Christmas Evil

Little Monsters

Little Monsters

Every Christmas Eve has its ritual.

In our house the rule was that my children could enjoy a midnight feast, if they were still awake at the witching hour. I checked my watch as I dried my hands on the bathroom towel; it was 11.55pm as I spied my two eldest creeping along the landing towards me.

I walked onto the landing and crouched down in front of them. Adam, my first born, was now eight; tall and slender, he was already forming the broad shoulders of a swimmer. Charlotte, his sister, had just turned six, and as the eldest woman of the house took her duties very seriously in looking after us all.

“What are you two doing up already?” I asked, tousling Adam’s hair and squeezing Charlotte’s nose between my fingers.

Charlotte pulled back, giggling. “We’re hungry daddy,” she said, barely above a whisper. My children had been taught from a young age to always keep their voices down when their daddy had a guest.

“Starving,” emphasised Adam, almost whining.

I laughed. “Starving, are you?” I poked them both playfully in the belly. “Like you’ve never been fed before, starving?”

They both looked at me, pleadingly.

Just then, I caught the sight of my youngest toddling along behind them. Melody was almost two and a wobbly-walker. She dodged past her siblings, using them to steady herself before trying to get past me. I grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her scrabbling little body up into my arms, standing as I did so.

A father cannot have a favourite! That is a standard I refuse to compromise. I love all my children the same, and yet there was something special about my little Melody. From the first time she opened her piercing blue eyes and looked up at me smiling, I felt the stabbing pain of anticipation all fathers must suffer the first time their daughter leaves the nest.

Naturally I knew that that day was many years away, but regardless of how irrational it seemed, I missed her already.

As I gazed into her sweet little cherubic face, with her shoulder-length jet black hair perfectly framing it, again I felt my heart sink. Though her mother had been a rare beauty, I still found it incredible that such a perfectly formed little angel could have been produced from my loins.

Realising that her efforts were futile, Melody stopped struggling in my arms. She gazed at me with her heart-breaking blue eyes, and began to rub her little tummy in a clock-wise motion with her hand. This I knew was her way of telling me that she was hungry.

“Yum daddy,” she whispered, in her baby tone.

I kissed her gently on her nose and then gave her to her brother to hold. “Ok,” I said, “just let daddy see to his guest, then you can all eat.”

Their eyes lit up at my words. I laughed to myself; anyone would think that I starved them. I put a finger to my lips to remind them to be quiet, then crept down the stairs, taking care to avoid the fourth one from the bottom - as I had on the way up - due to the loud creak it made whenever anyone put any weight on it.

Behind me I heard the children settle on the top step to await my instruction. I glanced back at them and winked. Adam had his baby sister perched on the end of his knee, lovingly bouncing her up and down to keep her amused. Charlotte sat beside him, and all three were watching me closely.

I walked into the sitting room, and there snuggled up on the hearth rug in front of the fire was the woman I had picked up from the club earlier that evening. She stirred and moaned softly, pulling the duvet further up over her n***d body.

While shifting the duvet, she uncovered her feet. Her perfectly pedicured toes peeked from underneath momentarily, before she unconsciously snatched them back into the warmth.

I stood over the fireplace and gazed down at her. She was indeed beautiful. Her long blond hair, which earlier that evening looked as if she had just stepped out of a commercial, now cascaded over her high cheekbones in that tousled post-coital fashion so common after the event. But even so, it did not detract from her gorgeous features - what a stunner.

After a moment, I carefully I pulled back the duvet to uncover her n***d form. Her perfect, unblemished skin shone radiantly in the glow of the firelight. There was a murmur of protest at the loss of heat from her cocoon before she curled herself into the foetal position.

I knelt down beside her and gently began stroking her hair.

With a soft moan she turned her body towards me and through sleepy eyes smiled, warmly. Her lips parted slightly and she ran her tongue softly over them, moistening them just enough to cause a light sheen.

She reached up and tried to pull me towards her. It was so hard to resist.

With practised skill I retrieved the carving knife from under the settee and with one swift movement I opened her throat!

Her eyes widened, her expression a mixture of terror and confusion.

She tried to speak, her mouth moving up and down without any words coming out. She tried to lift herself up from the floor, one hand covering the opening in her neck through which her blood was pumping, and the other she used to try and push away at the ground to rise, but it was futile.

The arterial spray of her life’s blood peppered the stonework surrounding the fireplace, before eventually slowing down to a sporadic jet shooting from her gaping wound. She slumped back down as the last of her strength ebbed away, then lay motionless.

I watched her a moment longer, then pulled away the duvet completely. Surveying it I was pleased to note that it had almost escaped blood-free. The same could not be said for the hearth rug, which was now mainly red and not its original white. That would have to go!

With the tip of my knife I slit her open from throat to groin, revealing her organs which were now bathed in what was left of her life’s blood.

I walked to the door and turned to look up at my babies. Their bright eyes burned eagerly as they stared down at me, l*****g their lips in anticipation.

“Come on little monsters,” I smiled. “It’s ready!”