Do you, too, remember this golden Cthristmas Cthlassic from your Cthildhood? I can remember the plot to this very day…
It was a dark and stormy night. In his house at Rlyeh, Great Cthulhu was Fhtagning.
But though dreaming, he was not dead. He merely seemed dead. In reality, his malign consciousness was free: free to roam the galaxy, seeking ingress to the minds of the weak, the stunted, the insane. Finally, after torturous aeons of fruitless fumblings, he had found his entry point.
“Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the haunt, Not a tentacle was stirring, not even the night gaunt. The brains were hung by the intestines with care, In hopes that St. Cthulhu soon would be there.”
Infiltrating the airwaves with his inhuman, eldritch thought-patterns the sinister Great Old One was able to connect with those who had remained loyal to him throughout all the dark aeons of his silence. A little “shipyard accident” here, a little “missing in Arabia” there and poof! The stage was set for the Greatest of the Great Old Ones to rise again, striking fear into the hearts of all puny humans.
The stars (m)aligned. The Great Cthulhu rose, slavering for victims.
But how to get to all of them? Why, look to the Ancient Masters for instruction, of course. Who has free access and welcome into all households? Who has profound, unthinkable powers of transportation, manifestation, and time-manipulation? One, and only one being, my friends.
Yes, the old man had to be gotten out of the way. Thus began the battle between The Old Man and the Sea Creature from Beyond the Abyss of the Star Spaces and the Clamoring Chaos Which is the End of All Things, by Asenath Waite.
I won’t go into the details of the battle (too gruesome for a wholesome, all-ages blog such as this one) but rest assured, there was much mucous involved.
That accomplished, Cthulhu settled down by the fire with a nice, wholesome snack, and waited for breakfast delivery.
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raincoaster 
In a related vein: Santa’s Twin, by none other than Dean Koontz. There’s also “Robot Santa,” the sequel.
Almost as frightening as the idea that a hirsute stranger might be slithering down your chimney, prowling around your home and passing moral judgement on the moral health of you and your family.
However, I suspect that this year he’ll just piggyback on the telecom company wiretapping.
Used the word moral twice in the same sentence. I need moral coffee.
Anything that starts with Bulwer-Lytton is bound to be weird. And that it was. Sleigh bells and Sarkomand. You know, “fabled Sarkomand with its black broken pillars and crumbling sphinx-crowned gates and titan stones and monstrous winged lions against the sickly glow of those luminous night clouds.”
Wait minute, isn’t there a winged lion in that classic TV Christmas special — Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer?
OK, I’m stopping now.
You’ve got me all Lovecrafted out of shape…
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