Number one.
Scratched glasses were laid gently on the ground beside the mattress, the blurred form of a woman leaning down towards the boy and planting a soft kiss against his forehead, his aunt on his mother's side who had agreed rather quickly to take him in after the single woman's untimely demise. Sure, they didn't live a life of luxury, something that kept the social security workers swinging by at unexpected times, but the boy was happy at times like these, when a woman who loved him unconditionally would tuck him in with a tender kiss despite the looming figure of her boyfriend in the doorway, urging her to hurry. The woman pushed herself to her feet after tucking the layers of tattered blankets around his lithe form, scurrying out of the door with a parting smile that went unnoticed by the boy who had instantly shut his eyes- the same caramel eyes as her beloved sister.
One, the boy thought once he heard the door shut softly, determined to fall asleep before the yelling began for even a moment of restful sleep. Two, three, four, five. While it was true that he loved his aunt, he could do without her boyfriend towering over the both of them like some god deciding how they should act, punishing them with verbal abuse when they chose against his wishes. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
.
.
Two hundred and three, two hundred and four, two hundred and five. Another crash sounded, the boy jolting at the memory of a burglar busting into his mother's house, his eyes squeezing more tightly shut. Two hundred and six, two hundred and seven. A door slammed open, the shouts of his aunt and her boyfriend fading down the hallway and into the front yard of the little house. When all signs of the fight faded without the front door closing once more, the boy peeling his eyes open and scrambled for his glasses, shoving them on his face and looking around for his alarm clock, only to remember that he didn't have one anymore. Now, along with a full bladder, he had a burning curiosity for the time. Deciding to stop by the bathroom before heading to the kitchen to check their half broken microwave for the time, the boy cautiously crept from his room and tiptoed around the house, just in case the adults came back.
He had just made it to the bathroom door when there was a faint crashing sound from the next room over, the living room, and the sound of muted cursing could be heard in an unfamiliar, gruff voice. The boy peeked around the doorway, eyes widening when a towering man stood slowly, grumbling a low, "This is what I get for trying to be good," under his breath. Only, it wasn't like any man that he had seen before, skin a bright ruby red and eyes glowing a deep butterscotch color, a thin tail whipping around irately from the back of the santa costume.
"Excuse me?" the boy mumbled out, the hypnotizing motion of the tail swinging allowing the boy's mind to wander from rational thought. "Who are you?"
The almighty demon studying the sickly looking Christmas tree stiffened at the voice of the little boy, Troy, who had accidently addressed his letter to Satan instead of Santa. Deepening his already gruff voice and puffing his chest out pridefully, he turned around and offered the child a wide grin of pointed fangs. "Hello there, sonny!" he chirped out loudly, mimicking that skeleton from the movie he had watched in an attempt to study how Santa is portrayed- hey, Hell doesn't have a very wide selection of Christmas movies. "I'm Santa Clause!"
"No," the boy argued, crossing his arms stubbornly across his chest and pouting towards the tall demon. "Santa is supposed to be fat. You're not fat." Satan deflated slightly at that, shoulders slumping as he fought back an embarrassed growl, reminding himself mentally that, You agreed to bring joy and merry to this little boy, so keep your cool. "Besides, you have red skin and a tail. You look more like the… Devil." A defeated sigh escaped the little boy as he shrunk in on himself, his voice becoming weak as he asked, "I misspelled Santa, didn't I?"
"Hey," Satan rasped out, taken by surprise at the boy's tone. "Don't let it get ya down, kid. It happens to the best of us sometimes."
"No, it's okay. Mama said that I had a thing where my letters move around." Understanding shot through the demon, whose hand reached subconsciously for the letter tucked away in his front pocket, the first letter he had gotten in centuries. "Hey, wait… if you got my letter, then why are there presents under the tree? Auntie already said money was tight, so I wouldn't get a lot."
There was a moment of silence, the boy stepping towards the brightly wrapped boxes before glancing curiously towards the Devil, who offered a small smile.
"Merry Christmas, kid." Two presents were opened that night, a brand new pair of glasses laying beside the boy's mattress when Satan finally got him to fall asleep and a stack of letters tucked into the demon's pocket as he left, having waited up until the couple had returned, hours later, keeping the promise he had made to the child.