A Very Merry Christmas?

This was definitely not the Christmas from my childhood.

I sat in my parked car, engine off, staring across the street at the house I would soon be entering. Each time I attempted to open the car door, my eyes lingered on the lawn ornaments and made me question my agreeing to come here. A once jolly, friendly Santa statue now sported the appearance of a furrowed brow and sharp fangs covered in blood. A couple of nearby plastic reindeer lay slain in blood-soaked snow as Rudolph looked down upon them with a cheery smile, a bowie knife taped to his hoof.

Each year, my married coworkers, Josh and Angie, invited me to their Creepy Christmas Craze, which offered not only cheesy alliteration, but also an unconventional way of celebrating the most joyous of holidays. It wasn’t that Josh and Angie intended to mock Christmas; they simply wanted to add their own blend of creativity to the formulaic festivities. This was the first time I had agreed to attend what seemed the antithesis of traditional Christmas celebrations, and right about now, I wondered what the hell I had been thinking when I accepted the invite.

As I approached the front door, I could hear The Ramones’ “Merry Christmas, I Don’t Want to Fight Tonight” streaming from the stereo. I had a feeling that tonight’s soundtrack would be unconventional, as well. A single knock had Angie pulling the door open as Josh followed close behind her.

"Hey, Samantha, you made it! Come in.”

Josh gave me a disapproving once-over, but his smile revealed his lighthearted intent. "What, no costume? Where's your friggin' Christmas spirit?"

"I told Samantha she didn't have to wear a costume if she didn't want to.”

Turning to address me, Angie held out the bottom of her long dress with delicate fingers as if she were about to curtsy.

"How do you like my costume? These are recreated Victorian funerary garments. I'm in my first phase of mourning," she added with a somber look upon her face, but quickly bounced back into her festive spirit. "Josh is a heroin-chic Santa, complete with sallow skin and a rail-thin physique."

I began to feel underdressed in my jeans and sweater.

Angie pushed Josh aside to clear a pathway for me to enter, and my eyes bulged at the scene before me. Seeing my expression, Josh put his arm around me and walked us further into the room.

"Pretty friggin' cool, huh? I love these parties. They're so much friggin' fun to decorate.”

Josh had, for years, used the most colorful expletives to accent his sentences. When two of his work colleagues in the art department politely asked he harness his tongue a bit better, he compromised by using words that were like shadows of his favorite curse words. I had started to notice a few years ago that Josh now used his shadow expletives whenever he was around large groups of people.

Although the decorations did not suit my personal taste, I couldn't deny the detail and technique which had been poured into them. A Christmas tree in the corner wore blinking red lights; Christmas balls painted with anguished faces; ornaments of hearses, gravediggers, skeletons, and coffins; a lit gargoyle sat atop the tree as the shining star. Up the stairway banister, a candy-cane colored snake wound its way to higher ground. Frosty the Snowman stood disemboweled in another corner of the room, while still wearing his typical elated grin.

I suddenly felt as if I were in a Tim Burton movie, but instead of endearing, it all just felt deranged.

"Wow. It's, uh, impressive. Where does one find gravedigger ornaments?"

"Laurel Hill Cemetery’s website. Now, you need a drink." Angie pointed to the table of mysterious liquids and hors d'oeuvres. "Grab a cup of Santa's Open Wound -- that's what's in the punch bowl. It's vodka, cranberry juice, and Chambord."

"It's friggin' awesome! You've gotta try it, Sam. Actually, it's just my recipe for Vampire Martinis, but I poured it all into a big bowl and gave it a more festive name."

I blinked slowly. "Santa's Open Wound being the more festive name."

"You friggin' got it." He flashed a smile at me. "Oh, Angie, there's the doorbell. Sam, go mingle with the elves. They're all really nice. And friggin' funny, too."

As Josh and Angie walked away, I turned toward the elves. They were four guys, whose costumes were a unique mesh of Santa's small helpers and the Droogs from A Clockwork Orange, complete with bowler hat, pointy ears, green shirt, white suspenders, red pants, white cod piece, and jingly elfin shoes.

I poured myself a cup of Santa's Open Wound, glanced at the gravestone brownies, and made my way over to the eerie elves, not sure what to expect. But Josh was right. In no time, they had me laughing and chatting, and it all began to feel like any other party, any other gathering of friends, aside from the macabre decorations. Soon, a gothic Mrs. Claus and a Santa hat-wearing Grim Reaper even had me dancing in front of the painted mural of zombie children caroling through a cemetery.

A part of me began to wonder just how strong Josh had made that batch of Santa's Open Wound, but it seemed the Creepy Christmas Craze had its own blend of holiday magic washing over the attendees. After jumping between conversations around the room, I wound up back with the elves and giving one of them, Mark, my phone number for a later date.

Words cannot really describe my festively non-festive evening of ghoulishly celebratory mingling. As I was walking out the door and saying good-bye, though, I felt blissful.

"So, Samantha, great friggin party, right? You coming next year?"

"You better friggin' believe it, Josh."

With a final smile and wave, I walked towards my car, brimming with the creepy Christmas spirit.


Word Count: 993