Part 2, sorry for the wait, but I had to get it just right.

Buckshot tore through hearth and home, expensive furniture was rent to splinters and rags of aged leather in instants. Doors and windows blew asunder and the intruder couldn't find his mark as he bellowed, "Santa!" And his wife and child cowered in the false sanctuary of the armchair.

Santa was a powerhouse build with all the agility of an acrobat, he was a granite slab in motion like a meteor when he dove through a doorway at the end of the living room and then back in through the brick wall to the left of the gunman like a bulldozer on legs. Chunks of red brick and plaster erupted in an explosion of shrapnel in front of the snarling bearded monster that was Santa Claus, sending missiles of rubble rocketing through his living room. One of the bigger chunks of masonry clattered against the shotgun knocking it from the gunman's hands. As the shotgun fell in slow motion the white werewolf landed upon his prey. With the ferocity of two wild beasts they fought oblivious to the sound of one little boy who had found the courage to stand up to his father's aggressor and come to his aid.

The fight waged like a storm over the dining area furniture by the window of the frugal room. The boy lifted the loaded shotgun, struggling to hold it level at the hip and gain a bead on the intruder. His hands shook with fear and adrenaline, no one had ever broken into his house before and he had never saw his father, a jolly kind man so violent. He didn't know what scared him more. He muttered a, "Stop." Before his twitching fingers pulled the trigger.

With a thunderous boom, the shotgun spat forth a rain of leaden pellets and leapt from the boys grasp, frightening him into a retreat to the safety of his mother's bosom where he wept blindly. The house was silent, no more violence, no more destruction. The boys mother began to wail as she realized the only person standing after the gunshot was not her husband, not Santa, but the intruder. He stood with a panicked bewilderment on his face as he stained down at the lifeless body of his father's killer and all he felt was disappointment and shame. "Gooo! Get out!" Mrs Clause, the widow, screamed with bile and malice in her words. "But know that you will not live long." Her once beautiful pristine goddess-like features had turned dark, threatening, evil even as the anger gripped her. Her son sat in her arms with the same evil rage covering his once childish feature and the intruder swore he could see thick black hairs sprout from the boys skin that reminded him of the legends of the Christmas devil, the taker of bad children, Krampus. With terror gripping his soul and memories of his German grandfather's horror stories of Krampus flooding his mind he took off into the night.

"My boy, we will get your father back. In time we will get him back and you both shall destroy the evil of this world. Shhh hush your cries my child." The winter witch stroked her bleating spawn's fur between his growing horns as the pain of his changing body took its toll on him. "All we need is the necronomicon from your aunt and, dead or alive, we will have your father back.