The white Chariot.

There were only a few people who would argue the case of Mrs Elliot and even fewer who would question her beauty.
The daughter of a third class merchant, Adele, was taught by her father that personal security and prosperity are the highest goals in one's life. Needless to say that his  rules were almost as tight as Adele's corsets, leaving no room for breathing, let alone talking. At the tender age of sixteen, she found herself married to twenty-six years older Mr Henry Elliot, the local tycoon and slave driver, a charming upper-class womaniser who happily took Adele under his wing.

In the ten years of their marriage, Mr Elliot has turned richer, fatter and more disreputable than ever before, yet Adele's efflorescence has stunned the populace beyond repair.

The blasphemous cretin; he is the only one her beauty never touched, the only one who can ignore her adorableness, the only one not dazzled by her light. He is partial to bedding the filthy harlots of the harbour, and go to his wife drunk and begrimed whom she accepts without expostulation.
The word has it that it is because she never gave him an heir for his cotton factory. Barren, infertile, sterile they call her out of jealousy and spite but I know.

I know that I am the only one who can fill her womb with life. My seed inside of her will produce a dozen strong sons and a fairy daughter for I am young and full of burning love,
I am the one who knows.

(Lady Alice Mary Kerr, Portrait of Wilfrid Scawen Blunt c1870)


Who am I?

"Hello cousin!" she says whenever I find the courage to reveal my presence to her.
"Adele." I whisper and bow to peck her icy, gloved hand. Our eyes meet and then she pulls away.
"I intend to call on you and your husband..."
"But you never do.."
"I..."
"You don't like him..you never did."
"Maybe when he is absent.." I mutter.
"I do not think that's possible cousin.." she says and pulls away. I watch her as she turns round the corner.

If only was strong enough to kill the bloody beast.


In my sleepless nights, she walks into my room and lays next to me. I wrap my arms around her and keep her warm. Her belly is swollen and her breasts are ripe. She's mine and we are together. The room is breaking at the seams, the windows burst open and sweet, night breeze creeps under our sheets. She sighs softly and I weep.
If only I was strong enough for her, strong enough to kill the bloody beast.

I start to follow him at nights, I find no rest in my own room. So it happens that he is more corrupted then I thought; he gambles, drinks and smokes together with a throng of whores.

I sit at a table opposite him and in my head his neck bleeds dry, I see his eye sockets crack and empty on his vest, his guts already hung outside to dry.

(Claude Monet - Houses of Parliament)

I decided to rent a room in the building that faces her house. That way I will find out more about his daily habits. From my bedroom window I can see her silhouette walking back and forth. He's there beside her, her head is bowed, she nods and leaves...with tears no doubt.

Tonight she came into the bed and talked to me, she's never uttered a word before, only sighs and tiny sounds escaped her lips. Tonight she called my name.
"Wilfrid..." she said, not cousin Wilfrid. I am taking this as a sign.

The corset leaves deep marks on her pale flesh..
"I don't want you to wear this thing ever again...not ever, you are with me now.."
..............................................................................

It was midday when I heard his shouts, the window was open. He was screaming at her. I have discovered that he does this often, however, this time he is out of his right mind. Again not a sound from her. The maid sped to shut the windows and saw me staring in. I know she's seen me before but I don't care, I will be her master someday whether she likes it or not.

My spirit is dead, my fist shatters against the wall, I'd rather jump out of the window and die that endure this pain.  I lean and prepare to let go and right then I see something I had never laid eyes on before;
a white, riderless chariot with two white steeds is galloping on the High street below, whiter than the clouds, fastest that thought and then I just knew what I had to do and suddenly I felt strong.

There were only a few people who would argue the case of Mrs Elliot and even fewer who would question the brutal circumstances of her husband's death.

The local newspaper gnawed on Mr Elliot's severed limbs for months, even though  his murderer, or 'butcher' as the locals call him, remains obscure. Mr Elliot's head was found floating in stinking river Fleet while his torso and leg were scavenged by dogs in an alley near the flesh market. His two arms and left leg are still missing though. Even the butcher himself doesn't know why they haven't been recovered yet though, truth be told, he couldn't care less.

All the sawing, biting, flaying and gutting...Mr Elliot WAS a very beefy man you see... was worth it...she was worth it and she still is.

At the funeral, Mrs Elliot looked absolutely devastated in the arms of her beloved cousin, the only family she has left since the death of her beloved mother a few months earlier. Wilfrid has made all the necessary arrangements so that Adele is comforted, entertained and though she doesn't know it, she will grow in love with him and soon grow out of her corsets too...that is after all the miracle of love and the omnipotence of persistence.

La double vie de Veronique

Twin-flame soulmates.

Who are these people? Why are they smiling at me?

"Don't smile! Take the kids out of the room! Can't you see?..Can't you see? There is a man hanging above the dinner table! Stop smiling...

You disgust me! I went to all this trouble for you...do you know how hard it is to hang a man from the ceiling? What do you want me to do to make you see? Flay him? Gut him? Just because he's dead, it doesn't make him invisible...You rotten people! I am going to hang you next to him if it makes you see..Look at him! I SAID LOOK AT HIM!!"

There was a short, indistinct pop when my eyelids snapped open. I felt them dry and itchy whereas the rest of my body was swimming in sweat and shivering under the covers.

"Every night the same thing...when is it ever going to stop?" I wondered and looked at my pale face into the small mirror above the bathroom sink.
Cold, running water froze my hands and I twitched but then how else was I supposed to get rid of all that grime under my fingernails, I hate dirty fingernails...What is this thing anyway?

A thin, red film of a red, fleshy substance fell in the white bowl as I scrubbed the tips of my fingers as hard as I could.
"Maybe I scratched myself or something."
I lifted my pyjama trousers but my legs were intact and so were my arms and back.
On my way to the kitchen, I stopped and sniffed. There was that smell again, like a thousand dogs were rotting behind my walls. My empty stomach rolled in disgust and I started to open all the doors and widows of my flat to let some fresh, night air in.

(Photo by Aristotle C. Pramagioulis)

"Who are you? Why did you kill all these people and why do you come to my dreams every night?"
I ran to her, grabbed her from the shoulders and shook her with all my strength. Her head rolled backed and forth like a stuffed doll's but she didn't move nor did she resist. She just stared ahead with her big, brown eyes and suddenly opened her mouth in a great, long oh. It was all black inside, its thick inky stuff oozing out on her chest. It smelt of decay and I pulled back disgusted.

Then something inside her mouth moved. A black scorpion tail came out and rested on her cheek. I stared in terror at the thing.

"Why did you kill the two women and children?" I asked softly.
"I killed no one." she said but her mouth never moved.
"I am going to end this.." I said and felt the long kitchen knife in my hands. With swift movements I sliced her wrists and stabbed her chest, yet again she didn't move.
By now the scorpion had come out of her mouth completely. I bent closer without knowing why and it leapt on my face.
"No, no..." I shouted but the moment my mouth opened it went in it.

I choked, put my hands inside my mouth and tried to pull in out.
Nausea, horror and sharp pain.
I glared at her, still bleeding on her floor. "I hate you.." I choke.
"I didn't kill anyone." she mouthed, "You did."

My eyes snapped open and immediately the pain travelled down my nervous system, all the way to my feet.
I was standing. I was not in bed.
I was standing in from of the bathroom sink, covered in blood.
The big, kitchen knife was in the sink and so were three of my teeth..Had I pulled them out?

Blood was oozing from my mouth and and I fell on the floor, confused and horrified. The putrid smell reached my nostrils; it emanated from the very floor underneath me...under the bathroom tiles.
Vomit and blood escaped my mouth and I saw something moving inside it. It moved on the floor away from me and crept inside the crack of a broken tile.
It was a black scorpion.

Extract

(photo by Grande Ombre)

She bled for me. As I lay next to her, watching my body change, rejoicing in every bit of immortality that seeped inside me, the mattress underneath us soaked with the blood that her pores desperately vomited. Her head turned towards me, our hands still clutching and smiled at me.

“Don't be afraid, It will be over soon. Come closer...come, I know you are thirsty...feed on it. It's too much of a good thing.. don't let it go to waste.”

I pulled myself above her face and kissed her eyes. So sweet her blood was, it awoke a fire in me I never knew existed. I ran my tongue over her eyelids, her cheeks, her arms and legs. I sealed her mouth on mine and sucked hard. She gave me a small bite on my lip and I felt her body shake with laughter.

“Don't move, stay still.” I said “I don't want to hurt you”

“You can't hurt me. You saved me”she said and she coughed up more blood. Then a terrible sound came from her chest making her whole body convulse, like a landslide, a cracking sound and then her chest started to rise and fall rhythmically.
“Look...I need to breathe again..” she sighed and her eyes filled with blood.

Just then, my heart stopped. My greatest fear and horror materialising inside me.

I banged my chest with my fist as hard as I could though I knew it would never start again.

“Anna....Anna..wake up!” I shook her half-sleeping body. “It stopped, my heart stopped..”
She opened a set of heavy lids and looked at me from a dark crack underneath them.
“You gave your pulse to me, remember?” She pulled my hand above her breast and there indeed I could fill her heart pumping blood again.

“It's done” she said and let her eyes fall close. “Now, I need to sleep.”

I stood on the soaked mattress and looked down on her bloody body and ordered my feet away. The soles of my feet left the surface of the bed and I hovered.

(This is an extract from my book Venetian Red which has finally been completed and is in need of a blood- loving publisher who will set it free.)

"Call me on Skype."

"Hello, Can you hear me?"
"I can hear you but don't see you."
"The connection is not very good so I turned off the camera. It's OK...Do you have the material I sent you?"
"Yes, I printed the pages you ask."
"Oh, I can see the connection is better now so I will turn on my camera....Hi Cathy! Good to see you again! Today we are going to talk about food in different parts of the world..I hope you have already had dinner.."
"Oh, I have, it's 11 o'clock in the night here...what time is over there?"
"It's 5 o'clock in the afternoon.  So let's look at the first picture. This  photo was taken in Cuba. What kinds of food can you see on the table?"
I point to the first picture with my finger and look up at the screen. Cathy is sitting in a semi-dark room. Her head is low,  looking at the picture.
Then I see an older woman walking behind her. When she sees that I am watching her she bends low to the camera and waves at me.
"Cathy..who is the lady behind you? A friend?"
"Pardon?"
"There is a woman right behind you waving at me. Turn around."
Cathy turns around. Her eyes go through the woman like she is made of smoke.
"Cathy, right behind you. You are touching her now. She is right next to you."
"Don't joke Veronika. No woman here. I going turn on the light, wait."
Cathy walks away and the woman takes her seat. She smiles, waves again and straightens her skirt on her knees. Her face is wrinkled and her hair is as white as cotton. She is wearing a long, white dress, small pearls dangle from her ears.
"Who are you?" I ask.
The woman looks up and leaves the chair. Cathy is back in the room. She sits behind the screen and looks at the photo again.
"I can see that the people in Cuba eat many fruits and lots of bread..." she says. I look at the woman who is over her now, caressing her hair with long white fingers.
I'm losing my wits...Cathy keeps on talking but I don't hear what she says. I am scared shitless. How come she can't see the woman and I can?
"......like fruits...is that correct Veronika? Veronika can you hear me?"
"Cathy, there is a woman right behind you, this is no joke. I am telling you I can see her right now over your shoulder! Please DO something!"
"There is no one in the house...only me. Why you scare me so?"
"I am very sorry Cathy...."
She suddenly jumps up from her seat.
"What is it?" I ask "Can you see her?"
"I felt something...."
"She is right in from of you now. She has her hand on your shoulders..Cathy...you should leave the house immediately! Just go, leave everything and go!"
The woman looks at me angrily and mouths 'no'.
"She doesn't want to you go Cathy..she is holding you..What's wrong? Why can't you leave?"

I can see the woman pushing Cathy into her arms. They lock into a long embrace and then the woman is gone.
"She's gone, Cathy I don't see her anymore!" I shout.

"Well, this is nice. Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic you know."
"Cathy?"
"No, not Cathy." the woman said.

"What do you want? Where's Cathy?"
"Oh, she's in here somewhere. Don't worry about her, I'll leave her soon; it's not her I want."
"What do you want?"
"I want to go home....and you, Veronika, like Cathy right now, are helping me get there."
Like smoke, the woman's face is emitted by Cathy's every facial pore. It glides towards the screen and disappears.
I get up and pull the plug of the laptop as hard as I can but the battery still gives it life. Smoke comes from the sides, like the laptop is on fire. I turn it upside down and yank the battery off the back. The screen goes dead and I let out sigh or relief.

"He who sows hurry reaps indigestion; haste is blind and improvident."

I turn around at the sound but no one is there.

"Thank God!" I say and sigh again.

The English Test

I am sitting with the English exam right in front of me. It is hard. It is boring and I am as unprepared as ever. I stare at the words, ordering them with my mind to reveal their secrets to me. I stare so hard until the letters start to move.
They float randomly on the page, dancing mellowly on the neat horizontal lines of the notebook.
It was then that I noticed a small, black dot right in the middle of the page. I bend lower to examine it more carefully. Is it spilt ink or a flaw of the paper? The more I look, the darker it becomes.
Like my grandmother's mole, it disturbs me immensely and trying to get rid of it I rub it with my sleeve.
Lo! It isn't a spot after all; it's a hole, a small gaping hole right in the middle of the page.
I wonder how it happened to be here.I never did anything to the paper to create such a thing! I bend low and place my eye right above it.
"Why..it isn't so small, is it now?" I can see right through it very clearly.

A peeping Tom I am, staring at the redhead woman's back! How fortunate that she can't see me; the small mirror in front of her is steamy, so she can't see behind her.
Hair hair is wet and long. I see her running a silver comb through it, in slow, repetitive movements.
How I love watching her mesmerized by her beauty. Squeezing both hands into the hole, I try to have a look at her whole body. Like a Goddess she looks, flawless and smooth and I gape at her silky skin.
Oh, how I long to touch it.

My whole head has slipped inside the round window, I am but a breath away from her now. Still, her silver comb slips through her fiery hair.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath; incense and sage, cinnamon and rosemary.

And then she stops. The comb is pulled out of her hair and I freeze.
She's felt my presence. I see her hand on the small mirror, she is wiping the mist off the glass.
I'm about to see her face, I'm going to see her face, the face of my queen in the hole, the face I am longing to see. She wipes the glass and smiles back at me.

(photo by Chad Michael Ward)

Something on her is terribly, horribly wrong. I want to leave now, I want to see no more of her. Her face is abnormal, her cheekbones exposed, too large, she shifts, she changes into something horrid and grotesque.
She turns around, there's a hole in her chest, gore sips out and a reptile's head emerges slowly.
I pull my head back as hard as I can but with a light swish and a flash of silver, she runs the comb across my neck.
Blood spills on my chest, I look down on my hands as I bleed and open my mouth to scream but the scaly thing has a strong hold of me. I can hear the sucking sound on my neck, I open my mouth to plead.
A small white dot on the ceiling ahead, so white, so bright, is the last thing I see and her eyes, her bloody eyes staring down on me.

Bloody Emma. A story written by 13- year-old Eva.

(photo from www.B177.ru)

Emma knew that after what she had been through, her life would never be the same again.

Ten years ago, she had gone on a date with Jim, the hottest boy in the world. She was in love with him from the first day at work. They had been dating for months, soon they were making out and finally, they got married.

At the beginning their marriage was a fairytale but then something terrible happened.
 Some nights he came back late. He told her that he was at work (he had told Emma that he was working as a waiter).
Although it was obvious that he was lying, Emma chose to believe him. However, the next day while she was looking for something she found drugs and cigarettes in a big, red bag. She was shocked!
As soon as she found them she packed her bags but when she was ready to leave he came in.
- "What are you doing" he asked her.
- "I'm leaving." she said.
- "Why?" he asked horrified.
- "I found these in a bag." she said and showed him the drugs.
- "I don't see anything..." he said
- " Are you a psycho? Why are you doing this to yourself...to us?" she cried back to him.
- "I'm sorry Emma. I can't let you go." he said and closed the door.
That was the first night he hit her. Emma still remembers this and is in pain. After that, she never left home again.
Once she tried to escape and he hit her again and that was the end of happy Emma.

The Dead Body Driver: A Christmas Story

Part 1: The meeting

I always get homesick when I am away from home, why would now be any different? I'm thousands of miles away from my hometown in China, walking down Oxford street, all alone on Chrstmas Eve; not that it means anything to me other than I have nothing to do and noone to talk to.
They could have waited until after the holidays to send me to this tinsel-infested city but no, I had to come now to recruit new sales representatives for my hardware company....how stupid can you get?

My feet stop in front of the strangest pub I have ever seen so far, my jaw drops as I stare at the hellish entrance..

"The Bucket of Blood"

I wonder whether they serve food with that.

I enter the Bucket of Blood and the blast of the music hurts my ears; THUNDER! Ahh ahhh ahh THUNDER! THUNDERSTRUCK!

"Half a pint lager please." I answer the polite request of the bar woman whose face is painfully covered in silver earrings. Her hair is completely shaved and I can see the strange tattoos on the skin of her skull...this is a strange place indeed!

The beer tastes good, the music is too loud and the open coffin gaping next to me gives me the chills.

"Merry Christmas" I mutter to the skull perched on top of the shiny cask and raise my glass.

"Paying respect to the dead shows intelligence and culture!"
My neck snaps to the left towards the booming voice that manages to blanket the music almost completely.
Rubbing the side of my neck I look at the bulky, bearded man standing next to me gesturing to the bar woman for a refill.

"Of course, as a Chinese man yourself, you have both.." he said.
"Have what?" I asked still observing, perhaps rudely, the giant next to me.
"Intelligence and culture..." he said picking up a beer glass the size of a bucket into his meaty hands.
"The name is Ian. Very Pleased to meet you."
"Enders." I answered and raised my glass.
"So, What brings you here Enders?" he asked raising a bushy eyebrow.
"Boredom!"
"No, I mean the country.." He added
"How do you know I am new to the country?"
"You smell like airport."
"I came two days ago! Anyway, I am recruiting."
"Bloody Hell!" He shouted and I almost fell off my stool, "So Am I! What are you looking for?"
"Sales representatives for my company in Shanghai."
Ian laughed and shook his head.
"I know it's pathetic....and you?"
"I am looking for someone to help me on my next trip." the man said and emptied his glass.
"Are you a scientist?"
"No" Ian said and banged his glass on the counter. "I work for the Dead Body Driver." he announced and waved for a refill.
My eyes are glued on the bearded face.

"So you do know what I am talking about.....I'm glad! I'll skip all the time-consuming introductions.
Since you are a lonely man and  have nothing to do on this Christmas Eve...what do you say Enders, would you join me?"

"I'm not sure we are talking about the same thing, Ian. A dead body driver is a Chinese legend about a priest leading a group of dead bodies back to their hometown to be buried. The priest puts a special mark on their foreheads and makes them walk into the night over mountains and forests..There was a documentary about it.. "

"Yes, that's about it..." he said and nodded wildly.
"Are you the priest?"
"No no...I am recruiting people FOR the priest.."
"You are joking right? This is London..there are no such things are dead body drivers...it is a Chinese legend I saw once on TV.."
"Why don't you come with me and find out?" Ian repeated with a wide smile.


"Go with you where exactly?"
"To meet the Driver and help to escort the bodies..it sounds kind romantic, doesn't it?"
"Why don't you load the bodies onto a truck and drive them home literally?"

"What's the fun in that?" Ian said and emptied his glass.






................................................................................................................................................................
Part 2:  Ender's Journey


  At the break of dawn on Christmas day Ian was waiting for me at the entrance of the small B&B where I was staying. He was standing in front of a wrecked yellow van, smoking a cigar.
"Merry Christmas" he said and took a deep drag before dropping the tortured, wet butt on the ground.
"Where are we going?" I asked skipping the formalities.
"North..." he said. "You'll see, you are going to like it..."
"I'm not sure about that.." I said and climbed on the yellow van which had a strong smell of tobacco and a visible layer of filth everywhere I looked.

Since it was so early and a holiday we were able to leave London behind us in no time. Ian was driving silently and I dozed off, my chin stuck on the mucky window, my cheek slapping the cold glass at every bump on the road.

More than two hours later, I felt the van stop but didn't open my eyes. I thought that if we had arrived, Ian would say so. There were a few moments of silence. The door of the van opened and something heavy and metallic was thrown inside. It made a lot of noise and so I opened my eyes just in time to see Ian sitting on the driver's seat.
"What was that?"

                                                        .                .                .

Ian went back to the van and brought out two heavy shovels, one of which was supposed to be mine.


"In order to drive them, we have to dig them out first!" he said casually and walked through the broken gate.
"They are already IN the ground, why do we have to dig them out?" I shouted running behind him, having already regretted the whole thing.

"They have unfinished business...we have to make sure they... fulfill their purpose.." he said and took out a piece of paper out of his pocket.
"Now be quite and let me find the right graves...we don't want to dig out the wrong people, do we?"
he said and walked up the hill among the half buried tomb stones.
I looked around me holding the heavy shovel in my hand thinking. If worse comes to worst, I will smash his head with the shovel, take the van, go back to London, pick up my things and run to the airport...
"This is the one!" I heard Ian shout in the distance.
Holding in the shovel in my hands I walked up the hill.



"This is the first one. "Ian said hearing my footsteps behind him.
"It is a very old grave Ian. There would nothing in there but bones...this is not how it supposed to be done..."
"Appearances don't count Enders. Now lets get to work. The whole thing must be done today."
"On Christmas? Why?"
He turned around and eyed me suspiciously.
"You ask too many questions...Don't tell me you are afraid already.."
"Where is the Dead Body Driver? Isn't he going to come?" asked gripping the shovel.
"Oh, the Driver will be here soon. Now lets start digging, shall we?"

To make matters worse, Ian pulled out of his pocket a red Santa Claus hat, placed it on his bushy hair and smiled.

"It is Christmas after all! Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the way.." he sang and hit the ground hard with his shovel.
I shook my head, took a deep breath and followed suit.

It didn't take us long to hit the wooden box.
"Are we going to open it?" I asked apprehensively.
"No, not yet. Let's dig out the other two. This way..."he said pointing to the right.
                                 .                    .                    .

I worked silently under the dull sky with Ian's Christmas singing in my ears never letting the heavy shovel out of my hands. I could have thrown him inside the grave he was so furiously digging at any time but I guess curiosity took the best of me.
A couple of hours later all three rotten boxes were laying on the ground side by side.
"Right on time." Ian said looking in the distance behind me.  "The Dead Body Driver is here and she's right on time!"

(photo by takeyourhatred@deviantart)

Dusk, like a veil, fell over the hill. The trees had turned into ghostly, dark silhouettes dancing mutely in the cold wind. It was as if all sound was sucked up by the cloaked, tiny figure I saw climbing up the hill. I watched her mesmerised feeling my heart fluttering like a caged bird inside my rib cage.
 Upon reaching the top, she came to a half and slowly pulled down her black hood releasing her fiery locks over her shoulders.

Amidst the falling darkness, her face was glowing.

"Hello Enders." She said to me in a soft voice though I did not see her lips move. "I am glad you came. Ian you did well."
Ian had bowed his head, his chin touching his chest and he did not look up until she stood over the boxes.
"They are ready for you my Mistress." he said.
The woman raised her eyes and pinned them in mine. Her eyes matched her hair..

"Who are you?" I muttered
"I am the Driver, Enders." she said and with wave of her hand the three boxes broke open revealing the remains of the those who had been buried decades, perhaps centuries ago.
"Why them?" I asked "Where are you supposed to take them?"
"Me?" said asked and bent down to them. "No, not me Enders. I am merely the Driver. It is you that will give the flame that will bring life back into them Enders." she said caressing the rotting limbs.
"It is you who will be the Giver on this blessed Christmas Day." she said and her eyes filled with blood which trickled down her cheeks staining her moon-like face.

"What are you?" I asked stepping back. "This is not right, you are not right. I am leaving now..."
I said and turned around to leave only to find that I hadn't moved a bit.

"What magic is this?" I asked and turned around again.
"It's Christmas magic, Enders. The most powerful kind..."the Driver said
"Ho Ho Ho." added Ian looking at me playfully.

Above the broken bones they made me lie and though I was not pinned down, I couldn't move.
She sang a Christmas song gently into my ear and then she bend low over my neck. The singing had stopped.
 ..........................................................

"Sir...SIR! WAKE UP SIR! This is not the place to sleep..."
I opened my eyes and was instantly blinded by the light around me.
"Where am I?" I whispered.
"At St. Pancras railway station, sir. Are you a passenger?"
"A passenger? No!"
I stood up, feeling very weak and numb all over. "Which city is this?" I asked.
"London, sir. Are you feeling alright, would you like me to take you to the police station?"
"No, no thank you. I'll manage."
"Happy New Year Sir, take care now.."
"Merry Christmas  you mean...It's Christmas today..."
"No." the man said slowly. "Christmas was last week. Today is New Year's Day."
"No, that can't be.." I mumbled.
"I assure you that it is. Good day sir." said the man in the uniform and walked away.

Before Christmas: The revelation of the toy soldiers.

I'm pacing back and forth in my room, the three letters burning my hand.

In her tiny, hurrying handwriting, she is unfolding her bitter, sickening story of how she came to be one of the eternal children living in Santa's den, and everything she's seen in her 100 years of undying servitude. Forever trapped in a child's body, eternally bowing to a guilt-driven monster.

The boxes on the toy soldiers lay empty at my feet and I look at them in horror.

She made them...she made them all...and know what must I do?

Do I go for the last box? Do I open it or bury it somewhere deep? What should I do?

 What would you do if you knew?

 

Toy Soldier 1: The first letter

(painting by XUE WANG)

"..Soon he is going to come for inspection again so I have only a few minutes left to complete this letter. It too will be placed inside a toy soldier box. This is my final act of desperation. Three boxes, three toy soldiers all ready to go into the bag.
It was in that bag, that blood-stained, putrid-smelling bag that I was brought to this place, not knowing what had happened to me.
I was only seven years old when he shoved that chlorophorm rag under my nose. I was only seven when he buried his teeth inside my skin and turned me into this. A vampire child, his little helping elf.
A hundred children, this is how many we are, blood slaves, feeding on eachother's blood and he on us, until the end of time. Santa's little helpers...
 Sometimes one of us gets lucky and manages to escape this eternal torture by finding a hole inside this torture chamber of a mansion and running right into the sun turning into ashes. It is such a release to know that the next lucky one could be me. But the hole is immediately mended and more blood is spilled as an example to the rest of us.
By the following evening that child is replaced by another...and another.

I can hear his boots echoing in the corridor.....he's here!"

Toy Soldier two: Santa

(painting by XUE WANG)

"Every Christmas my mum would ask me to write him a letter. I was always a good girl and he always brought me what I asked for present.

"But how will he come into our house mama?"
"Down the chimney dear.." my ignorant mother would answer.

Now hear the truth and guard your chidren night and day. Don't let them out of your sight not even where you think they are safe.
Santa Claus is a 300 year-old, blood-thirsty fiend who lives century after century feeding on the same children he makes presents for, the same children he visits on Christmas night, the same children he turns into slaves.
He creeps into their bedrooms and selects the ones he will haunt in the new year, the ones he will feed upon. He flies through the night sky and magically trasforms into something small that will help him sneak inside your home through the narrow chimney.
He's clothes a cheap facade to hide his cadaverous form, his moustache and beard are mere tricks to hide his sharp canines and powerful jaw.

The coca-cola company did the rest.

Santa Claus, the only undead out in the open, has managed to enter your hearts in such a way that he is always invited to your homes and needs no special invitation..."


Toy Soldier 3: My last act of desperation.



  (painting by XUE WANG)

"If you have managed to gather all the boxes, if you have read all my lines know this: there is another box that you must find.
In that last box I have placed my limbs side by side, the limbs I cut with the kitchen knife, my head and torso are there too...waiting to spring to life...by you.
I dismantled myself, in order to escape the evil fiend, the only way I knew; by turning myself into one of his toys and sneaking out the way I was carried in; inside his horrid bag.
Once you find me you will surely think I am broken or dead though I will be neither.
Don't be hasty...
Arrange my pieces as they were and spill some blood inside my mouth.
My eyes will open and I shall heal, with so many secrets to reveal....
I've sent this box along with the others. I don't know whether I will live if nobody bothers.


  I hope it is you who opens it and not some innocent child.

Therefore, I thank you in advance,

Yours truly,


Lulu "

What should I do.....?

The Omnipotence of Persistence: The true story of an eternal strap-hanger.

Here I am on the crowded bus, hanging from the worn-out strap, pretending to be afraid of losing my balance.
It is raining outside and the people are running away from the soft raindrops that land on the bus window and trickle all the way down to the road. I can see the little transparent ribbons they leave behind through the misty windows.
A little girl, sitting on her mother's lap, is drawing smileys with her finger. She is so sweet and her smell is piercing my heart.

The bus stops suddenly and half the passangers in front me land on my back. I think I should fall backwards a little as a natural reaction to the weight. They apologise one by one and I smile. A young woman locks her eyes on mine and stares. I smile politely and look away. I know she is still staring but her mind will settle any dark thoughts that might have crossed her mind.

It was on this very bus that I saw her and although my mind worked hard on my dark thoughts, it didn't succeed in tearing her off my heart.
Her blue eyes and the ring of her laughter haunts me night and day. Her smell, her warmth made me feel I can find love again, after a hundred years of loneliness.
It was I that stared, it was I that couldn't tear my eyes off her slim, oval face, it was my mind that clung on her rosy cheeks and soft lips. It was I that faltered and left her walk away.

How many weeks, or it is months, years or perhaps decades...I cannot tell. Time means nothing to me. I believe in the omnipotence of persistence; it is the flame that kindles my hope of making her mine. Because she will be mine once I find her again.

One way or another.