SHORT STORIES : Christmas Special

"So, what is your name?"

"Roy Helms," the mortified eight-year-old boy dressed in a white bunny outfit said sullenly as he rolled his eyes. The bunny suit had covered his entire body, leaving only his chubby, freckled face exposed.

"So, Roy, what can Santa bring you this Christmas?" he asked the boy, trying hard (hopefully not in vain) to hide his almost sensual moan as the boy sat over his lap at the center of the mall while at the same time hoping his already throbbing, almost painful erection hadn't stabbed and probed the boy hard enough to be noticeable. Or if the boy had noticed, then hopefully he would not yet know what it meant, nor ask his parents about it. Indeed, playing the part of the mall Santa had been his dream job. All those kids, right within his reach, touching him, sitting on his lap. Some of them smelled horribly. Many kids had runny noses, particularly this time of year. And a few had even pissed and/or shit their pants, especially the younger ones. However, he could tolerate these foul acts, however disgusting they might be, just for a chance to come in contact with all these precious children, these cute, innocent beings. Boys or girls, it mattered little to him, for each gender offered a different gratification, depending on what his mood had been. And as a mall Santa, he was given both in equal commodity.

Roy Helms had been the most adorable one thus far, so bashful, blushing; his embarrassment at being here was simply adorable, and that bunny costume he wore now somehow made him irresistible. Each shift was exquisite torture for Santa, as the lust became more and more powerful with each child that sat on his lap, but now it became blissfully unbearable, for his throbbing erection now threatened to ejaculate on the spot, without any assistance from his hands or from being pumped in and out of the tiny orifices of a child. He was sweating profusely now, his eyes glazed and glued to the Bunny Child on his lap as his heart hammered rapidly against his chest.

"You're not the real Santa," the Bunny Child said sullenly as he rolled his eyes.

"Oh, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, of course I'm the real Santa!" he exclaimed, after swallowing deeply, trying desperately to keep the sexual moan rising in his throat from escaping and betraying his unyielding lust.

"Santa isn't real. You're just some fag in a costume."

Briefly, he wondered what would happen if the boy were to pull Santa's beard right off his face, revealing that in fact he was just some guy dressed to look like Santa. He could see all the looks of horror and betrayal on all the children's faces as they ran away, crying now that it had been revealed that he was a phony, that Santa wasn't truly real. He would have been the one to upset them so greatly, and therefore he could not even console them, as he would have wanted to, holding them in his arms, pressing their crying eyes tightly against his bosom while he fondled their asses and crotches. What was worse than upsetting the children was that without the beard covering his face, the sweat trickling from his brow down the bridge of his nose (which he feared was already much too visible for his liking) would be even more prominently featured upon his countenance for the crowd to see. They would see the way his lips quivered, and somehow they would know his most guarded secret, a secret he was forced for his very freedom and safety to keep hidden from all, for society despised his kind. Even maximum security prisoners, incarcerated for life for first-degree murder would beat him to death had they known.

The Bunny Child sighed, his head darting to the right, then to the left as he bit his lip and blushed even more. With some hesitation, he said: "If you must know, the only thing I want right now for Christmas is for my parents to stop paradin' me around in public in this gay bunny outfit."

Santa chuckled, not the stereotypical "Ho, ho, ho," he was known to do, but more of a bashful giggle. "But it's so adorable on you, you know. I love the way you look in it."

"Ugh! No, its not cute and adorable, it's totally fuckin' gay!" the boy whined, trying to keep his voice down, lest his parents and anyone else in line would not hear such profanities spewed from his lips. "It's, like, Brokeback Mountain gay, and I hate it. If anyone from school sees me in this thing, I'll be laughed at and beaten up ‘til I'm, like, forty."

"Are there any toys you'd like?" Santa asked. "Maybe some Star Wars action figures, perhaps?"

The Bunny Child sighed dismally, closing his eyes as a teardrop scrolled from the corner of his eye down his cheek. "I guess those would be nice, but what I really want is this stupid faggy costume burned and gone forever, and ever, and ever!"

"Hey, Roy, smile for the camera!" Chelsea exclaimed exuberantly. She was a seventeen-year-old girl with braces, who was dressed in as one of Santa's elves, who twirled a giant plastic candy cane into the air.

The Bunny Child wiped the errant tear from his cheek and feigned a smile as he looked into the camera. Within a micro-second after the flash of the camera went off, The Bunny Child leapt off of Santa's lap and zoomed back toward his parents, leaving Santa sitting there alone on his throne momentarily.

Santa thrust his hands deep into his pocket, and from there, tried to push his erection tightly against his abdomen to prevent it from pitching a tent in his red slacks. The friction from those movements alone were enough to send waves of pleasure surging from his member all the way throughout his body, threatening to set off an orgasm right here and now in front of everyone. He clamped his teeth down hard against his lower lip, trying desperately to stifle his sexual moan as much as possible while Chelsea still stood by the camera, shooting him a quizzical look.

Next in line was a five-year-old girl, who raced excitedly toward Santa and threw herself into Santa's lap hard enough to almost knock the wind out of him, all the while screaming "Santa!" in a piercingly shrill, jubilant pitch. She was adorably sexy in her own way, but in no way compared to the charm of the Bunny Child. He could feel his penis throbbing with lust for her, just as it almost always had for the other children who sat on his lap, but his arousal was not as blissfully intense as that which he felt for the Bunny Child.

 

During his break, Santa had taken his laptop from the car and found a good Wi-Fi location, where he then hooked up to the Internet, hoping he could find more information about the Bunny Child, Roy Helm. After some detective work, he had found the parents names: Matthew and Helen Helm, and had blessedly found their address as well. He was in luck, and why not? For this was Christmas after all, where everyone was supposed to be full of joy and get everything they wanted. He could only hope now that when he paid the boy a visit, he would still be in the bunny costume, but even if not, perhaps he could be persuaded to put it on once more, for the short time it would take Santa to get down to business, and even perhaps take a few pictures in order to contribute to a few child porn rings he had been a part of.

 

It was 10pm on Christmas Eve when Santa's shift had ended and he left the mall through the Sears exit. The icy breeze that swept past him chilled him to the marrow, but the bitter cold was not enough to dampen his Christmas spirit. Most of the snow from the blizzard last week had been swept off the walkways and plowed from the roads and parking lots by now, though some of it had remained, hardening by the grassy field by the river up ahead, with patches of yellow and brown scattered throughout. It was a disappointment, to be sure, yet snowflakes began to fall from the black sky, melting on his face as he strolled along the sidewalk; it would be a white Christmas after all, he graciously surmised, while the tune "I'm Dreamin' of a White Christmas" played in his head.

Up ahead, he could see Chelsea, though she was no longer dressed in her elf costume, but instead now wore white jeans with a pink overcoat, and was waiting for her ride home as she listened to tunes on her Ipod. Santa supposed that she was beautiful to someone else's eyes, and perhaps ten years ago he could have had a great time with her, but by now she was much too old for him, so the idea of him so much as touching her in that way was sickening. She flinched at his approach, her body still trembling as she awkwardly waved at him. "Hey, still in your Santa outfit?"

"Of course," he replied, grinning. "It's my job to spread Christmas cheer to all the good little boys and girls tonight, after all!"

"Um, yeah, of course it is," she murmured uneasily, averting her eyes from him, seemingly struggling to hide her apparent revulsion toward him. As he walked past her, Santa could see from the corner of his eye, how relieved Chelsea had seemed once he had gotten far enough away from her.

As he turned and walked into the parking lot, coming closer to his car, his erection returned, and this time it had pitched a very prominent tent within the crotch of his red slacks, but fortunately now there were fewer people to notice, so his arousal could be displayed freely with less fear of the consequences. As he came closer to the car, his boner jutting even further outward into the air and throbbing madly for release, he let out a jolly melody: "Oh, ya better watch out, ya better not cry, ya better not pout, I'm tellin' you why. Cuz Santa Clause is comin' to town. Ho, ho, ho!"

 

Santa kept his car at a steady thirty miles per hour down the highway, amid many other drivers, some of which were hurrying home while many others were perhaps trying to find a mall or store still open at this late hour, to get some last-minute Christmas shopping done. He was sure to keep pace with them, never driving too fast or too slow, knowing that the worst thing he could do right now was to draw too much attention to himself. "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" played on the radio, and Santa sang along softly to himself, while outside the snow continued to fall, whitening the windshield before him as quickly as his wiper blades could slide it off so he could see the road and all the other cars in front of him clearly.

Santa weaved into the right lane, applying pressure to the break once images of the Bunny Child flashed through his head, hopping along the snowy bunny trail as he wiggled his cute little freckled nose. At the mall, the child hated the bunny outfit, was mortified about being dragged in public in such an adorable outfit. But perhaps Santa could show the child just how appealing the suit had been, and how it had enhanced the child's erotic appeal, augmenting the feelings of lust he would have otherwise felt for the kid into an undying love.

A tingle seized hold of him just then, a sexual tension that gripped tightly around Santa's nether regions, causing him to squirm restlessly in his seat and momentarily blurring the road before him as this need demanded gratification. While his right hand gripped tightly around the steering wheel, his left hand wandered into his pants, the friction of his mitten exacerbating his overwhelming sexual tension. He gasped and moaned, trying to vanquish the image of the Bunny Child from his mind.

Once more he squirmed, biting his lip down hard, clutching both hands down hard upon the steering wheel as he felt his tires beginning to skid out of control. His tires squealed as the car swerved, zigzagging into the breakdown lane before slowing to a halt against the snowy banks off road.

Santa breathed a sigh of relief, his heart still hammering against his chest, but slowing down to a steady pace as well. "Holy shit," he murmured with a sigh of relief.

Cars continued to zoom by, though many slowed down in order to get a good look to see if a horrible accident had taken place before passing him once they had been satisfied (or disappointed) that no major damage had taken place. A police cruiser, its sirens and flashers turned off, slowed to a halt in front of him, and he felt a renewed uneasiness grip him as a police officer exited the vehicle and approached him. "Oh shit," he hissed through tightly clenched teeth as his heart rate accelerated once more. This had been the last thing he needed, and he wished more than anything that the officer would get his ass back into the car and drive off, ignoring what he had just seen. He briefly considered ignoring the cop's presence, but banished that thought quickly, knowing that if he did so, it might look suspicious, and the cop would catch onto what he was trying to do. Instead, he unrolled the driver's side window and greeted the officer.

"Hey, buddy, you okay?" the officer said, slightly concerned.

"Yeah, nothing's broken. I'm just a little shaken up. Must've driven over a patch of black ice or something." Santa bit his lip lightly, yet gave his best effort to look the officer in the eyes and appear as normal and innocent as humanly possible.

"Sounds like you should be more careful, sir."

"I'm not gonna get a ticket or anything, right?"

The cop shook his head and smiled. "Nah, not on Christmas. Just saying you drive carefully is all; roads're getting pretty bad. Would break the kids' hearts to hear that Santa was killed in an automobile accident."

Santa nodded. "Definitely can't have that, now can we?"

"Definitely not. So just be careful, okay? And Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you, too, officer." Santa offered a smile that felt artificial on his own face, hoping his lips wouldn't quiver too badly.

He rolled his window back up, and as the Officer headed back toward his cruiser and drove off into the night, Santa felt a massive weight suddenly lifted from his chest and he was free once more and away from the Officer's overbearing presence. He had always loathed cops, not because they hassled him (for they mostly ignored his presence), but because of their presence, always pressing down upon him, wherever he went, even if they weren't physically anywhere near the area. Whether in the supermarket buying groceries, out for his morning constitutional, at work with whatever job he presently had at the moment, or hiding behind the trees in the woods by the local elementary school and watching the children play during recess, they were right there with him, in spirit if not in flesh, their phantom sirens blaring on and off from everywhere and nowhere. They lurked in the darkness, waiting to snatch him, to lock him up in prison, where all the other convicts would rape him and beat him to death in a matter of hours. And if that officer, asking him if he was okay had decided for whatever reason to search the laptop sitting in plain sight on the passenger seat, he would surely find the thirty gigabytes worth of child porn stored on the hard drive and then it would all be over.

Don't worry, the cop's gone now, everything'll be okay, he told himself.

But it wasn't okay, not yet, for he could still see the image of the Bunny Child with his mind's eye, winking at him, beckoning him onto his bed with a naughty grin over his freckled face. And with that image came the arousal once more, the sexual tension that had caused him to skid off the road in the first place and had almost gotten him killed. He couldn't drive all the way to the Bunny Child's home in this condition, and especially not in this kind of weather, yet he couldn't pleasure himself either, for that would spoil his holiday spirit.

The next best thing was to think of something that would dampen his libido, at least for now. For most heterosexual men, the idea of sexual intercourse with another man was repugnant, yet he was bi-sexual, and enjoyed the company of both males and females equally. A feisty, rowdy, dirty little boy was just as exquisite as a precious, adorable little girl. It was only when they grew older and hit puberty that they lost their appeal. He thought of Chelsea, whom he supposed some people might find beautiful. He knew that if he were to ever see her naked, his dick would immediately go limp upon first glimpse of her budding breasts and pubic hair, both signs of maturity, of aging, of growing up. It signaled an end to the sparkling innocence of childhood. Santa imagined Chelsea overtaken by a heightened state of sexual arousal, lust gleaming in her eyes, as she pounced him and fucked him, and it was enough to extinguish the flame burning in his loins. Later on, of course, upon sight of the Bunny Child, the flame would reignite, but for the time being, he could think clearly, could concentrate upon the task at hand, rather than getting distracted by mere fantasies of what was to come.

And with that taken care of, Santa pulled his car back onto the highway and headed onward.

 

About an hour and forty-five minutes passed, and Santa was now driving slowly down the icy residential road where the Bunny Child lived, while "Here Comes Santa Claus" played on the radio, which Santa hummed along to himself. The houses along the road, with the exception of a few, were each lit up with Christmas lights, illuminating bright reds, greens, blues, and yellows beneath the snow-covered roofs as well as circulating around each window and door. Some homes had a nativity scene, with baby Jesus cradled in the Virgin Mary's arms, while other homes were filled with statues of Santa Claus perched on his sleigh, pulled by his tiny reindeer, including Rudolph, whose bright red nose lit up the night sky.

Eventually, Santa pulled his car to a halt by the side of the brick colonial house, where the Bunny Child and his parents resided. He killed the engine, and stepped out, immediately chilled by the icy air, shivering deeply as he closed his eyes and felt each tiny snowflake melt upon his heated face. His fully erect penis was now solid steel jutting outward from his crotch, making it somewhat hard for him to walk, yet still he managed to stagger quickly, his body swaying back and forth as his burning arousal now shielded him from the biting cold. In fact he was on the verge of sweating despite the fact that it was barely twenty degrees Fahrenheit.

As he turned the corner and headed down the walkway toward the front door of the Bunny Child's habitat, Santa caught glimpse of what at first looked like a small white cat strutting beside him, almost blending perfectly into the snow-covered hedge to the side. Santa stopped immediately in his tracks, and he focused intently on the cat. The world grayed and danced with a rippling swirl before his eyes and the howling winds gave off a tinny echo. Once the distortions cleared, the cat no longer looked like a cat at all. Its skinny torso swelled as its fur now looked fluffier. Its ears elongated and jutted upward. It wasn't a cat at all, but was instead a bunny. And his face was neither that of rabbit nor feline, but instead the chubby, freckled face of the Bunny Child. He was smaller now than he had been at the mall, the size of a cat or of a genuine rabbit, but it was the Bunny Child who gazed at Santa with fiery lust in his eyes, winking at Santa and grinning with a giggle that was both bashful and seductive.

Santa tore off his green mitts, tossed them into the pile of icy snow beside the walkway, and immediately lurched forward, scooping the Bunny Child into his arms. The Bunny Child purred, hissing as his mouth yawned open, revealing feline teeth embedded in a child's gums as a set of feline eyes glimmered almost balefully within the sockets of the child's face. But through a cat's meow, the Bunny Child whispered: "Fuck me, Santa, right here and now."

Santa held the Bunny Child by the stomach in his left arm—his erection now throbbing with a blissful desperation for relief—while his right hand stroked and fondled the Bunny Child's back, fingers digging deep into his fur as he continued to explore the child's soft, precious body. Drooling, Santa brought the Bunny Child to his face, stroking his tongue along the flank and nibbling softly with a sexual moan. The fingers of his right hand probed the Bunny Child's scrotum and he squeezed tightly, his own genitals threatening to explode with premature ecstasy.

A loud, shrill hiss, like that of a cat being raped pierced Santa's eardrums, and in his hands was no longer a rabbit with a child's face, but was feline once more, its skinny body jolting as he sunk his claws deep into Santa's face. Santa staggered backward with a gasp of alarm followed by a muffled cry of agony as his grip around the feline's torso tightened and then loosened while the cat hooked his claws into Santa's cheeks, stretching the cheeks painfully outward. The feline's body convulsed, his claws now stabbing Santa's left eye, gouging the eye, and snagging against the lower socket. Squeezing both eyes tightly shut, spurting blood from the ruptured eye, Santa's fingers stiffened and then went limp, and the cat leapt from his hands, landing upon the sidewalk and scurried off into the night.

Gasping and wincing in agony, Santa's head lolled upon his shoulders as his entire body swayed in every direction, his feet carrying him forward, then backward seemingly of their own accord. As he clenched his teeth tightly, his ankles clashed, sending him toppling backward--right arm flailing frantically to the side while his left hand clutched tightly against his ruptured eye--into the hard, icy snow, which crunched beneath his weight upon impact.

Santa's heart continued to thump madly against his rib cage, but it was from alarm now rather than arousal, for he no longer felt the least bit horny. As he lay motionless in the snow, gazing up at the cloudy night sky with each falling snowflake dancing before him, he shivered fiercely, as his entire body broke out in gooseflesh. White smoke plumed from his nose and mouth. The only warmth he felt now was the blood that gushed thickly from his ruptured eyeball, soaking through the hand that tightly covered the wound as it dripped down his battered, stretched, and torn cheeks like crimson tears. An aching, chilling numbness wrapped along his entire face, felt most prominently around his wounded area; it gradually spread along every joint of his body, felt most prominently along his now throbbing fingers.

Christ, I should be in a hospital right now, a voice of reason spoke up inside his head. He rose slowly, with a painful groan, into a sitting position, noticing for the first time how his fake beard was now hanging lopsided from one side of his face. Santa removed his hand momentarily from his left eye, wiping the blood, snow, and snot from his face as best he could with the back of his right hand before fixing his beard, knowing fully that the left side of the beard would quickly become drenched in blood and rendered unusable, but at this moment not really concerned about such matters. Guess I better get the hell out of here now, he decided, feeling utterly defeated, wondering how he could explain his injuries to the hospital staff in such a way that it won't raise suspicion.

Before heading back toward his car, Santa's one good eye wandered around the site once more before stopping and focusing upon the Bunny Child's domain, where mounted above the front door was a white sign, with the image of red, green, blue, and gold Christmas lights bordering the edge and printed in green and red lettering:

 

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!
AND GOD BLESS US ONE AND ALL!

 

Standing there, still shivering, though not as badly as before, Santa's flaccid penis began to harden as the arousal gradually warmed his body and his heart. For no doubt the Bunny Child was in there, sleeping soundly, dreaming of candy canes and mistletoe and presents left by Jolly Ol' Saint Nick. And tomorrow morning on Christmas Day he would hop excitedly from his little bunny hole, down the stairs, bound for those presents, nestled neatly beneath the Christmas tree and left inside the stockings hung by the fireplace with care. Santa looked upon his watch, and saw that the time had now struck midnight. Christmas Eve had given way to Christmas Day and Santa's exquisite arousal had now fully returned and warmed him from even the bitterest cold.

As the song went, he had his love to keep him warm, for that was what this was about all along. It was more than just lust. They were more than fuck-buddies. They were lovers, and love required hard work and sacrifice. Santa cursed himself for his momentary weakness, for even considering going to a hospital rather than visiting his one true love, the Bunny Child on this most holy of holidays. For wasn't that the true meaning of Christmas: spreading joy throughout the world and spending time with those you loved?

With that decided, Santa Claus headed for the front door, full of high spirits and Christmas cheer within his warm heart and in his loins.

 

Luckily, the front door had been unlocked, so Santa was able to walk right in, closing the front door behind him. Once inside, he felt a sudden shortness of breath and the room began to spin, the stairs up ahead splitting in two before his eyes. The snow over his back, shoulders, and head started to melt and drip off of him, forming a thickening puddle over the marble tiles of the foyer. The blood spurting in freshets from his ruptured eye now congealed over his face, yet fresh blood still oozed, with a few crimson droplets raining upon the puddle, blossoming like a rose within the water. Santa groaned and hissed from a swelling headache, before his vision began to clear, the multiple sets of stairs dancing and spinning before his eyes merged into a single flight, remaining stationary beyond the path in front of him.

To his left was the living room, where the Christmas tree was in plain sight, fully decorated with lights, tinsel, and colored bulbs, complete with a gleaming silver star at the very tip that pressed ever lightly against the ceiling. And of course by the Christmas tree, there had been presents, though no doubt from the child's parents and relatives, for Santa hadn't yet come to deliver his own special gift. As he walked further into the living room, Santa saw by the fireplace an empty red stocking with the name ROY emblazoned in a glittering gold inscription.

It was the next sight that numbed Santa's heart with grief and anxiety. For there was the bunny costume, lying directly below the stocking in a crumpled pile, its precious fabric, once silken white, now yellow with urine, as a few clumps of shit lay over the costume, emanating a foul odor that, while previously went unnoticed, now filled the room with its nauseating aroma. Although the stench sickened Santa, he couldn't help but step closer, scrutinizing the soiled clothing as tears welled within his one good eye.

Someone had surely arrived before he had, Santa deduced, someone who surely meant the poor boy harm. The sick son of a bitch had skinned the boy alive, for it was not just a costume, it was the Bunny Child's flesh and fur, and now the poor boy was lying somewhere, the basement, perhaps, alone and scared, while his attacker continued to torture him through the night.

Santa could see the Bunny Child lying upon a platform in a dark, dilapidate basement somewhere. His skin had now been removed, except for his freckled face, which was more like a rubber mask now, its edges tattered and pealing away. Throughout the rest of his body, his muscles, bones, and nerve tissue lay completely exposed, perhaps gleaming morbidly in what little light had been cast over him as he left behind splotches of blood over everything his body touched. And of course, the boy would be crying, screaming for someone to help him, to save him from this unending and unendurable suffering.

His parents surely couldn't help him, for upon the beige couch in front of the fifty-two inch RCA projection HDTV sat his parents' corpses, their arms around one another's shoulders, embracing each other's company even in death. Their throats had been slit from ear-to-ear, leaving their shirts and chests awash in blood. The side of each one's head rested tenderly upon the other person's shoulder. The eyes had been gouged out, leaving two gaping holes in each of their gaunt faces that shed crimson tears down their cheeks as they gazed blankly into oblivion.

No, the boy's parents couldn't save him; it was up to Santa. And indeed it was Santa's name that the boy cried for help: Save me, Santa! Please, save me! He could almost hear the frightened voice of the Bunny Child, echoing from a distance, crying and sobbing as he came closer to death with each excruciating second. Whoever did this to the boy would pay dearly for causing him such agony, for when Santa molested the boy, the Bunny Child would surely feel ripping pain as Santa thrust his throbbing steel cock up the child's tight virgin ass, yet it was a loving agony. The child might not understand at first, just as Santa himself had not understood so long ago, when he himself had been a child and had been raped by his step-father. But just as he had eventually come to appreciate and even treasure such a unique and special gift so too would the child. It was done out of love, and in time, they all came to realize that.

Santa slowly approached the desecrated bunny costume (skin), where the stench of fresh shit was at its strongest and most nauseating. As much as the thought sickened him, Santa would have to pick up the soiled suit from the ground, to wipe off the shit and clean it thoroughly, for when he found the Bunny Child, he would surely have to sew the poor child's skin back on his battered and mutilated body if there was any hope at all of saving him.

Santa felt a sharp, stabbing pain as something cut deep into the small of his back, grazing his spine. He let out a gasp and then a sharp piercing cry as he staggered forward, then backward, his wobbling, rubbery legs seemingly carrying him of their own accord as they struggled to keep the fat man on his feet. As his upper torso swayed to each side, his knees buckled, then unhinged. Santa's left knee plunged into the mint-colored living room carpet before he toppled forward, his face falling into the bunny costume, smearing shit into his lacerated cheek and ruptured eye as the vile stench, now stronger than ever, filled his nose, making his sickened stomach lurch forward and threatened to spew the contents of his last meal.

Although the movement exacerbated the searing, ripping pain of his injuries and tore his stab wound even further open, Santa wiggled and squirmed and slowly rolled over, so that he was lying on his back, the back of his head now resting against the hard, rugged brick wall of the fireplace. His legs splayed in a wide V, and his arms rested by his sides, not even bothering to wipe the shit from his face and ruptured eye, as his one good eye caught glimpse of his assailant.

Standing before him now, with the bloody butcher knife in hand and a passionate hatred smoldering in his eyes had been the Bunny Child, dressed only in a pair of green Fruit of the Loom briefs, with drying blood smeared over his chest and face, like war paint. His eyes swiveled to the discarded bunny suit, and he snorted and spat a thick wad of saliva and mucous in its direction before looking back at Santa, baring his teeth as his grip around the hilt of the knife tightened.

"They made me wear it," the boy muttered bitterly and growled. "They pranced me around in public like a fuckin' fag and humiliated me the whole time because they thought it was so fuckin' adorable." He cringed and rolled his eyes. "All the while the kids at school kicked my ass for being such a pansy." His eyes darted toward his dead parents. "I couldn't take it anymore. I had to kill them."

"I fell in love with you while wearing that suit," Santa hissed, barely able to speak above a whisper, as the stabbing pain in the small of his back flared even further and he could feel blood pouring thickly from the wound.

"And you, you were a part of that humiliation."

The boy knelt before Santa, lifting the knife high in the air, before bring it swiftly down, plunging it deep into Santa's crotch. Santa howled shrilly as the blade popped one of his testicles and severed his penis in one fell swoop. Santa's arms shot immediately to his torn and bleeding crotch, holding tightly as he fell now to his sides, his legs spinning and kicking frantically as the pain in his back was now forgotten, replaced now with an even greater pain, and even greater loss.

"I wasn't expecting you, but I'm so glad you came!"

The boy brought the knife down upon Santa yet again, this time plunging it deep enough into Santa's flank, puncturing his left lung. With a collapsed lung, Santa now felt as though he were drowning while blood rose up his throat, filling his mouth and pouring through his lips and nostrils, down his face. He coughed and vomited blood, which splashed against the boy's cheeks. His chest tightened painfully and the agony of his severed penis and ruptured testicle were still very gripping and prominent. Heaving and gasping, Santa squeezed his eyes tightly shut and let out a hoarse, muffled croak, now too weak to make any further noise or to even move much beyond an almost reflective twitch as he lay completely awash in his own blood.

As his body quickly went numb and his field of vision began to dim, Santa saw the image of the Bunny Child standing before him one last time, the image hazy, yet the smoldering hatred within his eyes burned with perfect clarity as the boy stood triumphantly, the knife, dripping blood held high in the air proclaiming victory against all those who had made him suffer. As he quickly neared death, the physical agony dwindled yet the feeling of utter betrayal lingered, grinding his broken heart to powder. Yet it was the final image upon his final breath that had horrified him most of all: that of the Bunny Child plunging the knife deep into his own heart.

 

The end

June 09, 2006
June 22, 2006