Santa's Claws(Short Story)
folder
DarkFic › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,316
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
DarkFic › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,316
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Perfect Strangers (Short Story)
Author's Note-Please, Please review. I write faster when I know someone's reading.
“Get in the car.”
It was Breanna’s first day of first grade and she could still feel the wind from the classroom door when she heard the squeal of the tires stop. Breanna had not stepped more than a half block when she gruff voice said again, “Get in the car. I’ll drive you home.”
Breanna gripped her older brother’s hand. His name was Michael and he walked her home from school, now that she started, after he got out of the grown up junior high school. “Let’s go,” he whispered into her ear. This was an exercise in itself since he was a foot taller than her three foot frame. As they stood on the cement walkway she noticed for the first time that his afro-ed head, that looked like it had black brillo pads growing from the roots, was as big as the sun. “We aren’t allowed to take no rides, Mister.” Michael placed his right hand on his slender waist that he and his sister both inherited from their mother. He narrowed his eyes into the car at the man to show that he meant business. His eyes that sat too close on his face and were almond shaped, giving off the impression that his family had Asian or Hispanic blood in their family. His sister had identical eyes and she stared at the hubcaps of the car as his hand tightened hers and she smoothed out her blue dress.
Her good blue dress; a dress that was littered with yellow flowers throughout the background and seemed to go on for days in her mind when it really stopped just below her knees. Mama made it just for her first day of school. “But it’s so hot, Michael.”
“We’re not allowed to take no rides from strangers. Mama said, Breanna.” Michael stated firmly while he held her hand tight and hovered her body away from Mister’s car. “No thanks, Mister.”
She could barely see into the window of the ragged Chevrolet that had stopped on the side of her and Michael so close to school. She twirled her braided hair playfully around her finger as she stood on tip-toes to get a better look at Mister in her shiny, black, closed toed shoes. They looked like tap shoes, but tap shoes were too expensive. So, Mama said if she got these instead she could sprinkle salt on the floor as long as she cleaned it up when she was finished.
The sun steadily beamed down on her head that Mama licked petroleum jelly through this morning. Squinting through the sun beams and still on tip toes Breanna saw his face.
Big dents that looked like craters on the moon littered his fat cheeks and pimples from puberty still danced across his face. His lips were easily big enough to take up half of her face and descended up into a black and gray peppered mustache.
“You’re ugly.”
“Hush, Breanna!”
“That’s such a fresh little mouth on such a pretty little girl. The prettiest little girl in all of Memphis maybe.” Mister made a gesture toward his thigh with his fat meaty arms.
“His arms jiggle like Jello. They make me hungry,” Breanna whispered toward Michael. His forehead furrowed into little lines that looked liked ripples in a puddle. Sort of like how he looked the last time he was constipated. “My feet hurt.” She stated loudly so Mister could hear from his big castle car. She wanted his attention.
“Breanna Watkins! Mama said you havta listen to me. You wanna get whooped again like last time you didn’t listen?” Michael tugged at her arm while he wiped beads of sweat from his large forehead.
“That’s different! You wanted to cut my pigtails off-!”
Michael bumped her side with his hip and they began to walk away from the cherry colored car. Even with the green grass that trailed on the side of the cement side walk and the warm seventy degree sun that beat down on her honey brown skin the car gave off a chilly breeze as Mister followed them.
“My name is Emmit Brown. Just think of me as your neighborly, jolly ol’ fat Santa Claus.” The words tumbled from his mouth as if he alone spoke the language of poetry and no one else remembered how to write it. Each word was slick and rancid, but sugar coated with enough honey to put Johnny Cochran to shame.
“See Michael! This guy knows Santa?” Breanna flicked her braids like the big girls, with the chests, that Michael sometimes watched on television when he thought Mama wasn’t around. “Can you ask Santa how come he always skips our house on Christmas, Mr. Emma?”
“It’s Emmit.” His voice came out raspy and choked to her. Like phlegm that sat in the back of his throat that he just couldn’t cough up. “And if you get in the car yourself I can drive you to the North Pole personally. We’re cousins ya know? Me and good ol’ Saint Nicky are like brothers.” Mister gave off a final grunt. Close to the grunt her parents made behind closed doors when they thought her and Michael were in bed. Mister’s hand again drifted down to pat some imaginary spot too close to his thigh.
Breanna puffed her cheeks and pursed her strawberry colored lips as if she were ready to kiss. “Watchu think I’m stupid or something? Everybody knows you can’t drive to da North Pole!”
“Breanna!” Michael grabbed her arm and marched them the last twenty feet down the row of small one to two bedroom houses to their own door.
Although, to call the homes houses was a stretch in itself. They were little more than large shacks with a fresh coat of paint placed on thirty feet by thirty feet patches of land. There were no steps that lead to the front door and the gray slated roofs were slanted to the left which made the identical homes look even smaller than they actually were.
“Mama!” Michael let his sister’s hand drop by her side. “Come on, Breanna! Mama’s waiting at the door.” Michael ran to the hem of his Mother’s skirt.
Their mother’s neatly pressed and curled hair laid at her shoulders. Her children had inherited her skin tone and eyes that sat too close together on her face. Her brow wrinkled in the same way Michael’s had at the car creeping next to her daughter. “Breanna Watkins! Get in this house now!”
Breanna nodded as she made her way across the overgrown grassy lawn. Her and her brother’s bicycles, Barbie’s, and tweaked up versions of the original Power Ranger’s littered the lawn.
“Breanna!”
Breanna hesitated enough to get caught underneath the glare of his adult authority. She had to turn around. He was a million years older than her. “Yeah, Mister?”
“Do you still want to meet Santa?”
Her eyes lit up and glittered with the glow of some cheesy robot anime that sometimes caused seizures; bright with flecks of color only children could generate. “Yeah!”
“How about we meet after school tomorrow before your brother comes? I’ll take you to see my cousin Santa and some other really nice elves. You can ask them all of the questions you want to.”
“Breanna, get over here now!”
Breanna turned back to her mother and then to Mister. “Okay, Mister. If you can get there before my brother, I’ll go.” With that Breanna turned and rushed off to her mother’s side along with her brother.
“You know what I said about talking to strangers, Breanna!” Her mother’s voice bellowed with the bass of en entire church choir. It was the voice a mother who sometimes had to take on the responsibilities of a father.
“Oh, Mama that wasn’t a stranger. It was Santa’s cousin.”
??
??
??
??
“Get in the car.”
It was Breanna’s first day of first grade and she could still feel the wind from the classroom door when she heard the squeal of the tires stop. Breanna had not stepped more than a half block when she gruff voice said again, “Get in the car. I’ll drive you home.”
Breanna gripped her older brother’s hand. His name was Michael and he walked her home from school, now that she started, after he got out of the grown up junior high school. “Let’s go,” he whispered into her ear. This was an exercise in itself since he was a foot taller than her three foot frame. As they stood on the cement walkway she noticed for the first time that his afro-ed head, that looked like it had black brillo pads growing from the roots, was as big as the sun. “We aren’t allowed to take no rides, Mister.” Michael placed his right hand on his slender waist that he and his sister both inherited from their mother. He narrowed his eyes into the car at the man to show that he meant business. His eyes that sat too close on his face and were almond shaped, giving off the impression that his family had Asian or Hispanic blood in their family. His sister had identical eyes and she stared at the hubcaps of the car as his hand tightened hers and she smoothed out her blue dress.
Her good blue dress; a dress that was littered with yellow flowers throughout the background and seemed to go on for days in her mind when it really stopped just below her knees. Mama made it just for her first day of school. “But it’s so hot, Michael.”
“We’re not allowed to take no rides from strangers. Mama said, Breanna.” Michael stated firmly while he held her hand tight and hovered her body away from Mister’s car. “No thanks, Mister.”
She could barely see into the window of the ragged Chevrolet that had stopped on the side of her and Michael so close to school. She twirled her braided hair playfully around her finger as she stood on tip-toes to get a better look at Mister in her shiny, black, closed toed shoes. They looked like tap shoes, but tap shoes were too expensive. So, Mama said if she got these instead she could sprinkle salt on the floor as long as she cleaned it up when she was finished.
The sun steadily beamed down on her head that Mama licked petroleum jelly through this morning. Squinting through the sun beams and still on tip toes Breanna saw his face.
Big dents that looked like craters on the moon littered his fat cheeks and pimples from puberty still danced across his face. His lips were easily big enough to take up half of her face and descended up into a black and gray peppered mustache.
“You’re ugly.”
“Hush, Breanna!”
“That’s such a fresh little mouth on such a pretty little girl. The prettiest little girl in all of Memphis maybe.” Mister made a gesture toward his thigh with his fat meaty arms.
“His arms jiggle like Jello. They make me hungry,” Breanna whispered toward Michael. His forehead furrowed into little lines that looked liked ripples in a puddle. Sort of like how he looked the last time he was constipated. “My feet hurt.” She stated loudly so Mister could hear from his big castle car. She wanted his attention.
“Breanna Watkins! Mama said you havta listen to me. You wanna get whooped again like last time you didn’t listen?” Michael tugged at her arm while he wiped beads of sweat from his large forehead.
“That’s different! You wanted to cut my pigtails off-!”
Michael bumped her side with his hip and they began to walk away from the cherry colored car. Even with the green grass that trailed on the side of the cement side walk and the warm seventy degree sun that beat down on her honey brown skin the car gave off a chilly breeze as Mister followed them.
“My name is Emmit Brown. Just think of me as your neighborly, jolly ol’ fat Santa Claus.” The words tumbled from his mouth as if he alone spoke the language of poetry and no one else remembered how to write it. Each word was slick and rancid, but sugar coated with enough honey to put Johnny Cochran to shame.
“See Michael! This guy knows Santa?” Breanna flicked her braids like the big girls, with the chests, that Michael sometimes watched on television when he thought Mama wasn’t around. “Can you ask Santa how come he always skips our house on Christmas, Mr. Emma?”
“It’s Emmit.” His voice came out raspy and choked to her. Like phlegm that sat in the back of his throat that he just couldn’t cough up. “And if you get in the car yourself I can drive you to the North Pole personally. We’re cousins ya know? Me and good ol’ Saint Nicky are like brothers.” Mister gave off a final grunt. Close to the grunt her parents made behind closed doors when they thought her and Michael were in bed. Mister’s hand again drifted down to pat some imaginary spot too close to his thigh.
Breanna puffed her cheeks and pursed her strawberry colored lips as if she were ready to kiss. “Watchu think I’m stupid or something? Everybody knows you can’t drive to da North Pole!”
“Breanna!” Michael grabbed her arm and marched them the last twenty feet down the row of small one to two bedroom houses to their own door.
Although, to call the homes houses was a stretch in itself. They were little more than large shacks with a fresh coat of paint placed on thirty feet by thirty feet patches of land. There were no steps that lead to the front door and the gray slated roofs were slanted to the left which made the identical homes look even smaller than they actually were.
“Mama!” Michael let his sister’s hand drop by her side. “Come on, Breanna! Mama’s waiting at the door.” Michael ran to the hem of his Mother’s skirt.
Their mother’s neatly pressed and curled hair laid at her shoulders. Her children had inherited her skin tone and eyes that sat too close together on her face. Her brow wrinkled in the same way Michael’s had at the car creeping next to her daughter. “Breanna Watkins! Get in this house now!”
Breanna nodded as she made her way across the overgrown grassy lawn. Her and her brother’s bicycles, Barbie’s, and tweaked up versions of the original Power Ranger’s littered the lawn.
“Breanna!”
Breanna hesitated enough to get caught underneath the glare of his adult authority. She had to turn around. He was a million years older than her. “Yeah, Mister?”
“Do you still want to meet Santa?”
Her eyes lit up and glittered with the glow of some cheesy robot anime that sometimes caused seizures; bright with flecks of color only children could generate. “Yeah!”
“How about we meet after school tomorrow before your brother comes? I’ll take you to see my cousin Santa and some other really nice elves. You can ask them all of the questions you want to.”
“Breanna, get over here now!”
Breanna turned back to her mother and then to Mister. “Okay, Mister. If you can get there before my brother, I’ll go.” With that Breanna turned and rushed off to her mother’s side along with her brother.
“You know what I said about talking to strangers, Breanna!” Her mother’s voice bellowed with the bass of en entire church choir. It was the voice a mother who sometimes had to take on the responsibilities of a father.
“Oh, Mama that wasn’t a stranger. It was Santa’s cousin.”
??
??
??
??