12 Deaths of Christmas

by Paul Sating

  Tonight, he planned on teaching her a few more things.

  This was going to be a good Christmas.

  ***

  The Sender stretched, waking from its slumber. Each muscle fiber burned to life as he extended his thick legs. Muscles this size always hurt more when they were cold.

  The Sender emerged from his cocoon, back into the world of the mortal.

  The air was crisp and the night was dark.

  It was time to hunt.

  He smiled before letting loose with a ravenous howl that shook the night.

  ***

  “You wouldn’t believe what I got today. A package, well not really a package,” Haley said from the bathroom, where she was doing whatever women did in preparation for being sexually ravaged. “It was the weirdest thing. Someone left this thing on my—wait, did you hear that?”

  Jeremy sat up on the bed, the sheet falling over his extended stomach to his groin. “What?”

  She peeked out at him, her hands busy in her hair. She wasn’t smiling. But he would make her smile in a few minutes. “I said,” she said with a sigh, “did you hear that?”

  Jeremy shook his head. He didn’t hear anything, too distracted by his throbbing cock and everything he was about to do to her. Nothing else mattered. Plus, it was Christmas Eve. All of his neighbors were fake Christians, the type who went to Christmas Eve mass and pretended to be part of the pretentiously pure. He knew better, of course. Every day he saw them doing things that proved their true character, things that couldn’t be erased no matter how many torture sessions they attended. None of them would be home tonight. Haley was just hearing things, delaying the pounding she was about to take.

  “No,” he answered. “Just hurry up and get your ass in here.” Jeremy rubbed himself, careful not to rub too much. He wanted to see her wince tonight and that wouldn’t happen if he spent himself before she even climbed into bed.

  The bathroom light flicked out, darkening the bedroom, now lit only by the soft glow of the fire he started as soon as they got home. Younger women were so fascinated by his romanticism, another advantage he had over those teenage punks and their tight bodies and bulging muscles. Seconds later, Haley stepped out of the bathroom. Her thin frame wasn’t hidden by the black nightie she wore, the one he bought her a few weeks ago. He intentionally bought the most transparent one the store had in stock. She looked better then he’d anticipated. Haley stood at the foot of the bed smirking, a finger lightly pinched between her teeth. That was the flirtatiousness that the whore hooked him with. Haley was so different than all the other women.

  She was special.

  Jeremy didn’t believe in love, but Haley was making that position untenable.

  “Do you like it?” she asked, swinging her hips back and forth making the bottom of the nightie sway, exposing a few inches of naked thigh each time.

  “I love it,” he grinned. “Now, get your ass in bed.”

  Haley winced. Jeremy didn’t care. Girls—women—like her needed to be told what to do. That’s how dirty women liked it.

  Haley crawled onto the bed just to the side of his feet and slowly made her way toward him. The nightie hung open, exposing her breasts. Even in that position, when gravity pulled on every ounce of skin, her body refused to give. Her firm breasts were round, just as they were supposed to be. Her stomach, flat. She was perfect. “I don’t like it when you talk to me like that,” she said as she laid on her side, tracing a finger down his chest and over the hump of his stomach, toward his cock.

  Jeremy laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Her question made him laugh harder. “Nothing.” Stupid girl.

  She began to stroke him. Her grip hurt. Just like he wanted it. So young, but so advanced.

  Worth all the trouble she causes.

  Few, almost no, young women were. But not Haley. She never disappointed.

  Slowly, she stroked him. Somehow, she made him harder than he already was. The way she jerked him could make a faggot cum, the perfect grip and cadence. So good.

  He didn’t have time for her games tonight though. It was Christmas Eve and he’d waited all day to get his hands on someone. She happened to be the fortunate winner. Plus, the trip to the mall made him inpatient about feeling the smooth skin and tightness of a woman. Having to wait made him crazy with frustration and she was going to pay for that.

  Jeremy shoved her off. Haley squealed. But he didn’t give her time to complain, rolling on top of her and kissing her hard, biting her lower lip. She liked that. He bit a little harder.

  “Ow!” she whined, trying to pull as far back as she could. “That hurt!”

  “Shut up,” he ordered, placing a finger on her lip and then sliding his hand down to her throat, squeezing, just enough. His thumb found the indent just above where her collarbones met. Haley’s mouth opened. No words came out. He liked her better that way. And she wasn’t hating this either. Her wetness betrayed that. He pressed up against her, into her, and her shock turned to ecstasy. It was in her face.

  When he rammed his full length into her, she gasped.

  That made him smile.

  It was going to be a fun night.

  ***

  The Sender stayed in the hallway, listening. It was always weird, times like these. He never knew when the appropriate time was to interrupt. This wasn’t the first time he’d done this. Thousands of times over the past millennia he’d stood in similar domiciles, waiting. Humans were a strange species, their desires and motivations obscured by social conventions. But understanding them wasn’t the Sender’s job.

  There were other things he could spend his immortal energy on.

  Like figuring out how to make this all end.

  The mental exercise did make for an interesting game while he waited. There were only so many occasions he could do this without being dulled by the entire experience.

  What the male and female in the other room were doing was natural; he understood that as well as he understood the nature of any species in this realm. They all did it; this species just seemed to be more masochistic about it. They enjoyed self-enforced limitations and torturing each other physically, while torturing themselves mentally.

  The Sender didn’t care, he was here not because of what the two were doing, but because of what the male was doing. While the act itself may be completely natural, his decision to manipulate the young female wasn’t. That was why the Sender had been sent.

  To correct.

  To teach.

  To deliver consequences.

  A mission he’d grown tired of long before this realm saw things like the automobile, steam engines, or even their lord and savior.

  How many times had he contemplated asking for a reassignment only to never follow through on his own urges? The Sender was aware that he was here, doing the duty he despised, because of his own cowardice. This work was supposed to be temporary, part of the onboarding process that each new one of his kind went through. But more than 2,000 human years had come and gone and here he was, standing in yet another domicile, readying to deliver justice.

  It was unfair to expect him to have to continue on this long. There were others who could do it. He knew they weren’t as good as him, but who was? Was he to pay for his superior work ethic for all eternity?

  It was time for something new. The excitement of this job was gone, it had been for the past few centuries. Even though his work was restricted to just this time of the human calendar, it was a busy period. Hundreds of assignments each time. It was grating. The Sender was jaded.

  Where was the fun? This species didn’t learn, they didn’t change or strive to be better. What was the point in all of it? Worse yet? The work had changed him. A thousand human years ago he wasn’t so aggressive. There were occasions when he’d let the species explain themselves, even let them walk away. So much of that had changed though. The Sender was no longer what he used to be, and that was because of this unending mission.

&nb
sp; Maybe after this season, I’ll ask to be released, the Sender thought, knowing he wouldn’t.

  The couple’s animalistic machinations continued, ramping up toward the inevitable climax. How many times had he heard this? It played out the same every single time. While the utterance made the job easier, it jaded the Sender even more. The teenage female was faking it for the man’s pleasure. Why couldn’t this species’ males perceive that?

  The Sender wondered what this female got out of fornicating with a male who was old enough to have spawned her. This scene had played out thousands of times over the ages. He guessed understanding their motivations was beyond his immortal mind.

  You’re not here to contemplate this, he reminded himself.

  He was here to do a job.

  A job that exhausted him.

  A job he despised.

  But a job that needed to be done. And it was his to do.

  Each of his kind was responsible for particular areas of the human species. Others had more glamorous responsibilities. Some were incredibly tame, just as unrewarding as his own work had become. But some. Oh, how some of his kind got to perform glorious work.

  Right now, listening to the two humans, he would gladly accept any other assignment.

  Soft moans drifted into the hall, overlapped by masculine grunts. The Sender’s breeches began to tighten as his cock thickened. He grimaced. Already? Usually, he required a little more. This couple had a strong effect on him.

  He snarled. Confused.

  The hallway closed in around him. He couldn’t pace outside the room because the pervert had wood flooring, and the Sender’s hooves would announce his presence. He couldn’t afford to give the couple any advantages. He hated this task, but he was going to do the job right. That was the only way to ensure promotion out of it. If he was particularly cruel, it would curry enough favor that he might be allowed to finally move on to something worthwhile.

  The sounds from the bedroom grew louder. This made the Sender happy; his work here was almost done. The last season he would do anything like this, he hoped. He was tired of listening to this species fulfill their endless need for empty procreation.

  He was ready to make an example out of them if it meant he could move on.

  Edging down the hallway, careful to softly land each hoof on the off chance these disgusting humans were listening.

  They weren’t, of course. The male was too busy enjoying someone he had no business being with, and the female was too busy pretending everything about the male excited her. Neither one of them were aware of him.

  The bedroom door was cracked open. The Sender crept closer and peered in. Firelight cast flickering shadows against the walls. The light would make his appearance even more paralyzing.

  Disgusted at the vision of the pair copulating, the Sender turned away. Humans were a foul species. The male was on top of the female and the bed sheet had been pushed down to below the male’s feet, exposing his fat ass. Up and down, the pervert thrust into the young female with all the skill and finesse of an apprentice woodworker etching out his first scroll saw design with a hatchet.

  And she, the female, who should be worrying about the comings and goings of her people instead of spending time with males like this, winced. Her face poked up over the pervert’s round, pimple-covered shoulder.

  The vision angered him.

  He was angered that the pervert would take advantage of someone who was too young to understand everything she was getting herself into.

  He was angry that she allowed herself to get into these situations because she was infatuated with the self-loathing that pervaded this species, the type of hatred that ran so deep and raw as to drive them to the brink of non-existence.

  He was angry that after serving for centuries as the arbiter of these things, at spending eleven human months every year tracking the improprieties of this species. Angry at the betrayal and pain, the ugliness of infidelity that rotted away their core that refused to be diminished.

  He was angry that after generations of humans destroying each other’s lives, suffering despair and loneliness on the good days, and being driven to hate and kill on the bad days, humans never stopped doing the simple things that would help them avoid their own self-destruction.

  The act didn’t bother him, there was a certain beauty to it. Even though he had no reproductive needs, he appreciated the fluid splendor of human fornication. What this pervert was doing wasn’t beautiful. He was a jackhammer, not a paint brush. A cold Pacific Northwest day, not a day spent under a sunny Caribbean sun.

  “I have called you by your name; you are mine,” he snarled.

  The Sender could have pushed the door open quietly, could have slunk into the room using the shadows as cover. He could have used a million diversionary tactics he’d perfected over the millennia since his creation. But he didn’t want to. He wanted the thrill of cruel trauma.

  I want out.

  He wanted to etch fear on their faces for all eternity.

  The female screamed when he flung the door open. She tried to push the fat pervert off, but he was lost in his thrusting. This was going to be too easy. Dissatisfying.

  The female’s legs shoved outward. The male pushed himself up on extended arms and looked down at her, smirking as if he was conducting a magical show for his teenage lover. He never saw the Sender coming.

  The Sender strode across the room, the woman kicked again as she attempted to get out from underneath the male who, for his part, twisted, his eyes widening as he became aware of the immortal presence.

  The Sender had seen this type of reaction each and every time for thousands of years. His presence was threatening. Minds broke when eyes took in the vision that was him. Maybe it was his goat legs or his thick human-like chest that always unsettled. More likely than not, it was the Sender’s human face with the elongated snout filled with large, flat teeth. The two large horns protruding from the top of his head also seemed to push this species beyond their limited understanding of creation.

  The male fell off the female, his blubbering gut failing to hide his dying erection. The female pushed herself against the headboard, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Trembling.

  “Get—get the fuck out!” the male ordered, backing away against the headboard in an attempt to put as much space between him and the Sender as possible.

  Space wouldn’t help though. Nothing could.

  “Stay away!”

  But the Sender came. Slow. Methodical. This was what he enjoyed; this was where he got his thrills. He loved seeing the panic in the human’s eyes, their disorientation as they tried to comprehend how a living nightmare could be corporeal.

  Then the male rolled to his side, yanking open his nightstand drawer. The Sender didn’t need to see the small handgun to know it was there. In a swift motion, he hopped onto the bed, right at the feet of the lovers. The woman yelped. The pervert swung the handgun.

  But the human was too slow, as was typical of their species. The Sender delivered a powerful kick to the male’s arm, snapping it in two. The male screamed in pain and the female screamed in horror at her lover’s newly angled arm. The handgun fell to the bed between the pervert and her. All three looked at the gun. It was the center of their universe for the humans, their hope for salvation.

  The female snatched it and aimed at the Sender. Her arms shook. “Please … please leave me alone,” she stammered.

  The Sender lifted one thick leg and slammed his hoof down on the middle of the male’s leg, snapping his femur. For the second time, the human male screamed, falling to his side. The male’s breathing was ragged as he attempted to clutch a shattered leg and decimated arm.

  The female jumped to the floor in naked glory, backing away from the bed while locking her aim on the Sender. “I … I didn’t do anything.”

  “I’ve called you by your name. You are mine,” the Sender barked, hopping from the bed. His hoof stomp split the strips of floorin
g. The fireplace crackled. A log popped.

  Tears rimmed the female’s eyes. “I just … I just want to go home.” She backed up toward the door. The Sender followed her. He didn’t mind toying with her, giving her the impression that escape was possible. It’s what made this all the more thrilling. The female risked a glance at his stiffened cock. The thrill of this chase evident to her.

  The excitement of purification. Even after all these years, he could still find joy. But the Sender knew this lust was temporary. The promotion out would be his.

  A broad smile spread along his snout as he lunged at the female.

  His sensitive ears exploded with the eruption of two distinct pops as the woman fired the pistol. The slugs buried deep in his wide chest, jerking him to a halt. A bitter smell in the air assaulted his sensitive nostrils.

  The Sender looked down at the two new holes in his chest. And then at her. The female shook violently, noting the lack of blood from the wounds she inflicted. “No,” she whimpered as she backed away. He lunged at her a second time, and this time she didn’t bother to fire the weapon.

  He grabbed the female, her naked form shivering in cold fear, and tucked her under one arm, spinning back to the bed. The pervert couldn’t even be bothered to watch, he cared so little for the female he pursued so voraciously over the past year.

  The Sender would need to work a little harder.

  He bounded over to the fireplace. If shattering the pervert’s body didn’t get his attention, if possessing the female wasn’t dramatic enough, the Sender would gladly break their determined minds.

  Whoever found the pair after this was done would never see the world the same again.

  The woman kicked but couldn’t loosen his grip.

  “No!” she screamed as he lifted her body with ease and flung her toward the fireplace. The grate collapsed inward and her back struck the corner of the fireplace, piercing the air with the cracking of her spine. She fell on the marble.