Slayride: A Ghost Rider Christmas

[Rift]

Christmas Eve. A time of celebration, fellowship, and excitement. Families gathered to stuff themselves with food that had been painstakingly prepared for hours in advance while children, fretted over the arrival of Santa Claus after they went to bed. It was a time honored tradition practiced in homes far and wide, but like so many other people Johnny Blaze had little interest in the holidays. Once, long ago it had meant something to him, but that was before he had lost everything he cared about. Knowing that Roxanne and his kids were no longer in the realm of the living meant he had little use for celebrating. And thus, like most Christmas' of the past several years he found himself in a bar. Unfortunately, unlike a few years ago when he had spent the remainder of the night entertaining fellow supernatural hunter Elsa Bloodstone, he was completely alone in the darkened corner.

"Oh if only I was really alone. At least then I could get wasted and forget just how much existence sucks for a few hours. But no, there's you. Always you. Stopping me from having a life, not allowing me to die, and preventing me from even getting drunk!" he snapped, raising a bottle. "Here's to you, you brimstone breathing bastard!"As usual, the Spirit of Vengeance he played host to was silent. He always was when it came to anything other than demanding blood and retribution.

Standing he took in his surroundings and smiled. The dingy little hole in the wall bar was exactly the kind of place he liked with the smell of smoke in the air (despite no smoking signs posted), the sound of other lost souls racking a pool table, and the clinking of glasses and bottles. The only thing missing was a decent song drifting from the jukebox to ease the troubled mind.

Wandering over to the old machine, he began to peruse the selection, smiling when he noticed someone had removed a Christmas album, the Mariah Carey CD laying on a nearby counter in pieces. Depositing some coins he selected a number of songs, some Bob Seger, Ozzy, Metallica, and other classics. Turning to head back to his corner he stopped short just as the first haunting notes of a Johnny Cash classic began to come through the rattling old speakers. The Rider was on to something.

It seemed ridiculous to anyone whose soul was not tangled up with a weapon of the Almighty, but sin has a smell. The intensity and fragrance was different from person to person, sin to sin. This particular odor was like fetid meat mixed with sulfur. Rank, rotting, and evil.

Sniffing the air, head on a swivel he zeroed in on a group of men sitting nearby. They were not all that different from Johnny himself, clothed in old worn leather jackets, scuffed boots, and very obviously bikers. Fighting the feeling of Zarathos squirming beneath his skin he listened closely, catching only pieces of conversation.

"...but why does it have to be tonight? I mean we started gathering 'em back on Halloween, I thought we would of done it then instead of waiting until tonight of all nights," a bald guy with tons of tattoos complained.

"Because," he partner, a man with long red hair and gray in his beard snapped. "Had to have the right number. Besides, this is better. We take the brats we grabbed Trick or Treating, least the ones still sucking air, and with the ones Carl spotted during his Santa gig and we take 'em to the tree."

"Yeah, but why?" Baldy asked, still confused.

"Because," said another man, the oldest of the bunch. "It is tradition. We make our offering this night. Like our ancestors did. We not only receive the blessing, but imagine the shock when they find out it was done on their precious holiday. Icing on the cake. Assuming of course those morons came through. Spotting proper tribute while playing mall Santa ain't the same as convincing them to come outside into the cold."

"Don't worry Cliff. Carl and the others got this. They know what they are doing."

The old man sneered and replied, "They better. Because it is our heads if tribute isn't made on time. Let's move."

The fools should worry, for tonight vengeance WILL be served, Zarathos growled in the back of Blaze's mind.

Downing the last of his beer Blaze headed to the door. "Merry freaking Christmas to me."

[Rift]

It was nearing midnight when Johnny, following the bikers from the bar to where they intended to meet up with their partners, again felt the Rider squirming beneath his skin. His temperature rose and even the freezing winter air failed to cool him down. When they saw the man called Carl step into a rented moving vehicle, the back portion no doubt containing other would be victims, it was all he could do to hold the Spirit of Vengeance back, his bones creaking from the effort.

"Not yet dammit!" he spat.

We have an agreement Blaze! These scum has spilled innocent blood, vengeance must be...

"I know! Vengeance must be served, dear Lord get a new catchphrase! It will be, but unless you want more innocent blood to be spilled we have to hold back. Patience! We go in all fire and brimstone this instant and we risk roasting the kids they have in the back of the truck. Not to mention we have to find out where they are planning to do this, save the others if we can, but it is all pointless if we barbecue the lot of them now!"

His argument must have registered with Zarathos because aside from literal steam pouring from his collar as he unzipped his jacket, he had relented. Carefully they followed the bikers and the truck, keeping a safe distance as they maneuvered through the dark and blowing snow. It took nearly an hour, but eventually the caravan of evil came to a stop just outside a fenced off plot of land that seemed to back into deep, dark woods. The men had clearly been here before, but not with the truck, prompting them to approach a different gate with bolt cutters in hand. Once open the truck pulled in and down a long, winding dirt road while the others left their bikes outside, no doubt for a quick getaway should it become necessary.

Johnny stopped his own hog and pulled out his cellphone. A cheap, flip model burner it was lucky to get a signal this far out in the sticks, but luckier still when he used the limited internet features to search the address. The area was apparently planned for development of a golf course, but there had been protests due to the fact that some evidence pointed to the surrounding forest containing potentially significant historical sites. One such site was an ancient tree said to be engraved with a face and various Norse runes, thought to be proof of even earlier viking arrival in North America than originally thought. Ongoing legal battles had prevented the location from continuing construction, but there were areas and equipment already on site. Tool sheds and more that could potentially house kidnapped kids.

"One guess which tree they were talking about back at the bar," Blaze muttered.

Johnny quickly crossed the street and entered through the gate. Silently as he could he followed the men, a task made harder by trying to navigate uneven, snow covered terrain in biker boots. A time or two he was certain that the howling wind had not covered the crunching of snow, but despite stopping once to look around the men never saw him. Giving them some distance, he followed their footprints until he came to an metal shed, the door left swinging wildly. Creeping inside he looked around, but could see nothing in the black.

Holding his hand up he willed a small spark of hellfire to life. The flame bounced angrily on the tip of his finger as he scanned the cramped space. At first he saw nothing but tools, boxes, and dirt. Zarathos however drew his attention to the floor, stained with old blood and cages in the rear of the shed. Some were empty, likely the result of the men who had just been there. Others held small, limp forms. He didn't need to get closer to tell what that meant.

Exhaling smoke he turned to finally let Zarathos off the leash only to find the men standing at the entrance to the shed.

"Well lookit what we have here boys," the oldest said with a sneer. "I think one of Santa's little helpers done got lost on his way back to the North Pole. Lets help him find his way home."

With that a shotgun blast rang out.

[Rift]

The men departed from the shed and a short time later found themselves deeper into the forest. In a very small clearing, set apart from the rest of the trees, a giant oak with the visage of a bearded man carved into it stood above all others. At its base were children, some still in their pajamas others wearing tattered Halloween costumes. They were alive, but scared, the terror evident even behind the blindfolds and gags. Their abductors meanwhile were merely laughing, some cracking open homemade alcohol they had brought with them.

"This is it boys. What we've been planning all damn year. We make the sacrifice, we drink, and the All-Father will bless us!" the oldest man shouted. "Now, who brought the knife? We gotta do it right, it is a ceremony after all!"

Their jubilation was interrupted by an explosion in the near distance, smoke and flame as high as the eye could see.

"What the..." Carl began to ask, but his query was drowned out.

A sound, a roar like the scream of a thousand tortured souls ripped through the air, deafening in its wake. From above a glistening, chrome covered beast of a chopper flew into view, crashing down in sea of flame and smoke. Sitting upon the bike, spiked leather jacket smoking, skull head blackened by ash, was the Ghost Rider. He looked slowly around, gaze lingering for but moments on each man present, like a wild cat tracking its prey. The jaw opened ever so slightly, a loud, grating click heard over the crackle of flames. Turning to Carl, still in his Santa Claus outfit and still brandishing the shotgun he had used moments before, the Rider smiled. It was an eerie sight, the skeleton face of the Spirit of Vengeance grinning despite lacking lips, but before the shiver running down his spine could even reach its final destination, Carl felt immense pain. He dropped to the snowy ground clutching his knee, blood flowing forth. The Rider had spat a number of pellets from the slug he'd put into Johnny, back into Carl's knee.

Reacting to the horror before them the other men scrambled to grab weapons, but the Rider merely reared back and laughed, the gravelly, hellish sound causing the children to panic all the more.

Stepping from the Hellcycle the Rider stood still, allowing one of the bikers to hit him with the bolt cutters they had used to break through the gate. The tool bent from impact, the heat from the flames around his skull causing the head of it to melt where it landed smoldering in the snow. The Rider looked at his attacker, head tilted like a dog interested in something it heard, before punching him with enough force to send him flying backwards where he was impaled on the branch of a tree. Spinning with inhuman speed he grabbed another biker before he could aim his sidearm, the bones of his hand popping beneath the Rider's grip. Lifting the man Ghost Rider threw with with ease, sending him crashing into one of compatriots, knocking them both out cold.

The thug he had previous named Baldy ran at him, fists swinging, but each haymaker only resulted in his hands being equally broken and burned. With a laugh, the Rider flipped him into a pile atop the other two prone bikers before casually spewing flame forth, the burning spittle lighting them on fire as he approached the eldest of the men.

"You can't win demon! We have protection! We serve..." he stammered.

"You serve nothing but evil. Your All-Father? Odin? We are familiar with one another. Whatever sacrifices made in his name eons ago, he and that Fabio looking son of his oppose such practices now. Unfortunately for you, they are not here. They would leave you to the mercy of men's law. But I don't do mercy. But I do have a gift for you."

Johnny could hardly tell where his voice began and the Rider's ended. But he knew they shared the same rage. These monsters had sought to harm children, did harm others. They didn't deserve prison, they didn't deserve trials, they deserved vengeance and that was what they were having visited upon them. They had stupidly followed some old monster, one who had ideas about old cultures likely gleamed from half baked Urban Fantasy novels and poorly sourced internet articles. And in an effort to defile the spirit of the holiday they were going to kill innocents. They deserved everything they got.

From behind him Johnny heard one of the youngsters whimper. "S-Santa?"

The Rider was perplexed, but Blaze nearly laughed. The kid's blindfold had slipped and through a small slit he saw a tall being covered in red talking about gifts. Even after everything he'd been through he still focused on Christmas. Had he known the source of the red, well that would probably be a different story.

"Yeah kid. I'm Santa. These guys are on the naughty list. Once I finish giving 'em their coal, I'll get y'all home."

Turning back to the oldest biker he leaned in and let Zarathos do his thing. Staring into the man's eyes, his gaze going straight through to the darkened, twisted soul within, the Rider applied the Penance Stare. Immediately all the pain, suffering, and fear the freak had visited upon not only the children but anyone he had ever crossed paths with was revisted unto him a thousand fold. He screamed at first, but soon merely fell to his knees sobbing. The Rider released him, the skeletal hand burned into his shoulder.

Walking over to Carl, still screaming, he reached down and plucked the cellphone he had in his pocket, Blaze's own having been destroyed when he transformed. With the flames dying down on his hand he dialed 911 and muttered something about kids in trouble and shots fired before crushing the phone. Slowly and methodically he unbound the chain wrapped around his torso, looped an end of it, and wrapped it around Carl's foot while whistling for the Hellcycle.

"Carl is it? Congrats. You get to take a ride on Santa's sleigh." he told the man.

Climbing back onto his bike Ghost Rider roared away, just as flashing red and blue lights could be seen just over the hill. Carl meanwhile was dragged the entire way. As for Johnny? Well he considered it a Christmas Eve well spent and came away thinking that maybe, just maybe if a kidnapped kid could still be concerned with Christmas even after all he'd been through, maybe he could try a little harder too.