Christmas fright and humor.
Not everyone loves Christmas -Previously the soldier. |
Written by: Louis Serio The Nutcracker Tonight was Christmas Eve and there she was sitting, alone, by the fireplace her big toe iced up and a splint on her thumb. There were sprinkles of almonds, walnuts, and other various nutshells on her nightgown. Elizabeth had a run of bad luck over the past week. Several days ago she had broken her toe while sleeping. She wasn’t quite sure how it happened; she must have caught and twisted it between the mattress and footboard. Two days later she woke with a crushed thumb. She looked longingly at the window. It was opened slightly. Enough for her cat Muffy to crawl through. Muffy was missing for several days. “Where are you kitty?” She sighed. She was hopeful, not very, that Muffy would come home. After all Muffy was just a kitten and the world outside her little snow covered home was so big she did not like Muffy’s odds. She sat gingerly on her tender bottom side, which, just this morning, had acquired several welted bruises. “Well,” Elizabeth huffed to the Nutcracker Soldier. “Hopefully tonight will be the night she makes it home.” She popped an almond in her mouth and set down the wooden soldier on the coffee table. “You are my company tonight little man,” and patted him on his woodenhead. He was a good soldier, standing tall and proud. His shiny little sword dangled from his belted waist. Silently and unmoving he watched over his wounded owner. His uniform was painted beautifully. He was the best of the best. The elite. He was able to open any nut with little effort. He had been practicing every night. His owner did not have any nuts to crack the past week but this did not stop him from his charge. He was forced to make due with what was available, making sure that when he was called upon to do his duty he would perform it with little effort. The bowl of nuts next to him was no match for his expertise. He was ready. They were all doomed to be crushed. Sure sometimes the innocent got hurt but in the end it was all about performance. The kitten was an acceptable loss, a dress rehearsal for tonight’s plan. Broken the right way Muffy was just like almonds and walnuts. His owner was another acceptable loss. It had to be done. First the big toe then the knuckle. Her bottom side, almost as massive as tonight’s bulky bottom, was great for target practice. Yes he was a good soldier indeed. He was a real soldier once. A real live honest to goodness human fighting machine of the 3rd regiment. He died on Christmas Eve World War II in a woodworkers shop outside the Ardennes Forest. He had stopped in to take a fine Nutcracker that lay among, what was left of, the many beautifully crafted figures strewn around the rumbled building. A small payment, he felt, he deserved for helping save the world. He had just stuffed his prize into his backpack when the mortar hit. This was all that he could remember. Now every year he sat on the mantle of the fireplace for the month of December waiting to serve his owner but this year he had other plans. He was going to put a nice spin on Christmas. After all what did Christmas ever do for him but kill him. Oh change was coming tonight. He couldn’t wait. He was a fine-tuned nut cracking machine. He had trained hard and his plan was flawless. Now all he needed for his owner Elizabeth to do was go to bed. It was 12:00 AM when she finished the last of the nuts, which had no chance of survival. She set him down and gave him another pat on his woodenhead. “Good night my little soldier,” she yawned. “Make sure that Santa leaves me something really good,” and she limped off to bed. He stood tall, proud and ready. Ready to make a change. He knew what he had to do. He prepared all week. All he had to do was wait but the waiting was unbearable. 12:30 turned to 1:00 and 1:00 dragged on to 1:30 AM. Maybe he wasn’t coming? Finally! It was 2:00 AM when he made his descent down the chimney. The soot on his red suit reminded the waiting soldier of camouflage, Christmas camouflage. The soldier hid waiting to ambush. “Come on fat boy,” he thought. “Come on down.” And down he did come feet first stepping gracefully down the chimney. Closer. Closer he came. The soldier waited. Ready, trained and aware. “That’s it fat boy.” He chuckled to himself. His owner's butt end was actually bigger than big red’s enormous plump ass. He quickly discarded the thought. He needed his woodenhead clear if he intended to pull this off. Now was not the time for funny business. “One more step,” The soldier waited until the last possible minute. The perfect opportunity when all of it was vulnerable. He pounced at the big Red underside and the Nutcracker did, well, what a Nutcracker should do and with an ear piercing “Ho! Ho! OHH!” in falsetto, Jolly Old Saint Nick’s shot back up the chimney holding his jingle bells. Elizabeth woke early Christmas morning. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes she gently slipped on her pink fluffy slippers and hobbled into the living room. There were presents spread all about the room. On the coffee table was a fantastic Nutcracker soldier, not her familiar man but a truly amazing figure. She looked curiously at the fireplace of slowly dying ambers. She did not remember lighting a fire. She noticed a parchment tacked to the mantelpiece. She grabbed the note and read: My dear Elizabeth, I hope you enjoy the new Nutcracker I made especially for you. Your old one was not in good spirits and had to be replaced. Do not worry I have given your little soldier the attention it so well deserved. Love always, Santa Later that night Elizabeth rested gingerly on her sore bottom. Her big toe was iced up and her thumb in a splint. She sat, holding her new soldier, in front of the fireplace. There were sprinkles of almonds, walnuts, and other various nutshells on her nightgown and sofa. The roaring fire licked and crackled, lulling her to sleep. She never noticed the small sword of her first Nutcracker lying among the glowing ambers. |