wanted to create. There was something inside Billy that he wanted to get out and share with the world.

Lucifer leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. He stood, hitting the intercom button on his desk. The door opened and a demon covered in boils and oozing with pus entered the room.

“Yes, my Lord?” the demon asked.

“Belial,” Lucifer said. “I am going to be gone for a bit. I have to go meet an old friend and potentially see a small human child. Watch after things in my absence.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Belial said, bowing low.

Lucifer always enjoyed flying. Soaring above the Caucasus Mountains, the noon Sun high in the sky, Lucifer soaked up the warmth. There was something different about the heat generated by sunlight than there was the heat in Hell. Fire was harsh and unpleasant. The Sun was something one basked in. It was as glorious and beautiful as Lucifer himself.

Landing at his destination, his footfalls so soft they didn’t even register a sound, Lucifer stood in front of an opening at the base of Mount Elbris. He stepped inside, the darkness illuminated by his own natural glow.

“Greetings, Lightbringer,” a voice rumbled.

Lucifer stepped forward. Defying all logic, he stood in a dwelling for a creature of titanic size. Stepping further into the home, Lucifer saw a gigantic man wearing a loin cloth and nothing else. There was a nasty scar on his right side. The wound appeared both ancient and freshly closed.

“Ironic for you, of all people, to be calling me that,” Lucifer said.

“What brings you here?” the titan asked.

“I just wanted to pick your brain, Promethius,” Lucifer answered. “I find myself in an unusual situation.”

Lucifer hands the letter to Prometheus.

“Interesting,” Prometheus mutters. “Are you going to hand the letter over?”

“I thought of that,” lucifer said. “But what if it isn’t meant for him? What if it is for me?”

“We both know that is unlikely,” Prometheus said.

“Yes,” Lucifer conceded. “But, what if I fulfilled his wish? Clause always rubbed me the wrong way. The fat old Elf thinks he is above the rest of us. Like he isn’t just as much a mythological figure.”

“The last time you defied a God it did not end well for you,” Prometheus said.

“Nor did it for you,” Lucifer said. “But the difference is, I defied my creator for my own pride. But yours was a selfless act. You gave humanity the gift of creation. Because of you, they had a grand awakening. My question is: was it worth it?”

Prometheus stood silent. His deep breathing rumbled throughout the room. His eyes glazed over, lost in memory.

“I have thought about that for so long,” Prometheus said. “Every day, as I lay there chained, feeling the agony of my liver regrowing, I would dwell on what I had done. When Zeus sentenced me to my fate, he was hoping I would feel regret. He wanted me to dread the arrival each morning of the eagle that would devour my liver. But I never thought of that eagle. Even when I heard its shriek and felt its talons rip me to shreds, my mind remained focused on humanity, and all they had created because I lit a fire within them. How can I think of their great cities, their works of art, their discoveries, their symphonies and not be grateful for what I ushered forth? My centuries of agony are nothing if it means the world was given Shakespeare and Beethoven and Newton.“

Lucifer let the words hang between them.

“I cannot bring that kind of sweeping change to all of humanity. But perhaps this small gesture will mean something. Who knows what this child might do if his creativity is encouraged? Maybe he will grow up to bring forth works of beauty that will make the masses weep. Or maybe he will find his art is a passing fad, and he will toss it aside before moving on to the next thing. But the choice should be his.”

“The question you must ask yourself,” Prometheus said, “is why does the gift have to come from you? If you give this letter to the Elf, he will bring the boy his gift. What difference does it make if the present comes from him or from you?”

“That really is my dilemma,” Lucifer admitted. “I want to potentially make a positive impact on somebody. I want to stand in an art gallery and see a piece that Billy created, knowing that I played a part in it. I want to potentially inspire him to share his art with the world. I want to know what it feels like to have something I did matter to somebody else, not for what it could give me, but for what it could give others.”

“A far cry from your usual tactics, no?” Prometheus asked.

“You and I both know most of that stuff is just bad press. History is written by the victors and all that. But I have spent the majority of my existence dwelling on my defeat. I need to have something else to think on as I rule in Hell.”

“And you can put one over on Santa,” Prometheus reminded him.

“That too,” Lucifer agreed.

Lucifer’s wings beat against the air, his body glowing as much from within as from the moonlight reflected off of him. The Morningstar. The most beautiful of all the angels. God’s greatest creation and his greatest failure. The sky was his and his alone as he soared among the clouds.

That is, until he heard the sound of bells.

Lucifer knew it was only a matter of time before word spread. You did not interfere in the affairs of a god without that god sensing it. Especially a god as powerful as Santa Clause. Fueled by the belief and the love and the fear of countless millions of children, Santa held power beyond description. He had felt something was wrong the moment that letter arrived in Hell. Santa couldn’t let the feeling go that something was off. That letter making its way into the hands of another caused an uncomfortable feeling deep within him. It was something gnawing subtly at the back of his mind. A mental itch that he couldn’t scratch.

Then he found out what happened.

Santa knew.

He always knew who had been bad or good.

The sleigh bells sounded in the distance, heralding the arrival of Santa Clause. He was always heard before he was seen. Lucifer spread his wings and swooped downward in the direction Billy’s house. The ground below was an uninterrupted sheet of white. Virgin snow, bright in the moonlight. Lucifer saw his shadow on the ground, the silhouette of the angel streaking across the ground.

The white of the ground began to glow with a subtle tint of red.

Lucifer turned his head and saw the red light piercing the night. The sound of bells grew louder. The red light was growing brighter as it came closer.

The bells were deafening now. The sound made by the beating of Lucifer’s wings was drowned out by those sleigh bells. Lucifer was bathed in red light. The glow from Rudolph’s nose signaled the arrival of Santa Clause.

The reindeer burst forth, carrying the sleigh upon which Father Christmas rode. Santa leaned back, pulling on the reigns and yanking them to the side. The reindeer veered upward and to the left, stopping so the sleigh was hovering right in front of Lucifer. The Lord of Hell beat his wings and stayed aloft, the two staring at each other as they stood suspended in the night sky.

“Morningstar,” Santa bellowed. “Stop this foolishness. It is not too late to hand over the letter and the gift and go back to where you belong.”

“I can’t do that, Clause,” Lucifer said. “The letter was addressed to me, and I will be the one to deliver the gift.”

“We both know that letter is mine,” Santa said. “Give me the letter, or I will take it from you.”

“You’ll try,” Lucifer said, his mighty wings carrying him away from Santa.

“On Dancer! On Prancer!” Santa roared. “Let’s send the Devil back to Hell!”

Santa gripped the reigns and the Reindeer were off. Rudolph’s nose lit the path and bathed Lucifer in a deep red. The illumination made his glistening white wings look like they were covered in blood.

Lucifer soared forward, his wings beating faster, the sleigh giving chase. Lucifer could hear those damn bells getting louder as the sleigh grew closer. The ringing in his ears was echoing through the night. His head pounded from the sound. The reindeer grew so close he could hear them snorting from the exertion.

Coming to a halt, Lucifer spun around to face the oncoming sleigh. A flaming sword appeared in his hand. Santa’s reindeer came barreling towards him and Lucifer dipped lower so they would pass over him. Raising his sword, the blade sliced through the harness. The flame singed the fur of the reindeer as they passed. The harness was split down the middle. Now unshackled, the reindeer scattered in all directions. Santa lost control of his sleigh and it began to fall.

Lucifer turned back and took off again. He listened but did not hear a crash. Daring to turn and look, Lucifer was shocked to see the sleigh racing towards him. Lucifer saw rage in the eyes of the Elf. Santa flew forward and swung a giant sack, the mighty bag of gifts slamming into Lucifer’s face and spinning him over.

The sleigh did a one hundred and eighty degree turn and stopped in mid-air, Santa standing and fuming, his face so flushed his skin was almost as red as his suit.

“You ignorant fool,” Santa screamed. “I have magic of my own. The reindeer make things easier for me, but I am capable of magic without them.”

The sleigh sped forward and Santa swung again, the sack of toys slamming into Lucifer’s midsection and doubling him over. He began to fall, but his wings beat faster, slowing his descent. Lucifer looked up just in time to see Santa hurtling towards him, readying the sack for another swing. Lucifer flew to the side, swiping his flaming sword in a downward arc. The sword connected with the sack and tore it open, toys and candy spilling out. They hit the ground, many breaking upon contact with the ground despite the snow cushioning the impact.

“You damn fool!” Santa shouted as he watched the toys crash to the ground. “Now all those kids won’t get toys. Their belief in me will be shattered. You just cost me power, and you will pay!”

Santa lunged forward, leaping from the sleigh and grabbing a hold of Lucifer. The two wrestled in the air, clawing at each other. Lucifer’s wings beat furiously, barely keeping him afloat with the extra weight of Santa hanging from him. Santa wrapped his legs around Lucifer’s body and reached forward, grabbing Lucifer’s throat and squeezing.

“It’s over, Devil,” Santa growled. “I am going to end you once and for all!”

Lucifer took his thumb and jammed it in Santa’s eye. The Elf howled in a rage, releasing Lucifer’s throat. The two locked arms, jockeying for position, looking for an advantage as they wrestled in the air.

Santa inhaled sharply, then let out a piercing whistle.

Lucifer flinched at the unexpected noise, and Santa again went for his throat. Lucifer grabbed a hold of Santa’s coat and spun around in the air, just as Blitzen came barreling towards them. His antlers impaled Santa in the side and Father Christmas let out a guttural scream. His grip on Lucifer slipping, Santa hurtled to the ground, landing with a thud that Lucifer could hear even in his position in the air and over the sound of his beating wings.

Lucifer looked down and saw Santa on all fours, crawling away. The white snow was littered with streaks of red from Santa’s bleeding wound.

Lucifer thought the colors looked like a candy cane.

Landing on the ground in front of Santa, Lucifer looked down at the mortally wounded Elf. Santa rolled onto his back, his blood pooling underneath him.

Their battle had brought them right to Billy’s house.

“You can’t let me die,” Santa gasped. “I’m too important.”

“I can do whatever I please,” Lucifer informed Santa.

“You always were on my Naught List,” Santa said.

“I was the first name on the original Naughty List,” Lucifer said.

“Be that as it may,” Santa coughed, blood speckles landing on his mitten. “Too many children believe in me. You can’t let me die. It would bring about unheard of despair to millions of children if they all woke up and had no presents under the tree.”

“I know one boy who will have a present,” Lucifer said.

“Fine,” Santa relented. “A compromise. You can deliver Billy’s gift. But I still must feed. I need the sustenance from his love to heal myself. Let me feed, so I can deliver the rest of the presents. There is still time to save Christmas. My sleigh landed safely while we struggled. I can round up the reindeer and finish the deliveries. But I must feed.”

Lucifer looked down at Santa Clause.

In this moment he looked so old. Even for a God that was over 1,700 years old, Santa looked ancient.

Lucifer found himself in Billy’s living room, looking at the tree. It was decorated sparsely. Most of the ornaments were handmade. Underneath the tree, a few presents sat waiting for morning. While there were not many presents, Lucifer noticed that each was wrapped with love. He placed the paints under the tree and turned to leave.

Lucifer stopped and turned back to the tree. He thought about what he was doing. Ultimately, what was the point of all this. Yes, it was Satan who physically put the gift under the tree. Billy would still think it was from Santa.

Lucifer approached the tree. Reaching behind his body, he plucked a single feather from his wing, placing it on top of the paints.

Billy would never know it wasn’t Santa who delivered that gift. But Lucifer would know.

Santa lay on the ground, gasping for air. His normally rosy cheeks were ashen.

Lucifer bent down and helped Santa to a seated position.

“I need it,” Santa said. “I need to absorb his love, before it’s too late.”

Lucifer extended his hand towards Santa Clause.

Santa took the chocolate chip cookie.

On Christmas morning, Billy awoke long before his parents. Racing to the living room, he made a dash for the tree. The wrapped presents could wait. Billy wanted the gift from Santa most of all.

He grabbed a hold of the paint set, admiring the array of colors. Removing a sheet of paper from the case, he spread it out on the floor in front of him.

Billy grabbed a hold of one of the paint brushes. He had been waiting for this moment a long time.

Billy applied some paint to the tip of the brush. Bringing it to the paper, Billy made his first brush stroke.

His eyes catching light reflecting next to him, Billy turned to see a feather on the ground. The way the light hit it, it seemed to be glowing.

From this angle, the feather looked almost as bright as the Sun, which was just now beginning to rise.

The Morning Star.