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jackblankhsh · 5 years

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A Blood Red Reindeer Knows: Part 5: Snake Eyes/Black Eyes

A half hour later I'm checking into the North Light Inn. It's a crappy room, in a shitty part of town, but it's affordable. Plus, this is the kind of place folks know to mind their own business. Most just want to be left alone anyhow. Whether junkies cooking pixie dust, or doll families hovering over homeless, no one wants a witness to them ever having been here. Maybe that's why, in my room, all the mirrors are broke.

First thing I do is call Cari. The sound of her voice is like warm honey. I can't tell her everything. She might worry, and if she asks me to come home I'll do it -- no second thoughts. But I'm finally feeling a thread in my hand. It'll lead me where, honestly, I'm not sure I want to go. Still, I tell her everything I can.

She's no fool though. Cari can sense what I'm leaving out. There's an outline full of implications in the missing puzzle pieces.

Still she says, "You do what you think is right. I'll be here waiting for you."

"Thanks a chuisle mo chroí."

"Come home safe."

"I will."

It feels like a lie. Still, there are times the truth does no one any good. Hanging up the phone I figure on a shower.

Though there isn't enough hot water to rinse off the feeling of this city, I get clean enough afterward to feel fresh. Stepping out of the steaming bathroom my body is well on the way to shutting down. Next item on the agenda is definitely a bit of sleep. Then I spot a note slipped under the door.

Getting my gun out of my jacket I go to the door. Stepping outside I can't see anyone except for a nodded out rabbit on nearby stairs. Yet, there's a hint of perfume drifting on the air. Something familiar, sweet and spicy -- baked apples and cinnamon.

"Vixen?"

Going back inside I pick up the note. Sure enough it's her handwriting.

The note reads:

"Rudy,

They're watching you. Be careful."

A knock causes me to spin round. I throw open the door hoping it's Vixen. The stupidity of my reckless is made plain when I see Glitterspark.

Before I can react he thumps me over the head with a lead sap. I fall backwards into darkness. All I see is black dotted by twinkling Christmas lights. In the distance I can almost hear Vixen say, "I'm sorry," but I figure it's just part of a pleasant dream in an unpleasant moment.

When I eventually come to my skull feels cracked. The door to my room is shut, and I can't make sense of what happened until it dawns on me my hands are empty. My gun is gone.

However long I've been unconscious is too long. Dressing quick as I can I hurry to the parking lot. Sirens are screaming in the night, and I've got a feeling anyone could be on the way for me. Whatever's going on, Glitterspark is holding a coffin nail sure to seal me in.

Getting on my bike I roar out of the motel parking lot unsure where I should go. The obvious choice is out of town.

Then I hear a jack-in-the-box springing out shouting, "Extra! Extra! Read all about it!"

It doesn't take eagle eyes to spy an old mug shot of mine on the front page. Trouble this deep, there's only one place to go. The problem is I know I'm not welcome there either. Still, it's not like that's ever stopped me before. So I head for Black Jack's Cooler.

At first glance it seems like a glacier. Then the neon adorning the outside comes to life. A tsunami of colors flood forth filling any eye that happens by. There's no way not to look.

What a person learns, though, is that all those lights are distractions. Strobe bursts pull attention away from the sad bastards slumped over slot machines. Poor puppets looking ready to feed the slots blood for one more shot at gold. Over at the blackjack table several glum faces are ignored in favor of TVs flashing sexy plushies foretelling fabulous fortune while they dance on dice. A craps table is ringed by sweaty faces too desperate to dwell on anything but hope. Meanwhile, the neon's a rainbow blindfold hiding the truth.

For every single smiling winner there a thousand losers who risked their last penny betting with galactic odds against them. In fact, the only cheery toys are the ones already rich. It doesn't mean a thing dropping a hundred bucks here and there -- pocket change to them. They can burn dollars for fun. No, the sad truth is Black Jack's Cooler doesn't live off them. It thrives on the desperate hoping to hit 21, roll seven, catch a full house on the river; the people most likely to leave penniless after chancing everything to win... does it really matter what they're after if they've lost? The house knows every sad story, and ignored them all.

Walking into the joint my first thought is how long before they know I'm here. Eyes are watching from a hundred spots, half of which I can't even guess at. Action Figures acting as security patrol the casino floor. However, it's been almost a decade. Perhaps things have changed.

Tossing down a small stack I slip into a poker game, and wait. Things are going well, to the point I actually feel like a winner. Sure enough that's when the hammer comes down.

I feel a heavy hand land on my shoulder.

I say, "Let go you wanna keep the hand."

The grip tightens. I sigh. Today is not the day to test me.

Jerking my head back I ram my antler into the Action Figure's stomach. It jabs him back, and before he can recover I'm turned around cracking his chin with an uppercut. Obviously he's not alone. Folks who brag about fighting jabber on about style this, and all kinds of kung fu bullshit. The guard closest I kick in the balls, while the other, I toss a handful of chips in his face then throat punch; he's on the ground.

It isn't more than a second until a fresh crop of Action Figures are charging my way. However, I've made my point. So I put my hands up.

Surrounded I say, "I told him to get his hand off me."

A slow round of solitary clapping sounds behind a row of burly Action Figures. The column parts revealing the elf himself, Black Jack Frost, in an ice blue suit. Shaking his head he can't seem to help a sardonic grin.

Pointing at me he says, "It's good to know you haven't changed."

"Why's that?" I ask.

"Because I won't feel bad about what happens next."

I see his eyes move, glancing over my shoulder. I turn in time to see Kung Fu Karl coming up from behind. There's no time to dodge. I get a cattle prod in the side, and for the second time in as many hours I'm laid out. Though not unconscious, I'm out of action.

Action Figures scoop me up, and drag me to somewhere in the bowels of the casino. They cuff me to a chair in a room that smells like piss, blood, and shit. I can't help thinking I've made a tremendous error coming here.

Not long after, Black Jack walks in with Kung Fu Karl beside him. Two of the grimmest gangsters in the North Pole, they look oddly pleased to see me.

Black Jack says, "Been a long time."

"Not long enough," I say.

He nods, "Yet, apparently, you missed us. Why else would you be here?"

"Haven't you seen the news?"

Black Jack shrugs, "I've heard what's been said, but that don't make it true. Unless you're here to settle old scores."

"If I was, you think I'd walk in the front door?"

He smirks, "Depends. Maybe you got an attack of conscience, and came here to pay what you owe."

"I don't owe you shit."

Kung Fu Karl growls.

Black Jack says, "Don't owe shit, huh? For what you did to Karl -- he can't do his kung fu chop no more. Think about that."

"Maybe if you weren't running a crooked casino, I wouldn't've had to bust the place up." Snorting I add, "Hell, you could've given me the money back. Save us all the trouble."

Approaching me Black Jack says, "First off." -- he throws a vicious combo battering my face -- "My joint ain't crooked."

Spitting blood I ask, "Second?"

No words this time. He just goes into the beating. There's a heft to his punches almost like waiting ten years made his fists heavier. Maybe it's just a decade of experience. Either way, it isn't pleasant, and the whole while I can half see Karl in the background, itching for his turn.

After a seemingly endless barrage Black Jack steps away. Snapping his fingers commands an Action Figure to bring him a chair. Taking a seat nearby, Black Jack mops his forehead with a handkerchief.

Chuckling he says, "I'm gettin' old."

"I can take over," Kung Fu Karl says.

Black Jack waves him off, "Not yet."

"When?" Karl growls.

"Soon." Eying me Black Jack says, "I gotta know why you came back, Rudy."

Deep breath then I say, "I'm wondering the same thing."

I've made worse decisions in my life. Still, there's no doubt this'll rank in the top ten. Truth is I've never been much of a planner. That requires thinking about tomorrow. I'm more of a doer which is not always a good thing. I react to situations, going with the first thought that pops into my head. If that means ripping an Action Figure's arm out the socket in order to beat my money out of his gangster boss's pockets, I'll flip the goddamn poker table over, and go nuts.

Vixen used to say, "You always do the right thing for the wrong reason."

I'd reply, "Better than the wrong thing for the right reason," thinking I was clever.

She'd just smile in that strained way you see on a person who loves you, but is disappointed. She wanted me to consider what comes next. That would mean thinking tomorrow is worth anything. I could never do that, at least not while living in this city. So I left, and she stayed with her eyes hooked on a brighter future I couldn't see.

Considering the future I tell Black Jack, "You hear how some folks think things are about to change?"

"There are rumors."

"That change is coming, and I don't think it's coming clean."

Getting to his feet Black Jack straightens his suit. Shaking his head he steps towards the door. Passing Karl, a nod is all it takes. Looking like a delighted hyena Kung Fu Karl comes at me.

As he lays into me I hear Black Jack saying, "If change is coming that's tomorrow, and Rudy, you don't need to worry about tomorrow."

#writer #writing #fiction #shortstory #short story #neo-noir #pulp #reindeer #rudolph #rudolph the reindeer #weird #noir #mystery #honestyisnotcontagious

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jackblankhsh · 5 years

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“Taste of Innocence” Twisted Toys.

#dark #weird #funny #darkcomedy #sketch #drawing #art #pencil #ink #honestyisnotcontagious #creepy

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jackblankhsh · 5 years

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A Blood Red Reindeer Knows -- Part 7: Under the Krampus Mark

Death has a weird way of making people immortal. The flesh may been six feet under, but the legend is a star in the sky. People tell tales about Krampus the way they swap bogeyman stories. The worst part about the stories is that they're all true. Like the time Krampus forced a candy-maker to eat her own caramel-coated hand.

Still, Krampus died ages ago. Back in the day he and Big Red ran the whole show. Then Big Red decided he didn't care to share. Krampus took two copper rounds to the back of the head. They say his skull is still up on the wall in Big Red's office.

Standing outside the building with the Krampus mark I can't help admiring the artist. It's almost a kind of Rorschach striking a primal chord. A tribal inspired mess of jagged lines clustered into the semblance of a goat skull -- there's an occult quality to it I doubt is by accident. In a way, it's the perfect street tag: marking property, and saying go away in one symbol.

The building itself is nothing exceptional. The Krampus mark is the only thing setting it apart. Otherwise, I can't see anything other than a brownstone two-flat.

A goose in rags shuffles by shaking a tin can, "Help a honker out."

I flash a few bucks, and ask, "What do you know about that place?"

The goose squints at the money. Licking his bill he shakes his head, "Horrible spot. I stay away from there."

I deposit a c-note in the cup -- courtesy of Black Jack -- then ask, "Why's that?"

Scratching a wing the goose says, "Weird folks go in and out of there all the time. I don't know who, but I know trouble when I see it."

Slipping another bill in I ask, "Anybody in there now?"

Shaking his head the goose says, "Nope, and I pay attention. I'd choke on a stone before talking to any of them."

Thanking him I watch the goose waddle away. He pauses at one point to gander at the place before glancing back at me. Before I can be sure what look he's giving me, he turns away. The cup rattles, and he calls out, "Help a honker out," though the street is empty.

The building resides on the corner. Windows on all sides make it unlikely to come at the place without being seen. However, I remember a few tricks from my youth.

After walking up the block I climb an apartment building's fire escape. Up on the rooftop -- click, click, click -- I head back towards the Krampus mark. I used to do this as a kid back when I thought I might be a flier. Even when those dreams died I kept running along roofs, only then I did it to break in. Either way, the skills still remained.

Back at the Krampus building I find an attic window. Taking a chance I break the glass. After waiting a minute there's no sign of anyone coming to investigate, so I go inside.

The only light is a column from the street stabbing in through the window. At a glance the attic is empty, though I can see a few boxes piled in corners. It takes a while to find an exit. The door isn't locked, and I worry I'm wasting my good luck on mediocre wins.

The second floor isn't much better than the attic. The rooms are mostly empty except for one. A set of mismatched chairs around a scarred table. Spotting letters on the table I use my lighter to read a few pages. However, everything is in gibberish. I'm sure it's a code, but without a key there's no chance of me reading it on my own. That doesn't stop me from pocketing a page before going downstairs.

The first floor finally looks like someone lives here. There are rugs, plenty of furniture, and lamps, though I don't dare turn any on. The street provides enough light down here. Yet, I don't see anything worth noticing.

Moving towards the back takes me into a kitchen. The fridge is empty, so are all the drawers. However, there's a butcher knife in the sink. Knowing better than to touch it, I flick my lighter to life. The blade is still bloody.

A low moan drifts through the house. My blood chills a degree or two, and I snap the lighter shut. Waiting in the darkness I start regretting not snatching a gun back at Black Jack's. It's not like the corpses need them anymore. I consider grabbing the blade. However, hearing the moan again I realize it isn't something sinister. Someone is in trouble.

Following the noise to a door I open it revealing a wooden staircase. The steps disappear into a dark basement. Flipping a light switch beside the door brings an illumination my lighter could beat.

Each step groans and crackles as if it's about to break. The moaning gets louder the deeper I go. Finally I reach the bottom.

The basement is nothing more than bare brick walls. The Krampus mark adorns every one. A few scattered bulbs dangle from wires. The only furniture is a metal chair, and it's already occupied. The occupant is a blindfolded elf. He's tied to it with packaging ribbon. Stripped to the waist it's easy to see why he's moaning, also how the knife got bloody.

His torso is covered in slashes. His arms and face aren't doing well either. The tips of his ears are missing. Someone's been working him over slowly. Having been on the verge of this nightmare, I can appreciate the situation.

As I hurry over, he flinches at the sound of my hooves.

Shuddering he says, "Please! No more!"

I say, "Don't worry buddy. I'm not here to hurt you."

"Who're you?" he asks in a quivering voice.

"Not a fan of this lemme tell ya."

I pull off the blindfold. He blinks, the dim light blinding.

He says, "We've gotta hurry. They could be back any minute."

Immediately I go to work on the ribbon. Along the way I ask questions. He says his name is Elfonso. He works for urban planning.

"They used to ask me questions about the city. I told everything I know, but then." He starts to cry.

So I tell him, "Everything's going to be okay."

I hate the fact it feels like a lie.

Elfonso says, "What's going on?"

I say, "Hate to tell ya, but I was hoping you know."

He shakes his head. The ribbons finally give way. His sigh of relief -- I've heard less joyful orgasms.

Elfonso says, "I don't know who these people are, but I'm sure they're insane. Look what they did to me."

Up close the wreckage is even worse. He's a trail of canyons. Poor guy is bound to be scarred for life.

Helping him to his feet I have to ask, "Why'd they do it?"

"It was like some initiation thing. The one in the mask would say, 'Prove you're one of us.' Then they'd give the knife to someone and..." he trails off, but I don't press him. I can guess the details.

So again I lie, "It's going to be okay. You're getting out of here."

Sure enough that's the cue for the sound of a door closing upstairs. Elfonso sucks in a breath. I get the feeling a scream is coming, so slap a hand over his mouth.

The only way out is the stairs. Worse, it doesn't take a genius to realize there's nowhere to hide down here. The best of our bad options is to get under the stairs, though I doubt it would take a blind fool long to find us there. Since it's better than nothing, hand over his mouth, I drag us there. I can feel Elfonso shivering in my arms, sweat is already pouring out of him.

Footsteps above. I can't be sure how many, but more than one.

A gravelly voice says, "Basement 's open."

Another voice responds, but down here I can't hear it.

Boots thud, and the steps groan. Elfonso starts to wriggle. His sweaty body is hard to hold onto. The boots continue to slowly descend. Elfonso struggles more.

I whisper, "Hold still."

The boots reach the bottom of the stairs. It's a pig dressed in black. He looks like a walking tank. His eyes go straight to the empty chair.

Elfonso jerks to one side, and pops out of my arms. He launches himself forward, snatching a chunk of brick off the floor. Next thing I know Elfonso is literally screaming through the air, swinging the brick. The blow strikes the pig in the head. Elfonso doesn't hesitate, though, he keeps hammering away with that chunk. The swine goes down, and Elfonso follows him. Using both hands he pounds way until piggy's head is nothing but a pulpy mess.

Breathing heavily Elfonso grins, "I'm --"

Whatever might've come out his mouth gets cut off by a bullet. His head wipes to one side, while a spray of red and brains splatters the wall. Elfonso collapses into a heap. The whole moment lasts the blink of an eye -- so sudden I'm not even aware it happens.

Someone starts coming down the stairs. The creaking plants a thought in my head. The plan that forms doesn't inspire a lot of hope. Yet, I'll take anything.

I wait, hands ready, as whoever it is descends. When their feet touch the step above me I grab the plank, and pull down as hard as I can. The wood snaps. The step bursts apart. Whoever is above, their webbed foot punches through. They don't fall through, but trip enough to go tumbling down the stairs.

The second I hear a body falling I move. Quick as I can I dart out from under the stairs. The person hits the bottom just as I'm coming around. Jumping over their body I go up three steps at a time.

No fool, I go out the nearby backdoor. I'm three blocks away before my body protests enough for me to slow. When I stop I realize I've been running in a blind panic.

I don't know what's going on, and I'm definitely in over my head.

#writer #writing #fiction #shortstory #short story #honestyisnotcontagious #mystery #neo-noir #pulpfiction #pulp #reindeer #rudolph the reindeer #krampus #christmas

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jackblankhsh · 5 years

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“Alien Bouquet”

#art #weird #trippy #abstract #abstractart #digital #digitalart #honestyisnotcontagious

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jackblankhsh · 5 years

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“Matty’s Bliss”

Matty don't know that her sister

Is queen of the cocaine slobs,

Married to a broken transistor,

Fellow by the name of Bob.

When the morning comes

Matty runs

Looking for a sign of the time,

And the sunrise

Gets in her eyes

Blinding her on way to the wise.

Cuz Matty don't know of her brother

A king of shovel fightin'.

He went, and killed their own mother.

Some day he'll ride the lightnin'.

As evening shines

Matty's of a mind

To find a dumpster shrine

To a family tree

She'll never see

Decaying in ways ugly.

Hiding from a dumpster fire

Drinking bramble in the brier

Matty loves to be the liar

Saying, "Nothing could be so dire."

No care her blood's a nightmare.

Matty wears bones in her hair.

Dancing never mind who'll stare.

She's blissfully unaware.

Oh, Matty only knows

Whatever she chose

To ensure a smile grows

A pretty thorny rose.

#poetry #poem #NationalPoetryWritingMonth #writer #poet #rhyme #rhyming #honestyisnotcontagious #digital art

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jackblankhsh · 5 years

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A Blood Red Reindeer Knows -- part 3: No Good Answers

Familiar is often comforting. Unless familiar is the inside of an interrogation room. Four grey walls with faded stains more than hinting of faces smashed into concrete. Granted, I'm no saint, but it's not just the devils getting hammered in this room. And on this occasion, there's no reason for me to be here which is what's got me worried. Nothing frustrates a cop like a dead end, and they'll use whatever head is in their hands to beat through that brick wall.

Still, I'm stewing at least an hour before Elfberg and Milkshake enter the room. Without a word Elfberg sits across from me, while the snowman circles the room. My only real worry is if they've been searching my bike. I managed to stash my gun before heading inside, but a blind fool pawing around eventually would find it.

Tossing photos on the table Elfberg says, "Recognize any old friends?"

Black and white pics of dead reindeer clutter the table. Calling them friends wouldn't be near the truth, but they are recognizable. Every one is a reindeer I grew up with. Each of them ended up a flier: Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen. They won't be flying anymore.

Calm as I can I go through the pictures, hiding my relief at not finding any of Vixen. Something odd about each photo catches my eye. The crime scenes look clean, suggesting whoever shot these fliers must've been able to walk right up to them without raising an alarm. However, why they're showing me these photos doesn't sink in until Milkshake talks.

He asks, "What've you been up to Red?"

Nodding, I connect the dots, "Not what you're thinking."

"You got into town around 7. Right?" Elfberg says, eying a notepad.

I fold my arms across my chest, "Close enough. That's when we were in that diner together."

Milkshake taps a photo, "And not a half hour later poor Cupid here, got her brains splattered all over a bookshelf."

I chuckle.

Milkshake slams both fists on the table. Growling, "You think that's funny."

I say, "I think it's funny you figurin' I rocketed outta that diner shooting clear across town. I mean, my bike's fast, but she ain't that fast."

"Not impossible though," Elfberg says taking notes.

I can't help cocking an eyebrow. At the very least, it's not outside probable.

He adds, "And sounds like you know where Cupid lives."

Chewing my tongue I feel like an amateur -- walked right into that trap. Granted, it's no secret most of the fliers live in the better part of the city. Vixen's the only one who straddled the line. She always planned to, said it'd keep her grounded, close to her roots and such.

I say, "What about these others?"

Elfberg tells me a shotgun cut Blitzen in half. I'm not sorry to hear it. Though, judging by the photos, he didn't die right away. It looks like he tried to drag himself across the floor before the curtain closed.

Milkshake says, "He died around ten."

At first I perk up. However, I catch my own tongue. I've got an alibi, however, that would mean admitting being on the scene when Collodi was getting shot. I'm not about to put myself in that hot water.

So I say, "What about the others?"

Comet got his throat slit sometime around nine. Donner took three to the chest shortly after midnight.

Seeing an out I say, "I was at Sugar Plumbs 'round midnight. You know this."

"So what?" Milkshake smacks me across the back of the head, "Ever heard of the word accomplice?"

"That would mean a friend of some kind."

"Right-o Red." Milkshake slaps me hard on the back, "Right-o."

"I don't exactly have a lotta friends." Me and Elfberg lock eyes, "Plus, you know I like to do my own dirty work."

Sometimes a record isn't a bad thing. It establishes a pattern of behavior. Knowing that fact causes Elfberg to frown, a sure sign he believes me.

Jotting a note he says, "Time of death isn't an exact science."

Shaking my head I say, "So what's the thought then, huh? I leave town for now on close to ten years, only to come back out of the blue with bloody revenge on my mind? Tell me how that makes sense."

Milkshake says, "We don't need it to make sense if it's what happened."

I say, "I'm not even touching the stupid on that."

Sure enough that gets me another slap to the side of my head. Hard one too, suggesting I may have to make time for Detective Milkshake Snickerdoodle, so he can learn a thing, or two about whom to fuck with.

Elfberg says, "Lot of things changed after the Shortage, Rudy. Lotta people changed too. You weren't here, so --"

"Wasn't exactly easy on the Outskirts."

Setting his notepad aside Elfberg says, "I don't doubt that. Still, over a third of this city starved to death. We arrested some folks for literally eating one another."

"Who's fault is that?" I ask pointedly.

"Depends on who you ask," Elfberg replies.

No one says anything, though I'm thinking Big Red. Yet only a complete idiot would say that out loud, let alone in a police station. Talk enough shit about the jolly fat man, well... he knows if you've been bad, and that's not good. That said, Elfberg's reply plants a seed in my head.

He and Milkshake share a furtive glance. I brace for the old song and dance to begin -- screaming and fists blast beating a confession. However, the familiar tune doesn't start. Instead Milkshake nods, and Elfberg pulls a small photo out of his notepad.

Passing it over he asks, "Recognize him?"

At risk of sounding racist, nutcrackers often look the same to me. That is until I notice a wood-burn etched into this one's wrist.

I say, "Seems familiar."

"Name's Glitterspark. Roy Glitterspark. His parents starved during the Shortage, but he lucked out."

"Were they cunts?" I ask.

Milkshake says, "Nope, but Big Red adopted young Glitterspark. Raised him with a whole slew of nutcrackers, conveniently orphaned by the Shortage."

Looking at the picture I say, "Lemme guess, raised to guard fliers."

Elfberg taps the side of his nose. Sounds like Big Red raised his own legion of loyal guards, every one faithful and dedicated to their duty. I'm starting to think I'm not in the fire, though the frying pan is still uncomfortably hot.

"Okay," I say, "You don't have to believe me for this to be true..." and I lay it out for them, how I saw Glitterspark unload an Uzi into Collodi. The unsettling thing is both cops seem to believe me.

Though Milkshake still grumbles, "What's his motive?"

I shrug, "Fuck should I know? The odd thing is Collodi acted like Glitterspark was on his pay."

Furrowing his brow Elfberg says, "That makes no sense. A flier guard wouldn't be assigned to watch over someone like Collodi, and they can't be bought."

Milkshake chimes in, "That lot are true believers."

"Unless he fell from grace," I say then something dawns on me, though I keep it to myself. Glancing across the table I catch Elfberg's eye. Whatever crossed my mind, a hint of it may've flashed on my face. Gathering up the photos he gets to his feet.

Elfberg pulls open the door saying, "We got nothing to hold you on..."

"For now," Milkshake jabs.

"But we're keeping an eye on you." Elfberg gestures for me to leave.

Walking out I can feel eyes all over the station watching me leave. Word is getting around. Fliers are dying, and rumor has it I'm the lead suspect. I'm not sure letting me go is in my best interest. However, that seed Elfberg planted, whether he meant to, or not, I've got an idea where to go next.

#writer #writing #fiction #pulpfiction #noir #neo-noir #weird #reindeer #rudolph.shortstory #short story #honestyisnotcontagious

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jackblankhsh · 5 years

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A Blood Red Reindeer Knows: Part 2: The Wood-Burn Clue

Geppetto's is a trashy club on the Southside. It's where all the puppets hang out. By the time I get there night is in full swing. Marionettes are hanging from the roof dancing on air. Ventriloquist dummies are signing to each other, debating whether to buy time with misfit toys pedaling ass across the street, and hand puppets are well on the way to raging brawls about nothing.

"Fuck you Judy!"

"That's what I want. Fuck me Punch, or I'll beat you with this stick."

"That's a dildo."

"It can be two things!"

Neon Jumpin' Jacks flank the entrance, and as I try to step inside a glance from them sends a giant chocolate éclair into my path.

"We're full," he says.

Looking up at the towering figure I say, "One for a short bit. Can't hurt."

He folds his arms across his chest.

Throwing my hands up I saunter off. Sometimes a subtle approach is necessary. Trouble out front might send who I'm looking for out the back. So the second I'm out of sight I double back. Sneaking around I find the backdoor locked. Fortunately a busboy happens to step outside to get cinnamon toasted. Promising not to rat him out gets him to hold the door, and I'm in.

Geppetto's is a place full of glitz, but not enough to hide there's zero glamour. It's the kind of spot folks go to pretend they aren't bottom feeders sucking the dirt for gold.

Grabbing a waitress by the string I gently pull her over to ask, "Where's Collodi?"

She points to the bar. Surrounded by a swarm of sycophants, the prince of puppets stands basking in their admiration. Head designer in Big Red's workshop, Collodi is the elf to see if someone wants refurbishing, a second chance to go out in the world. When it comes to toys what stays here is often the overstock. Promised a good life -- tomorrow, always tomorrow -- like teenage orphans they soon find nobody wants them. It's all about the new shit. The best they can hope for is a dead end job so they can buy a fistful of butterscotch barbiturates that let's 'em die in their sleep.

Closing in on Collodi I overhear him say, "Sure baby, I can remake you. It's a simple procedure, you'll be the latest doll, but what are you going to do for me beautiful?"

I say, "She'll tell you there's something big 'n' creepy lurking behind you."

Collodi slowly turns. Swallowing hard he puts on a smile that isn't fooling anyone.

Throwing his arms wide he says, "Rudy! When did you get to town?"

"We need to talk."

He nods, "Okay. In private though." Turning to the puppet he says, "I'll be right back."

Something about that doesn't make me feel good. Fortunately, I've got the gun in my pocket. I just hope he can tell by my face tonight is not the night to screw around.

Collodi leads the way to a private booth. Once inside I pull the curtain shut, while Collodi slides to the other end of a crescent seat. I watch his hands, half expecting him to reach for a gun underneath, but he keeps them in plain view.

Sitting across from him I get right to it, "You know about Vixen?"

He smirks, "Do you?"

"What the fuck does that mean?"

He shrugs. I pull out the gun. The cherry goes out of his cheeks.

Milk white he says, "Take it easy Rudy. You don't want to do anything stupid."

"Then tell me something smart."

He says, "Okay, but you might not like what you hear."

"So sugar coat it."

"Vixen..." Before he says anymore the curtain flaps open. In steps two nutcrackers sporting red and green Uzis.

I say, "Make a move, and he's dead."

Collodi frowns, "Where the fuck've you been?"

One nutcracker says, "Making a phone call."

"Phone call? Do what you're paid for."

"Yes, sir," the nutcracker replies. Next thing I know the cracker is emptying his clip into Collodi. It catches me off guard, though no one's as surprised as Collodi. As the nutcracker fires I notice a wood-burn etching on his wrist. Before I fully recognize it, he tosses me the empty Uzi, and like an idiot I catch the damn thing.

The other nutcracker throws open the curtain, and shouts, "He's got a gun!"

The whole nightclub goes into a panic. Seems they were all hesitating, hoping the gunfire somehow might've been part of the music -- EDM is like that. The nutcracker's holler, that's all anyone needs to stampede. Puppets are pulling themselves into the rafters, or charging for the door. Meanwhile, the nutcrackers are riding the flood to a nearby exit.

Dropping the Uzi I look at Collodi. His eyes are rolling, but he isn't dead. Taking a chance I go over to him.

Quick as I can I search his pockets. I find a book of matches, but not much else.

Suddenly Collodi grabs me by the wrist. Eyes staring vacantly he says, "I's s'pposed to see her change... everything."

Then he died, blood glistening on his lips. Turning I see the éclair pushing his way through the surging mob. Pocketing my gun I exit. Bursting out the back door I hoof it to my bike faster than I've ever run. I'm roaring away from Geppetto's thinking none of this makes sense. Then I remember the matches.

Glancing at them is a hint. Purple cursive on a black background reads Sugar Plums. No other options I head there.

The giant clock at the center of town is tolling midnight when I arrive. Sugar Plums is a gingerbread brothel in a part of the city I could get arrested just for being in. It's the kind of place the rich like to have close at hand, though they always pretend it isn't there. A fountain out front of the joint is bubbling with lemonade, orangeade, orgeat, and currant syrup. The cobblestone driveway is made of hard candy, and the whole building smells freshly baked. I can hear a celesta playing within alongside the sound of rowdy laughter.

An elf valet sneers at my motorcycle as I roll up.

Parking I say, "Don't touch it."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he says, "Filthy."

I can't really be sure if he means me, or the bike, but I take it as a compliment either way.

Marching through the entrance it's immediately clear I don't belong here. Everyone is wearing some kind of evening get-up, except for the hookers. Fairies in lingerie escort teddy bears in tuxedos through ribbon candy curtains to private areas. A plush doll in nothing but a thong sashays by a leering group of rabbits in top hats. It isn't long, however, until eyes are coming my way. Something about the reindeer in a leather jacket, his blood red nose, and ripped jeans doesn't fit. Their obvious discomfort makes me smile.

I feel an arm gently coil around mine, and a luscious voice whispers in my ear, "This is not your scene."

"No shit." Glancing over I see a fairy in a red dress, the edges trimmed in white fur.

A gentle pull suggests I let her take the lead. There's an authority to her, subtle but tangible. Not wanting to cause a scene, not yet anyway, I follow her. Making our way through the mansion we chat softly.

"What brings you here?" she asks.

Taking a stab in the dark I say, "Vixen sent me."

Smiling and waving to customers she says, "I doubt that."

"Why?"

"Because she knows better than to send someone like you here. No offense."

I nod, "None taken. This isn't my usual hang out."

"Then let's not play games," she says.

"I've never been one for games."

We go through a chocolate door into a cozy little office. She takes a seat behind a large desk. She blinks, and the softness is gone from her eyes.

She says, "I'm Ostergren, and you must be Rudolph."

Tapping my nose I say, "What gave it away?"

Setting a cigarette in a long filter Ostergren says, "So why are you here? Really."

I get a feeling lying to her is a waste of time, so I lay everything bare. From start to finish I give her the whole story. Along the way I recall that wood-burn, though I keep it to myself. Some cards need to be kept secret. Still, by the time her cigarette is finished she knows most everything I do.

At the end I ask, "Do you know what Collodi meant?"

Nodding Ostergren says, "I'm afraid I do, though I don't know if I should tell you. How should I put this? You see, I don't like to take sides unless I'm sure who's going to win. Do you follow?"

I say, "I think so. Vixen got mixed up in something. Whatever it is, folks expect it to change things. Those same people probably asked if you'd go with 'em down whatever rabbit hole they're planning for."

Ostergren softly claps, "Bravo. The only question left is who those folks are."

"I don't suppose you want to tell me."

She raises an eyebrow, "You already know one."

I frown, "If you mean Vixen, I got a bad feeling she's dead."

"If I've learned one thing running this place it's that looks can be deceiving." Rising she says, "Now, if you please, a fellow like you makes my customers uncomfortable."

I smirk, "And when they're uncomfortable they don't..."

"Spend," she cuts in. Coming around the desk her wings flutter letting loose a shower of purple sparks. The glittery rain fades as it sinks to the floor. For a moment I think she's cruising in for a kill, but then in a blink the softness is back in her eyes. Still, that doesn't mean I'm safe. So when she smiles warmly, gesturing at the door, I take the hint and leave.

Getting on my bike, however, I keep thinking about that wood-burn. The nutcracker owned an etching of a reindeer. Maybe if he hadn't been unloading a clip into Collodi I'd've recognized it right off the bat. It's a design usually sported by flier guards.

Flier protection is a high level position. Some nutcrackers spend their whole lives aspiring to get it, and only those in the detail sport that etching. If he got reassigned to watching over a puppet maker that can only mean a demotion -- fallen from grace.

Glancing back I can see the fairy madam watching me from a window. I nod, she waves, and with that I'm off. Motoring along I figure there's one person who might know about a disgraced nutcracker.

I'm not out of the driveway five seconds before lights are flashing behind me. The old familiar flare of red and blue. Just for spite I take my time pulling over.

Looking over my shoulder I don't know why I'm surprised to see Elfberg and Milkshake. Detective Elfberg emerges from the passenger side.

As he saunters over I ask, "Something I can help you with detective?"

He replies, "If you'd be so kind, Rudy. We got a few question we'd like to ask."

"Down at the station?" It's practically a rhetorical question. The answer's yes, but I need to stall, time to figure what to do with my gun.

"It won't take more than an hour, or two. Tops."

"You promise?"

He spreads a smile full of butter yellow teeth. I've seen it before. Nothing good is coming, but unless I want a legion of cops chasing me all over the city there's only one choice.

Revving my engine I ask where to go. He says to simply follow them. So I do, and sooner than I want we arrive at the station.

#writing #writer #fiction #shortstory #miniseries #rudolph #reindeer #christmas #weird #noir #neo-noir #pulpfiction #honestyisnotcontagious

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jackblankhsh · 5 years

Photo

"Drive-in Closing"

The drive-in is closing, but the movie's not over

Silver screen praying a cigarette changeover

Calling a fresh reel

To usher with zeal

A blessed veil bound to smother

The world kept under cover

By a script grifting a feel

Any'd give all to steal,

A semblance of maybe strung to hover

Close enough to bother;

Thoughts doubting the deal

Killed to conceal

Any course where an explorer

May find a chance to discover

The world outside the world Daydreams have unfurled.

#poetry #poem #verse #writing #honestyisnotcontagious

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jackblankhsh · 5 years

Text

A Blood Red Reindeer Knows

There's a gingerbread man in an alley off Lollipop Lane giving out suck jobs for a candy cane. Lit on sugar stick, poor bastard's got his eyes on the oven. He wants to go back in. Came out too early the first time; came out soft. Now he wants to stay inside until he's good and crisp, maybe even burnt up. Woe to the next Jelly Donut Jon who crosses him. That fool's gonna get cut open, strawberry filling spilling out everywhere. The Calico Pimp prancing around in boots, she won't be happy about it, but she'll let it slide. She'd rather a donut died than her golden throat disappeared. A lot of coins go down that gullet flowing to her pocket on a river of cream.

Seeing that, not back in town five minutes, I realize I don't want to be here, but I heard from Vixen. She needs me. I promised I'd come if she ever called.

I notice a car creeping behind me. It could be any of a dozen rotten eggs I don't care to see. Still, I pull my motorcycle into a diner on Butter Cream Boulevard. By doing so I'm practically inviting an unpleasant conversation. My only hope is they let me have a cup of hot cocoa before things get real.

Sitting at the counter I wave to the waitress. When she comes over she can't take her eyes off my nose. Most folks can't, whether they know what it means, or not. I can't get used to it. It's like they never seen red before.

Snapping my fingers I say, "Hey, cup-a cocoa. Extra marshmallows."

"I'll have that right up." She hops to it. Blink of an eye there's a steaming mug in front of me. I get one delicious sip before a badge sits next to me.

Glancing over I recognize the copper, "Detective Lorenzo Elfberg, what a pleasure to see you again."

"Cut the shit Rudy. What the fuck are you doing back in town?" Lorenzo is from the old school, back when questioning a suspect meant beating a confession out of someone with a frozen hose. I know. He's asked me a few questions.

I shrug, "No reason I can't be."

"I bet I could find something." Sliding into the vacancy beside me is a snowman.

I ask, "Who's this Frosty?"

Next thing I know the snowman slams my head into the counter. A few patrons look over, but as soon as Lorenzo flashes a badge they look away.

Snowman growls, "The name's Milkshake. Milkshake Snickerdoodle, and you don't use that word around me, got it punk?"

Sitting up I straighten my leather jacket. Now isn't the time to get weird. However, I've been around. I know a fishing expedition when I see one.

So I say, "Didn't mean nothing by it. Heard it in a snowballer song. Figured y'all call yourself that now, taking it back as it were."

Milkshake snorts, "Whatever ya backwoods whitetail trash."

"Now who's being insensitive?" I say, and take a sip, "You boys ought to have some of this. It's damn fine. Might even calm you down."

Lorenzo plucks a marshmallow off my coaster. He says, "Whatcha been doing with yourself?"

"Not that it's any of your business, I've been on the outskirts settled in with my girlfriend, Cari Bou. Told her I had business in the city. Only just rode in a half hour ago."

"She a good woman?" Milkshake asks.

"The best," I say. Never meant it before, not even with Vixen, though once upon a time I thought I did.

Milkshake says, "Then I bet you're in a hurry to get back to her."

I am, but won't admit it. Watching the cops leave I can't help thinking a strong shove this early -- something is definitely stirring. A smart person would take those threats seriously, and make no mistake when a cop says leave town there's always a threat in there, but I'm not smart enough to do what's best for me.

After finishing my cocoa I get back on my bike. The engine growls, and I almost miss the sound of jingling bells, the shimmer of chimes. Eyes to the sky I see Big Red's sleigh shooting across the heavens. A practice flight every night on the week before Christmas -- some things never change. Then I notice something isn't right. The silhouette of the sleigh suggests a reindeer is missing. I can't be sure which, but it puts a cold unpleasantness in my belly.

So I speed my ass over to Vixen's house. When I left she lived in a nice part of town, one of the perks of being a flier. Of course, she isn't the original Vixen. That'd make her centuries old, but she qualified back in the day, got to assume the call sign when the time came. So it's a bit of a shock to see her jelly dot bungalow is a cracked, half melted mess.

Parking my ride I notice a group of teddy bears loitering on the corner. They seem to be watching the place. Discretely getting a gun out of my saddle bag I stash it in a jacket pocket before heading up to Vixen's.

Knocking on the door causes it to open. That's not a good sign. Going inside I find the place isn't just torn apart, worse, there's blood on everything. Something vicious happened here, but I doubt I've got time to stick around. Still, there's seconds enough to notice one oddity.

On a wall there's a poster hanging that says, "Re-elect Papa Nash!" He's the mayor of this icy burg. If he gets re-elected that'll mean a fifth term, adding up somewhere near 22 years. However, anyone with half a brain, not living in denial, knows Papa Nash doesn't run shit. Big Red is the only one with any political power. Vixen knew that, hell, she taught it to me. So why the poster?

She used to say, "Things have to change, Rudy, but sometimes I doubt they will. Not with a vote anyhow."

I hear sirens in the distance. Sensing a frame up is in the works I don't waste time. Hurrying outside I see the teddy bears have converged on my bike.

As I approach my ride the largest teddy bear says, "Where you think yer goin'?"

Instead of chit-chatting I fire a few rounds into the bear's foot. The rest scatter allowing me to hop on my bike, and ride. I know where I need to go, but I don't know if there's time.

#writer #writing #weird #parody #neo-noir #pulpfiction #honestyisnotcontagious #darkhumor #christmas #rudolph #miniseries #shortstory #fiction

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jackblankhsh · 5 years

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“Spilling Sound”

#art #digitalart #abstract #weird #trippy #honestyisnotcontagious #abstractart

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jackblankhsh · 5 years

Photo

“Quetzalcoatl's Cousin”

#art #abstract #digital #digitalart #honestyisnotcontagious #weird #trippy #creepy

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jackblankhsh · 5 years

Text

Why I Quit -- Santa’s Elf

"In my Mom's rendition, Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer eventually goes on a rampage, beating elves to death with his hooves, and disemboweling reindeer with his antlers. As for Santa, well, lemme just say ho-ho-holy shit. Thing is I can't help thinking she taught me the right & wrong lesson with her variation.

"Allow me to elaborate.

"Nothing motivates a person to grasp at any job like a looming eviction that'll cast one out into Chicago winter. It is a wicked season. Polar bears stalk the streets. Great glacial mounds dot the city wherever the homeless, huddled together for warmth, have frozen into human icebergs. And always there those driven mad by cabin fever who turn into winter banshees, their screams echoing down the icy streets.

"Call me a coward, but I've lived here long enough to know better than risk Winter on the streets. So, following the word of a grape vine bird, I went to the Brick House Diner. There I found Chari chowing down on a burrito.

"Chari is a queen in the skin grift game commonly known as stripping, though she prefers the term gash flasher. Folks often misperceive Chari, given that she spells 'Cherry' C-H-A-R-I; however, she's certainly innovative. Consider how she alters her act for holidays. Around Easter she dances as Bunny, near the Fourth of July she's Booty Ross, and close to Giftmas she's Mary Christmas -- 'merry' spelled M-A-R-Y.

"We met at a bachelor party. When the groom asked if Chari might be inclined to acts other than sexy dancing she rewarded those hooker implications by performing an act of surra de bunda so severe it broke his nose and gave him a concussion. Always respect a woman who can use her butt as a wrecking ball.

"After the usual chit-chat kindling we fired up the real conversation.

'I heard you know about a job.'

"She nodded, 'You know I pick up all kindsa stuff. Guys think they're impressing me, or some shit. Can't complain though. My stock portfolio is crazy good.'

"Fishing in her purse she produced a pamphlet. Passing it across she said, 'I think the guy who gave me this was thinking like save the stripper, or whatever.'

"I chuckled, 'The ol' respectable job angle.'

"She smirked, 'Like I'll be so grateful I'ma just have to suck his dick.'

"I said, 'Well, as a man, I can say we're raised with the grateful BJ delusion.'

"She rolled her eyes, 'Oh please, you believe it because you want it to be true. Ain't no different than Jesus saves.'

"Glancing over the pamphlet I said, 'Speaking of grateful oral...'

"She said, 'Don't be getting ideas. This is me paying you back. That bachelor party was gonna kill me. Besides.' She smirked, 'I think you'll be an adorable elf.'

"The next day I found myself in the beige office of a mall manager in Niles. After introducing myself we stared at each other in silence for well over a minute. I think he kept expecting to pull off my face, revealing Chari beneath a mask, and his pornographic fantasies of gratitude would come to life.

"Finally, playing off that note, I said, 'So about this job, Chari said I'd be a good fit.'

"He nodded, 'It's not hard. Tricky part is whether you like kids. You like kids?'

"A few years back I attended a family gathering. The three year old crotch fruit I'm supposed to call my nephew got to its feet. The whole family cheering it on my brother's rat child started baby-staggering towards me. Arms spread wide it giggled. Leaping off the couch I shouted, 'Not today Satan!' and punted it across the room. (I may've been drinking.)

"As such, I informed the manager, 'I know how to handle kids.'

'Okay. Let's get your costume.'

"I shuddered. Though aware of this aspect of the job I didn't look forward to it. I've often had vivid nightmares about a sweaty Walt Disney furiously masturbating to forlorn actors sadly donning the mouse costume.

"The manager said, 'Follow me.'

"He led the way through a network of halls behind the shops taking us to a locker room. While he searched for a box containing my costume I waved to a maintenance worker in overalls.

"The maintenance guy said, 'What they rope you into doin'?'

'Elf.'

"He grimaced, 'You let me know when you wanna die. I'll kill ya. Did it for the last guy. Least I can do, ya poor bastard.'

"Right away, I liked him.

"The manager returned carrying a battered cardboard box. Handing it over he said, 'Put this on then go to the middle of the mall. Santa's there. You can't miss it.'

"Opening the box I sighed heavily. Inside I found red tights, a green short sleeved shirt, and a red and white striped long sleeve shirt as well as a pointy green cap, and a set of fake points for my ears. Everything smelled like diseased feet, and the points felt like uncooked chicken. Yet, I soon found myself transformed into an elf.

"Walking the mall is like roaming the belly of a beached whale. The labored breathes of certain patrons even helps conjure a vivid image of the leviathan struggling to breath as its own weight crushes it out of existence. Meanwhile, despite everything in a state of slow decay, creeping towards death, delusions of survival abound like the leather store believing yalmukes will save the dying retailer, or the lingerie shop's unsettling new line of preteen thongs. Like dynamiting a beached whale it would be merciful to burn this place down.

"I spotted the ersatz Santa village long before I reached it. It appeared to be constructed on a budget of zero fucks, and discarded pizza boxes. Buildings, particularly Santa's workshop, stood so crooked they must've been constructed by a German expressionist. In front of it all sat Santa, enthroned on a thrift store recliner spray painted gold.

"Next to him stood a perky albino asparagus who introduced himself as, 'Todd.'

"Santa introduced himself as Santa.

"I said, 'I see we're going method.'

Todd beamed, 'If it makes the kiddies happy that's cool.' If he smiled any wider his head would've come out his mouth.

Slapping a nicotine patch on Santa said, 'Lez do dis.'

"And so it began... a job that made me want to smoke heroin out of a shotgun, get a nice double barrel overdose going.

"Later, unprompted, Santa said, 'Been doin' this job fer-fuckin'-ever. Started when my bitch wife took off with the kids, and I was missing children, which is something never thought I'd say. So I was like, "Mall Santa!"'

'Why'd she leave?' I asked.

"He shrugged, 'I's fucking our neighbor, and that asshole got it in his head I wanted him to kill her. So there was this whole misunderstanding. Oh, hold up.'

"Todd lifted an approaching child into Santa's lap. The kid stared in wide eyed wonder.

"'Hello little boy!' Santa said, 'What do you want for Christmas?'

'I wanna thister.'

'Then send us your mom,' I said.

"Santa choked down a laugh. He told the kid he'd see what he could do, but if there was anything else, say a toy of some kind... but the boy insisted on a sister.

"Todd snapped the kid's photo with a digital camera. Then I helped the boy down. Delivering him back to his parents I asked if they wanted to buy the photo. Like most they declined having already snapped pics with smart phones like the cheap bastards they are. The same way they used Santa as a scapegoat, blaming him when they couldn't afford gifts for their kids.

"So it went, eight hours a day for the next twelve days.

"Occasionally packs of mallrats tried to storm Santa's village. This usually involved Goth kids screaming about Krampus. We kept giant fake candy canes at the ready, and though bludgeoning teenagers is always a perk, it made the job feel worse afterward. Those battles sent me to such dizzying heights the drop back to reality felt like orbital skydiving -- too much time to fully consider the fall.

"Todd, on the other hand, possessed a mystifying ability to always smile. After one fight he said, 'That young fella had some skills. Good for him.'

I said, 'Maybe next time he'll kill you.'

'Then he'll be a winner!' Todd said. Watching him bandage himself with wrapping paper and gauze, I considered stealing a pinch; suspecting I could get a cheery high sucking on Todd's bloody gauze.

"But most days belonged to managing the slow procession of beaming children accompanied by bored adults lobotomized by parenthood.

"In the locker room one night a gruff voice asked, 'You wanna die?'

"Startled I leapt forward bouncing hard off my locker. Spinning around I found the maintenance guy standing directly behind me.

"I said, 'Not yet. Things are okay... I guess.'

"He nodded, 'When you're ready, say the word. You won't even know I'm coming. Just.' He snapped his fingers, 'Lights outs.'

'I don't doubt it,' I replied, 'Hey, I'm just here until I've got enough to buy a gun. Then I can rob a bank like someone who still has their dignity.'

'Like Todd,' he said.

"Todd having dignity proved hard for me to swallow. For instance, his frog eyed crotch stared down kids all day, and despite even the most direct statements he never did a thing about his huge man-el toe. Yet, it does take a stalwart individual to be so... Todd. Like physics, and voluntary celibacy, optimists have never made sense to me. Despite whatever obvious negativity I sent his way Todd remained a prince of the bright side. Some days my only motivation for work orbited some contrived scheme to break Todd's smile, yet I slowly began enjoying his immutable nature -- the seemingly eternal persistence of his mood.

"The maintenance guy's words echoing in mind, I started seeing Todd in a new light. Instead of a silver lining seeking lunatic I started seeing a young man impervious to the world's woes. Of course, I harbored doubts. Perhaps in private he metamorphosed into a snarling bitter dick, a speculation I held on to until one fateful day.

"Close to the end of work we let our guard down. We each wanted to go home for our own reasons. Santa had been peed on four times; it being payday meant I was anxious to get my drink on; and Todd wanted to hurry home to make a gingerbread house for his grandma. We didn't notice the circling, growing Krampus kult clad in black... until it was too late.

"A wiry teen jumped atop the phone case kiosk.

"Holding high an ornate, impractical dagger he bellowed, 'Death to the red lie!'

"And then the stygian tsunami came from all directions. Surrounded, we didn't stand a chance. Still, we fought the good fight. At one point I frantically threw children at the legion of incoming Goths, bowling them over. Santa put on a pair of reindeer antlers, and charged into the swarm head first. Anytime I saw a piercing I grabbed it, and pulled hard as I could.

"About to be overwhelmed I shouted, 'Robert Smith is dead.' As the swarm paused to check their phones I used that as our chance to flee.

"Grabbing Santa I said, 'We gotta go!'

'Ho-ho-hold up,' he stammered, 'Where's Todd?'

"I saw him lying face down. Shoving Santa to kick start his exodus, I hurried over. Scooping up Todd I fireman carried him back to the locker room where I dropped him unceremoniously on the ground.

"Gasping, I declared for the millionth time in my life, 'I gotta quit smoking.'

"Then I noticed a pool of blood spreading from Todd. Rolling him over revealed a set of pentagram themed shuriken stuck in his back. It didn't look good. Also, it's entirely possible when I dropped him I may have inadvertently driven them deeper into Todd.

"Kneeling beside him I lied, 'You're going to be okay.'

"Todd said, 'As long as the kids are happy.'

"Then he died. Smiling. Later I watched the maintenance guy mop up his blood, erasing what was left of Todd, save for a vague stain on the locker room floor. The next day I arrived to find a doughy guy in the locker room struggling into the elf costume. It'd been washed, but there were still holes in the back.

"Wrestling with the tights the guy said, 'This fuckin' shit better be worth it.'

"Seeing that sourness, I told the new guy, 'When you the manager come around, tell him I quit.'

"Chicago winter isn't the worst thing in the world... like Rudolph, Todd was born with a gift people didn't appreciate until they needed it. To see him replaced so easily, well, frankly your honor, that's why I burned down the mall."

#writing #fiction #shortstory #short story #surreal #weird #whyiquit #honestyisnotcontagious #elf #santa #holiday #christmas #giftmas #writer

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