The Christmas Package

Road trip

“It’s not that bad,” Veronica lied. “I’m sure with a little bit of tape and glue we can put him back together.” She and Sandra were standing over the sofa where the newly deceased Chris lay looking stylishly comfortable. And dead.

Sandra nodded. “Tape and glue-tape and glue? Oh that’s never going to work! He’s dead, Veronica!”

“Okay, calm down.” Veronica took her by the shoulders and sat her in a nice leather love seat. A love seat that would be getting absolutely no action this Christmas. “Honestly I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about this. It’s not as if you’ve gone and killed another scarlet armadillo.”

“You killed the scarlet armadillo!”

“Okay,” Veronica reeled herself back in. “Let’s not go naming who killed what. The point is that I had absolutely no involvement in this. None at all.”

“Right,” said Sandra, nodding.

“And this…complete stranger, just came into your house. You had to kill him, it was your only option. I mean, who knows. He could be the psycho dog rapist on the loose.”

Sandra continued to nod. “Yeah…” Then she blinked and shook her head. “Oh no! That’s not it at all and I know it. Don’t you understand? He was my Christmas wish. I think you only get one in a lifetime and I ruined it. I wished him into existence and then I destroyed him. I killed that which I created!”

Veronica blinked. For a few seconds she was speechless, and decided that it would probably be a good idea if she sat too.

“Okay,” she began, “normally in this situation I would say that we need plastic bags and a lot of bleach, but right now I can see that your sanity has finally reached a level equal to my own. Therefore, I propose plan B.”

“Plan B?” Asked Sandra. “What’s plan B?”

“I know someone who might be able to help.”

“Who?”

“Shh!” Hushed Veronica. “Not here. He can help you, but you have to be all in. No going back once you’ve started. I’m telling you, Sandra, this is some serious shit you’re getting into.”

“I’d do anything, I swear!” Said Sandra.

Veronica’s face lit up. “Great!” She said. “Then get Mr. Post-Mortem in the car. We’re going on a road trip.”

So, after having stuffed dead Chris into the backseat of Veronica’s armadillo killer, she and Sandra were well on their way to their mysterious destination. They drove for hours. Afternoon gave way to evening and evening turned to night. In the bitter darkness, Sandra looked ahead and wondered if her heart would ever be whole again.

“I’m sailllllling awaaaaay-sing it Sandra! Something something blaaaah for the virgin seas.”

“Oh Veronica,” Sandra moped while her friend blasted styx. “How can you sing this song right now?” She sighed despondently.

“You’re right.” Veronica immediately stopped the disc and popped another one in. “Lucky for you I made a mix CD for just this occasion.” She pressed play and began to sing along. “Psycho keelor. Cascuse. Fafafafafafafafafaaa-”

“You made a murder play list?!”

“It was the 90s. Everyone was doing it.”

Sandra looked back at dead Chris. Sure he was beginning to smell a little less fresh than before, but they had posed him on the seat in a position that brought out the definition of his rock solid abs. She started drooling, and then she remembered that he was dead.

“Poor attractive dead guy,” she said. “You should have run run run away.”

They drove on late into the night. At some point Sandra fell asleep. She had a dream that she was being chased by a large scarlet armadillo. She ran and ran, but just when she thought she was getting away she realized what she was running toward. A huge panda with its arms outstretched for a hug.

“No…never again. I won’t do it. I won’t hug you-”

“Sandra!”

She woke up to Veronica shouting in her ear.

“You were dreaming about the panda again, weren’t you?”

“Sometimes I wake up to the feeling of its fluffy arms wrapped around me,” Sandra admitted with a traumatized shudder.

“Sounds nice,” Said Veronica, “Usually all I’ve got is a half bottle of gin to make me feel fuzzy.”

Realizing they had stopped, Sandra looked out the window. It was hard to tell what kind of place they’d arrived at in the dark. Overhead she could see knotted tree branches leaning over the drive. They were stopped at a large iron gate and beyond she could just barely make out the vision of a towering house.

“Where are we?” She asked.

“Umm…” Veronica was looking at a map upside down, and quickly stuffed it in the glove compartment. “Obviously we have reached our destination.”

“We have?”

“No,” Veronica admitted. “The car broke down. But hey, at least it stopped in front of this fancy look’n place. Let’s go see if anyone’s home.”

It started to rain with a blast of thunder. A bolt of lightning flashed ominously above the house.

“Maybe we should just call someone,” Sandra suggested, her seatbelt still firmly in place.

“We could,” Veronica agreed, then she looked in the backseat at dead Chris, “But they might have some questions regarding our friend...” She opened her door. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Everything!” Said Sandra. “Just look at this place! What kind of sane person chooses to live in a place like this?”

“Well it’s a little old fashioned-”

“And who honestly has a wrought iron gate these days?”

“Rich people!” Said Veronica optimistically.

“And why is it raining? It’s the middle of December in the northern hemisphere!”

“I dunno, global warming? Honestly Sandra, this is why you’re still single.” Veronica got out of the car leaving Sandra to sit and wonder at the meaning of that statement. A few seconds later she got out and followed Veronica to the gate.