Gift-Wrapped & Toe-Tagged: A Melee of Misc. Holiday Anthology

by Dr. Freud Funkenstein, ed.

  * * *

  Across town, on the corner of Misery Street and Depravity Avenue, Santa Claus brought his sleigh to rest. He had spotted something from above and decided to make a stop to check it out. It was a small crippled boy rooting around in the snow with his withered limbs. Santa approached and said: “Hoho-ho, Merry Christmas Tiny Tim.”

  The boy turned, smiled brightly at the sight of Father Christmas, before gloom once more fell over his face like a morbid shadow as he said: “Santa, Tiny Tim died last month. He was run down by a hit and run driver. It’s me, Tiny Bob.”

  Santa rubbed his head and let his shock and confusion subside. How could he have forgotten that? His elves had told him of the carnage as Tiny Tim was spread across three carriageways. He watched Tiny Bob start to once again, forage in the snow, and then asked: “What are you doing?”

  Tiny Bob explained: “I’m looking for food, Santa. Maybe an old crust off a pizza, or a dead rat, or even a piece of dog pooh.”

  Santa asked Tiny Bob if his father would give him food, but the crippled boy shook his head and answered that his father would give him a big punch in the kisser if he dared to ask for anything.

  Tiny Bob was the illegitimate spawn of a clapped-up hooker and his father, big fat industrialist Quentin Snide, the epitome of all that was wrong with modern business greed. Snide was a tyrant who hated Christmas and anything good in the world. He saw the festive season as a simple reason to drink to excess and fornicate with intoxicated council estate single mothers, who were desperate for something good to come out of the festive season. Such was his hunger for self-indulgence that he subsequently left his crippled son to forage for food in the dustbins and gutters, even on a snow-filled Christmas Eve.

  Santa told Tiny Bob to sit on his sleigh, and he rooted in his sack until he found a large bar of chocolate. The little cripple boy smiled and munched his way through it, as Santa said: “You see Tiny Bob, there are some evil people in the world, and they see Christmas as a time for excess, bad behaviour and greed. All they want are consumer goods, food, drink and sexual intercourse with ladies in tight short skirts and bright red lipstick. However, what about peace and goodwill to all men? They forget about that. They forget the birth of the saviour. They forget the holly, the ivy and the robin redbreast.”

  Tiny Bob tried to offer the chocolate to the reindeer, but Santa stopped him, saying: “Tiny Bob, you are too kind. Even when you have nothing, you want to share what little comes your way. That is the true Christmas message. You see, my sack is filled with gifts, but they are meagre. Apples, oranges, carpet slippers, table-tennis bats with balls attached on lengths of elastic, stuff like that. Christmas is changing, and the spirit of goodwill hangs in the balance. Tonight, I must deliver more of these simple gifts than the consumer goods most people crave if I am to save Christmas. I must rebuild the Christmas spirit, or I will be defeated and Christmas will be lost forever.”

  Tiny Bob stopped chewing and asked: “Who will defeat you, Santa?”

  Santa Claus smiled, but even Tiny Bob could see the pain that was hidden behind the jolly exterior. Then he muttered through his dense white beard: “Anti Claus will defeat me. He is at large tonight, and unless I can spread joy faster than he spreads greed, Christmas will be lost forever.”

  Tiny Bob chirped up, saying: “Santa, you will win, you will!”

  Santa shrugged and said: “He has power, power that is built upon greed. He has the X-Box, the PS2, the mobile communications devices, the i-Pods and the vibrating anal butt plugs. I have fruit and furry footwear.”

  Tiny Bob looked up at Santa, a tear rolling from the corner of his cripple-boy eye, and said: “But Santa, you have love.”

  Santa looked down at Tiny Bob and said: “Yes, you’re right, I do. I have love.”

  With that he lifted Tiny Bob to the ground and climbed onto the sleigh. Shouting: “Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On Cupid! On, Donner and

  Blitzen! To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”

  The sleigh lifted into the wintry night sky, and Tiny Bob waved as Santa disappeared into the darkness.

  * * *

  Across town, Anti Claus looked around, and then drove his elbow through the small window. Reaching through he opened the door and crept inside. He looked around, and saw the small tree in the corner. He quickly deposited the presents – a set of golf clubs for him, an umbrella stand made out of an elephant’s foot for her, and a laptop for their one and only Julia. Then he started to have a nose around, looking in drawers and cupboards, but he found little of interest so he crept upstairs.

  He sneaked into the bedroom where the husband slept soundly with his wife. Anti Claus lifted the bed cover to have a look, and spotted that the dirty bitch was wearing crotchless knickers. Not only that, she had shaved herself too. All this, and a set of golf clubs? Anti Claus gently moved her leg so he could get a better view, and dropped his trousers.

  He muttered to himself: “A mince pie and glass of sherry for Santa, but I’d rather have one off the wrist.”

  He went at himself very quickly; after all, he had work to do. He edged closer to the bed as his pounding became more frantic, and then he exploded. She awoke and screamed, but he was already going down the stairs. He laughed as he fired up the skidoo and sped into the stormy sky. He imagined her trying to tell her husband that Santa had just tossed off over her.

  He’d have found another use for those golf clubs before daybreak.

  * * *

  Santa Claus moved silently though the house. He was placing a pair of slippers, plus a fruit selection, under the tree, when he heard the little girl’s voice, asking who was there. He turned, and saw her sat on a stool. She was blonde and beautiful, about fourteen years old. She was innocence personified. Santa smiled and said: “Ho-ho-ho. ‘Tis me.”

  “Who?” asked the girl.

  Santa grinned and said: “Surely you know me.”

  The girl spoke softly and said: “No, I don’t recognise your voice, and I can’t see you. I’m blind.’

  Santa moved closely and knelt beside her. He knew his role was to deliver presents, plus a little goodwill and hopefully to engender a bit of peace along the way. He knew he should not interfere in the ways of the world, he should not change circumstance, but he was powerless to resist.

  Her beauty and peace was magnificent, and her pain cried out like the wind. He gently touched her eyelids, and a small sparkle of light illuminated her face for no more than a second.

  She opened her eyes, and said: “I can see. I can see! It’s you Santa! Thank you, I love you.” She threw her arms around him, and he felt the surge of love between them. The candles on the Christmas tree flickered briefly and then burned brightly. He knew that this family would have a truly happy Christmas.

  * * *

  Anti Claus held the puppy’s head down the toilet bowl and flushed again. After the third time it stopped moving. He muttered: “They keep being told a dog is not just for Christmas.

  Will they ever learn?”

  He dropped the soggy canine corpse to the floor and walked into the next room. He picked up the decanter, swallowed down the scotch in one long continuous gulp, and then urinated into the crystal bottle before replacing it.

  He was upstairs when he saw the sleigh landing outside.

  Santa was here. He peeked into a bedroom and saw a teenage girl.

  She looked like trouble. He prodded her hard to ensure that she woke before he took off. If Santa had to confront someone, it would slow him down a bit.

  * * *

  The girl awoke with a start, and heard footsteps. She climbed out of bed, wrapped a robe around her nakedness, and headed downstairs. As she entered the living room, Santa Claus stood there holding the dead puppy he had found in the bathroom. He knew it was the work of Anti Claus. He wanted to bring the dog back to life, but after the blind girl, he couldn’t risk another case of interference. Sa
nta Claus saw the girl and hid the puppy behind his back. She walked closer to him, not speaking, but eyeing him up closely.

  “Are you for real?”

  Santa nodded, and outside a reindeer pressed his face against the window. The girl giggled and said: “Bloody hell, you’re the real thing, aren’t you?”

  Santa nodded again, and the girl smiled, slowly opening her robe. She walked towards Santa who was trying to avert his eyes, and said: “Do you like what you see, fat man?”

  Santa mumbled that yes, she was quite nice.

  She said: “You can do me for a plasma TV, okay?”

  Santa tried to explain that beauty was a gift, not a commodity.

  She obviously hadn’t listened, and continued: “I’ll blow you for a laptop.”

  Santa tried to explain humility, but still ignoring him she leaned backwards, pushing her hips forward and said: “Okay, I’ll let you touch me for a Pay-As-You-Go phone.”

  Santa handed her an orange. She looked at it and said: “Ten pounds and I’ll shove it up my…”

  Santa missed the end of the proposition as he walked out into the night, shaking his head with sorrow and despair. He said to the reindeer: “Some you win, some you lose.”

  * * *

  As Santa’s sleigh cut through the wintry sky, Santa spotted something out of the corner of his eye. Despite the falling veil of white flakes, he saw the churn created by a skidoo in the freshly settled snow. The only being using such a machine on this holy night was Anti Claus, and the fact that the disruption was still clear, meant that he had arrived not too long ago. Santa came down to earth, and sat on his sleigh for a few moments.

  He took a deep breath. This was it. Had it been a Spaghetti Western, this was the point when the silver watch would start to chime. No matter how it was dressed up, he knew the faceoff wasn’t far away. The spirit of Christmas hung in the balance.

  Santa Claus crept into the house. Beneath the tree was a pile of expensive-looking, well-wrapped presents. Anti Claus had been here already. Then Santa spotted a shred of wrapping paper. Someone had already started unwrapping the gifts. He had to act fast to ensure he could stop them. Once greed took hold, the battle was almost impossible to win. He moved slowly through the house, and as he passed the kitchen, he heard a noise. Whoever was up and about was only on the other side of the door. He slowly pushed it open.

  At a table, with his back to the door, sat Tiny Bob, the crippled boy. In front of him was a half-unwrapped present.

  Santa approached and said: “Ho-ho-ho. How are you, Tiny Bob?”

  Tiny Bob turned, saw Santa, grabbed a bread knife off the table and plunged it into the red coat and white fur, through the material and into Santa’s chest. Santa fell back, clutching at the wound, trying to stem the blood-flow, as Tiny Bob limped towards him, the knife still in his hand.

  Santa struggled to rise and pleaded: “Tiny Bob, it’s me, the real Santa Claus.”

  Tiny Bob snarled: “You would say that, you fat liar!”

  Santa again pleaded: “Tiny Bob, look in my sack, go on, take a look.”

  Tiny Bob cautiously had a look, and pulled out apples, oranges and slippers. He looked at Santa and smiled, saying:

  “You are the real Santa.”

  Then he leaned over the prostrate figure, and with one movement thrust the knife into Santa’s eye. Outside the wail of a chainsaw kicked in, signaling that the reindeer were being butchered.

  Tiny Bob squatted down next to Santa, and said: “Listen you pompous twat, just because I’m a cripple doesn’t mean I don’t want a bloody X-Box. You want to take all the fun out of Christmas – you want to remove the shopping, expensive presents, over-eating, the drunkenness, and shagging the secretary at the office party. You want people to be nice to each other, even if it don’t get them good presents. You’d rather give me an apple than an i-Pod, you tight-arse.”

  Santa lay there, the light fading in his eyes. Suddenly the door burst open, and another red-coated bearded figure stood. Santa muttered: “Anti Claus, your evil works have won the day.”

  Anti Claus laughed, and said: “Good, you utter ninny.”

  Santa tried to speak, but his throat gurgled with the blood that welled there. Then he spat, and murmured: “Who are you?

  Let me at least know that before I die.”

  The figure removed the beard, and Santa muttered: “Oh shit, it’s big fat Quentin Snide.”

  Then his head fell back, and his eyes lost their sparkle for the very last time.

  Tiny Bob jumped up and shouted: “Alright! Nice one Dad.”

  Quentin Snide roared to the heavens: “Don’t come around here with your peace and goodwill to all men. Don’t tell me It’s the season to be jolly. Just buy me stuff, and let me get drunk and touch up your wife. Bring me a turkey, a bloody big one, and make sure it was kept in a cage all of its life. Free range equals muscles – I want my meat milky and tender. What’s more, I just want the breasts. You can send the legs to those starving chaps in Africa. I want glitter, tinsel, trees, mince pies and that feature-length episode of Sabrina the Teenage Witch when she tries on the bikinis! Just don’t tell me about the birth of the baby Jesus!”

  Tiny Bob shouted: “Yeah, fuck him, he’s only an egg.”

  Snide looked at the cripple, shook his head with utter disappointment, and said: “No you twat, that was Humpty Dumpty... wasn’t it?”

  Marie Green

  SUNSHINE BEAMED

  SUNSHINE COULD MAKE peanut shapes under her slippers. Two feet placed close together in the shallow dusting of morning snow and a quick hop away made peanuts, side by side, in neat pairs of slipper prints. Soon the driveway was covered, resembling a shell-littered steakhouse floor. Puffs of warm, steamy breath billowed above in the frigid morning air, the small clouds dissipating against the festively-lit facade of the neighbor’s house across the dirt road. Delicate, multicolored bulbs shone against tufts of perfectly fallen, glistening snow. Slipper clad footfalls added a cold crunch to the still morning as she stepped across the road, closer to the warm vision the neighbor’s yard offered. A beautifully decorated Spruce was just within reach across the pickets. She breathed deep, stealing the strong, wintery scent of snow-coated pine. One hand rose to touch it, fingers grazing the scarlet tinsel and sharp needles. A dreamy, envious sigh became frost in the chill, dying hopelessly.

  Santa Claus comes to houses like this.

  Crows and magpies squawked piercing threats at one another up the road to the right, startling away the daydream. Someone had run over a deer last night and a bunch of scavenging birds fought for their share of the bloodied carcass. There was a big mess on the side of the road. A portion of the birds parted from the kill as she approached, shrieking as they dove at other birds in the air, giving a glimpse of the mutilation. Shades of brilliant red contrasted against the fresh snow and black and white birds. That’s a no no, thoughts chided. Shouldn’t be so close.

  A racking shiver jolted her away from the fascination of watching the birds fight. Sunshine wiped her wet nose on the matted fabric of her pajama gown and resigned to walking back up the driveway to her own house. As she passed through the gap in the fence that was once a gate, her foot glanced off a can. A short clatter ensued as it smashed against a snow-covered pile of empties. Blue aluminum peeked through the snow like ornamental bulbs.

  A cough sounded inside the house, stilling Sunshine in her peanut tracks.

  No one will be happy if I ain’t inside while they sleep. No one needs to spend their time watching to be sure I don’t wander off and get lost.

  As expected, no one came outside to see what she was doing. She continued toward the front door but just as her hand touched the icy knob, the urge struck one last time to see the pretty Christmas tree across the road. A lip quivered atop a trembling chill-pink chin.

  As she turned to the darkened windows of the house to which she was consigned, her gaze came to rest on the thin branches of the sole, sickly pine in the yard. Pi
cking up a can showed how much the can’s weight also resembled a Christmas bulb, and she carefully threaded a few of the tree’s needles through the aluminum tab to hold it in place.

  I can do it! Just need more.…

  Ignoring the sting of cold fingers, she worked diligently, gathering more frosty cans from the yard to decorate the pine. Remembering the red tinsel from the neighbor’s tree, she scanned the yard for something similar to use, but aside from a length of torn, yellow tape that read CAUTION, nothing resembled tinsel.

  “Ohhhhh,” she moaned low.

  Birds squawked on the roadside.

  A crow pulled something long, shiny, and red from beneath the bloodied fur. After looking back at the darkened window for reassurance that no one would witness, Sunshine ran from the yard to scare the birds away. She smiled as she looked at the piled length of ropey flesh. The pungent smell of coppery, warm blood hung in a thick halo around the deer.

  Fast, fast… Her hand traced the end to some place under the deer’s hind legs and gave it a pull. Brown fluid squished between her fingers. Nausea roiled deep in her gut.

  Tummy ache. Sunshine looked away. A hard shake of her hands cleared them of the mess, flinging dark streaks into the snow, splattering the worn flannel sleep shirt with brown stripes of stinking matter. There, she thought, relieved. She choked up her shaking grip and tried again, causing the carcass to slide to rest on top of her slipper.

  A squeal erupted from her chest. “Bad…bad deer,” she wailed. She jerked her foot from beneath the weight and had to go to her knees to retrieve her slipper, quickly, not missing more than a beat in her quest.