by Pedro Proença
Mrs. Klaus was giving her third blowjob of the night when she heard a bang. The sound scared her, and made her bite down on the penis, severing it from its owner, a fat hobo. She got up and ran to her cardboard box. The fat hobo was rolling around on the floor, bleeding. She needed to take care of him. She found what she was looking for and returned to the man.
“Here, here,” she whispered to him, caressing his head with one hand while sticking the knife in his heart with the other. She still had some Kristmas Magick on her, in a little pouch she kept inside her pussy. She retrieved it and sprinkled some of its powdery contents on the dead man’s head, being careful to not let any of it touch her skin. Soon, his whole body started glimmering, convulsing on the ground. In less than thirty seconds, the corpse was gone, replaced by snow. The Kristmas Magick was the only thing she took when she ran away, fearing for her life. Her psycho husband’s habit of killing children while delivering presents was dangerous, but Kristmas Magick erased all traces of a body. The only thing remaining from his victims were their pictures in milk cartons and some snow.
Another bang. She ran to the corner of the cul-de-sac, and peeked discreetly.
It was him.
He wore his “off clothes.” A pair of jeans, white t-shirt, black leather jacket.
And he had his shotgun in hand.
He was blasting through the street. The two first shots killed a woman walking her dog and a homeless man. When he saw her, he grinned.
He was nothing like regular people thought he was. He was a fit man, appearing to be in his late thirties. He had a movie star jaw line, and his eyes were blue as the sea. He was the most handsome man in the world. And also a vicious killer.
The whole “gifts giving” thing was something The Boss ordered him to do. He HAD to deliver gifts to the children of the world on Christmas Day. But, nobody could say no to The Boss. Some tried. Their penalties were always the same: Become a singer in a boy band.
Seeing his wife, Santa laughed.
“There you are, honey! I missed you very much.” He was walking really slowly, savoring her fear.
“Stay away from me, you monster! I have your Kristmas Magick, I’ll use it!”
“You wouldn’t. Besides, I’m its maker. It is never going to work against me.”
She knew some shotgun blasts wouldn’t kill her, she was a magical being. But she also knew he had Kristmas Magick there with him, and it would work on her. She had to take the offensive attitude, or else she would die by the hands of the bastard she ran from.
“Let’s find out, then!”
Screaming her lungs off, Mrs. Klaus charged towards her husband, the Kristmas Magick pouch in her hand. He wasn’t ready for her attack, and he lifted his shotgun too late, the smile fading from his face.
She kicked the gun from his hand, and jumped over him, sprinkling his head with a generous amount of the golden powder.
When she landed, he took a swing at her, striking her straight in the face, and sending her flying. Then he screamed.
“Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! YOU BITCH! This fucking hurts! My fucking eyes, I’m blind! You cunt, I’ll fucking dismember you, you whore!”
It worked! The Kristmas Magick affected Santa Claus. She was seconds away from freedom. Lying on the ground, her face bleeding from the hit, she watched in glee her husband’s demise.
Or so she thought.
He was flailing about, and convulsing, but he was not disappearing.
“You fucking crack whore, I’ll feed you to the fucking elves!”
She was indeed a crack whore, had to be. Since her escape from the North Pole, she found herself without money, and hooked on crack, having to suck cock for crack money, or just plain ol’ crack. But it still hurts, being called that.
Taking advantage of her distraction, Santa shot. The bullet blew Mrs. Klaus left arm off.
She got up and tried to run away. But she tripped and fell.
“Look here, honey bunch.”
She turned around and looked up.
His face was gone. She could see the skull beneath it, crumpling like it was rotten. There was green shit on the edges of what was left of the skin in his head, and one of his eyes was sagging like a fried egg nailed to a wall, the other one gone.
“Now I’ll blow your other arm, and then your legs, and then I’ll take you home and fuck the open wounds. How do you like that?”
She didn’t like that. So, sensing her end, she did the only thing she could think of:
She lifted the pouch filled with Kristmas Magick that was in her remaining hand, and she took it close to her face.
“Merry Christmas, asshole.”
She dumped it all in her mouth. It was extremely dry and foul.
Her body began convulsing, and she kicked Santa in the nuts.
Suddenly, her whole body was consumed by a bright light, and then she was gone.
A knock on his door.
His secretary rushed in.
“Sir, I’ve got some bad news. Mrs. Klaus swallowed her husband’s Kristmas Magick. She’s now in Moliark, and the Drakyr was awakened. I’m afraid Earth has only got a few months left.”
The lizard-like creature just sat there, thinking.
“No, I’ll deal with this. Even the Drakyr fear me.”
The secretary sighed.
“Thank you, sir! And what about Santa?”
“Send him to the Backstreet Boys, I heard they’re making a comeback.”
“Very well, sir.” And she left.
The Boss ate a cockroach from the ones he kept in a jar. He looked out his window.
“It is good to be in charge.”
Pedro Proença lives in Brazil and tries to write. He’s also a musician, a gamer, and, during the week, a public servant. You can find him on his blog “The Bizarro World of Pedro” and on Facebook.