Gift-Wrapped & Toe-Tagged: A Melee of Misc. Holiday Anthology

by Dr. Freud Funkenstein, ed.

  Coming up to the girls’ room, he slid the now clean, shiny blade back into the sheath on his belt and then slowly reached out with the same hand and grasped the doorknob. He gave it a quick wiggle back and forth, making sure the door was indeed unlocked, then twisted it all the way to the left and slowly eased the door inward. He then tiptoed into the dark room, shutting the door behind him.

  * * *

  Dressed in traditional holiday garb, he stood at the side of the girls’ bunk beds, his head throbbing with naughty images and his mouth watering with want. No, he wasn’t a pedophile, never even had the slightest inkling to be one. What he wanted, craved, more than anything was to teach all the bad boys and girls in the world, more realistically the city he resided in, that no bad deed goes unpunished. Especially when it was supposed to be the season of giving and all he ever felt like the world ever gave him every Christmas was a lump of coal in his stocking. But not this Christmas. Oh, no. This Christmas, he was going to show the world; house by house, adult by adult, child by child, that this old St. Nick was someone to not be fucked with any longer.

  * * *

  He took care of the first girl, the one on the top bunk, with one quick slash of his knife. Blood squirted from her carotid onto his face, changing his snow, white beard into crimson and mess. It was quick and painless and she didn’t scream. The blood from the girl ran down his chin to the end of the beard’s now tangled mess and down the front of his plump belly.

  He smiled and chuckled to himself as he started to saw off the little girl’s hands, knowing she would never open another Christmas present ever again.

  * * *

  After stuffing another set of hands into his pockets, he leaned down close to the older of the two girls and took a good look. If he had to guess, he’d say she was probably either a senior in high school or a freshman in college, home for winter break. At first he got so close to her face that he felt the tip of the girl’s cold nose against his. He lifted his head away a bit so they weren’t touching any longer and then took his free, left hand, and slowly pulled the heated blanket off her body, piling it down by her feet.

  Even though she was the older of the two girls, she was still dressed from neck to toe in long, green pajamas. He tried to think of the name of the new blanket-like invention where you could literally have your entire body zipped inside a blanket, but at this very moment the name escaped him. But, it didn’t matter. Not really. It would soon be off her, anyway. Then he would show her how people in the world, rich, spoiled people like her, always treated people like him.

  The true outcasts, the little people, the elves of society.

  * * *

  Even though she was way past the age of believing in Santa Claus, Crystal had dreams of sugar plums dancing in her head as she slept. Sure, she kept up with the myth of Santa for her little sister, Susie, but she definitely didn’t believe any more. But, in her dream world, where everything was always perfect, Santa did exist and he brought her, not a shiny sled or a new Barbie doll with long, golden locks, but the hot stud quarterback on her college’s football team—and he was all tied up in a red bow just for her. She had the wet dream of waking up Christmas morning and seeing that Santa had delivered her ultimate present, Jake, and he was waiting for her, only her, under her parents’ Christmas tree. She would run over to him, throwing her little sister out of the way, and tackle him like a linebacker, wanting to plant his ass into the ground. Then, suddenly she was naked, except for a red stocking hat with a big, white fluffy ball at its end, and it kept hitting her in the sides of the face as she rode him like a reindeer wearing a saddle.

  As Crystal climaxed, she awoke.

  At first the room was too dark for her eyes, but soon they adjusted to the dim light from the moon coming in through the curtained window.

  Then she saw a man, a big man dressed all in red, leaning down only inches from her face. He looked like Santa, but since she didn’t believe in St. Nick, she knew it wasn’t the real McCoy. Besides, she didn’t see a stump of a pipe held tight in his teeth nor the smoke that would be coming from it encircling his head like a wreath.

  Her eyes shot open wide and she tried to scream. But, her cries of terror were cut off by the big man slamming a big, mitted hand down upon her face. She shook her head back and forth but it was no use. She tried to kick her legs this way and that but they wouldn’t move. She was stuck. Done for. And she didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t sure if it was the holiday spirit or a never-dying love in her heart, but all she cared about right now was to know her sister was okay. She didn’t care what Santa, not that this fat man was the real deal, did or didn’t do to her, as long as Susie was safe. Crystal wanted to ask, to beg, for ‘Santa’ to tell her that he hadn’t harmed Susie, but she had no way of doing so. The fact of the matter was, if the big man kept the pressure over her mouth and nose any longer, she was going to pass out and then she’d have no idea what ever happened to Susie, or even her parents for that matter, because the man would probably end up raping and killing her somewhere outside on top of a pile of cold, white snow. She could picture in her head the man raping her, then slipping a long, cold blade deep within her belly, until she couldn’t plead or beg at all.

  Crystal closed her eyes and waited for death. She knew she was done for and there was no reason to fight someone so much bigger, stronger than her, so she just gave up. Crystal then felt a lone tear form in the corner of her closed, right eye, and felt it then run off her face, onto her pillow.

  Then the pressure from the big man’s hand disappeared.

  After what seemed like forever, Crystal slowly opened her eyes and noticed that the big man was now gone like the last wisp of smoke from a snuffed candle.

  She quickly climbed out of bed to check on her little sister.

  And that’s when she let out a blood-curdling scream.

  * * *

  He was already loading up gifts from under the twinkling tree and stuffing them into his already full sack when he heard a scream coming from upstairs.

  Now I’ve got something to dread. He knew he should have finished the girl off, just like he had done to her parents and sister, but there was just something about her that he couldn’t bring himself to slice and dice her like all the others tonight. As he continued to load the last of the presents into the already bulging sack, he felt a stir in his heart. Something strange was happening, though he couldn’t quite put a finger on it, nor did he have the time to do so.

  The pounding of footsteps from above and another scream made him turn his head with a jerk towards the staircase. Yes, she would be coming downstairs next and that would probably mean she would run to the phone and call the police. He definitely didn’t need that. Oh, no. Not on a night like tonight—the Eve of the happiest day of the year.

  Jerking the rope on the sack to close it, he hurried over to the fireplace. He heard the girl start down the stairs and knew he had to work fast.

  He pulled the knife from his belt with his right hand and reached under his heavy coat with his left. He pulled six nails off a chain that was hanging around his neck and placed them pointed end into his mouth. He looked through the near-darkness to the staircase and saw a blur jump from the third to last step, turn, and then race to the back of the house, towards the kitchen where he assumed the phone was located.

  He quickly dug his free hand into his soggy, left pocket, and pulled out the first of the six hands he had stuffed inside.

  As he heard the girl start screaming, presumably into the phone to the police, he pointed the handle side of the knife away from him, and used it to start hammering each hand to the mantle of the fireplace.

  As he worked, he repeated the line he had said earlier, but changing the words a bit this time.

  The hands are hung by the chimney with care…in hopes that folks from everywhere far and wide will know that Christmas is the time to die! He laughed.

  He then raced to the window and threw up the sash and leaped into the ni
ght and was ready to run away fast…

  When something that felt like a sheet of snow coming from the roof smashed him to the ground.

  Suddenly, he was being pounded in the sides and back of his head by big, heavy fists. He was pinned to the ground by a great mass and the blows started to rock his head and jaw back and forth. He felt teeth begin to crack and his jaw begin to bust as the onslaught continued, the bones in his head felt like they were going to turn to dust.

  * * *

  Crystal was wrapped in a large, Christmas tree covered blanket as the first of several police cruisers and other emergency personnel pulled up in front of the house and came running towards her. All at once they began shouting, “Did you see where he went?”, “Are you okay, miss?”, “What the hell happened here?” and the like and then they started to go about their business.

  When she was finished being treated by one very calm, and very good looking young EMT, she heard something coming from above—on the roof. Her heart began to pound in her chest, as she jumped off the porch and ran into the front yard screaming, “He’s up there. He’s on the roof. I hear him…I hear him, damnit!”

  With a crime scene to secure, a killer on the loose, and a growing crowd of neighbors coming out of their homes to see what was going on, no one seemed to be paying Crystal any attention.

  But then, Crystal noticed two things at once—a figure on the ground outside her living room window, lying in the middle of a large patch of blood soaked snow, and a large, red figure standing up on the roof, waving to her.

  She lifted her hand from underneath the blanket to do the same, but quickly put it back under. She didn’t want people to see her ‘waving to someone on the roof’ and think she was crazy, especially since that was probably what they were already thinking with her family being slaughtered and all. Besides, with everything that did happen she might very well be going crazy and seeing imaginary people, Santa Claus of all things, up on the roof.

  Crystal then thought she heard a clatter on the roof and a shout into the night.

  But, that was just another piece of the myth that she would keep inside, nice and tight, for the rest of her life.

  James Dark

  SANTA FUCKS UP

  IT WAS LATE as the old security guard lumbered down the empty corridor, shining his flashlight into offices and cubicles. All was quiet.

  Back at his desk, he made a notion in his report log, then flicked on his favorite nightly radio show. He sat back, laced his fingers behind head, and closed his eyes....

  * * *

  “Kris, from ‘Up North,’ you’re on the air with Stephen Bright the Love Doctor.”

  “Um, hello?”

  “Yes, hello, Kris. What can we do for you today?”

  “Well, I guess I’m having a bit of a love problem.”

  “Of course you are, Kris. That’s why you called the Love Doctor. But let’s keep this moving along, okay? There are lots of unhappy folk during this holiday season, and the lines are full—”

  “Well, it’s about my wife.”

  “Ah, the wifey. Always a minefield, Kris. Always a minefield. How can I help you?”

  “Well, it appears she left me.”

  “Ouch! Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. Why did she leave you, Kris?”

  “The note said something about me not giving her enough attention.”

  “Is this true, Kris?”

  “Yes, I suppose so—but you have to understand that I’m a very busy man.”

  “Aren’t we all, Kris. Now what’s your question?”

  “I’m not really sure. I guess I just needed someone to talk to.”

  “Someone to talk to, as in a friend?”

  “Yes, a friend.”

  “Then hang up and find a friend’s shoulder to cry on, Kris, instead of wasting my time! Okay, let’s move on to our next caller—someone who might actually have a question for the Love Doctor. Okay, Rick in Pasadena, you’re on the air with Stephen Bright the Love—”

  “It’s still me, Love Doctor. You know, Kris from Up North.”

  “What? Vern! Vern! Where’s that manager when you need him? There he is. Vern, how the hell did Kris skip from line three to line twenty-five?”

  “It’s not nice to hang up on an old man, Love Doctor.”

  “I didn’t hang up on you, Kris old boy. Our conversation was over, just like it is now—Eddie, you’re on the air with Stephen Bright the Love Doctor....Eddie, you there?”

  “Still me, Love Doctor.”

  “Kris? Ugh! Vern, break to a commercial!”

  “Sorry, Stephen. The switchboard and control panel have gone nuts. All phone lines are down, too, except for this one call you’re on. So, for the time being, we’re not only stuck on the air but we’re stuck with this one call.”

  “Good Lord, this isn’t happening.”

  “Oh, but it is, Love Doctor. Now can we talk about my problem?”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Don’t sound so distraught, Love Doctor. Yes, I’m still here, and I still have my problem, and now you have a problem, too. Maybe we both can help each other out in the end.”

  “Fine. You win, Kris. This is your big chance. Spill your guts.”

  “Where should I begin, Love Doctor?”

  “From the beginning, Kris.”

  “Yes, okay, from the beginning, right. Well, I grew up in a magical forest never having laid eyes on another human—”

  “Kris, hold on a sec. Maybe not that far back. Wait. On second thought, what the hell were you just saying?”

  “That I had grown up in a magical wood without ever having laid eyes on another human being.”

  “Kris?”

  “Yes, Love Doctor?”

  “Please tell me you’re an old frat buddy pulling my leg.”

  “I’m afraid not—”

  “Vern! Can’t we just break to a commercial?”

  “Sorry, Stephen, nothing’s working except your mic and this single phone line. We’re trying our best to fix—”

  “See that you do, dammit! And meanwhile get Rachel Ocean in here for a weather update—”

  “Haven’t you heard, Stephen?”

  “Heard what?”

  “It’s snowing in Los Angeles. Rachel Ocean and dozens of other meteorologists are on the scene.”

  “Snow? In L.A.?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “This isn’t happening. Not to me. Is there any chance I’m dreaming or drunk?”

  “Not this time, Stephen.”

  “Lordy, I can’t buy a break. Okay, Kris. It looks like it’s just you and me. So where you calling from anyway?”

  “Los Angeles, but I’m from a land called The Ice at the End of the World, or more commonly, the North Pole.”

  “The North Pole?”

  “Yes.”

  “As in Santa Claus?”

  “Yes, you got it.”

  “As in Kris … Kringle?”

  “You got it, Love Doctor, although my true name is, in fact, Sinterklaas.”

  “Good God, help me.”

  “Of course, I hadn’t planned on revealing myself on-air, as I prefer to keep a low profile, but I am a desperate man. You’re my last hope.”

  “Someone shoot me now. Vern, what’s going on with those phone lines?”

  “Still down, Stephen.”

  “This is a bloody nightmare. Okay, Kris, or Sinter-something-or-other, you were saying something about me being your last hope.”

  “Well, not to put too much pressure on you, Love Doctor, but you’re also Christmas’s last hope.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Mrs. Clause was the glue that held everything together.”

  “The glue?”

  “To the whole operation. Sure, I was the face of the company, but it was Damme de Winter who truly ran the show. Now the elves won’t listen to me, and everything is behind schedule—and Christmas is just around the corner. There’s even talk of a revolt.”
/>
  “A revolt?”

  “Total anarchy.”

  “So what do you want me to do?”

  “Help me figure out how to win back the heart of my true love?”

  “Fine. You want my best advice, Kris?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hang up and seek some serious psychological help.”

  “Ho-ho! Good one, Love Doctor. As much as that might be the case, I don’t have time for that.”

  “Let me guess: because Christmas hangs in the balance?”

  “Yes, you got it!”

  “Oh, goodie. So why did Mrs. Clause leave you?”

  “Because I’m a horrible, horrible husband, that’s why.”

  “Okay, now that we have that solved, can I please continue with my sho—?”

  “But don’t you want to know why I’m a bad husband?”

  “More than life itself.”

  “I sense your sarcasm, Love Doctor, but my heart is too heavy to care.”