While Visions of Sugarplums Danced in their Heads~~

There was something there. I was sure of it. Christmas eve, could I be hearing things? But no—there it was again. The shuffling and flopping. Surely it was Santa filling stockings!! Tanya better be getting coal this time. Creeping down the stairs, I peek around the corner. A pale white face greets me. His troll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and he seemed to emit an underworldly glow. That is, his skin glows such a pale white that it is akin to the blanket of snow outside, gleaming in the streetlamp, reflecting through the windows so it almost seems like day.

Through the windows. They are open, both of them.

This is not Santa. Santa comes down the chimney. He must be a midget burglar. He must be eliminated. Where is that trusty broomstick when you need it? Using my x-ray vision, just like Superman, my eyes dart around for something long, something sharp, anything to defend myself with. All the empty space, all the silver ornaments and sparkly tinsel glittering gloatingly.

In the moment my eyes leave the thing that was flopping on the floor, it is suddenly, silently, nearer. The teeth are pointed, the jaw strong, the eyes wide. A whimper escapes my lips instead of the Superman shout I had hoped for.

I can’t look away. Its eyes bore into me, searching for something it can’t quite find. Through my mask of fear it wants nothing more than my blood. I need to get rid of him before Mum and Daddy are hurt. Because once his vampire teeth are done with me, who knew what would come next.

I asked for hand grenades for Christmas. In fact, I dreamed of them, before coming down here. I dreamed they were in my bed with me and I would launch them at some foreign attacker. I would rescue my family. Now, they must be here somewhere. That big box on the other side of the tree, standing on its end, right next to its base? Could that be it?? Weighing my chances, I skirt the figure, and the tree, and launch myself on the box from a flying leap, just like Superman would.

The part I misjudged was the corner of the box. I realize suddenly that my head is less than a foot from the wooden edge. Hopefully the grenades’ll go off from the impact.

~~~~ The boy fly-tackles a tall wooden box, cracks his head on the top corner of it, and is promptly unconscious. The box tips over onto the overburdened Christmas tree, which sways dramatically and falls. The star atop the tree is flung, glittering, into the air, and pirouettes in perfect circles until colliding with the creature’s head. He falls unconscious for a moment as well.

In this instant, the real evil of the night emerges. A soft splat in the ashes, and the hand, bloody and pale in the eerie light, twitches a bit and begins to crawl. A sudden wind ravages the house, and the lamplight outside flickers out. Slinking across the floor, it sets to work. The small figure in the middle of the room is queer; not quite human. Its blood is purple, and quite tart. Quite a specimen to show the boss waiting on the roof. All others in the house are much easier to decapitate, seeing as their necks are quite unprotected and flimsy. The humans went first, and finally the mouse which had emerged in hope of company, or a bit of the cookies spread so tantalizingly close. But no. The boss would have no mercy.

‘Twas the night before Christmas

And all through the house

Not a creature was stirring

Not even a mouse.

Duty done, satisfied with its fill for the night, the hand swiped a stocking from the mantelpiece, shoved the cookies into it, hooked this over his pinky finger, and proceeded in slinking up the chimney through which it entered. ~~~~~~