12-03-2015, 12:13 AM
THUD. The broad-shouldered man barely stirred at the first rumblings of commotion outside their window (or was it the roof?), racket and rumpus were pretty much commonplace in the Kry (is that their last name? it must be) household. With a set of hormonal teenage twins, a moody preteen and a curious toddler – clamor was just background noise most of the time. Memories dueled In his mind, both horse and human alike and everything felt slathered with a warm dreamy haze, but perhaps it was just the alcohol. They had been up late after all, he and his wife, drinking liquored eggnog (more liquor than eggnog in his) beside their adorned real (it had to be real, their earth-conscious middle child had insisted) Christmas tree and reminiscing on the days when they were electric and free. He knew their wood floors would be cold on his bare feet and all that covered his bare skin were his thin, every-year-on-Christmas-PJs, he really didn’t feel like getting up. So, clutching his golden-haired wife tighter he runs through the mental list of what-ifs before actually disturbing himself from his warm bed.
Lets see, Raiden was still too small to actually climb out of his crib (although valid attempts have been made) and there were no dreaming whimpers or demanding cries for attention screaming at him from the baby monitor. Roman, his eldest son and the older half of his twins, was most likely still up playing video games or Facebooking – but he wouldn’t be up rumbling this late. Not on Christmas, at least, he still wasn’t big or brave enough to risk his father’s wrath. Alexandria and Natalie were in the room next to theirs and at the end of the hallway, they would have had to walk past their parent’s open bedroom door to get out into the living room or more likely of Alexandria, out the front door. Which is exactly what got her evicted from the split-bedroom garage they had converted for their boy-girl twins sixteenth birthday. His wife had woke one night (a mother’s intuition, she had said) to find Alexandria’s bedroom door locked with no Alexandria inside. They had been waiting when she returned back through her window at 2am.
So she had been especially pissed off at her parents since not only was her beloved cell phone confiscated but she was made to move in with her tattle-tale little sister, at Rachel’s demand. Rachel, his wife – that was her name, even though it felt wrong on his tongue at first he knew it to be true. Rachel was his wife’s name. And it wasn’t until her hard elbow found it’s way into his ribcage that he threw back his part of the downy comforter and growled out from beneath the covers, “fine!” Long legs swing out from the bed and he is across the cold cherry wood floor and into the hallway in two strides, so help me God I will make her sorry, he promises himself as he turns the knob to his daughter’s room, hoping for her own sake he wasn’t going to have to lose his shit on Christmas. A quick scan of the room where both girls asleep, one tucked under the covers and one sprawled out like a starfish. THUD, CRASH, SNARL. It was loud and strange sounds were coming from the backyard and roof alike. He hadn’t even bothered to check out of the bedroom window and into the backyard, it was so heavily wooded and Bear was back there.
”Motherfucker!” He curses, pulling the door back and twisting the knob shut, Bear was barking pretty steadily now which meant there was probably a raccoon (or trash panda as Natalie called them) or opossum in the garbage bins. Their mutt, some kind of Akita mix he had always thought, was now going absolutely nuts as he crossed the top of the hallway and reached the top of the stairs. The second his foot hit the top step, a garbled, insidious warbling cackled up from downstairs, accompanied by the crash of what sounded like a glass ornament. The hair on his arms stood up and a tremor of instinct shuddered through his body, this was not right at all. That was no fucking raccoon and his pistol was downstairs in the lockbox and his shotgun was back in the master’s walk-in closet. He was turning back towards the bedroom when he heard a larger shattering, perhaps the window this time and he is sprinting to the bedroom now. Rachel is at the doorframe before he gets there, “what the hell is going on?” She asks, dressed in her snowman nighty. “Go check on Raiden,” he says, rushing to the window as Bear’s yelps rise up from the backyard and the sight from below gave him gooseflesh and his blood run cold.
Several little antlered abominations had slushed through the snow and through, presumably, his backdoor or a bottom-floor window. Several others were hopping around Bear, cruelly pulling on his tail and ears as he scrambled back into his large dog house. But when he moved his eyes and briefly locked eyes with the Grinch below, the hideous unending green of its gaze seized his heart and moved his feet almost simultaneously.
It was a riot downstairs and he could hear the girls’ door opening on the other side of the wall as he reached into the closet and grabbed his 12-gauge Remington Model 870. He heard the tumbling of the tree downstairs and the frenzy of ripping paper, “stay in your room!” He yells out, striding to the top of the stairs within a few steps. He could see Rachel cradling an unimpressed toddler out of the corner of his eye as another huge BANG clattered the roof, The demons are scrambling up the first couple steps of the stairs, “COME CLOSER AND I’LL BLOW YOUR FUCKING HEADS OFF.” He bellows, pointing the shotgun and peering down its barrel at the cluster of little monsters as a great thump shook the house a cloud of smoke billowed out from the chimney – he was in the house now. Gasps and squeals of horror come from his left as his daughters, disobeying him, peered out over the railing and down at the clusterfuck of a Christmas scene below. “Shoot them!” Rachel screamed as the Grinch shimmied his disgusting way out of the chimney crevice and then he racked the chamber of the shotgun and they would be nothing but splatters of flesh and blood if they came any further up the stairs. And they’d all be getting a new house for Christmas.
Lets see, Raiden was still too small to actually climb out of his crib (although valid attempts have been made) and there were no dreaming whimpers or demanding cries for attention screaming at him from the baby monitor. Roman, his eldest son and the older half of his twins, was most likely still up playing video games or Facebooking – but he wouldn’t be up rumbling this late. Not on Christmas, at least, he still wasn’t big or brave enough to risk his father’s wrath. Alexandria and Natalie were in the room next to theirs and at the end of the hallway, they would have had to walk past their parent’s open bedroom door to get out into the living room or more likely of Alexandria, out the front door. Which is exactly what got her evicted from the split-bedroom garage they had converted for their boy-girl twins sixteenth birthday. His wife had woke one night (a mother’s intuition, she had said) to find Alexandria’s bedroom door locked with no Alexandria inside. They had been waiting when she returned back through her window at 2am.
So she had been especially pissed off at her parents since not only was her beloved cell phone confiscated but she was made to move in with her tattle-tale little sister, at Rachel’s demand. Rachel, his wife – that was her name, even though it felt wrong on his tongue at first he knew it to be true. Rachel was his wife’s name. And it wasn’t until her hard elbow found it’s way into his ribcage that he threw back his part of the downy comforter and growled out from beneath the covers, “fine!” Long legs swing out from the bed and he is across the cold cherry wood floor and into the hallway in two strides, so help me God I will make her sorry, he promises himself as he turns the knob to his daughter’s room, hoping for her own sake he wasn’t going to have to lose his shit on Christmas. A quick scan of the room where both girls asleep, one tucked under the covers and one sprawled out like a starfish. THUD, CRASH, SNARL. It was loud and strange sounds were coming from the backyard and roof alike. He hadn’t even bothered to check out of the bedroom window and into the backyard, it was so heavily wooded and Bear was back there.
”Motherfucker!” He curses, pulling the door back and twisting the knob shut, Bear was barking pretty steadily now which meant there was probably a raccoon (or trash panda as Natalie called them) or opossum in the garbage bins. Their mutt, some kind of Akita mix he had always thought, was now going absolutely nuts as he crossed the top of the hallway and reached the top of the stairs. The second his foot hit the top step, a garbled, insidious warbling cackled up from downstairs, accompanied by the crash of what sounded like a glass ornament. The hair on his arms stood up and a tremor of instinct shuddered through his body, this was not right at all. That was no fucking raccoon and his pistol was downstairs in the lockbox and his shotgun was back in the master’s walk-in closet. He was turning back towards the bedroom when he heard a larger shattering, perhaps the window this time and he is sprinting to the bedroom now. Rachel is at the doorframe before he gets there, “what the hell is going on?” She asks, dressed in her snowman nighty. “Go check on Raiden,” he says, rushing to the window as Bear’s yelps rise up from the backyard and the sight from below gave him gooseflesh and his blood run cold.
Several little antlered abominations had slushed through the snow and through, presumably, his backdoor or a bottom-floor window. Several others were hopping around Bear, cruelly pulling on his tail and ears as he scrambled back into his large dog house. But when he moved his eyes and briefly locked eyes with the Grinch below, the hideous unending green of its gaze seized his heart and moved his feet almost simultaneously.
It was a riot downstairs and he could hear the girls’ door opening on the other side of the wall as he reached into the closet and grabbed his 12-gauge Remington Model 870. He heard the tumbling of the tree downstairs and the frenzy of ripping paper, “stay in your room!” He yells out, striding to the top of the stairs within a few steps. He could see Rachel cradling an unimpressed toddler out of the corner of his eye as another huge BANG clattered the roof, The demons are scrambling up the first couple steps of the stairs, “COME CLOSER AND I’LL BLOW YOUR FUCKING HEADS OFF.” He bellows, pointing the shotgun and peering down its barrel at the cluster of little monsters as a great thump shook the house a cloud of smoke billowed out from the chimney – he was in the house now. Gasps and squeals of horror come from his left as his daughters, disobeying him, peered out over the railing and down at the clusterfuck of a Christmas scene below. “Shoot them!” Rachel screamed as the Grinch shimmied his disgusting way out of the chimney crevice and then he racked the chamber of the shotgun and they would be nothing but splatters of flesh and blood if they came any further up the stairs. And they’d all be getting a new house for Christmas.