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PAUL KANE about to burst into tears. His father came and put an arm around her. “It’s okay, it’s okay…We have some ready meals in the freezer. We’ll manage.” “What an ugly looking thing,” Gretchen sneered. “Look who’s talking,” Jacob replied, and did get a clip for that. He could tell that his father was thinking about locking Freckles up again, possibly somewhere more secure like the garden shed, but after devouring the turkey the demon appeared to be slightly bigger than before. Its teeth that bit larger and more pointed. Jacob had the feeling that if Freckles wanted to, he could probably take the man’s entire leg off now rather than simply biting him. “Come on,” said Jacob’s father, ushering people back towards the dining room, looking over his shoulder only once at Freckles; who’d left another present for them to clean up off the carpet… There was some moaning about the turkey, but in the end people understood – it was just one of those things that happened with new pets in the house. ‘Uncle’ Dave didn’t care as long as the brandy was flowing, and the two grandparents barely seemed to register what was happening. After their microwave meals, Jacob’s mum lit the top of a Christmas pudding – and as he turned towards the door of the dining room, Jacob noticed Freckles was sitting there, watching the flames as they rose higher and higher, cocking his head. It was an auger of things to come. For, when they’d all adjourned to the living room, bellies full and slightly squiffy, the TV was turned on in readiness for their monarch’s yearly address. Something about her voice set Freckles off big time, and soon Jacob realised why his eyes – all four of them – were that distinctive yellow and orangey-red colour. A blast of heat shot from them, directed at the television set. The screen cracked, then the whole box exploded. But it didn’t end there. Seemingly unable to control these new powers, Freckles turned them on the rest of the room, setting fire to decorations, to the books on the coffee table, and melting the angel on top of the Christmas Tree. “Wha’s goin’-” was all Grandpa managed before the ray was turned on him. Mercifully, it was over quickly – and in milliseconds Grandpa was reduced to a smouldering pile of ash in his chair. The laser vision died down. The room was deathly quiet. - 46 -

Estronomicon Christmas 2008  

The eZine of fantasy, sci-fi and horror

Estronomicon Christmas 2008  

The eZine of fantasy, sci-fi and horror

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