One Must Always Believe.
A one shot by J.L.Marketis.
Dedicated to Breeze.'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house…
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
Or so it should have been, Mr Smith thought, after hearing a very loud bump in the night. Sitting up in his bed Smith gazed through the dark, his room barely lit by a crack in the curtain. Outside the snow was floating elegantly towards the ground like flower petals from a child’s hand. Surely he was just imagining it. Some childish fantasy revived long after it should have died.
Thud.
He was wide-awake now, and that was not imagined. Someone was downstairs. Climbing to his feet Smith stumbled and tumbled about in the black, until his hands finally gripped the cold hard metal of his shooting tool. Of all the days to be robbed. Christmas Eve? There was no justice in this world.
Leaving his beautiful wife asleep in the cosy bed, Mr Smith, a successful and wealthy businessman, snuck down the long hall towards the top of the stairs. A floorboard creaked under his weight but there was no stopping him now. He was going to protect his property and show this thief a thing or two about
Christmas spirit.
Stepping down the stairs slowly Smith entered into the bright moonlight as it shinned through his stain glass window. A masterpiece if he didn’t say so himself. He took a moment to look at the portrait of Jesus in coloured glass before continuing on, under the hanging decorations and towards the living room.
The shifting of large objects and two feet were louder as Smith moved behind the door. Peaking a large white eyeball through the gap between wall and door, Smith made out the intruder near his Christmas tree.
He was going for the goods. Standing in the moonlight the guy looked rather fat. There was no way he was escaping.
Jumping out from his hiding spot Smith called out. The intruder turned round and freaked at the sight of the branded weapon and the next few instances were a blur. As far as Smith could recall the fat man had tried to attack. He had certainly made a good run towards Mr Smith who stood in the doorway next to the fireplace.
The result of it all was
self-defence. Smith had released two shells, both of which had impacted the fat man directly in the forehead. Clambering in the darkness Smith went for the light switch, which revealed a pool of blood around the man, who had taken the ‘original’ steps to dress in a Santa outfit.
Pathetic Smith sneered.
It was a few minutes after the gunshots, while the businessman was still deliberating quite how to explain this to the police when he realised just how cold the room had become. The bright yellow glow from the chandelier had turned into a rather mellow blue as the temperature plummeted way into negative figures.
And… was that ice forming on the roof? It was. Smith gassed wide-eyed as giant icicles dropped and froze in position above his living room. But that wasn’t all. His prize Christmas tree was rotting away before his very eyes and the carpet was being covered in millions of cockroaches. Smith stamped on them forcefully, causing a rather satisfying crunch which only resulted in a thousand more crawling out from beneath his feet.
Smith was very aware of the looming figure behind him as the wallpaper began to sag and fall away from the walls. Mist ploomed out of his mouth as the wealthy businessman breathed heavily in the ice-cold temperature.
Mr Smith was frozen on the spot as the figure stepped inside the room and walked towards the dead fat man. His body was covered in a thick moth eaten black cloak and he carried a rather menacing Scythe.
“You did this?” A deep voice emitted from the figure as he looked down upon the fat man.
Smith tried to reply. He wanted to. He wanted to explain himself. Why he had taken away the life of another human being. And he had a very good damn excuse lined up as well. But he couldn’t. His mouth was metaphorically, as well as literally frozen closed.
The dark figure sighed deeply.
“Children will awake tomorrow, only to have their childhoods ripped from their soles. Because tomorrow, the spirit of Christmas ends. Not with a bang, but with a whimper. Mr Smith, you did not just throw away your own belief, but you took away everyone else’s.”
The cloaked figure turned into the moonlight to face Smith. As their eyes met the businessman saw something he could never explain to anyone. He saw and he felt the pain of those kids all at once. Millions upon millions of broken dreams all inside an instance.
“The human race has today doomed itself to unimaginable misery. All because you couldn’t believe.”
Smith watched open mouth as the fat mans body and the cloaked figure vanished before him in a second. One blink, and they were gone. Looking around, his beautiful living room felt warm again as the clock on the mantelpiece chimed midnight.
Maybe it was all a dream, he thought, as he walked back to bed.
Belief in Christmas. What rubbish. Arriving in his bedroom however, was the most unthinkable destruction and gore ever to grace planet Earth.
Smith’s large chested, gangly body wife hung from a nose above the bed and a solid icicle dripped blood where it had been plunged straight into her chest. Across the walls, written in her blood, were four words, repeated over and over. Four words Smith would take to his grave.
One Must Always Believe.---
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
content
okay
bouncy
annoyed
