Page 9 of Happy Krampus Xmas & the Meet Not Cute
What. The. Sodding. Fuck.
Right about now, the devil on my shoulder is resigning his position, ready to go get shit-faced with the angel placed on the other side.
Why am I being punished? Was I a mass murderer in a past life? A cardio trainer? A politician? Krampus can’t be the only reason.
“Lori, are you okay? What happened?” Ollie’s high-pitched voice almost renders me deaf.
“Shhhh! If there’re going to be any hysterics, they'll come from me,” I hiss.
“Was it a spider?”
“The size of a helicopter!” I didn’t actually see it. Pretty sure it’s not on me anymore. I think. I hope. Fuck! I try to check myself, but it’s not easy in this awkward position, hanging from the ceiling.
Ollie makes an angry sound, surely directed at me.
“Let me just be dramatic for a while, then I'll be right as rain.”As soon as I get myself the fuck down.
Noises from the bathroom make me lift my eyes toward my legs again to see what’s keeping me hanging like a salami. Christmas lights are tangled around my feet, and I can’t reach them.
I’m too short for this shite!
“Lori! Talk to me, or I swear on whatever is holy…”
“Ollie, I’m a tad…tangledat the moment. Bloody hold!” I blow out an irritated breath.
This position is seriously bonkers! I need to add more ab exercises to my daily workout.
I yank the bandanna that keeps falling over my eyes off my neck and try to lose the Christmas lights from around my legs and feet—unsuccessfully. The swinging motion I started is making me nauseated.
I need to cut the cord; it’s twisted too tightly around me and it’s starting to hurt. From the fanny pack I grab my Swiss knife with the drawing of a golden wasp on the side—a gift from Bez—and I start cutting.
“The donor’s coming out.” Ollie’s words reach me a second before the door on my left opens, and a bloke with round glasses, damp hair, and a lean torso wearing only a towel around his waist comes out. He jerks back at the sight of me dangling from the ceilingandthe mess around his room. He looks astonished by what he’s seeing.
I’d be too, if I wasn’t irritated as fuck.
The cord around my feet decides that’s the right moment to snap, and I fall like a sack of potatoes, shoulder first, onto the floor.
Sodding fucking Krampus! He’ll be the death of me.
“Who the fuck are you?” the donor hisses my way.
“We’re coming. Hang in there,” I hear Rague’s voice. Oh, no.No more hanging for me!
One of my legs is asleep, while my shoulder is screaming bloody murder.
“Answer me!” the maggot repeats, grabbing the empty bottle of wine from the table. His eyes look cold and cruel. Evil people always have that same emptiness within them. It reflects in their gaze, that deep lack of love.
“Shut up, Mr. Ripley! I’m in pain,” I reply, covered in tomato sauce and wine. I tighten the grip on the Swiss knife as I straighten to a sitting position to check on the cord still around my feet. My shoulder is pulsing in agony.
“Doesn't fucking matter,” the maggot suddenly mutters, heading toward me. I slide my hand into the fanny pack to grab the syringe. I’ll stab him with it and send him to sleep, as soon as he reaches me. But then I hear a rolling sound. I look up just in timeto see the wooden pin falling down from the vent and landing right on the maggot’s foot.
“Ahhhh!” He drops the bottle, which breaks as it hits the floor. The glass pieces sink into the sole of his bare foot when he starts hopping around. He whimpers some more and then slips in the mix of tomato sauce and wine on the floor, losing his balance and hitting his head on the corner of the table.
I stare, stunned, at his unmoving body.Is he dead?
“No!” I shout. “Nope. Nuh-uh. This can’t be fucking happening!”
“We are almost at the gate, Lori. Please—” I cut off Ollie’s worried babbling.
