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Carnage House

– this is your trigger warning

Saint Krampus of Claws

by Josh Darling

THE TOILET LOOKED AS if a dead animal exploded over it. Vomit and feces covered the seat and floor where porcelain connected to tile. With each snort of cocaine came a bouquet of bile and shit. He twisted the bag closed, securing his 8 ball. The coke in the baggy looked like a tiny white mouse, a Christmas mouse at that.

The drug hitting his system spread A Holly Jolly Christmas feeling from within. Exiting the stall, he saw a little person in an elf costume using the children's urinal.

“Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!” He bellowed as they headed to the sinks to wash their hands.

“You spend your whole paycheck on blow Santa?”

“Little louder, dick.”

“In Europe, they'd say the Krampus will get you for doing that.”

“What?”

“The Krampus is a German legend, a Christmas demon kind of thing. It punishes bad children, it’s not real of course.”

Santa felt his little helper’s tone condescending, “They say dwarfs aren't real either but looky here it’s Dildo Baggins.”

The word dwarf made Johnny B. flinch. “It's not cool doing that shit around kids, what the fuck is wrong with you?” He soaped his hands and scrubbed them under the running faucet.

“Fuck you dwarf, you don't know me, you don't know what I've been through. I fucking need this.”

“Santa, you gay? Cause you got a hard-on. Clean your face, you piece of shit.” Johnny B. shut off the water, shook his hands dry at the sink, and walked out of the bathroom.

Jim looked at his face in the mirror. Washing the white powder off his nose made his mustache wet and itchy.

Jim owned the real Santa look. His hair had gone white before turning forty. He stopped shaving in August, turning him into St. Nick by November. The beard in the Florida humidity made his face scratchy—an annoyance, but he needed cash.

Looking down, he noticed his erection protruding from the loose fitting red pants. He got coke hardons in the past. He couldn't leave the bathroom with his pole pointing North. He thought of Rosie O'Donnell naked, sweat glistening off her rolls of fat, and what her BO would smell like. If that didn’t work, there was always John Goodman. Images of dicks being cut off by meat cleavers danced through his head.

~~~

Walking to his Santa throne, Jim felt like a rock star. A temporary celebrity, greeted by applause and little girls shrieking, “There's Santa, Oh my God! It's him!” With one hand on his padded belly, the other waving, he smiled and boomed, “Ho! Ho! Ho!”

The first child Johnny B. brought to him was a screaming five-year-old boy. The child's eyes full of tears, bucking, trying to escape his mother’s grasp, he feared Santa. The fit began from the pressure of meeting this awesome celebrity. His anxiety compounded by Mom’s threats of what would happen if she didn’t get a good photo. Additional tears came from the embarrassment of crying in front of the great and powerful Claus.

Mom’s athletic frame and gravity defying fake breasts awed Santa. Clutching the screeching child, she forced it onto his knee. Leaning in to threaten a time-out, her cleavage budged out of her low cut tank top. Santa focused on her large plumping breasts with light blue veins under the surface of narcotic white flesh. She looked like a high priced stripper or call girl. He wondered how to negotiate a good time with her.

“Scumbag,” She yanked the child off his lap and yelled, “SANTA HAS A HARD ON!”

He looked down at the tent between his legs. Loud chatter and laughter came from the line of waiting children and parents who aimed cellphones at him, snapping photos, and recording video.

Someone muttered "Child molester…"

Jim was certain the comment came from Johnny B.

Santa covered his face with his hands trying to protect himself from recording cellphones and laughter. He knew this would go viral and destroy him. As Santa stood, the crowd roared at the profile of his wang.

He ran.

Dashing passed Spencer’s Gifts, The Cinnabon, and the other useless crap stores.

Blitzing through shoppers.

Sprinting out of the mall.

He stopped at his bus stop on the far side of the mall’s parking lot. With his hands on his knees, he gasped, catching his breath. He was grateful for the cloudy sky, rare in Florida. Even with the sun behind clouds, the humidity made him sweat through his padding. He reached for the 8 ball in his pocket and snorted a fast bump. Instead of a rush, he felt woozy. Lurching forward, he vomited his Taco Bell breakfast onto the pavement.

The upside to the sweat and nausea is the stink kept people from sitting next to him on the bus.

~~~

Outside his trailer, Jim heard his TV. He wondered if he should call the cops then realized he left his phone in his work locker.

He opened his unlocked door.

Something sat on his couch playing his Xbox.

“Whoa, what the fuck are you doing in my home?”

“Chill man, I'm the Krampus, have a seat Santa.”

He closed the door behind him and sat next to the furry man-beast with horns. Its smell reminded him of petting zoo goats.

“I've been trying to beat this level for hours.”

Jim reached for the 8 ball and dipped his pinky into the bag for a hit.

“Can I get at that?” The creature asked. Before Jim could answer, it had a claw in the bag. It inhaled the white powder on the tip of its talon, “That is not the cheap stuff, jeez…”

“No shit, I get it from one of the kids at the Hot Topic in the mall.”

“Kids man … fucking kids … hey, want a lap-dance?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He expected the creature to take him to a strip club, instead, it paused the video game and stood. Its hair fell out revealing a perfect female body—large breasts, tiny waist, and wide hips. Fur remained on the creature’s claws and demonic face.

He didn't know how to tell the creature despite its hot body he didn't want the lap dance. It spread his legs and began dancing in front of him. It turned, giving him a face full of buttocks. The creature began grinding on him. It turned again and he raised his hands to feel its breasts. Making contact, it growled “NO TOUCHING!” Digging its claws on both of his knees, it spread his legs wide open and in one sudden chomp, bit down. Its teeth ripped the fabric between his thighs and took his dick and balls as well.

Jim screamed. He grabbed the meaty hole in his crotch, blood spurting from it like water pistol shots. The Krampus, grinning, swallowed the member. It skipped around the room, dancing and singing, “I killed Santa, I killed Santa.”


About the Story:
I thought it would be a fun way to torture the editorial staff if they all wrote some "Holiday Horror" and this is my contribution.

I wrote this back in 2015 when I was living in Florida --the most un-Christmas-ish place on earth. It's hot, it's gross, and everyone goes to the malls, and I wanted to capture that feeling. I don't know if I'd call the story "splatter" or "extreme horror." I wrote it as a kind of Xmas card. My way of saying "Happy Holidays."