DEAD WINTER: A CRYPTIC Anthology

The Star that Leads to Crazy • C. Bottas

What you are about to endure is a small Christmas story of two very terrible little vampires. Cooper and Braydie are two characters from my story 'All Lips Turn Blue'. Coop is a bad guy, Braydie is even worse. Happy holidays!

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"They say that you can visit Crazy but you should not build a house there." Braydie dangled the mistletoe over the quivering boy's face. "You, on the other hand, should not have even visited." She hovered over him like a phantom, his bloody body was spread out like a star, each limb had been broken by her and Cooper's hands, crushed and stomped on till he had become motionless.

The boy's jeans were sticky with his blood. He had only one sneaker on his foot, the other was balancing on his forehead. His once white t-shirt was now dotted vermilion. Braydie had dug her fingers into a bite wound she had made on his neck then used his own blood to write his name across his chest. "How many Rs are there in Jarred?" She looked at him quizzing before shrugging. "Never ya mind. How about I just call you Melchior?"

Jarred, or Melchior, had long since given up trying to break free and was now convulsing under her, foaming at the mouth.

Streaks of cocaine ran across Braydie's cheeks like war paint. It had barely been an hour ago that her, Cooper and Jarred were doing lines off each other in a tangle of skinny bodies and pallid flesh. Braydie could snort half of Columbia before she would over-dose on the stuff, ole Melchy on the other hand...

"I think I gave him too much." Braydie looked over her shoulder at Cooper, her blue eyes squinting.

The other vampire sat in a corner, his skinny legs were pulled up to his chest, track-marked arms hugged them close. Cooper's pale green eyes stared at the ceiling, in his intoxication he was searching for a Heaven that no longer existed.

"Why are you hidin'? You think you're safe? You're on the border of Crazy now. Crazy exists on the very tippy-tip of the edge of your brain, just before you're going to jump off."

Cooper heard the smaller vampire but it took him a moment to register. "Huh?" Cooper looked to his sister. "You killed him, didn't ya." He said flatly.

"I did not kill him," Braydie tapped their victim's nose with the mistletoe but he made no motion of noticing it. His eyes, too, stared towards the Heavens, just like Cooper he was too far gone for any sort of salvation.

The wind howled and whipped the snow around in a mad frenzy. One would have to be insane to be outside in such a snowstorm. Most people were holed up in their warm, cozy homes tonight, exchanging gifts, eating feasts and singing carols.

Braydie began to sing, her voice carried towards the walls, soon found the wind and meshed with it in a unmelodious howl.

"We three kings of Orient are
Bearing gifts we traverse afar.
Field and fountain, moor and mountain,
Following yonder star."

She grabbed Jarred's limp wrists and pulled him to her chest, swaying as if in a slow-dance.

"O star of wonder, star of night,
Star with royal beauty bright,
Westward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us to thy perfect Light. "

The vampires' guest let out a pitiful gurgling sound. Braydie pulled back and looked at him in disgust. "Does it have a warranty?"

Cooper rubbed his eyes and shrugged. "Braydie, this is the last time I bring you a mortal for Christmas. Next year I'm sticking to socks."

"You stick to socks and I'll stick a sock up your-" Braydie shrieked when a book hit her on her shoulder. "It'll be your fault if I drop him on his head!"

Cooper crawled over to his sister. "Put him out of his misery, Bray, and let's go do somethin' else." Puppy eyes pleaded.

"Aww, unfair, Cooper." She frowned at him and mock pouted. "Not the Benji face."

Cooper poked her nose. "We could go slide down someone's chimney."

"And set our butts on fire?"

"We could find a Santa sleigh and go on a joy ride."

"Do you know how to even drive a sleigh, knuckle-head?"

"We could build a house."

"Already did, Coop, a few of them." Braydie hugged Jarred. The cocaine rubbed off on his cheek. Drool and puke trickled down his chin but his eyes were closed now and his lids no longer flickered.

Cooper sat down, leaned back on his hands and stretched his legs out in front of him. "Not the ones you build in Crazy, Braydie, gingerbread ones."

Braydie planted a kiss on Jarred's lips, full and hard, then dropped him like a bag of rocks and inched over to Cooper. "Gingerbread houses are for wimps." She curled up around the older vampire, half on and half off his lap, she reached for the book and opened it up.

" He delighted to believe—Toby was very poor, and couldn't well afford to part with a delight—that he was worth his salt." Braydie scowled. "I don't like salt, Cooper." Spry little hands reached into the book and ripped the unsavory page.

Cooper rolled his eyes. "Is there a reason you are gutting the book?"

But the younger vampire chose to ignore him and flipped onto another page and another story. "Shall I read you the one about the Krampus?" Before Cooper could answer Braydie continued. "Have you been naughty or nice, little boy? I-mfff-"

Cooper clamped his hand over her mouth causing a stream of vulgarities to muffle into his palm.

"Braydie," He wasn't sure if he should be laughing or banging his head against the wall till he was deader than their guest. "Bray-yeow!" He pulled his now bitten hand away and pushed Braydie off his lap sending her sprawling on the floor, face first into a small puddle of blood.

Braydie just chuckled and rolled onto her back. "Coop," skinny hands stretched out before her. Then at the top of her voice she began to sing. "Do you wanna built a snow man? Or ride our bikes around the halls? I think some company is overdue. I've started talking to the pictures on the waaaaalls!"

Cooper got up, rubbing his hand. "Santa's going to bring you a lump of coal!"

Outside layer after layer of snow fell, blanketing Baton Rouge with its powdery fluff. Braydie and Cooper decided to spent the rest of the night outside having a massive snowball fight and building a snowman around the dead boy, who by then had turn a frightening share of blue. It would be weeks before the snow would melt and anyone could find Jarred.

But if anyone was to see the large snowman sitting proudly in the powdery whiteness, with huge black buttons for eyes, a shiny penny for his nose, a smile created by colourful jellybeans turning up towards the sky, and a glittery gold crown on his head, the could say it was quite a nice snowman indeed.

*

Author' note: The songs 'We Three Kings' and 'Do You Want To Build A Snowman' do not belong to me, neither does the story 'The Chimes, A Goblin Story of Some Bells that Rang an Old Year Out and a New Year In' and the legend of the 'Krampus'.

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