Kevin McAllister stared out the frosty window as his father navigated the family van through the snow-driven night. Ahead, taillights glowed like demonic eyes as cars crept along the ice-coated road. Dense pine trees laden with snow pressed against the interstate's gravel shoulder and reflective green road signs loomed out of the gathering storm like emaciated creatures from Native American folklore. That might be a really specific comparison, but Kevin had been reading a lot about Native American folklore recently and the monsters therein had been living in his head rent free. His favorite myth was the wendigo, a cannibal spirit of the north woods who appeared as a gaunt zombie-like wraith. It was associated with famine and wintertime. If you resorted to cannibalism during lean times, the wendigo would possess you. There were different versions of the wendigo, but Kevin preferred the zombie one; it had pale skin stretched tight over its bones, hollow cheeks, bulging eyes, and broken teeth that it used on those braves and isolated hunting parties unfortunate enough to cross its path. The thought of one of those suckers slinking through a silent, snowy wood was creepy, and Kevin liked creepy things.
Anyway, the road signs put him in mind of wendigos (or wendigi, he guessed) but not because he was morbid or anything. He was interested in Native American culture, yeah, but he didn't walk around comparing everything he saw to the creepy crawlies of Indian lore. He did it now because he was booooored. His family had been on the road for, like, six hours and his Gameboy had been dead since he couldn't remember when. He was starting to go stir crazy and had to keep his mind occupied or he'd scream. Luckily for him, he was both imaginative and ingenious, so he could entertain himself when needed. For the past hour, he'd been imagining everything from zombies to Santa lurking in the woods. He even combined the two and came up with Zombie Santa, the Kris Kringle of the undead who carried a sack of body parts around and gave them out to good little boils and ghouls.
They were on their way to Uncle Frank's house for Christmas. Every year, his entire extended family got together and took a trip somewhere. A few years ago, they went to Aspen and stayed at a ski lodge on a snowbound slope high in the Rocky Mountains. With its timbers, stone fireplace, and cozy decor, it was actually really nice. Kevin didn't like skiing so he spent most of his time in the lounge sipping hot cocoa and playing board games with some nerdy girl whose name he couldn't remember. She had braces, pigtails, acne, and big glasses that made her look like a bug. Kevin's brother Buzz kept calling her Kevin's "girlfriend" and that really ticked him off because girls are gross. They're okay as friends just as long as they don't get too close and breathe on you or anything. These days, Kevin thought girls were cute, but there was still a small part of him that found kissing and crap disgusting. He had walked in on Buzz making out with his girlfriend and Kevin almost puked. Their tongues were literally in each other's mouths. Is that how adults freaking kiss?
Anyway, the McAllister family was eighteen miles out from Uncle Frank's house and despite being bored out of his skull, Kevin would rather keep driving forever than spend the next week with Uncle Frank. Uncle Frank was…let's be honest with ourselves…a complete douchebag, and his kids were spoiled and mean. Kevin's parents were extremely wealthy and while Kevin didn't know many details, he was aware that his grandfather had been a billionaire who owned controlling interest in several companies, including Central Standard Oil. He made most of his money on the stock market and by securing defense contracts with the government during WWII and the Korean War. He died right before Kevin was born and left an estate that boasted more wealth, assets, and properties than a literal empire. He put Uncle Frank, his oldest son, in charge of the finances. Every one of grandpa's children got a hefty monthly payment, and each of the grandkids had a million dollar trust that accrued annual interest. By the time Kevin was eighteen, he would have almost two million dollars. He would also inherit another fifty thousand. All of this was contingent on the condition of him going to college or learning a trade. His grandfather was an old school self made man who couldn't stand old money. He thought people born into wealth were lazy, entitled, and good for nothing, that they coasted on the hard work and success of their parents and grandparents while contributing nothing worthwhile to society and becoming weak and pathetic. If Kevin wanted his money, he'd have to do something with his life.
Which was fine. It's not like he aspired to be a homeless bum. Joke's on you, Gramps, I was going to become something anyway.
Back to Uncle Frank. Maybe Uncle Frank was different as a younger man, but he had become pretty much the kind of man Grandpa hated. He thought his role as head of the nation, as it were, made him inherently superior to everyone else. He had an overbearing and condescending way about him that put Kevin and all his siblings off. Uncle Frank's kids were everything that Grandpa probably feared they would be. They were spoiled, stuck up, and had everything shoved up their butts on a silver platter. They considered Kevin's family "poor" even though they lived in a huge mansion and had four cars, and treated them like they were dirty and infected. They were selfish, bad bad attitudes, and generally made everyone around them miserable. Kevin guessed he was rich, so he had never hated rich people, but after spending a few hours around his cousins, he was a whole communist. Off with their heads, up with bubbles, down with air.
Kevin hated his family's holiday visits with Uncle Frank and his clan and had been dreading it since Mom and Dad announced it back in October. If he was honest with himself, even if Uncle Frank wasn't involved and even if they had gone to the best ski resort ever, Kevin would be disappointed. Last Christmas, they went to Hawaii where they spent a week swimming in the ocean and touring the wasn't very Chjristmas-y but Kevin had always wanted to see Hawaii. Compared to his previous two Christmases, however, it was a major bummer.
Three Christmases ago, his entire family gathered at his house for one of their famous trips. Somehow, Kevin got lost in the shuffle and was left behind. He woke the next morning to find himself alone and the house completely empty. At first, he was scared and hurt - scared because he was on his own and hurt because seriously, his family forgot him. Like he was nothing. He quickly warmed up to the idea of being alone, however. He could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, just like an adult. He cut loose and did all the things he couldn't do when Mom and Dad were around. He ate cold pizza and ice cream for breakfast, slid down the stair railing, stayed up late, and played video games until his eyes were grainy and falling out.
It was great…then the burglars came. Two losers in a van and who couldn't be more stereotypical if they wore black and white striped shirts, bandit masks, and crept everywhere they went showed up and tried to rob the house. They no doubt thought it would be easy since the only thing standing in their way was a kid, but they didn't count on that kid being Kevin McAllister. One of Kevin's many interests was engineering and he read tons of books on the subject. He taught himself to build things, especially pranks, and when Harry and Marv tried to break in, Kevin hit them with a thousand painful traps and pitfalls. They almost got him, but in the end, with a little help from a neighbor, Kevin persevered and Harry and Marv went to jail. Mom rushed home and got there on Christmas Eve, and everyone lived happily ever after.
Until next Christmas, that is. Would you believe that the exact same thing happened yet again? If not, buckle up, because it totaly did, only this time, Kevin got on the wrong plane at the airport and wound up alone in New York City. Once again, Kevin was on his own and once again, he was a little scared (but less hurt since his family didn't straight up forget him this time). He overcame that and wound up having a lot of fun. He scammed his way into a nice hotel, hung out in the world's coolest toy store, and got to see Central Park decked in its holiday finery.
Things went sideways again when, in a cruel and one in a million twist of fate, Marv and Harry showed up. Once again, Kevin played an almost deadly game of cat and mouse with them and and in the end, they lost hard. Like last time, he had a little help (from a nice homeless lady he thought was scary and mean - you'd really think he would have learned his lesson about judging people by now). Marv and Harry were carted off to jail again and Kevin's parents became overprotective. Every time they went anywhere, his mother wouldn't let him out of her sight, and for a while, she didn't even want to let him outside. That was two years ago, and she and Dad had mellowed out a lot.
Anyway, despite it all, Kevin really enjoyed those two Christmases. Sure, he missed being with his family and all, but he had a blast, and last Christmas just wasn't as fun. It might sound crazy, but he missed Marv and Harry. What he wouldn't give to slam one of them with a can of paint, or to watch one slip on ice and bust his ass.
Too bad, he thought.
Too bad.
Fat flakes of snow danced in the high beams and an icy wind buffeted the car, making it shake. Music drifted from the radio and the dash panel glowed a ghostly green that bathed the faces of the two men in a corpsy cast. It was past 7pm and they were on I-52 heading north toward the Canadian border. Once they got there, they'd be safe. Canada didn't send prisoners back to the US.
Or was that Mexico?
Eh, it was all the same.
The back end of the car fishtailed, and Harry braced his hands against the dash. "Be careful, will you?"
"I'm doing my best, Harry," Marv said in a put upon whine.
They were in a stolen Chevy Caprice that they took from some old guy's side yard a few hundred miles south. In the back was a three hundred fifty pound prison rapist named Sweet Daddy Brown. With a bald head and a gold tooth, he looked every inch the serial sex offender he was. Earlier that day, the three of them had broken out of Southwoods State Penitentiary. The escape was Sweet Daddy Brown's idea; he had been working on it long before Harry and Marv became his favorite bitches.
"He doin' fine, chile," Sweet Daddy Brown said. "You just keep doin' what you doin, honey."
Marv breamed. "Thanks, Daddy." He shot a smug, sidelong look at Harry, and Harry rolled his eyes. Harry was used to being in charge, but with Sweet Daddy Brown along, he was relegated to being just another stooge. Harry hated not calling the shots, but what was he going to do against an almost 400 pound maneater? He had been looking for a way to ditch Sweet Daddy for the past four hundred miles, but he hadn't come across an opportunity yet. Marv wouldn't be any help; Sweet Daddy treated him like a favorite child and Marv was totally on his side. The thought of killing them both had crossed Harry's mind, but that seemed like a good way to get a double life sentence.
Or the chair.
Harry gazed out the frosted window and wracked his brain. He was deep in thought until Marv sucked in a shocked gasp. "H-Harry!" He swatted Harry's arm with the back of his hand and Harry turned to him.
"What?" Harry asked sourly.
"It's him! It's that little bastard Kevin!"
Kevin Mc-something or other. Harry and Marv had tried him twice and failed both times. Can you believe that shit? Two grown men getting beaten by a fucking kid. The last time, Kevin testified against them in court and sent them up the river for a twenty year bid.
There was no way -
Harry's jaw dropped. "Holy shit."
They had pulled alongside a large van. The face in the back window was unmistakably Kevin's. Kevin turned to them, saw their leering face, and dropped his jaw. "You remember us, you little prick?' Marv cried.
"Yeah, you!" Harry said. He raised his middle finger. "Right here, you fuckin' freak!"
Kevin turned quickly away like he was going to say something to his Mommy and Daddy, and Harry had Marv ease off the gas. They fell away from the van, and without being told, Marv changed lanes.
"Who dat is, chile?" Sweet Daddy asked.
"That's the little asshole who put us in jail, Daddy," Marv said.
"We're gonna fuck him up," Harry said. "No playing this time." He reached into his coat and pulled out a revolver.
Sweet Daddy Brown furrowed his brow. Marv and Harry had both told him the full story on several occasions. "You mean that lil' boy?"
"Little demon is more like it," Marv spat.
"I never wanted to kill anybody, but here we fuckin' are," Harry said.
In the back, Sweet Daddy Brown's face darkened. "No we ain't. I done me a lotta bad shit but ain't no way I'mma let y'all kill no kid."
"But, Daddy," Marv whined.
"No buts, chile. Y'all best fo'get all bout this."
Harry sighed. He was so close to spinning around and shooting Sweet Daddy in the face that his finger tightened on the trigger. He came within a microinch of pulling it and blowing his own prick off, but an idea came to him. "Alright, alright," he said, pretending to acquiesce. "But his family's rich. They all live in fuckin' masions. I guarentee you where ever he's going, it's fucking loaded. If we follow him, we can make a killing. We won't touch him, will we, Marv?"
Marv glanced at him and Harry winked.
A big grin spread across Marv's face and he nodded eagerly. "Yeah, no. We won't hurt him."
Sweet Daddy Brown stroked his massive chins. "You say dey loaded?"
"Like a drunk on Christmas Eve," Harry said.
When Sweet Daddy Brown spoke next, Harry knew he was on board. "Oooh, chile, that make me tingle."
That meant he liked it.
In the darkness, Harry grinned.
Watch out, you little bastard.
'Cause here we come.
At long last, just as the snowstorm began to gain intensity, they pulled into the big horseshoe driveway leading up to Uncle Frank's house. Through the driving snow, it looked like a blazing cruise ship drifting toward damnation. Candles burned in the windows, Christmas lights decked every conceivable surface, and yard decorations rocked back and forth in the wind.
"I swear," Kevin said, "it was them."
"Are you sure?" Dad asked. There was more than a hint of incredulity in his voice. "It's pretty hard to see anything out there."
It was true that the snow was dense and the night dark, it was also true that the window was hazy with a thin layer of frost, but he was almost certain that he'd seen Harry and Marv. The more he replayed the scene over in his head, however, the less sure he became. When he tried to conjure up the faces he had seen in the other car, they were watery, like imagines glimpsed underwater. He had been thinking a lot of Harry and Marv lately, outright wishing he could go one more round with them for old times' sake, so maybe he cooked it all up in his own head. Maybe the two people in that car were just random guys and he imagined they were Harry and Marv.
That was possible…
But Kevin didn't think it was the case. He thought he really had seen them.
"I'm pretty sure," he said doubtfully.
Mom and Dad looked at each other, and even from the back of the van, Kevin could see that they had made up their minds.
They didn't believe him.
Sigh.
The van pulled up to the big marble stairs leading up to the double doors and came to a stop. Marble columns supported the Greecian entrance and Kevin waited for a team of butlers to come out and grab the bags.
None did.
Everyone got out and went around to the van's back hatch. Dad opened it and handed everyone their luggage. Kevin looked off in the distance, toward the road, and swore that he saw a dim pair of headlights creeping past. Seen through the storm and the stately pines screening the yard from the highway, it was hard to tell.
He had a bad feeling about this.
"Out of the way, twerp," Buzz said and bumped Kevin aside.
Their sister Megan and Linnie grabbed their things next, and then Jeff. Kevin got his bag last and shot another look at the road.
If it had ever been there at all, the car was gone.
Kevin thoughtfully chewed his bottom lip. His head told him that there was almost no chance that the guys he'd seen on the highway were actually Harry and Marv, but his gut told him that it was, in fact, them, and that they were coming for him. He could tell Mom and Dad until he was blue in the face, but they wouldn't believe him.
Even surrounded by people, he was on his own.
This was New York all over again.
A shark-like smile crept across Kevin's face.
Bring it.
Everyone carried their luggage up the snowy steps. Usually, the groundskeeper kept the walkways free of snow, but not today apparently. "It's kind of strange that no one's come out," Dad said.
He rang the bell, and after a few minutes, Kevin's cousin Brooke opened the door. That was a shock, to be honest. Every other time Kevin had been here, Uncle Frank's favorite butler Jiles had answered.
"Oh," Brooke said, somewhat disappointed, "it's you."
She stepped aside and everyone filed in. "There you are!' Uncle Frank's jovial voice rang out. He was coming down the grand staircase with his arms out as if to embrace them all. "I was wondering when you'd get here. I was starting to think you got lost in the snow."
He and Dad embraced. "Almost. Where's Jiles? Did you finally give him a night off?"
Uncle Frank looked sheepish. "No, actually, we had to let him go."
That wouldn't have been shocking if you didn't know Jiles' relationship to the McAllister family. In his mid sixties, he served as Grandpa's butler for almost thirty years before he died. Uncle Frank hired him and he had been here ever since. He had been around for so long that he basically qualified as a family heirloom. He wasn't a man that you just "let go." Nor was he the kind of man who gave you a reason to let him go. "What?" Dad asked in a breathy tone of shock.
Uncle Frank nodded grimly.
"Why?"
"We had our reasons," Uncle Frank said. "You're gonna have to take your own bags upstairs. We had to, uh, let everyone else go too."
Now that was shocking. Kevin didn't know how many servants Uncle Frank had on his staff, but it was at least two dozen. Every time Kevin came here, the house buzzed with the activity of nannies, maids, waiters, and chefs. Dad joked that Uncle Frank was running a hotel, and after staying at one of the nicest hotels in New York City, Kevin had to agree. The staff here was nicer than the ones in the Big Apple, though.
Why would Uncle Frank fire everyone? It didn't make any sense. He and his family enjoyed living in the lap of luxury and were notoriously lazy to boot. None of them liked to do anything for themselves and all of them relied on the servants for basically everything.
"Why?" Dad asked, echoing Kevin's question.
Uncle Frank only shrugged. "We had our reasons," he repeated.
Because there was no longer a staff, Kevin had to lug his bag all the way up the stairs and into one of the guest rooms. There were so many and he picked one at random. He went in, snapped the light on, and tossed his suitcase onto the bed. He went to the window and pulled back the curtain. Outside, the storm was so heavy that he could barely make out the trees lining the road. He scanned its length, looking for cars, but saw nothing.
Maybe Mom and Dad were right.
Maybe he was overreacting.
Yeah, and maybe the moon is made out of cheese.
If that really was Harry and Marv - and Kevin believed that it was - they were going to try and get him. Marv was a derp who did whatever he was told, but Harry was a prideful sonofabitch. He had spent the past two years fuming over what Kevin had done to them, getting madder and madder with every passing day, Kevin just knew it. He had little man syndrome or whatever they called it, just like that crazy guy in GoodFellas. You know, the one who whacked Billy Batts because Billy told him to go home and get his shinebox. In fact, Harry even looked like him a little. Harry wouldn't be able to resist the chance to get back at Kevin. That meant they were probably out there even now, biding their time in the snow. Harry wasn't half as smart as he liked to think he was, but he wasn't a complete moron; there was no way they'd try to come in while everyone was still awake. In addition to Mom, Dad, all his siblings, and Uncle Frank's family, Uncle Rob, his wife, and their three kids were here. Harry and Marv were outnumbered by, like, fifty to one.
Plus, strongarm wasn't their style.
At least not when their victim wasn't a ten year old boy home alone.
That gave him time to prepare.
Opening his bag, Kevin revealed what was inside. Clothes, toiletries, and stuff, but also metal jax, itching powder, chattery teeth, and a whole host of other nasty pranks. He had planned to use them on Uncle Frank's kids, but if he was honest, he was more than happy to use it on Harry and Marv.
He would also improvise a little.
That was always fun.
Grabbing his things, he rushed off to get ready.
In the hallway, he met his cousin Katie. Seven and with blue eyes and long, painfully straight blonde hair done up in pigtails, she looked a lot like that little girl from Poltergeist only more sinister. "Kevin," she piped, "wanna practice karate?"
Katie had been taking karate classes for two years and was really good at it. Kevin had never sparred with her, but the last time she got Buzz to help her "practice," she beat the living shit out of him. He spent two days laid up in bed with an icepack pressed to his jaw and talking about pressing charges. The physical bruises healed quickly, but the bruises on his pride were still very fresh and very tender.
"Not tonight," Kevin said, "I got something to do."
Katie lowered her head in disappointment.
Leaving her, Kevin went off to make Marv and Harry regret ever being born.
Downstairs, the rest of the family gathered in the reception room off the main hall. A towering Christmas tree decorated with red ribbons and white lights stood in the corner, seeming to float on a rising tide of presents, and lights and garland had been strung across the gleaming wood paneled walls. Several folding tables laden with snacks, drinks, and pizza boxes flanked either side of the room. No one said anything, but it was strange that Frank had made everyone chip in for pizza instead of having his kitchen staff prepare a full four course meal for everyone. All of the McAllisters did well but Frank was by far the richest, and never passed up an opportunity to flaunt it.
The reception hall rang with the chatter of three dozen relatives and old fashion Christmas music played from a turntable strategically positioned near the center of the room. Despite the many bodies and the fire roaring in the stone fireplace, the room was chilly. Rob's wife Georgette went to turn the thermostat up, but Frank appeared out of nowhere. He didn't scold her, he just launched into one of his used car salesman jokes and pointedly led her away. Heather, Rob and Georgette's daughter, wandered into the kitchen to find something sweet to eat, since Uncle Frank had totally skimped on fudge and cookies this year, and when she opened the pantry, she was confronted by shelves laden with cans of Vienna sausages and packs of Ramen noodles. Okay, that was weird; Uncle Frank said both of those things were for poor people. Heather was far from poor, but she did like Vienna sausages, so she swiped a can and carried it off.
On her way to the bathroom, Megan came across a broken window in the hall that had been covered with cardboard and duct tape. "Trashy," she said to herself.
Frank took great pride in having an immaculate house, but there were cobwebs in the corners and dark spots on the walls where paintings had been taken down. Frank had very expensive taste in art and had spent almost a million dollars on it over the years. He had also collected a treasure trove of priceless artifacts. He kept them in the ballroom, which he had converted into a private museum. Normally, it was open so that you could walk in any time and bask in his greatness. This time around, however, the door was locked tight.
Like he was hiding something.
Kevin's parents, Peter and Kate, stood off to one side with Rob and Georgette, red solo cups filled with punch in their hands. None of them could ever remember Frank specifically saying that red solo cups were trashy (though he very well may have), but he had never bought or used them before. Where was their mother's priceless crystal glassware? This felt less like a Christmas party at the mansion of a hedge fund manager and more like a get together at a college dorm. "Something's not right here," Peter said. His eyes darted to Frank, who handed out slices of pizza and insisted that everyone could only have one apiece.
That was odd. Very, very odd. As a vainglorious man who reveled in being the richest person in the room, Frank never worried about cost or quantity. In the past, he had taken every single member of his, Rob's, and Peter's families to expensive restaurants, urged everyone to order whatever they wanted, and picked up the tab, leaving a generous tip (always in cash, and always counting it out so that everyone could see it). Offering to pay your share, which Rob and Peter both did, would he met with a hearty and dismissive chuckle, the kind that said Oh, you poor, dumb slob. "I can afford it."
Frank would never order Papa John's pizza in the first place, but if he did, he wouldn't stand there like a fussy old woman and regulate how many slices went out of the box. He'd get fifty or sixy of them and tell everyone to go hog wild. He'd over buy and then there would be stacks of cold pizza in the fridge for the next week.
Presently, Rob took a sip of his punch. "Yeah. Notice there's no wine?"
No, Peter hadn't, but now that Rob mentioned it, he did. One of Dad's favorite pastimes was collecting expensive and vintage wines. There was a whole cellar downstairs filled with dusty bottles, some of them more than a hundred years old. Frank once told Peter that the wine cellar had more value in it than most banks. Peter didn't know much about wine but if Frank were to ever sell those bottles, he'd make hundreds of thousands of dollars, maybe even a million.
An idea occurred to Peter and he bit the inside of his bottom lip in thought, "You know," he said, "I'll be right back."
Handing his punch to Kate, he left the reception room and went into the hall, sparing a quick and guilty glance over his shoulder. Frank was still worrying over the pizza and didn't see him go. The door to the wine cellar was off the kitchen. If you didn't know what you were looking for, it looked like the entrance to a second pantry. Peter crept to the door, looked around, and opened it. He yanked the pull cord and muted light filled the space. A long set of rickety wooden stairs led down into the cellar. The floor and walls were stone and a dank draft stirred cobwebs in the corners. Peter went down and walked among the racks.
What he saw shocked him.
Gone. They were all gone. Every cubby hole was empty and each bottle had vanished as if into thin air. He checked every single one but found not a single drop of alcohol in the entire place. Back at the stairs, he took a deep breath and let it out as a puzzled, "Huh." Either Frank of Leslie had developed a chronic and suicidal drinking habit…or they had sold the wine.
Peter leaned toward the latter.
Back upstairs, he returned to the reception room, Frank was wearing a Santa hat and chatting with Jeff. Kate, Georgette, and Rob were still standing together where Peter had left them. He went over, glanced nervously at Frank, and lowered his voice. "The wine cellar's empty."
"Empty?" Rob asked, shocked. "What do you mean?"
"Just what I said." Peter replied. "It's all gone. All of it."
Stunned silence descended over the group. Slowly, Rob's face turned a deep shade of red and his jaw clenched. That inw collection had been their father's pride and hobby for decades. Some men work in gardens, some men golf, their father collected vintage wine. He only opened bottles with great reluctant and much grumbling. It was his passion and he passed it onto Frank the way a man might hand down the suit he was married in, or a special artifact that had been in the family for a hundred years. "He sold them," Rob said through his teeth, "didn't he?"
"We don't know that," Kate cautioned.
"The hell we don't," Rob said, "what else did he do with it? Donate it to the Salvation Army?"
Peter had been thinking the same thing. Where else would all that wine be? And what of the expensive paintings that had once hung on the walls? Where were they? Sold, that's where.
But why? Why would Frank sell those things? Why would he sell the wine of all things?
He didn't know, but Rob was going to find out from the looks of it. He tried to brush past, but Peter grabbed his shoulder. "Wait, stop."
"Get off of me," Rob said angrily, "I'm going to find out what's going on here."
"No," Peter said, "not right now."
"Why the hell not?" Rob demanded.
"You don't have to make a scene about it," Peter said. "We can talk to him later."
Kate stepped in. "Not in front of the kids. It's Christmas."
For a moment, Rob looked at her, his lips pursed, then he visibly relaxed and stood down. "Alright," he said and threw his hands up. "Alright, fine. But as soon as the kids are in bed, I want an explanation."
"We'll get one," Petter assured him.
Though he didn't say so, he wanted one too.
The first thing Kevin did was fill buckets with water from the kitchen tap and dump them onto the front stairs. First, he cleared them so that the ice would have something to stick to. With the porch light out, they looked as if they were clear. The snow would cover some of the lower steps, but the higher ones were protected by the overhang. Harry and Marv would be lulled into a false sense of security by the first steps, then BAM, they'd hit the ice and slip. From inside, he rigged the chandelier hanging from the porch ceiling so that it would fall if someone tried the handle from the outside. There was almost no chance of Buzz or someone tripping it prematurely, but just in case, he added a pull cord that he could yank. One he had, the chandelier would be in place and ready to drop.
Next, he grabbed a big mixing bowl and combined hair gel and itching powder, which he then spread across all the window sills. If you touched it, the powder would stick fast to your skin, and nothing would get it off short of a full shower. It also wasn't just itching powder, it was the special extra strength stuff that was banned in most Geneva Convention countries. He found his grandfather's old double barrel shotgun in the study and loaded it with rock salt. He went to the kitchen and set it up in the pantry across from the back door. He intentionally put it at crotch level so that anyone coming in would take the blast directly to the family jewels.
Over the next hour, he set various traps around the house, focusing mainly on the entrances, the attic, and the basement. In theory, all he had to do was wait for Harry and Marv to break in, then raise the alarm, but where was the fun in that? He'd smack them around a little bit like a cat toying with a mouse, then call in the grown-ups to get the cops. If he remembered correctly, they each got ten years in prison, so if they out and about, they must have escaped. That meant they'd probably catch extra charges and be in jail even longer.
Hahahaha. Idiots.
Because they would be heading up the river for a long time after this, he'd make their last Christmas on the outside one to remember.
The last place Kevin boobytrapped was Uncle Frank's office. It was locked tight and Kevin almost skipped it, but decided to hit it anyway. He easily picked the lock, went in, and closed the door behind him. Shelves crammed with books lined the walls and a leather armchair sat beside a dark fireplace. The window was beyond the desk. Kevin went to it, applied some of the itching powder to the sill, and sprinkled jacks underneath. He turned to leave, but his eyes fell on an open ledge on the desk. Out of pure curiosity, he sat in the swivel chair and began to read.
Financial documents.
Everything about Uncle Frank's money - and the money of Grandpa's estate - was all right here, out in the open, and what Kevin saw was alarming. If he was reading this right, Uncle Frank was bankrupt.
And the estate wasn't doing too well either.
A lot of Grandpa's wealth was in assets - properties, holdings, companies, etc - with a certain amount in liquid funds. Well, the liquid funds, millions all told, were pretty much gone.
Kevin's jaw dropped.
Suddenly, Uncle Frank firing the staff, ordering pizza, and making everyone drink out of plastic cups made sense.
He closed the ledger, tucked it under his arm, and brought it to his father. He did not do this to be malicious, but because this was serious shit. Dad and Uncle Rob had a right to know, and Frank sure wasn't going to tell them. He pulled his father aside, handed him the book, and explained what he had found. The color drained from Dad's face, and he nodded. He did not ask how or why Kevin came across this information, and Kevin was grateful.
Good deed for the day done, he went to go wait for Harry and Marv.
After the kids were in bed, the adults met in the sitting room at Peter's request. Frank sat in a wing back leather chair, Kate and Georgette sat on a leather sofa, Leslie sat in another chair, and Peter and Rob stood. "There's something going on here," Peter said. "You've been acting a little off. First you tell us that you fired your staff, then you order pizza for dinner."
Frank chuckled. "What's wrong with pizza? Everyone loves pizza. Even me."
"You have a busted window covered with cardboard," Rob said. "And you have paintings missing off the walls."
The oldest McAllister brother shrugged one shoulder coolly. "We're redecorating."
"What about the wine cellar?" Rob asked. "Where's Dad's wine?"
A flicker of apprehension flickered across Frank's face. He visibly grasped for a response, but came up short.
Peter took out the ledger and held it up, his trump card. "And then there's there."
Now Frank's face went completely pale and he leaned forward so quickly that he nearly fell out of his chair. "Where the hell did you get that?"
"You're bankrupt, Frank," Peter said.
"And so are we," Rob hissed through his teeth.
Leslie burst out crying.
Looking suddenly old and tired, Frank slumped back in his chair. "I didn't mean to," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "It just got away from me. I-I thought it would never run out."
"You blew through millions of dollars?" Rob asked. "Millions?"
Frank raked his hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to," he repeated. He looked up at them. "We didn't realize how bad things were. When you have that kind of money, you stop thinking about it. You get used to it and take it for granted." He pressed his fingertips to his temple. "When I looked at it all, I couldn't believe. I-I thought I was smarter than that."
"You sold everything," Rob said accusingly. "Our father's things -"
"I did it for you," Frank replied. "Where do you think the wine went? My paintings? I sold them so you and Peter could keep getting paid. I barely kept anything for myself. We've been eating Ramen for a week straight. We're selling our vacation houses but no one's buying them. I just…I don't know what to do." He buried his face in his hands and took a deep breath.
Peter and Rob looked at each other. They were both angry with Frank, but he was genuinely upset, and they couldn't help feeling bad for him. Both of them had good jobs that would keep their families well above water. Frank didn't.
Both of them went to their brother and stood with him. "It's alright, Frank," Peter said.
"We'll come up with something," Rob said. "Dad's assets will generate more money. It'll take a long time to build up what it used to be, but we'll get there."
Frank began to cry and his brothers comforted him.
It wouldn't be easy, but they would make it to the other side.
That's what families do.
At 2am, long after the last lights in the mansion went out, Harry, Marv, and Sweet Daddy Brown stole across the unbroken expanse of snow between the mansion and the highway. The storm had let up an hour before and the cloud cover broke, revealing the cold moon and the icy stars that came with it. "Oooh, chile, it cold out here," Sweet Daddy Brown said.
Harry didn't know what his plan was, but he knew one thing: He was going to use Sweet Daddy Brown as a human fucking shield. The big sex offender had no idea what kind of monster they were dealing with here but he was going to find out.
Oh yes he was.
When they reached the front steps, Harry swept out his arm. "You first." He swallowed a bitter rush of bile and added, "Daddy."
Sweet Daddy Brown climbed the stone steps and Harry waited. When he was halfway up, the penitentiary penetrator's feet went out from under him and he fell hard with a big oof. He rolled down the stairs and landed in the snow. Marv dropped to one knee, looking scared. "Daddy, are you okay?"
"I done broke my spine," Sweet Daddy Brown said. "They gon' make me sue 'em."
Next, they went around back. Harry made sure that he and Marv were behind Sweet Daddy so that he could absorb any punishment Kevin had waiting. A loud squeak rent the night, and Harry froze. "Hey, guys, Merry Christmas."
"It's him!" Harry cried.
Without warning, Kevin dumped a bucket of water out a second story window. It splashed all over Sweet Daddy Brown, and the Big Bubba of the Big House let out a shocked gasp. "Lawd almighty, that be cold," he said.
Harry and Marv were hugging each other. Harry shoved Marv away and shook his fist up at Kevin's smiling face. "Wait 'til I get my hands on you, you little shit."
"Come on in," Kevin challenged. "The back door's open."
Sweet Daddy Brown shivered like a big dog. "I sho nuff could use some warmin' up. Marv, bring yo sweet ass over here."
"I got you covered," Kevin said.
As if on cue, Harry noticed a five foot tall snowman nearby. It pivoted around with a metallic sound, as if perched on a pedestal, and its coal grin seemed endlessly wicked and evil. Something poked out its stomach, and at the last second, Harry realized what it was.
A cannon.
With a hollow whump, a flame leapt out and engulfed Sweet Daddy Brown. Sweet Daddy Brown screamed and wheeled around like a human torch. He fell to the ground and rolled around in the snow, extinguishing the fire. Marv ran over and rolled him over. His eyebrows were burned off, his clothes were charred, and smoke rose from him in little puffs. "That hurt," the hoosegow humper said.
Looks like Sweet Daddy Brown met his match.
Harry grabbed Marv by the back of his jacket and pulled him to his feet. "Come on."
"We can't just leave him," Marv said. "He'll freeze to death."
Harry waved him off. "He has blubber. He's fine."
Marv looked between Harry and Sweet Daddy Brown, torn between enacting his revenge on Kevin McAllister and helping his papi. Finally, he said, "Let's get the little creep."
Leaving the sexual sadist of the slammer to cool his heels in the snow, Harry and Marv went around the side of the house and came to the back porch. They both looked around for traps and proceeded cautiously. Harry made Marv go up the stairs first and followed behind. Harry checked the knob for strings, wires, and anything else out of the ordinary, but found nothing amiss. Harry took up position on one side of the door and motion for Marv to do the same on the other side. Harry reached carefully out, wrapped his hand around the knob, and twisted.
It was open.
He nodded to Marv and began to silently count.
1.
2.
3.
On three, he ripped open the door and a loud blast filled the night. Marv started to go in but Harry held up his hand. A second later, a can of paint tied to a string swung out, and Harry grinned,
You're too predictable, kid, he thought.
Grabbing the can and stopping it mid-swing, Harry ripped it down and tossed it aside. "We're onto you, kid," Harry said and went in. "You can't fool us anymore. Now come here and take your medicine."
The kitchen light snapped on and Harry and Marv both turned to the archway leading into the dining room. A little girl in pigtails and a night dress stood there looking sleepy. "Who are you?" she asked.
"Don't worry about who we are," Harry said, "where's Kevin? We got a present for him."
The little girl repeated herself. "Who are you?"
Marv stepped in front of Harry and held his hand up. "I got this. I'm good with little girls. I got three sisters." He walked over and the little girl tensed, her face darkening. "Hi. sweetie. My name is Marv. We're here to see Kev -"
The word cut off in a high, breathless cry when the little girl socked him in the dick as hard as she could. Marv clutched his wounded weiner and dropped heavily to his knees. The little girl cocked her arm back and judo chopped his head. Felt like a fucking ax splitting a piece of firewood. He slumped to the floor and his eyes rolled back into his head, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Harry almost expected to see two black Xs on his eyelids. The little girl lifted her head and fixed Harry with a withering gaze.
"That's it," he said, "I'm done fucking around with kids." He reached into his coat and fumbled with the gun. Someone called his name from behind him, and he spun on his heels. Kevin McAllister grinned at him.
He was holding a shovel.
It came down in a deadly arc before Harry could react. The flat end slammed into his face and dazzling white light burst in the center of his head. He felt muscles and tendons tearing in his jaw and tasted hot blood before he had even fallen. Kevin McAllister stood triumphantly over him, and Harry joined Marv in unconciousness.
Just before daybreak, Uncle Frank's mansion swarmed with cops and ambulances. Marv sat in the back of a cop car with his hands cuffed behind his back and his head down in shame. A team of paramedics loaded Sweet Daddy Brown into the back of an ambulance. "Oooh, chile, my finger tips tinglin' fo' sho."
"That's just the frost bite," one of the medics said.
Two cops wrestled Harry out the door. The McAllister family stood around watching in shock. "I'll kill you all!" Harry raged through his broken jaw. "As soon as i get out, you're all fuckin' dead!"
From what Kevin heard later on, he and Marv got an extra fifteen years in prison for escape, breaking and entering, weapons charges, grand theft auto, and attempted assault. By the time they got out, they'd been too old and feeble to do anything to Kevin.
Hahahahaha.
The family banded together and helped Frank and Leslie with their debt. They sold their vacation home, their house, and one of their cars, and bought a smaller house. They lived comfortably while the estate's coffers regenerated, but they were decidedly the poorest of the McAllister clan, a fact that Kevin never let his bratty cousins forget.
He couldn't lie, he was going to miss Marv and Harry.
Maybe next Christmas, he'd go visit them.
In fact…that's exactly what he was going to do.
One of my favorite writers has always been Stephen King. I haven't read him in years and - for reasons - don't plan to read him, but for a while, I was a huge fan. One thing he did very poorly for a while was write black characters. Idk what his newer books are like, but in the older ones, his black characters were pure cringe. I'm convinced that SK had never met a black person until he already had a few bestsellers under his belt.
I decided to make fun of that with Sweet Daddy Brown. The character is funny to me because it's so retarded. So no, I wasn't being racist. Plz don't cancel me.