For you, Askur ;D

Oh, and by the way—

Happy janvier :3

Fang's POV

So this is what it's come to.

Me, breaking into innocent citizens' homes, wolfing down their cookies for 'Santa', and slurping down their milk in cute little reindeer cups.

I had to admit though; those reindeer were kind of cool.

Hey, it's Christmas, and when you've no place to go…why not take advantage of the holidays? Besides, isn't that what Christmas was about? Giving, or something nice like that?

Okay, you probably think I have no conscious or heart, breaking into people's homes on a holiday for food like this, and I admit, I did feel kind of bad about it. But it was an opportunity, and I haven't eaten much lately.

This was the fourth house I've been to tonight. I haven't had something decent to eat in weeks and cookies were a hell of a lot better than the moldy roast beef sandwiches you could find near Subway.

So as not to disturb the people sleeping, I only allowed myself exactly five minutes in each house. See, I looked at it as doing a favor for these people (in order to keep myself from feeling like some kind of neighborhood bully)—Santa didn't exist, and by eating the food set out for him, the children can squeal in glee once they found out that the over-weight-man ate their food.

Once the parents saw the missing snacks, well, they can think what they want. Maybe I'll rekindle their beliefs in Santa, or something magical like that.

I gulped down the glass of orange juice, setting the cup gently on the small table. For once, I actually looked around the house instead of Spidermanning my way in here and out (except, of course, I had wings and he…didn't). It looked like any other house would on Christmas. There was the tree in the corner, stockings on the fireplace, and little colorful lights lining the walls. There were candles lit everywhere and it actually felt kind of…cozy.

Christmas.

The flock had always dreamed of having a real Christmas. You know, where we gave each other presents we didn't find in Thrift stores, where we would sit and sing off-keyed Christmas songs while trying to keep Angel from attacking the cupcakes, and where we would eat disgusting fruit cake just to get us all in the spirit. Personally, I found Christmas nothing but a silly holiday, but I remembered how we used to get excited pointing at all the beautiful Christmas lights out on the streets and staring at decorative sweets through shop windows.

I shook my head, as if that would dump these memories out of my ears. No, they were probably celebrating the holidays right now. Without me. I let out a shaky break and closed my eyes. As long as they were happy, so was I.

Opening my eyes and manning myself up again, I came face to face with a—

Dear lord. It's a Santa.

I know it's Christmas and everything, but, really.

I mean, Santa? These poor children are forced to believe this creep is watching everything they do? Doesn't that make Santa a big, fat, jolly stalker?

Four and a half minutes. I was about to grab the cookies and go when I heard a loud banging noise in the kitchen. I stopped, cautious. I would have heard the noise if someone had snuck down the stairs. Was it a break in? (That would be really ironic).

I decided to check it out, so I set the cookies down and crept towards the noise. There was a faint light coming from the kitchen, light from a candle, or a very dim lamp…

Oh, my God.

I was right.

Santa was a creeper.

Peeking my head around the corner, I watched as an obese man in a leather jacket and black sweats raided the pantry. I heard a crash come from the kitchen and twisted around, staring at the stairs to see if the owners of the house were about to come down.

The man, who I guessed was supposed to be Santa, came out for air, gripping five Heresy bars in one hand and a liter of Coke in the other. Unscrewing the top of the coke, he brought it to his mouth and chugged the whole thing in about thirty seconds. Soda dripped from his snow white beard and he shook his face, splattering the pop all over the kitchen.

He showed his stomach no mercy.

Belching loudly, he gave the empty two-liter bottle one more glance before tossing it behind him. The plastic container clattered several feet behind me. I stared at him in shock, who the hell was this guy? Some kind of burglar?

"Excuse me."

Santa turned towards me swiftly and looked at me for the first time. How did he notice me? He couldn't have heard me—I could have sworn I didn't make a sound.

He had turned back to the pantry as if it was normal for a bird-kid to be prancing in people's houses on Christmas and began shuffling through some food again. It was just then that I realized that I had my mouth open and I was staring incredulously at this man. While he explored Foodland, I took the time to really look at him. He had the "bad boy" appearance, complete with big, black hiking boots, a scarily graphic tee, and he even had the mirrored black shades to finish it all off.

Come to think of it, I should get myself a pair of those.

With a half-eaten box of cereal in hand, he turned to look at me once again, but there was something…eerie about this guy. "What are you doing here, Fang? Shouldn't you be home with your friends? Max misses you. She really does."

Oh, hell no. Who was this guy? How does he know my name? And how the living hell did this guy know who Max was? (I doubt she missed me—she probably hated my guts—though I…missed her.)

Narrowing my eyes and ignoring what he just said (mostly because I was freaked out), I bent my knees slightly. "Who are you? And why are you breaking into people's houses and eating all of their food?"

Okay, I was being a total hypocrite, but I was nearly starving and this guy was so fat that I wouldn't be surprised if he grabbed the fridge as a lunch box on his way out.

"Tsk tsk, Fang. Don't you believe in Santa? Max does. So does the rest of the flock. You should too." He laughed a deep laugh that made my insides crawl almost as much as the flock comment did. And the flock did not believe in Santa.

…Right?

I thought back to every single picture and blow-up I've ever seen of "Santa" and quickly came to the conclusion that this man was not what he was supposed to look like.

"Santa? Santa is supposed to be happy, loveable, fat-yes, man. Not…not…you." I glared at him in repulsion as I eyed the dried peanut butter caked under his finger nails, chocolate frosting smeared across his face, and food wrappers jutting out of every pocket. This wasn't Santa, this was the nightmare of every nutritionist.

"Oh, you don't think I'm Santa?" Picking a piece of food from his teeth, he wiped his meaty hands on his already-too-dirty pants. He slowly took off his shades, and once I caught a glimpse of his eyes I shivered, keeping myself from running away that instant. His eyes were red, blood red. They gave the appearance that blood was swirling through his irises.

Great, not only was he a badass wannabe, but he got his eyes tattooed. Or something.

Wonderful.

Giving me a fat-cheeked grin, the man snapped his fingers twice and I heard a quiet rumble from back in the living room. I didn't dare let my eyes off this 'Santa' guy. He was starting to really creepy me out. I mean, if he wanted to pretend he was Santa, he could have at least gotten the look right.

I really hoped these people had a pet because I didn't know what else could have made that noise behind me. Wary, I poked my head around the corner, and…

Holy shit.

I could have sworn those things were cookies just a few minutes go.

"You know, Fang," Santa said, walking forward, his steps booming loudly throughout the house (I honestly could not believe that no one woke up), "not believing in Santa…that's a big sin." His red eyes flashed and I heard dark chuckles from behind me.

There they were. Mutated cookie…people.

I guess Santa did exist. Just not the Santa five-year olds know and love.

My perception of the whole word just collapsed then, like a soggy waffle.

I think I'm in shock right now—says the kid with wings, of course.

"Wha-what the hell, man?" I got in my fighting stance, ready to beat the…batter out of those things. (What can I say, I've lived with Iggy. It was almost second nature to make crappy jokes at crappy times.)

…Iggy. I missed him, too. I really did. But—they're better off without me. I should have left long ago.

I heard a snapping noise, which kicked me out of my thoughts, and saw the four Cookie-Men throw the small table across the living room, advancing. I swung a punch at one of them, clipping the side of its face, making a chunk o' chocolate fly off. I smirked in amusement, what was I worried about? This was going to be a piece of cake.

I sent a round kick to the one in the middle, right in the chest. His body cracked and crumbled, and the rest of it fell to the floor. Smiling, I threw rapid jabs at the Thing next to him, while the others tried to get me from behind. Twisting, I kicked one of them in the head and watched it soar towards the wall. The other, I head butted and his head lolled to the side and cracked off at the neck.

With an amused smile, I faced Santa and pointed at the crumbs. "That was cute. So…do you mind if I eat those?"

Grinning, he winked and pointed to something behind me. I turned around and saw the cookie crumbs start to stir, and before I knew it, each crumb became a separate mutated-pastry. Backing away slowly, I stared as a few dozen cookie-people came back to life.

Turning to look at the obese man behind me, I said, "You know, I always imagined Santa differently."

All of a sudden, the monsters crowded around me and I swiftly turned my attention back to them. If I touched them, they'd break and just get more plentiful, but I had no choice. I kicked, punched, and smacked them aside, trying to clear myself a path so I can just get out.

There were so many though, I couldn't see anything but brown, crispy, cookies. Now that they've got me outnumbered, they started pounding on me. On my sides, my temple, abdomen, my ribs, knees, my nose. They hit me mercilessly until I crouched to the floor, crushed by their numbers and blows, my arms over my head. It was so painful (why don't you try being beaten to death by a bunch of over-cooked Christmas cookies?), all of it. I couldn't do anything. Hell, I could barely move.

Eventually, there was blood, and I felt something rough and chalky grab me around the neck, and slowly, it closed around it. My breath was leaving me, I couldn't breathe. I couldn't feel anything anymore but the longing to leave.

And so I did.

Third Person POV

With a jolly smile on his face, Santa snapped his fingers once more and the monsters disappeared. He walked over to the lifeless body on the floor and leaned down, poking and prodding it. Sighing, he stood back up and willed himself to get back to his normal suit, the usual red uniform.

"Now, where did I put it…?" wandering back into the kitchen, the large man found the brown bag he left on the counter and brought it over to the young teenager. A perfect fit. He picked him up easily—the boy couldn't have been much over 100lbs-and shoved him in the bag, ignoring the small drops of blood the leaked out of the boy's many cuts. He also noticed the fact that bruises were starting to form on the teenager's body, and he laughed happily. "She's going to love this."

Santa threw the bag over his shoulder and walked over to the window, sliding it open with a white-gloved hand. He glanced behind him and, of course, snapped. Clicking his tongue in approval, he left the small house exactly like it was when he arrived, except now there were presents under the Christmas tree.

Thrusting the bag out of the window, he climbed outside and dragged himself and his load to his sleigh, petting Rudolph before setting himself inside his ride. He threw the dead body into the back and flew over to his next destination.

"Well, well," he said, smiling warmly at the soft light that glowed from a single room in a small house. He hurriedly set the bag on the balcony in front of the lighted window, climbed back into his sleigh, and flew off, laughing his distinct, loud, hearty laugh.

"Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas!"

In The Bedroom

"Huh, after everything I've done, I never thought I'd actually get anything for Christmas." The girl shuffled out of her bed, hearing the thump and the laugh that followed. She opened the window and hopped on the balcony, smiling.

Her present had arrived

She opened the bag and giggled, taking the lifeless boy out of it. Lifting him easily, she went back inside and set him on her bed, grabbing his head and placing it on her lap. She pet the soft, black hair and gently patted the bruises on the young teen's face. With her lithe fingers, she traced the scars on his arms and legs, relishing in the fact that most were fresh. She loved the feel of his cold skin, the way she couldn't hear or feel his heart beat. Max grinned one of her rare grins, kissing his cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Fang. I always knew Santa would get me what I wanted."

A creepy and amusing piece, in my opinion.

I'm so messed up.

Review? :D