Christmas on Crack

by ed. Carlton Mellick III

  “It would be my honor,” Betty said, “but I have one request.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I want my sister to live with us. She’s a wonderful cook. I’m sure she’d love nothing more than to be Santa’s little chef, isn’t that right sis?”

  Rage boiled up within me. I tried to focus on the crusty toes tapping on the thick rug. The toes I had just sucked clean while my sister received the largest dick we’d ever encountered. I couldn’t see any way that this situation could get worse until Santa shrugged and said, “I’m not looking for a chef, actually. I take great joy in cooking. Nobody prepares my meals for me. I do all the cooking around here.”

  Betty sank farther into Santa’s corpulent breast and sighed.

  “However, we do have a sort of a food crisis on hand.” Betty perked up, “Oh?” she cooed.

  “I’d intended to eat Rudolph for dinner on Christmas, you see. He was getting up there in years and had trouble moving around. Since you ran over him and I fucked his body cavity, his meat’s no good anymore. With Rudolph gone, I didn’t know what to eat on Christmas, but you’ve given me an idea. How about I cook your sister? I’ve never eaten an elf before.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but Betty interrupted. “That’s a brilliant idea, Santa. Let’s eat my sister!” She turned to me. “What do you say? We’re always looking for ways to grow closer together. How about Santa and I eat you? It’s like you’ll always be a part of us and we’ll always be a part of you.”

  “Except I’ll be dead.”

  “Being dead is easy,” Santa said. “Anyway, if you’d taken after your sister and learned to fuck like a champion, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

  “Who said I can’t fuck like a champion?” I cried. “Daddy did.” Betty snapped, suddenly vicious. “Daddy didn’t say that!”

  “Did too.”

  “You’re a liar. Daddy always tells me I have the squishi- est pussy of any elf.” I blinked rapidly, trying to fight back the tears. I didn’t want to cry in front of Betty, not now.

  “Yeah, but Daddy likes his pussy firm. He told me on the phone last week that he tried fucking a block of tofu and it was useless. He had to stick a finger up his butt just to come. He said the tofu reminded him of you. He basically called your pussy worthless.”

  “He did not.”

  “Ho ho ho, cat fight! Break it up, girls. Santa’s tired. I think we’ve reached a fair and final agreement here. Does anyone else have anything to add, or can we retire for the night?”

  “I refuse to be anyone’s Christmas dinner,” I said.

  “Ho ho ho, you should have thought of that before you ran over my favorite reindeer.”

  “I wasn’t the one driving. My sister is a maniac on the road. She’s the reason your reindeer is dead.”

  Santa smacked his lips and combed a hand through his beard. He didn’t seem to have heard me. “Come to think of it, I still haven’t gotten the tang of your clitoris out of my mouth. If the rest of you is as delectable, you’ll be a real Christmas treat, perhaps marinated in maple syrup and soy sauce.”

  “Why don’t you fill her with your cum? I bet it’d bring out some real festive flavors,” Betty said.

  “Ho ho ho, Santa doesn’t fuck his dinner, child. It’s bedtime now. I’m much too old to stay up late on Christmas Eve anymore.” Santa rose to his feet slowly and awkwardly.

  “Can I sleep with you, Santa?” Betty asked, rubbing one bare breast up and down Santa’s hairy leg.

  “I’m afraid not. Until Mrs. Claus and I begin divorce proceedings, it’s immoral to share my bed with you. Sleep out here by the fire. We’re eating your sister tomorrow, so enjoy your final night with her.” To me he said, “Don’t try to escape. My bedroom is right here, so I can hear everything. My sleigh is out back and my reindeer are in top shape. If I find you gone in the morning, I will track you down and eat your heart while it’s still beating.” Then he chuckled, “Ho ho ho,” and turned toward the hall.

  “I’ll keep an eye on her. Goodnight, Santa dear,” Betty said. Santa waddled into his bedroom and shut the door behind him. Betty sighed and reached for the last snicker- doodle on the plate. She broke the cookie in half, giving half to me.

  “What the fuck,” I said, crumbling the cookie between my fingers.

  “What the fuck yourself. I would have eaten that,” she said, eying the cookie remnants on the rug.

  “Like you’ll eat me?”

  “Oh come on, it’s not that bad.”

  “Not that bad? This is the biggest fucking betrayal in the history of ever, and you know it.”

  Betty scowled into the fire. “Don’t you realize what a great opportunity this is for me? If you loved me, you’d be happy.”

  “Happy about what? Happy that my own sister set me up to become Christmas dinner for a fat geriatric in a red suit?”

  “Don’t talk about my future husband that way. Besides, I set nothing up. Things just happened how they always happen.”

  “And how’s that?”

  “I’m fuckable, so I fuck. And you just leech off of the chemistry between me and my partner.”

  “I do not. I add...”

  But Betty interrupted me, “Think about it, Mabel. When’s the last time you got fucked really good?”

  “Last night. You and I . . .”

  “I’m your sister. Fucking me doesn’t count.”

  “We do everything together, Betty.”

  “We did everything together, now I’m moving on. I don’t understand why you can’t just be happy for me.” Her face was still slick and reflective with dried cum and the firelight flickered on her cheeks as she stared at me blankly.

  “I thought we were close. I thought you loved me.”

  “I do love you,” Betty said. “Digesting you and shitting you out will be erotic. You and me will never be closer than when you squeeze through my bowels. Go to sleep now. And be glad that life has worked out the way that it has.” Betty turned away from me and fell fast asleep, her face to the fire. I was devastated. True, I had known from the beginning that this was all a plot to humiliate and destroy me so that Betty could have everything to herself: Santa, Daddy, the bull, they were all the same to her - possessions. And she didn’t want to share.

  I had hoped. I’d hoped that I was mistaken, that this was just a joke or another one of her games. But then, who could blame her? With the loss of my clitoris, I would never feel the things we had felt together again. I was just a number of lifeless, dry, spongy orifices. I was no use to anyone.

  Tears streamed down my cheeks. I hated Betty, I hated every inch of her, from her luscious fawn-colored locks to her slender white ankles. I didn’t deserve to die. To be trumped, humiliated, ignored, and then eaten. I needed to escape, to brave the storms. I could find my way to Daddy’s by myself. I might even be able to hijack a reindeer.

  Gathering my courage, I stumbled to my feet. I crept toward the front door, willing the wooden floorboards not to creak. At last my fingers closed on the doorknob.

  I pulled the door open. There was a loud snort. I jumped. As the porch light clicked on a menacing face peered in from the swirling blackness of the night. It was Prancer. He snorted again and took a step forward. His antlers were thick, enormous, like huge wooden webs blocking my escape. In desperation I grabbed hold of one antler and pulled down, smashing Prancer’s face into the cold stone. With a sort of whine, he attempted to shake me off but I held on, braced myself against the frame of the door and pulled as hard as I could. The thousands of cocks I’d hand-fucked had given me tremendous upper body strength. With a mighty crack, the antler broke away from Prancer’s skull and the reindeer collapsed in a pool of blood.

  I stumbled back, dragging the antler. Out of the darkness beyond, other faces were materializing. Dasher, Dancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donder, and Blitzen. They were livid. Not only had we killed their most beloved company member, Rudolph, I had just stripped another of his reindeer manhood.r />
  I slammed the door. Reindeer couldn’t open doors. Or could they?

  I turned the deadbolt, just in case.

  From the other room I heard the creaking of a massive body shifting in bed. I couldn’t wake Santa. And I couldn’t let him know I’d just vandalized another reindeer.

  I hid the antler in the coat closet, behind a big box of bondage gear.

  Looking at my sister, curled up on the rug by the fire, I suddenly knew what I must do.

  I went into the kitchen and searched through the drawers for the biggest knife. I found a cleaver large enough to butcher an elephant.

  I held the cleaver behind my back and returned on tiptoes to the room where Betty slept. The logs on the fire snapped and crackled loudly, but they did not wake her. She was a heavy sleeper. I would have her head off before she so much as batted an eyelid.

  I stood above her and raised the cleaver over my head, clutching the handle in both hands. For a second, I expected her to open her eyes and say, “What are you doing, sister? What’s driven you to this? Don’t you know it was all a joke? I love you more than anything. Did you really think I would eat you?” But of course she said no such thing. She remained fast asleep.

  The cleaver fell heavily, silently into her neck. But it didn’t cut the head off. Too much bone and muscle connected her head to the rest of her body. I worked the cleaver down a little further, then unstuck it from the gristle and tossed it aside.

  I retraced my steps to the coat closet and snapped off a piece of the antler. Returning to Betty, I dropped to my knees and wedged my thumbs into the severed flesh along her neck. My hands slipped in the blood. I worked the tip of the antler up across her chin, prying the flesh away from the muscle.

  I worked slowly, for I needed her face to be in good condition if my plan was to work. I knew that I couldn’t fool Santa for long, but if I could convince him I was her just long enough for him to stick his cock in me, and then, if I could fuck as well as Betty, he’d make me his wife instead. Even if Santa ended up killing me, I’d at least get to fuck him before I died.

  I worked Betty’s face off the layer of muscle and shimmering bone. The eyes were the most difficult part. I punctured one of them and the fluid that came out of it made the job even tougher.

  Finally, I raised her face to my face, and I put it on.

  I felt the eyeholes and Betty’s soft skin on my own face. It was still slick with Santa’s dried cum.

  Then a board creaked behind me. “Merry Christmas,” said Santa Claus, “ho ho.. .ho.”

  He was looming over me, his eyes and mouth dark, gaping holes of shadow.

  “It’s not Christmas yet,” I said.

  “It’s one past midnight,” he replied, taking one step closer, “and I heard a clatter.”

  I opened my mouth to explain, hoping that Santa would fail to notice in the dying firelight that the sleeping

  body beside me was faceless. But Santa Claus interrupted me.

  “I always hold off decorating the tree until Christmas day. But the problem is, I didn’t chop down a tree this year. It’s been so cold and this storm hasn’t let up an hour since last week. But I’ll tell you what,” he stroked his beard and smacked his oily lips, “How would you like to help me decorate my beard?”

  I wasn’t sure whether or not he had noticed the body. But my throat was closing up, I realized what I had done. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “So sorry.”

  “Why, child!” Santa Claus said, stroking his beard and extending his enormous stomach. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. One elf is the same as the next for a Christmas dinner and you’ve saved me having to do the deed myself. Come up from the floor now. I certainly underestimated you.” Santa reached down and pulled me up by the elbow. Placing an enormous hand on either side of my face, he pulled Betty’s face off of mine.

  “That’s much better now, isn’t it? How would you like to be my wife?”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. Relief flooded my body and I almost fainted. Santa’s huge, strong hands held me on my feet. “Really? Really?” I said.

  “Tell me your name, sweet elf.”

  “It’s.. .it’s Mabel.”

  Santa smiled and chuckled, “Mabel. What a lovely name. Mabel, how would you like to hang ornaments from my beard?”

  I nodded, wiping Betty’s blood out of my eyes.

  “Good little thing, now go into the kitchen and fetch the needle nose pliers and super glue. You’ll find them in the drawer beneath the sink. Hurry along now.”

  I ran into the kitchen, not believing my luck, a wide smile spreading on my face. I was going to be Santa’s wife. Finally. And we would eat Betty’s miserable body for Christmas dinner. Oh, things really had worked out.

  I rummaged for the pliers then skipped back into the sitting room and presented the pliers to Santa Claus.

  “Now, let us think. Do you know what would make the most beautiful ornaments?”

  I shook my head.

  “Teeth.”

  “What?”

  “Now, kneel down, Mabel, and pull out your sister’s teeth.” Santa said calmly.

  With a little more relish than was probably appropriate, I yanked Betty’s teeth out of her mouth, one by one. The first was hard, but after a few tries I twisted it in just the right way and it popped out into my hand.

  When all of the teeth were lined up in a row on the rug, Santa said, “Now glue them in.” So I glued the teeth into his beard. They did make beautiful ornaments, glimmering orange and red in the firelight.

  Santa’s eyes and mouth were still shadowy holes in his sweaty face. He licked his lips with a fat, purple tongue and said, “Now yours.”

  My stomach lurched.

  “My teeth?”

  “Yes, now yours,” the fat man said.

  I opened my mouth slowly and edged the pliers in. It was a small sacrifice and I didn’t see any other choice. I pulled hard. A bolt of pain shot through my head, blinding me for a moment. The tooth didn’t budge.

  “I can’t do it!” I cried out finally, dropping the pliers.

  “Oh Mabel,” Santa Claus moaned, “I’m disappointed. I thought you were stronger than this.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, perhaps you’d like me to pull them out for you?” Santa Claus said, standing up from the couch.

  I started backing away, but tripped over Betty’s faceless, toothless body and fell to the floor.

  Santa was pulling on the fingers of his gloves. He took one glove off and threw it to the floor.

  I screamed. Each of Santa’s fingers was a penis, including the thumb, and each one was gnashing three rows of razor sharp teeth in my direction. Coming closer. Then the five penises crowded into my mouth, my lips tearing at the corners as their tiny razor mouths chewed the gums away from my teeth.

  And I knew, in a while, my teeth would also glimmer in Santa’s beard, indistinguishable from Betty’s.

  Kevin Shamel lives a couple hours north of me, just around the corner from my favorite beer and sausage company... so he’s always worth visiting. A professional psychic healer with a ginger mohawk who makes zombie cat sock puppets for fun, Kevin fits perfectly in the bizarro writing community. He’s the author of Rotten Little Animals, about talking animals who decide to make a snuff film, and the upcoming Island of the Super People, about anthropologists in the South Pacific studying a primitive tribe of super humans. Kevin’s Christmas on Crack story is the only non-pornographic story in this collection. But when he pitched me this story I just had to take it. Basically, he wanted to write an absurd apocalyptic version of Christmas Vacation with giant flesh eating crabs that shoot lasers. How could I turn that down?

  So roast some chestnuts and sing Happy Birthday to Jesus, then get ready for some family Christmas cheer . . .

  CHRISTMAS CRABS

  On Christmas Eve, Rudy dreamt that Santa was fucking his wife. Rudy watched them from inside the fireplace. Santa and Rainey were really going at it. He
wanted to tell them to stop, but something like tweezers was pinching his tongue. It hurt, especially when he tried to talk. Rudy and Rainey’s fifteen-year-old son Skipp came along and tossed a burning joint into the fireplace, setting Rudy on fire. The flames didn’t hurt, but they obscured his vision.

  Skipp and his older sister Staci danced around in a circle at the foot of the bed, clapping their hands. Santa yelled, “Ho ho ho!” when he came. Rainey told him that was so cliché, and she shot him with a laser beam from her fingertip, burning him to a fat crisp.

  Rudy snapped awake. It was still dark outside. Rainey snored gently beside him. Santa was nowhere to be seen. Rudy crept downstairs, made coffee, and watched the sun come up. He anticipated the best Christmas ever, even better than the year before. When he plugged in the tree, it shone like the dawn outside. Piles of presents glimmered under its impressive lights. Rudy stared at the tree, anticipating the magical day to come.

  Not long after his third cup of coffee, the family started straggling downstairs. More coffee was made, and Rainey handed out some pastries. It was perfect. Both sets of grandparents, the kids.. .just like Sixteen Candles without the dude named after a duck’s dork. The best Christmas Day ever was about to unfold. He could barely contain his excitement. Even the fact that Staci’s friend Belinda was coming over to be his daughter’s vegan-compatriot and join the protest against his grand turkey and ham feast didn’t faze him. There was squash for them. And stuffing.

  While everyone was eating their breakfast and counting up the gifts under the tree, Rudy slipped away to the bedroom to check his bank account. His huge Christmas bonus was supposed to have been deposited the day before, and he’d checked a couple of times and it hadn’t registered. He wanted to be sure it was there. It wasn’t.

  Rudy chalked it up to the holidays, and was certain it would all be settled by Monday. And by Monday, they’d be boarding the ship.

  That’s when the whole trip had to be paid in full—half of it coming from his big bonus. The other, non-refundable half had come from the landscaping and swimming pool fund. But along with the bonus, Rudy was pretty much guaranteed a promotion. He’d make up the lost yard-improvement money within six months. Just to be sure, he emailed a quick note to his boss, Andy. Rudy didn’t really expect a reply, but he asked if everything had gone fine with the bonus, anyway. Then he went downstairs.