Christmas Presence

Stepping from the fireplace, I slip my bag from my shoulder, flop it onto a... rather ugly overstuffed recliner, and groan.

Five hundred thousand down, and... 

I wave a hand through the air, gold sparks flicker into a list floating before my face, but I still have to squint to read the elven letters bobbing slightly before my eyes.

...fifty six thousand to go. 

I take in the tree, the stacks of presents, the candles, and garland decorating the room. 

Snarling, I swipe the list from existence. It doesn't make sense. This family went all out. Clearly, they aren't in need, seem to have a happy home, and still, here I am.

I twist around to stretch out a kink between my shoulder blades. Now, if they were poor, or there was some sign of trouble, then I could understand.

But that's not my job. 

My back pops and I snatch the bag from the chair. 

"Christmas," I snort.

Every year it's the same. House to house, eating until I can barely move, and then it's back to the north pole until next year. For all time.

Ah, well. At least the food is good.

Extending my middle finger, I draw the slight circle and intersecting lines of a sound dampening spell. 

The marks shimmer, the air pulses around me like ripples on a pond, and they fade away.

There. I heft the bag over my shoulder and sniff the air. 

Nutmeg, cinnamon... and the soft scent of sulfur. My gaze jumps to the ceiling. 

Hmm. He's Upstairs. Great.

Sighing, I scratch the fur at my neck and force my tired legs into motion.

The stairs thunk dully under my steps, the sound muted by the spell.  Even the creaky door on the eigh year old's bedroom barely makes a sound as I struggle to get through, and close it behind me.

No one else can hear anything. Even in the bubble, sound is dim,  but the child still snorts when I click the lock.

I freeze, holding my breath.

He rolls over onto his side and his breathing sinks into its slow deep rhythm.

Good. 

I smile, letting my breath go. If he woke now it would spoil the surprise.

Quietly as I can, I slip the bag from my back, lower it to the floor, and reach inside. 

My hand closes around the gift he deserves,  and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. I'll bet he never expected this.

Stepping to the side of his bed, I lift my flail high, and roar, "Zachary Small!" And bring it down on the sleeping boy with all my strength.

The boy jerks awake just as my whip strikes his face. A gash opens on his cheek. He screams, and crawls for the edge of the bed. The next swing catches him across the back, knocking him flat. A red stripe soaks through his pajamas. 

He curls into a ball screaming as I thrash him across his arms, head, legs... over and over until blood streaks the walls and ceiling. Until he loses consciousness. Until my arm tires.

Only then do I turn toward the door and whisper, "You've been naughty."

Licking the blood from the fur around my wrist, I lean down to stuff the whip back into my bag, when a soft tingle echoes in my ear. 

My tail flicks. "Yes? Krampus here, what is it?"

"Sorry, Krampus, DeeDee made the list, and well, you know how he is..."

"Yes, yes," I snicker. A new thinker. He doesn't approve of my job. Thinks naughty children can be reformed by love and understanding.  Bah! The idiocy... "What's the problem this time?"

"Anyway, Zachary was VERY naughty.  Bad, actually.  Evil, almost."

"Was he now?" I purr, licking my lips as I glare back at my next,freshly tenderized, meal. "Thank you for letting me know. Oh, and merry Christmas my elven freind."

Now, where did that nutmeg smell come from, I wonder....