A/N: Written for bayre as part of a Christmas fic exchange. We were instructed to write a story that was at least 400 words long based on one of 2 or 3 prompts suggested by our assigned person. (I'll give her prompt at the end.) Hope everyone enjoys.

Christmas Night, Christmas Fright

By: Vanessa Sgroi

"Dean! Shoot it! Shoot it!"

"I did," yelled Dean, "The rock salt just bounced off!" Dean cradled his shotgun, grunted, and rolled to avoid the giant plastic reindeer hoof descending to crush him. Despite knowing it wouldn't have any effect, he shot his second round of rock salt at the rampaging inflatable lawn ornament and took off running for the cover of a tree to regroup.

Sam yanked his leg hard, attempting to free himself from his own rampaging lawn ornament, a fifteen-foot snowman. The animated creature had its "stick" fingers wrapped tightly around his ankle, and it was dragging him none too gently across the snowy front lawn, pausing occasionally to give Sam a good shake. He hissed as his stomach, bared when his coat and shirts bunched up toward his shoulders, glided over a rough patch of icy snow. It felt he was being dragged over a cheese grater. Oh, that's gonna hurt in the morning. "Dean! Do something!" His fingers scrabbled ineffectually in the crunchy white fluff. Sam's demand for help turned to a disconcerted yelp when the snowman lifted him completely off the ground like a ragdoll and began to spin him around. "Deeeeeeeean!"

Not knowing what else to do, Dean dropped the useless shotgun to the ground and sprinted toward the snowman and Sam, zigzagging to avoid the crazed Rudolph hot on his heels. As he approached, he ducked to avoid his brother's pinwheeling arms as he passed overhead, tucked his chin to his chest, and drove his shoulder into the inflatable snowman, executing a classic football tackle. His yelp complimented Sam's as he bounced off the white plastic and went flying then tumbling head over heels in the snow. When Dean finally came to a stop, he sat and blinked snow from his eyes just in time to see the reindeer bearing down on him, maniacal gleam in his eyes outshining the red of his nose. He rolled and gained his feet in one admittedly wobbly motion but was a second too slow. Rudolph swung his massive head, hitting Dean and sending him flying through the air. He landed with a thud.

"Deeeeeeeean!" Sam's voice was desperate.

The older Winchester rose, shook his head to clear it, and sprinted for the bushes near the front porch where his small duffel bag sat canted at an angle exactly as he dropped it when the inflatable reindeer had begun its attack. Panting, he reached inside and rooted around for a second or two before his fingers closed around the cylindrical object for which he was searching. Pulling the intricately carved wooden stick out from the bag's depths, Dean studied it for a moment then pointed the narrower end toward the giant snowman. His gaze briefly rolled to the heavens as he mumbled quietly. Finally, he again focused on the snowman that was still spinning Sam around like he was on a merry-go-round. He pointed the wand and intoned, "Subsisto! Subsisto! Aer genitus! Declino!"

At first nothing happened. Dean opened his mouth to repeat the command but before he could utter a syllable, two deafening popping noises sounded. Dean watched as the crazed animated lawn ornaments deflated with clangorous exhalations and pooled on the ground in plastic piles.

Released without warning, Sam howled as he went careening through the night, landing with a grunt and groan in an immense snow bank. After a second, he struggled to sit then spit snow from his mouth.

"Sam? Sammy!" Suddenly Dean was on his knees by Sam's side. "You okay, dude?"

Fighting back dizziness, Sam slowly nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine—I think…"

"You're looking a little green…"

Sam moaned and dropped his forehead into his hand. "Trust me. I'm feeling a little green."

Dean stared at the magic wand in his hand as he rose to his feet. "What I want to know is how did a warlock's magic wand get into a six-year-old's Christmas stocking?" He held a hand out to his younger brother and helped him up, steadied him when he swayed.

"I've got a better one for you, Dean. I'd like to know this—how did the six-year-old know what spell to cast to bring those things to life?"

"Heh. You may want to know…but I don't. Now let's go salt and burn this sucker then head back to the motel and have some eggnog."

Sam staggered along beside his older brother. "Uh…I might just skip the eggnog."

"Aw, c'mon, I'll spike it for ya just like you like it. Shake it real good, give it a stir."

"Dude, seriously, unless you wanna see a not-so-nice Jackson Pollack painting in the snow in the next few seconds, you might wanna stop talking."

Dean grinned.

Fin

The prompt: The boys face down a few of those really big, blowup ornament things people put in their front yards now---seriously have you seen them, some are downright scary.