There was a constant drip from the dark branches above, creating a seeping puddle. A stray dog hurried over and began lapping. Leon stared at the dog, which turned its bloody snout towards him and growled before going back to furiously lapping the puddle. Leon peered up into the branches. A dark lump with something hanging. He inspected the tree trunk. Not too bad. Standing on the edge of a metal garbage can he grabbed the first branch. Just as he got a hold of it, the can slipped out from under him making a huge cacophony, startling the dog.

Leon swung a black Converse up over the low branch and got himself pulled up far enough to reach for the next one.

What was hanging down from the silhouette above? A bloody girl’s hand.

He pulled himself up so he was standing on the branch, balanced against the tree trunk. He reached up to grab the hand. Still warm. It squeezed back! He stared up into the darkness. The glint of an eye. A whisper, “Get me down from here…”

He lifted his leg to a higher branch and hoisted himself up to get nearer the figure. Then suddenly he was precariously balanced and staring at the bloody face of a beautiful girl. “Have you come to save me?” she whispered, blood glinting on the side of her face. He reached for her, got a hold of her shirt, her soft skin, then the branch under him gave out and they both crashed down to the puddle of blood below, causing the dog to take off squealing. They landed on top of each other in the blood.

She kissed him furiously. He tried to pull away but she wouldn’t let him, clamping on tightly. They she pulled back from the kiss to say, “This is not my blood. It’s his.” She pointed up into the trees where another silhouette could just barely be made out, higher up. She unlocked from their embrace and limped over to shake the tree trunk. A huge body came crashing down and Leon rolled out of the way just in time. An obese man dressed in bloody red felt. Cuffs of puffy white cotton, now stained with gore. Leon bent down and lifted the bearded head, blue eyes staring blindly back at him. The girl leaned over his shoulder, pressing against him. “It’s Saint Nick.”

Leon stared at the bloody face, the crusted white beard. The clutching fat fingers. He looked back at the girl’s face, now wet with tears. “Hold me,” she said. He embraced her. “I think… I think I killed Christmas.” She sobbed. Leon held her, staring at the huge mountain of flesh that had lost its holiday cheer forever. He took hold of the girls’ face and stared directly into her red eyes. “I know a way to bring him back to life. Just look into my eyes.” She looked away, sobbing. He pulled her head back to face his. “Look at me! Now… WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!”

Struggling, twisting, trapped in wet sheets, then coming to in the darkness. It was a nightmare! Hyperventilating. She turned in bed but no! There he was: Bernie, his huge whale of a body soaked in blood, the knife still in her hand. She threw it clattering to the floor and let out an ear-splitting scream.

Soon she was in the shower, washing off the blood. Then she was in her business suit at the front door, checking for spots of blood anywhere or a misbuttoned blouse, any other mistakes.

Then there was Leon, pulling up in a hotrod- made out of bloody tree branches. “Check out my ride, baby.”

“What—.”

He grabbed her, handcuffed her, and threw her in the back where she landed on branches, sharp twigs cutting into her skirt, her nylons.

The tree-car took off with a terrible roar and she struggled with the cuffs, which turned out to be made of twigs. She twisted her wrists and they broke. “Hey Leon.” He turned and she stabbed him in the face with a sharp stick, a geyser of blood spraying directly back at her, drenching her. The car crashed and broke apart, releasing her into a grassy marsh.

Bloody and covered with mud now, she trudged forward, letting out a terrible, high-pitched, Mickey Mouse shrieking laugh.

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