“There is no happy fat man in my story, there is only Yuri, and he is neither fat nor jolly. So let me ask you one last time, and I beg of you to tell me words of wisdoms. The bag of toys that never runs out, the void that exists inside it, can one escape its clutches?” he says with a nervous sneer upon his lips, as he casts a fevered glance from the floor, to the red bag that sits in the corner. He pulls the phone from his ear, and stares at it with wide bewildered eyes, checking to see if it is still working, then thrusts it back again.
“Little man, little man, answer my question!” he snarls down the receiver. “The sack of goodies, where does it go, and once you’re in there can you ever get out?”
“H-H-He can find you, h-h-he always does,” a nervous voice stammers from the other end.
He looks down at the pool of blood that continues to grow across the floorboards, catching a glimpse of his empty eyes as they stare out from within the decaying form.
“HE IS NO MORE!” he spits venomously down the line. “HE PAID THE PRICE FOR HIS LISTS MADE OF CHILDREN, NAUGHTY AND NICE! NOW TELL ME THE TRUTH, AND TRY NOT TO LIE, BECAUSE NOW I CAN TELL WHEN YOU’RE LYING, WHEN YOU’RE SLEEPING AND WHEN YOU’RE NAUGHTY OR NICE!”
The voice laughs softly on the other end.
“WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT? DO YOU THINK I JOKE? HIS BODY LIES BEFORE ME, DECAYING AS I SPEAK!”
“You will soon know that the spirit of Christmas is just that, a spirit.” the voice says with a jovial high. “One may even say it is more like a seasonal possession than a spiritual awakening, and now you are the mouse caught in the trap, and it’s cat is hiding beneath the hat.”
“W-W-WHAT ARE YOU ON ABOUT!”
The phone goes dead in his ear and he pulls it away again, staring at the empty screen that stares back at him. He catches a breath in his chest, as he spies his reflection in the phones screen and releases his hold. The phone tumbles to the floor and lands with a dull thud in the sea of red. He clutches slowly at his face at first, and then starts to tear at his hair and flesh.
“T-T-This ca-can’t be HAPPENING!” he bellows as he starts to become more and more aware of the changes that have started to slowly take place across his body. And as his stomach grows, he screams in agony, pulling at his pants, trying desperately to undo them, finally after many a petrified scream he manages to pull them off. With heavy breaths he tosses his torn singlet to the ground, and stands naked, staring into his twisted reflection in the pool of blood before him.
“W-W-What is happ-pp-ppening?” he stammers nervously, as he pulls and prods his now flabby flesh.
“Ain’t you figured it out yet?” a voice says from the shadows, as several dozen miniature sized people dressed in brightly coloured clothing crawl from out of the shadows.
“I-I-I, I’m Santa?” he says with a nervous smile across his face.
“Almost right Bruno,” one of the elves says, as something else rushes from the shadows, and forces itself down his throat.
Follow the below link to purchase A Twistedly Jolly Christmas 2020 to read all 31 five minute short stories.
Before you lies a piece of a puzzle far grander than you could ever know or imagine. For scrawled in blood upon the pages hidden within the above tome is stories twisted thirty-one in all, soaked in the embers of my insanity. Five minutes to glimpse inside the eyes of someone new, five minutes to answer, five minutes to sin, five minutes to do almost anything. A god, a demon, a harlot, a whore. A fascist, a killer, a sinner, a door. Death and division, humanity askew. A belfry of bats, a sea of black cats, so many moments out there to see, so many things you could see with me. So take a seat beside me and call it voodoo, because now you ride with me too…
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