by C. N. Nevets, (c) 2009
Twelve Christmas ago, Deb and I put up the tree and then the kids placed ornaments. They complained that the globes were warm and the figurines were evil. I said they'd been by the heater and were handcrafted. Then the whole house started to get warm and Deb said Frostie's eyes were creepy.
When phantom mists poured forth and wooden reindeer walked, I believed.
When Frostie ice-skated across Maddie's throat and the mists turned Jacob's eyes blue, I screamed.
When the tree burst into a fireball that consumed Deb, I crumpled.
When all passed and I remained untouched, I wept.
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A 100-word Christmas Eve Ghost story, prepared in response to Loren Eaton's writing invitation.
Love that last line. Very nicely done, sir.
ReplyDeleteMercy, that's awful, by which I mean, a great horror short-short. I feel for the guy. What a nightmare.
ReplyDeleteI too love that last line! Love the story. Thanks for immortalizing me in such a lovely way. I've gone up in flames many a time but never like that! ;)
ReplyDeleteThanks for the kind words, folks. It was fun. Took me forever to get satisfied with it, but I decided I was pretty happy with it.
ReplyDeleteAnd, Deb, you know that that the genesis of this story was, "How can I find a way to combine a christmas tree and Deb M. and have it result in something beautifully horrific?"
Aww, Nevets! I'm honored that you'd think of me when crafting a horror story. *hand to heart* You know how I love those wacked out stories.
ReplyDeleteDeb, your appreciation of the most twisted parts of my most twisted stories has given you a permanent place in my writer's heart. :)
ReplyDelete