writers_muses Prompt 68
It was the night before Christmas and all through the house not a creature was stirring. Not even a mouse. Not even the owners.
(There had been a knock at the door while they were putting out a carrot for Rudolph, and, although none of the assembled adults remembered inviting ‘cousin Drusilla’ to spend the night, they’d invited her inside without really thinking about it.)
“You didn’t get a present for Princess,” she chastised the woman sitting in the armchair, oozing blood awkwardly from a wound at her throat, “That’s very bad manners. I shan’t give you a present now.”
Examining another labelled box from her seat at the bottom of the Christmas tree, the vampire sighed and tossed the gift to one side. There was a tingle of broken glass from inside and the wrapping paper flashed silver in the light from the dying fire.
“Don’t worry,” she added, “I’m sure Father Christmas will bring me something beautiful. Saint Nicholas has a sack full of coal. Must shine his shoes before coming down the chimney, or he won’t fit.”
The father of the family groaned weakly, and Drusilla ignored him. She seemed to be talking to everybody in the world, or, failing that, to nobody but herself. It didn’t matter, really, since she didn’t expect a reply.
“It’s starting to snow. The whole world will be covered in a blanket soon. It’ll have to hold it’s breath until March comes again. Do you like Christmas carols? Mama would sing them to me and Anne would hang pieces of holly above the door to keep the pixies away. I can’t remember the words now. Good King Wenceslas last looked out, on the feast of Stephen. I wonder why he wasn’t allowed to have a feast for himself? Perhaps he was naughty. Mama would cook us goose and Spike would always find us a beautiful little girl to eat. And Christmas pudding. That was always my favourite.”
Absently, she straightened up, crumbling the mince pie so diligently left for Father Christmas between her fingers as she walked towards the window.
“He can’t eat that,” she said, “It’s bad for him. It’ll taste like the nasty auntie in the upstairs bedroom, and then he’ll be in no mood to deliver presents. Rude little girls will find coal in their stockings, and no pretty dresses.”
Sitting down on the couch next to the grandfather, Drusilla started to hum snatches of different carols. ‘Silent Night’ was swallowed up by the twinkling lights on the tree, and ‘Jingle Bells’ drifted out towards the window, eventually failing to reach the frosted glass.
“Poor little thing,” she murmured, “They won’t play with you once Christmas is over. You’re going to be all alone again. You don’t need them. They can’t even see. Come they told me, pa rum pum pum pum. Run away before the monster comes. I was going to be a good little girl this year, but I can't remember how to be good. I even left Grandmother all alone. It wasn't my fault. The stars told me to go. My brother is coming. I’m going to bring him gold and frankincense and myrrh, and we can dance while the sun goes out."
Leaning across, she adjusted the paper hat the youngest child was wearing. It slipped down over his sightless eyes, and Drusilla shook her head impatiently.
“There’s always next year. I can’t be good. Daddy would be disappointed. Angel would be pleased, but Daddy would be disappointed."
Another pause.
"Would you like some Christmas pudding?"
Prompt: “At Christmas play and make good cheer, for Christmas comes but once a year.”
Word Count: 593
(There had been a knock at the door while they were putting out a carrot for Rudolph, and, although none of the assembled adults remembered inviting ‘cousin Drusilla’ to spend the night, they’d invited her inside without really thinking about it.)
“You didn’t get a present for Princess,” she chastised the woman sitting in the armchair, oozing blood awkwardly from a wound at her throat, “That’s very bad manners. I shan’t give you a present now.”
Examining another labelled box from her seat at the bottom of the Christmas tree, the vampire sighed and tossed the gift to one side. There was a tingle of broken glass from inside and the wrapping paper flashed silver in the light from the dying fire.
“Don’t worry,” she added, “I’m sure Father Christmas will bring me something beautiful. Saint Nicholas has a sack full of coal. Must shine his shoes before coming down the chimney, or he won’t fit.”
The father of the family groaned weakly, and Drusilla ignored him. She seemed to be talking to everybody in the world, or, failing that, to nobody but herself. It didn’t matter, really, since she didn’t expect a reply.
“It’s starting to snow. The whole world will be covered in a blanket soon. It’ll have to hold it’s breath until March comes again. Do you like Christmas carols? Mama would sing them to me and Anne would hang pieces of holly above the door to keep the pixies away. I can’t remember the words now. Good King Wenceslas last looked out, on the feast of Stephen. I wonder why he wasn’t allowed to have a feast for himself? Perhaps he was naughty. Mama would cook us goose and Spike would always find us a beautiful little girl to eat. And Christmas pudding. That was always my favourite.”
Absently, she straightened up, crumbling the mince pie so diligently left for Father Christmas between her fingers as she walked towards the window.
“He can’t eat that,” she said, “It’s bad for him. It’ll taste like the nasty auntie in the upstairs bedroom, and then he’ll be in no mood to deliver presents. Rude little girls will find coal in their stockings, and no pretty dresses.”
Sitting down on the couch next to the grandfather, Drusilla started to hum snatches of different carols. ‘Silent Night’ was swallowed up by the twinkling lights on the tree, and ‘Jingle Bells’ drifted out towards the window, eventually failing to reach the frosted glass.
“Poor little thing,” she murmured, “They won’t play with you once Christmas is over. You’re going to be all alone again. You don’t need them. They can’t even see. Come they told me, pa rum pum pum pum. Run away before the monster comes. I was going to be a good little girl this year, but I can't remember how to be good. I even left Grandmother all alone. It wasn't my fault. The stars told me to go. My brother is coming. I’m going to bring him gold and frankincense and myrrh, and we can dance while the sun goes out."
Leaning across, she adjusted the paper hat the youngest child was wearing. It slipped down over his sightless eyes, and Drusilla shook her head impatiently.
“There’s always next year. I can’t be good. Daddy would be disappointed. Angel would be pleased, but Daddy would be disappointed."
Another pause.
"Would you like some Christmas pudding?"
Prompt: “At Christmas play and make good cheer, for Christmas comes but once a year.”
Word Count: 593