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One Sick Christmas
"Hurry up Joe! It\'s 10:15, your fifteen minutes late!" Claire screamed from
outside the dressing room with a hint of a New York Accent. Claire was Santa\'s helper at
"I\'m coming!" Joe yelled back. "Stupid kids, I hate kids." Joe mumbled to himself
while getting himself dressed.
Joe was the Santa at the local mall. Since Joe had just been released from the
mental institution for insanity, the cost of the institution wiped him out of money so he
needed the job badly. When the job was offered to him he had to take it.
Joe was a scrawny man. Not your usual Santa Clause. He had no rosy cheeks or
round belly, he didn\'t have the hearty laugh nor real white hair. His ribs poked out of his
skin and his stomach looked like an empty cave. His eyes were pushed into his head way
more than most people, the dark rings circling his made his eyes look like they were going
to pop out any second. The bones of his cheeks showed through his dry, pale skin making
him look like a zombie.
"Let\'s go now!!" Claire screeched at the top of her lungs.
Claire meant this time. Quickly, Joe stumbled out of the dressing room in a clumsy
fashion. Looking like he had just chugged a couple of kegs, dragged his oversized Santa
coat and pants with him hopping they wouldn\'t fall down and left the dressing room. Joe
and Claire walked toward where Santa\'s hut was while watching a crowd gather around it.
"Ya know Claire," Joe said, "I really hate my job."
"Really," replied Claire in a sarcastic tone, "Who doesn\'t hate little brats crawling
around on your lap."
Joe sat down in his special Santa chair and waited for the first child to come
The fist kid was about five yrs. old. Joe thought he was disgusting. The child was
wearing cuarteroy overalls with a white turtleneck underneath. The cuarteroys had crusty
stains of peanut butter all down the front of his navy blue overalls. Making a revolting
contrast between colors. The turtleneck seemed to have lost its whiteness a long time
ago. It was imbedded with red pasta sauce and olive chunks glued to the sauce. His face
wasn\'t very attractive either. On his left cheek a piece of spagetti attached to his skin
dangled and dried mucus flaked off his upper lip. Joe leaned back in remorse wishing this
was all a long terrifying dream.
The kid hopped on his lap and in a happy voice said,
"Hi Mr. Santa Clause, can I tell you what I want for Christmas?"
"Ya sure kid, go ahead." Joe replied.
As the child dragged on about his stupid toys and things he wanted, Joe thought
about something else, his revenge.
Revenge to get back at all these little punks who have annoyed him ever since he
got the job. He wanted revenge..........badly.
Joe had an idea.
"Hey kid, can you shut-up for a second." Joe sternly asked.
"Okay" The child answered.
"Since I think you\'re my favorite kid of all," Joe praised, " I\'m going to give you a
" What!?!? Tell me! Tell me!!" The kid excitedly asked.
"Something you\'d never guess." Joe answered
" Just come with me after all the kids are gone."
Joe pushed the kid off his lap before he could answer and the next kid jumped on
Joe quickly finished talking to the rest of disgusting, impatient kids, and turned to
see if the kid in the navy blue overalls was still waiting. The kid stood next to Joe with a
selfish, happy, but disgustingly wide grin attached to his face, stretching from ear to ear.
" Ya ready?" Asked Joe.
"Yippee!" The child screamed. "I\'m going to get a present! I\'m going to get a
present! I\'m going to......."
"Shut-up kid!" Joe yelled becoming very impatient and irritated. "Now let\'s go."
Joe led the brat into his dressing room and told him to sit by the closet as Joe shut
the door. Joe opened a drawer and pulled out the surprise.
A few minutes later Claire walked into the dressing room, but stopped dead in her
tracks. She screamed. It was too late, Joe had gotten his revenge. In Joe\'s hand was a
knife, soaked in blood that was dripping in a rhythmic pattern to the floor. And on the
floor was a child laying in a pool of blood. His navy blue overalls were stained to the
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Fiction, Claire Bennet, The Night God Screamed
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