by Bob'n Around
Invisible matters of the mind turned real into the written word.
|Krumpus wasn’t as popular as Santa. Both preferred it that way. Those bad little girls and boys would be taken by surprise as would their grown-up counterparts during Christmas eve. “You’ll get more than a lump of coal when the jolly old elf slips me his black list.”
She looked like just what she was, the most evil dried up old bitch ever to teach bad habits weren’t bad enough. To be a recruit as one of her small number of minions, you had to outwit and outdo Krumpus herself. It had to be done in such a way as to give notice of what evil deed had been done. “Only one stands out this year. Sad, sad times.”
The world was in a sorry mess. It was troublesome at best. “One Harry Adams, 666 Hell street. I’ve got to swipe him before he goes to the devil carried away in a handbasket.”
She hitched a ride on Santa’s sleigh with her own bag of tricks. Small bottles of napalm with a wick would add a bright holiday flicker of cheer along with each black listed granted piece of coal.
Krumpus enjoyed a good roasted kid. “It’s nice that Santa shared a bag of sprinkled time stopper sand, collected from the Sandman. This one night, I have all the time that I want to explore possibilities.”
A bully named Jack was slammed onto his back and forced to chew on his bit of black anthracite. Of course, Krumpus helped him swallow his mean words, enjoying him beg for pardon. A few broken teeth left for the Tooth Fairy to check up on later and it was on to the next greedy brat. “Do better next year, Jack, or I’ll be back.”
The soft coal version of black coal had its own uses. Lit a fire, dropped under the covers, was a good way to burn an unhealthy reminder of her visit. “Not so cheeky as you believed, Jane, my pretty. You’ll heal in time. I hope soon enough to put those cheeks to better use. Don’t give me a bum steer next year, my pet. Open yourself to the possibilities of mere pleasure accompanied with cash presents or my present next Christmas Eve may well be your last.”
And so it went from one kid to another, occasionally pausing to cook up a fine tasty treat. Santa had provided in her small bag of tricks another helpful tool. Sleeping powder. The unwary rest of the family lay unconscious.
“Hmm, I see where Jennie learned her skill at stealing, lying and being such a brat. From her mother’s years of practice. It’s time to put a stop to that. Krumpus set up how it would look in the morning. Jennie’s mother would be accused of murdering her young daughter. Such fun.
Time passes fleeting even when it does not pass at all. Krumpus was done with all but her last and best. “Harry Adams.”
He stood ready and waiting, pacing back and forth in his mansion earned through blackmail. The sale of drugs had not hurt him at all. “There you are, Krumpus. Have I earned my place in nefariousness or not?”
That was the home where Krumpus dwelled when not terrorizing those needed a little push or two, to be worse than their worst could ever be.
“Show her to me. This innocent one you’ve dispoiled. Is she ready to become a sacrifice to me? I prefer the taste of innocence when properly prepared.” Krumpus rubbed her long sharp tipped fingers together to warm them up. The best of the best of her self trained host each had given her such. They knew corruption was the strongest brand of evil, being mother to all the rest.
“Draw the drapes from around my bed. Virgin she was when last you saw her. What say you now?”
The curtains were pulled back to reveal a blonde beauty swollen with debauchery and addicted to finding pleasure wherever her master willed. “I am ready, Harry. So ready. Feel?” She licked her lips where the taste of her own blood lay upon her, turning them bright ruby red.
Krumpus smiled, though you would not recognize it as such. “Eating her own need. Pain blossoming into ecstasy beyond measure. Ready, indeed.”
The antithesis of Santa plucked at a breast to feel it quiver in reply. “Join me, Harry Adams. You have proved your worth.”
The cries of passion mixed with pain did not happen long but were intense. Krumpus and Harry had their own failings. They could not hold themselves back. The music of Santa called them back to their senses and to his sleigh, “Silent night, unholy night. All is calm. All is bright.”
Those body and souls of transgression newly tortured wept at the sound. The tears were bitter, filled with despair and vengeance. The world would grow in myriad evil bickering amongst itself during the coming year. “All is well, and to all a good night.”
Krumpus sat in the back of Santa’s sleigh with her new charge accompanying her. It would be interesting having him prisoner to try out some new means of torture and a fresh taste to munch on time to time until the next year.