Red Christmas
2: Innocence, Meet My Wrath

My boots crush the snow beneath my feet, and as a frigid wind blows, I pull up my jacket to cover my chest. Shivering, I finally come to the only house with the lights off in the neighborhood. It's nine at night, safe to say anyone in the house is asleep.

I know who this house belongs to, and I'm proven right when I wipe the snow and ice from the window with a red-gloved hand, and peer inside.

The rabbit and slave are home along with that mutant fox, piled up in a tangle of cream and orange fur and blue limbs, a disgustingly adorable sight. From here, I can tell they're already deep into slumber. I can already see the lop-eared rabbit dead, hear her screams, maybe even taste her blood…

But by certain standards, that would make me insane. So, I'll revel in her death without consumption.

I venture around to the front of the house, suspiciously eyeing the neighbor's houses for anyone who may spot me. Good, it looks like everyone else is busy partying. That means Christmas is still good for something.

Crunch, crunch, crunch - tap. I glance down, and realize that I'm on their concrete path to the porch. Feeling brave, I decide to stroll right down it - only to run across a patch of black ice in mid-step. My leg abruptly slips out from under me, and I land on my back pretty damn hard - with a small yelp, of course.

"Christ!" I lay there for a moment, staring up at the moonless sky - must have been cloudy - and heave a huge, calming sigh. I can't go in there all disgruntled, that means less fun.

Well, once I'm ready to, I stand up again and walk to the door, more careful in my approach this time.

Once I'm at the front door, I smirk, and bend over.

"If you come and the door's locked, there's a key under the mat," she'd always tell me in that throaty little high-pitched voice. Dumb girl, I'd be within five minutes of leaving and she'd remind me, which always set me back another five. Now I'm kind of thankful that she never shut up about it.

Pull up the doormat - it's a bit of a struggle since it's almost sealed to the ground by ice and snow, but nothing I can't overcome. Once the battle has been won, I throw the mat aside and look down at the space it occupied. As always, the rabbit has been true to her word; beneath the mat lays a single silver key, glimmering in the moonlight and just begging me to pick it up. I do so.

It obviously wants me succeed in my mission, so who am I to deny its wishes?

I almost literally peel it up from the ground and lean towards the doorknob, jiggling it before I insert the corresponding piece into the keyhole. One turn for the key, another for the doorknob; the door comes open. I'm in, and there's no turning back.

I close the door, and now starts the stealthy trek down the hallway. I stop and look back for a moment. Heh, I'm tracking snow in. Fortunately, my winter boots are mass-produced, so I've no worries of being caught.

Once I'm in the kitchen, I survey my choice of munitions.

Knives? No, too much mess and manual labor involved in stabbing.

A pot? Easy to wield, but makes too much noise.

Hmm…

I scan the kitchen for anything that interests me. Kitchen sink, plates, scouring pad.

No.

Bare countertop, Tupperware bowl, fork, skillet – skillet? Ooh, glorious day. My eyes fixate themselves on the metal piece of kitchenware, while the corners of my mouth twist up into a bizarre, crooked smile.

I leave it there, but stand in the doorway, hissing the doe's name. The snores of the mutant almost drown out my calls, but thanks to the rabbit's massive ears, she hears it just fine.

"Cream." A twitch.

"Cream, wake up!" This time, her head tilts up and she gives me one of the most zombie-like groans I've ever heard in reply.

Tails rolls over when she stands up and opens her mouth to a ridiculous proportion, and yawns. Loudly. The fox sits up a bit in confusion, and I casually stand in the doorway.

"Miles, go back to sleep, everything is fine." She coaxes him back onto his side and he's fast asleep within a few minutes. Damn, all that time wasted just to make him sleep?

Oh well. Now that that's over, it's time for me to make my move.

I motion for Cream to follow me into the kitchen and she questions not, and while I have my back turned, I struggle to turn my lips up into a grin that probably looks more like a grimace. They say smiling makes you sound happy, no matter how you really feel. It's either true, or the rabbit is even dumber than I thought, since she suspects nothing.

"So, how are your grades?"

The next thing I know, everything she says is drowned out as I reach for the skillet with slow, dexterous fingers. She stops short, and I can feel her giving me one of those looks.

"What are you doing?"

"Making good use of your brains."

Swing. The skillet makes a dull ringing sound, and she cries out as she's sent to the floor, stunned by the force of the blow. There's a massive, bleeding dent in the side of her head, and she doesn't get up. One of her eyes has popped out of the socket and is dangling freely. I don't think she's still alive, but I hit her again… just to be sure.

Who the hell am I kidding? This is a damn good way to have fun.

This time, the kitchenware hits the center of her face with another resonating sound, and I hear a satisfying crunch. Bone is crushed and mingles with flesh, and blood rains over the floor and down her face like tears. That dangling eye pops in a spectacular display of exploding red and ooze, and half of her teeth are now shattered and free from her torn up and bloody gums. Do I dare stop?

Hell no.

Another swing. This time, there's another crunch and her jaw is knocked free.

Another blow to the head. Another dangling eye.

Again.

And again.

And again.

By the time I'm done, her face is unrecognizable. I've been washed over with red, and the cabinets and walls are decorated with her young blood and bone. There are unbroken loose teeth scattered all over the place, too.

Satisfaction.

I drop the mess of a skillet on the floor, not caring about the noise I've made, and cram my fingers into an indentation on the top of the dead rabbit's head. Driven by animalistic - or could it be insane? - nature, I struggle with it but eventually the crown comes apart with a wet, cracking sound. Beautiful.

Now that youthful mass of flesh is visible to me. It's slightly battered, but it will have to do. I nonchalantly scoop it out, and toss it into the skillet. The skillet goes onto the stove. Turn on the eye – set to low, and leave.

I'll need it later.

As I walk into the living room where the others lie, I can't help but paint the walls red with my blood-coated fingers. I can see the fox trembling as I take my lean in the doorway, and stare.

I just stare.There's an appropriate twist of a grin that manifests itself within a matter of a few seconds, though.

Oh, innocent mutant boy... There's so much work to be done.

Mmm, so much.

-

Risen, 2007