I know that some people feel that my take on romance is... unromantic at times, but how do my family situations seem? I feel like they're mostly functional families who just find themselves in unfortunate circumstances. As in, it's completely not my fault, I'm just recording the facts :)
The aunt It was probably the honking of the reindeer that woke her, odd guttural grunts as they communicated their satisfaction to one another. She sat up in the old bed, listening to the cold wood creak as her weight shifted, and noticed that her husband was absent. The sheets were folded back neatly and the pillow still had the indentation of his head in it, so he'd probably just got up to go to the bathroom. She settled back, wondering if she'd fall asleep before he returned. "No, please!" She tensed, suddenly cold despite the sheets and blankets. Surely she hadn't just heard that? Just her mind playing tricks on her, a half-heard, half-thought phrase as she slipped back into dreams. Her breathing slowed as she thought about that, though there was a lingering worry that she was going to have a nightmare now. The honking started again, like a group of men -- of burglars! -- trying to break in. Where, where was Albert? He should be back by now. Oh dear Bon Ange, what if he'd heard it first and gone to investigate? She pulled the covers tighter over her, dismayed that she was shivering. Or shaking. No Albert. That guttural grunting, that could be anything. Ten minutes later, and she would swear she'd counted every solitary second, Albert still wasn't back and there was still grunting noises somewhere downstairs. It took every gram of courage she had to throw the sheets off her and swing her legs over the side of the bed and find her slippers, and even then her brain whispered at her that she should take them off, hide under the covers and wait for morning. But Albert still wasn't back, and what if that noise was him, slipped in the dark and hurt, wondering why she wasn't coming to help him. The thought helped a little, and she stood up. She could do this. She was brave. The hall-light turned on when she pressed the switch, and the sense of relief was so strong she almost needed to sit down. The hallway was empty -- no strangers, no odd shadows. Just Albert's work boots at the end by the front door. She went down there and checked: it was locked, the chain was on. She was safe. She checked the bathroom next; maybe he'd just fallen asleep on the toilet and the grunting was him snoring. The idea wasn't really funny but after the tension so far she was actually giggling to herself under her breath as she opened the door, now quite expecting to find him there. The bathroom was empty though, and the light was off, so it was to the kitchen next to see if he'd fallen asleep at the table. Silly old Albert. The kitchen was also dark and she turned the light on there, now slightly puzzled. There was something red on the floor, small circles like splashes, and the backdoor was ajar. Outside, something grunted. A hand fell heavily on her shoulder and her bladder contracted so hard she felt herself start to pee. She turned and stared into black eyes. It took seconds for her brain to process what was around them: this was... this was Santa? Only, only shouldn't Santa have skin? "It puts the lotion on," said Santa, his voice wet and hissy. "It takes its skin off. Ho. Ho. Ho."
2 comments:
I know that some people feel that my take on romance is... unromantic at times, but how do my family situations seem? I feel like they're mostly functional families who just find themselves in unfortunate circumstances. As in, it's completely not my fault, I'm just recording the facts :)
The aunt
It was probably the honking of the reindeer that woke her, odd guttural grunts as they communicated their satisfaction to one another. She sat up in the old bed, listening to the cold wood creak as her weight shifted, and noticed that her husband was absent. The sheets were folded back neatly and the pillow still had the indentation of his head in it, so he'd probably just got up to go to the bathroom. She settled back, wondering if she'd fall asleep before he returned.
"No, please!"
She tensed, suddenly cold despite the sheets and blankets. Surely she hadn't just heard that? Just her mind playing tricks on her, a half-heard, half-thought phrase as she slipped back into dreams. Her breathing slowed as she thought about that, though there was a lingering worry that she was going to have a nightmare now.
The honking started again, like a group of men -- of burglars! -- trying to break in. Where, where was Albert? He should be back by now. Oh dear Bon Ange, what if he'd heard it first and gone to investigate?
She pulled the covers tighter over her, dismayed that she was shivering. Or shaking. No Albert. That guttural grunting, that could be anything.
Ten minutes later, and she would swear she'd counted every solitary second, Albert still wasn't back and there was still grunting noises somewhere downstairs. It took every gram of courage she had to throw the sheets off her and swing her legs over the side of the bed and find her slippers, and even then her brain whispered at her that she should take them off, hide under the covers and wait for morning.
But Albert still wasn't back, and what if that noise was him, slipped in the dark and hurt, wondering why she wasn't coming to help him. The thought helped a little, and she stood up. She could do this. She was brave.
The hall-light turned on when she pressed the switch, and the sense of relief was so strong she almost needed to sit down. The hallway was empty -- no strangers, no odd shadows. Just Albert's work boots at the end by the front door. She went down there and checked: it was locked, the chain was on. She was safe.
She checked the bathroom next; maybe he'd just fallen asleep on the toilet and the grunting was him snoring. The idea wasn't really funny but after the tension so far she was actually giggling to herself under her breath as she opened the door, now quite expecting to find him there.
The bathroom was empty though, and the light was off, so it was to the kitchen next to see if he'd fallen asleep at the table. Silly old Albert.
The kitchen was also dark and she turned the light on there, now slightly puzzled. There was something red on the floor, small circles like splashes, and the backdoor was ajar. Outside, something grunted.
A hand fell heavily on her shoulder and her bladder contracted so hard she felt herself start to pee. She turned and stared into black eyes. It took seconds for her brain to process what was around them: this was... this was Santa? Only, only shouldn't Santa have skin?
"It puts the lotion on," said Santa, his voice wet and hissy. "It takes its skin off. Ho. Ho. Ho."
Greg - I would say the description of the relationship between the aunt and uncle is perfectly normal.
The situation you have tossed them into, on the other hand...
(This was really good, by the way. Horrific, obviously, but really good)
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