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Free Flash Fiction:

Live to See Christmas Day

By: Jae El Foster

December 23, 2018

T’was Christmas Eve, and all through the house, not father was awake – nor even his spouse. His children were snug, stacked inside their bunk beds, while granny sat rocking in her chair, cold and dead. Her throat was gashed and blood ran out and she reminded the dog of a warm water spout. He lapped at her spillage until he was nice and fed, and all of his white fur had turned a glistening wet red.

Outside, it was cold as the moon shone above and the snow fell softly to the ground with cool love. Not a sound could be heard through the town at this hour, for all had retired long before the snowy shower. Up in the sky was neither a bird nor a sleigh, but down on the ground was where the trouble lay.

He lurked in a suit that was red with white fur trim, and although he wore a beard, his belly was flat and slim. His beard, to say, was mostly black with stubble, and his laughter was flat; not bursting like a bubble. He held a red sack draped over one shoulder while shivering a bit as the air got colder.

“I’ve got to hurry up; I’ve got to move on. This robbery better be worth this suit that I don.”

He looked at the house and all seemed quiet. It was a perfect setting – a perfect robbing climate.  He hungered for the loot, for the presents galore, and he wondered if the mother would serve him as a whore.

With steady movements and a bounce to his step, around to the back of the house the robber crept. He looked at the door but feared an alarm, and so he tried the windows to minimize his harm. One window was open and so he climbed quickly inside, and leaving it opened, he sought the shadows to hide.

“This should be easy,” he whispered with a chuckle. “I’ll kill the father first or I’ll surely taste his knuckle.”

From behind him he heard the sound of alarm – a bark from a dog that could bring to him harm. The dog was white with red on his face, but the red was runny and seemed out of place.

“What mess is this?” the robber whispered unclear. “How strange and unusual… how cryptic and queer!”

He patted the dog, even though he growled, and when he saw his hand, there was blood as a shroud. He looked at the dog and then across the room where granny’s dead body seemed to glow and loom.

“Someone else is here,” he said as he gazed around, and then he was silent as he listened for a sound. There was the crackling of fire coming from the chimney place and the sound of the dog growling through his face.

And then he heard them – footsteps from afar – and the robber crept near to a door that was ajar. He peeked through the door and saw another man in red; this one was looming over a child in a bunk bed.

“You’ve got to be joking,” he grunted in complaint. “I thought of this first and a quitter, I ain’t!”

From the pocket of his coat, he gripped onto his knife and prepared himself to claim the impostor’s life. He pushed open the door, letting it sound, and he smiled at the man, who in surprise spun around.

“Merry Christmas, fatso!” the robbery told his new prey. “It’s too bad you won’t live to see Christmas Day!”

Both Santa’s were fast – quick on their feet – and a battle began over the other’s defeat. Both had blades as sharp as could be, and the bloodshed that followed was a sight to see. The children in their beds had already been sliced; there was no one to wake as the Santa’s were diced.

In the end when all fell silent and cold and more blood covered the walls than paper and mold, the Santa’s sat flat beside one another, both bleeding out and both fading under.

“This is your fault,” groaned the robber to his assailant. “This house was my job, so to take it, you can’t.”

“Your job?” the fat, bloody Santa then asked. “I’ve been plotting this scheme for a year that has passed.”

They wanted to stand; they wanted to fight, but both of the Santa’s had lost all their might. Almost in unison, they looked into the other’s eye, but instead of further fighting, they both began to die.

From the threshold of the room with a smile on his face, another man in red watched as the scene took place. He held his belly in his hands as he laughed with glee, for this miracle of Christmas, he was present to see. Evil had fallen, just as it often did, and now Santa could continue his Christmas Eve bid.

Although they were dead, each and every one, Santa left the family gifts as if they’d bask in the fun. He ate oatmeal cookies and sipped down a cold drink, and he ripped out a fart that smelled of cinnamon stink.

Up the chimney, he fled – the man named Saint Nick – and to his sleigh, he ran across a rooftop so slick.

In the sky, he shouted as he flew into the night, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good fright!”


Copyright Jae El Foster, 2018