How are the Christmas preparations going? Are you roadtripping this Christmas?
The cousin Stockings had been carefully hung at the end of the boys's beds, and after a certain amount of excited chatter and banter the two cousins had finally fallen asleep. For Michael this was his first Christmas with his aunt and uncle and he had mixed feelings: there was the novelty of it all, and it was definitely fun to have William here as well, but there was still some sadness there. His parents had both been killed in a coach-crash in June and though he knew they weren't coming back he'd still quietly asked Santa, when he sat on his lap at the mall, if he could arrange it. Santa had leaned forward, his breath smelling like burned sticks and peppermints, and whispered in Michael's ear that he would see if his parents would be allowed to come back. "Sometimes," Santa had whispered, "they have to do even more important things elsewhere and finish them first before they can return." Michael had nodded and said he understood, but he couldn't think of anything more important his parents could be doing. He managed not to cry until his uncle let him go to the toilets in the mall and he could lock himself in a stall. William grunted softly and rolled over in his sleep. Somewhere outside there was the honking of reindeer, and then the bedroom door quietly opened. Santa looked into the room and at the two sleeping boys, his breath sounding hoarse and choked in his throat. "Ho. Ho. Ho." he said. The glistening muscles and tendons of his throat seemed to pulse with each word. Money or skin he thought, remembering what Suzie had said repeatedly before sending him out. His bony, bloody fingers caressed the fresh skin on his arms, and he considered the children. Money was unlikely, so that left skin. Santa hesitated, other, older imperatives stirring in his brain. "Naughty or nice?" he whispered to himself. Naughty children deserved to lose their skin, definitely. There should be a list...? There was a list, on the dashboard of the sleigh next to a post-it note from Suzie. Money or skin. He checked it. Twice. Michael was nice, and William was... balanced.
Santa left the house and headed to the next one, the reindeer's eyes bright and terrible in the night sky. William snored softly, and Michael slept silently. At the ends of the beds Michael's stocking now contained two bottles of moisturising lotion, and William's contained the skinned heads of his parents.
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How are the Christmas preparations going? Are you roadtripping this Christmas?
The cousin
Stockings had been carefully hung at the end of the boys's beds, and after a certain amount of excited chatter and banter the two cousins had finally fallen asleep. For Michael this was his first Christmas with his aunt and uncle and he had mixed feelings: there was the novelty of it all, and it was definitely fun to have William here as well, but there was still some sadness there. His parents had both been killed in a coach-crash in June and though he knew they weren't coming back he'd still quietly asked Santa, when he sat on his lap at the mall, if he could arrange it. Santa had leaned forward, his breath smelling like burned sticks and peppermints, and whispered in Michael's ear that he would see if his parents would be allowed to come back. "Sometimes," Santa had whispered, "they have to do even more important things elsewhere and finish them first before they can return."
Michael had nodded and said he understood, but he couldn't think of anything more important his parents could be doing. He managed not to cry until his uncle let him go to the toilets in the mall and he could lock himself in a stall.
William grunted softly and rolled over in his sleep. Somewhere outside there was the honking of reindeer, and then the bedroom door quietly opened. Santa looked into the room and at the two sleeping boys, his breath sounding hoarse and choked in his throat.
"Ho. Ho. Ho." he said. The glistening muscles and tendons of his throat seemed to pulse with each word.
Money or skin he thought, remembering what Suzie had said repeatedly before sending him out. His bony, bloody fingers caressed the fresh skin on his arms, and he considered the children. Money was unlikely, so that left skin.
Santa hesitated, other, older imperatives stirring in his brain.
"Naughty or nice?" he whispered to himself. Naughty children deserved to lose their skin, definitely. There should be a list...?
There was a list, on the dashboard of the sleigh next to a post-it note from Suzie. Money or skin. He checked it. Twice. Michael was nice, and William was... balanced.
Santa left the house and headed to the next one, the reindeer's eyes bright and terrible in the night sky. William snored softly, and Michael slept silently. At the ends of the beds Michael's stocking now contained two bottles of moisturising lotion, and William's contained the skinned heads of his parents.
Greg - nah, we're sticking around here again. I'm working a half day Christmas Eve and then 8 hour days Thursday, Friday, Saturday this week.
Plus, you know, holiday travel is consistently a horror show.
Aw, man. I was holding out hope right until the end that this wouldn't be as disturbing as I suspected it would be. Silly me, clearly.
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