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 night 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 loos
e, 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.
SUNSHINE BEAMED
by Marie Green
Sunshine could make peanut shapes under her slippers. Two feet placed close together in the shallow dusting of morning snow and a quick hop away made peanuts, side by side, in neat pairs of slipper prints. Soon the driveway was covered, resembling a shell-littered steakhouse floor. Puffs of warm, steamy breath billowed above in the frigid morning air, the small clouds dissipating against the festively-lit facade of the neighbor’s house across the dirt road. Delicate, multicolored bulbs shone against tufts of perfectly fallen, glistening snow. Slipper clad footfalls added a cold crunch to the still morning as she stepped across the road, closer to the warm vision the neighbor’s yard offered. A beautifully decorated Spruce was just within reach across the pickets. She breathed deep, stealing the strong, wintery scent of snow-coated pine. One hand rose to touch it, fingers grazing the scarlet tinsel and sharp needles. A dreamy, envious sigh became frost in the chill, dying hopelessly.
Santa Claus comes to houses like this.
Crows and magpies squawked piercing threats at one another up the road to the right, startling away the daydream. Someone had run over a deer last night and a bunch of scavenging birds fought for their share of the bloodied carcass. There was a big mess on the side of the road. A portion of the birds parted from the kill as she approached, shrieking as they dove at other birds in the air, giving a glimpse of the mutilation. Shades of brilliant red contrasted against the fresh snow and black and white birds. That’s a no no, thoughts chided. Shouldn’t be so close.
A racking shiver jolted her away from the fascination of watching the birds fight. Sunshine wiped her wet nose on the matted fabric of her pajama gown and resigned to walking back up the driveway to her own house. As she passed through the gap in the fence that was once a gate, her foot glanced off a can. A short clatter ensued as it smashed against a snow-covered pile of empties. Blue aluminum peeked through the snow like ornamental bulbs.
A cough sounded inside the house, stilling Sunshine in her peanut tracks.
No one will be happy if I ain’t inside while they sleep. No one needs to spend their time watching to be sure I don’t wander off and get lost.
As expected, no one came outside to see what she was doing. She continued toward the front door but just as her hand touched the icy knob, the urge struck one last time to see the pretty Christmas tree across the road. A lip quivered atop a trembling chill-pink chin.
As she turned to the darkened windows of the house to which she was consigned, her gaze came to rest on the thin branches of the sole, sickly pine in the yard. Picking up a can showed how much the can’s weight also resembled a Christmas bulb, and she carefully threaded a few of the tree’s needles through the aluminum tab to hold it in place.
I can do it! Just need more.…
Ignoring the sting of cold fingers, she worked diligently, gathering more frosty cans from the yard to decorate the pine. Remembering the red tinsel from the neighbor’s tree, she scanned the yard for something similar to use, but aside from a length of torn, yellow tape that read CAUTION, nothing resembled tinsel.
“Ohhhhh,” she moaned low.
Birds squawked on the roadside.
A crow pulled something long, shiny, and red from beneath the bloodied fur. After looking back at the darkened window for reassurance that no one would witness, Sunshine ran from the yard to scare the birds away. She smiled as she looked at the piled length of ropey flesh. The pungent smell of coppery, warm blood hung in a thick halo around the deer.
Fast, fast… Her hand traced the end to some place under the deer’s hind legs and gave it a pull. Brown fluid squished between her fingers. Nausea roiled deep in her gut.
Tummy ache. Sunshine looked away. A hard shake of her hands cleared them of the mess, flinging dark streaks into the snow, splattering the worn flannel sleep shirt with brown stripes of stinking matter. There, she thought, relieved. She choked up her shaking grip and tried again, causing the carcass to slide to rest on top of her slipper.
A squeal erupted from her chest. “Bad…bad deer,” she wailed. She jerked her foot from beneath the weight and had to go to her knees to retrieve her slipper, quickly, not missing more than a beat in her quest.
She placed her feet on either side of the carcass and repositioned her hands on the sinewy cord. Leaning back, she grunted loud. She gasped as her hands slicked up the bloodied tube, sending her sprawling backward, landing on her bottom in the streaked and splattered snow.
“Owwwwwie,” she cried.
She pushed back to her feet and wiped her hands on her nightgown. She studied the firmly anchored treasure and knew she would need the scissors out of the what’s-it drawer in the kitchen to cut it loose.
When she was little it was against the rules to take the scissors because they were sharp, but that had been a long time ago. She’d outgrown Aunt Sal at seventeen, and was almost as tall as Cousin Benny; although she knew she was done growing now. Aunt Sal said that she was taller than Momma had been but Sunshine didn’t remember what Momma looked like. Cousin Benny said Momma was really pretty, just like Sunshine.
Sunshine walked as quiet as she could past the couch where Cousin Benny sprawled, mouth open in an alcohol-induced slumber. A sour smell hung in the chilly air inside the house, and Sunshine couldn’t help inhaling through her nose as she quietly tiptoed her way across the room. Her foot hit a can and it cracked its way across the small living room, ricocheting off a pile of discarded pizza boxes and two-liter Mountain Dew bottles, sending two of them toppling loudly onto the dilapidated, mud-streaked, hard wood floor. Oh no, no, no. Sunshine held her breath.
Benny snorted in his sleep, and caught a bit of escaping saliva with his tongue before it slid from the corner of his mouth and onto the stained couch cushion. His tattered blanket slid onto the floor, exposing an erection. Sunshine’s eyes darted away as memories invaded her mind. Her sticky hands clawed fistfuls of flannel.
“It’s okay, Sunny,” he’d breathed against her ear, “We’re grown-ups now…”
She didn’t like to look at Cousin Benny anymore. He had told her it would be fun, that she would like it. His hands made her feel good. He hadn’t told her that it would make her feel creepy and as if she was misbehaving every time she saw him. Or that it would hurt.
Movement brought her back to the present as he rolled onto his side, still asleep.
Sunshine continued on to the kitchen and got the scissors. Her nose was so cold that it itched with runny mucus. She scrubbed it with a numb hand then wiped it on a dishtowel. Aunt Sal would tell her again that women who thought like little girls, like Sunshine did, couldn’t go outside alone. Couldn’t use the scissors alone. Couldn’t go to school alone, or go for a walk alone. Aunt Sal would be angry when she saw Sunshine had gone outside by herself but the reward far outweighed the cost.
We’re gonna have a real Christmas tree this year. Maybe Santa will come to our house. Then Aunt Sal won’t be mad anymore.
She slipped quietly outside.<
br />
Soon, Sunshine had clipped free her prize and trotted back toward the front yard.
Quick like a bunny…quick like a bunny, she thought, matching time to the beat of her slippers in the snow. As she ran past the neighbors’ tree, she smiled when she saw the curtain close across their front window. An excited, screeching giggle escaped her. The neighbors must be jealous that she, too, had a beautiful Christmas tree.
She carefully adorned the tree, taking time to arrange the hardening ropes in precise scallops from the long branches at the small tree’s base clear to the top. She stood back, wiping her soiled hands on the front of her nightgown.
Snow fell again and large, fluffy wet flakes came to rest on the blue aluminum. All she needed to complete the tree was an angel for the top. A scan of the yard and roadside offered nothing. Even walking and toeing snow-covered heaps was fruitless.
Maybe there’s an angel inside.
Wandering from room to room, she searched diligently as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, careful not to wake anyone else until the tree was done.
Oh boy! The Baby Alive she’d begged for last time Aunt Sal had taken her along to Goodwill peeked from under yellowed sheets on her bed. She’d found the perfect tree topper. Eager, she grabbed the doll.
Silent as a mouse. She slipped past Benny and back out the front door.
Baby Alive sat crooked atop the tree, slid past a scalloped, sticky tree branch and fell into the snow. Sunshine picked the doll up and wiped the dark red streaks from the doll’s rubbery skin. The tree’s spindly top bounced upright. Tree topper angels had a place for the tree to go on their bottoms. The toy didn’t have wings either but her dolly had a sweet face like real tree-topper angels. Upending Baby Alive revealed the place where the baby doll went potty.
A Hacked-Up Holiday Massacre: Halloween Is Going to Be Jealous Page 23
