Holiday Snaps

Holiday Snaps.

         Relatives. They all stay over at our house for Christmas, Christ's day of birth, and Boxing Day. It's tradition, and we have the largest house. Especially since Dad died.

         Now that the big dinner is finished we've all crowded into the lounge room, having tea and mince pies and boiled lollies and sherry. Aunty Margot's sitting opposite me with a pie in one hand and a cigarette in the other, dropping crumbs and ash on her new red dress. She thinks it looks festive, but because she is so big and the dress is so shiny she just looks like a bauble. Her blonde-grey hair was tied in a bun but now it's starting to fray, and strands of her fine tresses are drifting around her face like tentacles.

         She keeps talking to me about her son, Matt, as if he were not sitting beside her and wolfing down the lollies. He is short and spotty and takes after Dad's side of the family. Dad would have hated Matt. All he does is sniff and eat. That's all he ever does - in public.

         Over in the corner I can see Aunty Tilly talking to Mum and my sister. They all share the same Germanic features - blonde hair, blue eyes, lovely smiles. They're together on the pale sofa. My sister is wearing her short orange summer dress. I bet she isn't wearing underwear.

         Uncle Brian is outside on the lawn with my twin cousins, James and Liam, being all fatherly to them like he always is when he's had a few Christmas beers. Dad used to be the same. He'd play games on the lawn with all the cousins gathered together for the day and he'd tickle us and we'd all have fun, and then when they had gone he would beat us with his big hands. There wouldn't be tickling then.

         Uncle Brian likes his twin nephews, but that's because he is a paedophile. I know because I've taken photos of him with my other cousins. I've got photos of them all, from every family gathering.

         His daughter is Lisa, and she's sitting next to Matt. She's wearing a short dress too and she's pulled the hem up even higher so she can rub her thighs against Matt, trying to tease him. She doesn't know Matt is gay. I know because I kicked open the bathroom door one day when he stayed here and saw him doing dirty things to himself. I've seen Lisa doing things like that too, when she's stayed here, but I know she's not gay because I used to watch her with Dad, through the hole I drilled in the wall.

         She always tries to seduce the males at these Christmas parties, but she never tries with me. I told her last time that I wouldn't have sex with a filthy slut like her ever, and she ran off like I'd hit her. I should have.

         When I said the same thing to my sister she ran, too. I've watched her with her boyfriends through the window at night and I know how she turns them into her slaves. She lets them smell her. I won't be caught like that. I smell her underwear everyday so she can't trap me with her scent.

         Aunty Margot is brushing crumbs from her glistening red dress and on to me as she swills down another sherry. She has spilled some on her front but she's too drunk to notice. Her nipples are standing erect beneath the fabric. I can see her fat red lips smacking together, her tongue sliding out and moistening them, trying to make me touch her, but she doesn't know that I know what she is doing. I've stayed with her family over the years and I've hidden under their beds at night and heard what they say and do. They live and breathe filth. They are filth.

         My cousin Louise is looking at our Christmas cards, her sherry in one slender hand. The other hand is resting on her throat, stroking it lightly. Her finger is curled at the tip she and is beckoning me to approach. She looks at me smiles, her teeth bared hungrily. She wants me, and she wants me on her terms, but I won't be tempted by a common whore. Doesn't she know how often I've followed her to her house at night and watched her undress in her room? I've seen the marks of evil on her pale flesh. I'll not add mine.

         My cousins Bertie and Beryl have gathered around the piano at the far end of the lounge with their son Frank and his wife Voula. They all look like they bought out the polyester factory in the seventies. Voula has a baby cradled in her arms. The baby is Harry and he is being pushed up to Voula's breasts. Earlier on I saw her slip one of her breasts out and stuff it in the baby's face so it would suck, letting him smell her. They're calling for me to join them.

         I know what they are trying to do, but they won't lure me to Voula's other breast. To her scent. I should stand up and show my moral strength by shouting that I'll never suck on Voula's tits and become her captive, but I'll shake my head instead and go back to pretending to listen to Aunty Margot.

         Aunty Margot who likes to beat herself. She always gets the room next to mine and I hear her. She calls me to join her in the night, but I don't. But my mother does. I've got three holes drilled in the dividing wall there so I can be sure what they do and take accurate notes. I have to be sure. I have to know what goes on and what these people are truly like. If this is what they do on the day that honours the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ then they cannot be fit to stay on this earth, polluting and dirtying and tempting with their filth. At least I am strong with God. I know how to be pure and purify.

         Fire. Tonight while they sleep I'll turn off the smoke alarms and begin.
I can't hear James and Liam anymore, so Uncle Brian must have them out at the back shed. I wonder if I bought enough film for this holiday?

         





habis