Bloody Moon [COMPLETED]

His Game of Blood and Gore.

Remember, you can read this chapter even if you haven't read any other part of this book.

           Dedicated to Jey_Nathan 

  Theme Song -: Devil Pray - Madonna

        Deep down in the depths of hell, stood the Grim Reaper. Adorning his face was his signature sadistic grin. His icy eyes were lighted up by the raging fire in which multitude of souls were burning. Their piercing screams of agony filled the air as they burned for their sins.

       The chimes of the clock brought him out of his reverie. At the last stroke of midnight signalling Christmas day,  he turned from the fiery halls. Moving briskly, he ascended up a flight of winding stairs, his black cloak dragging on the floor alongside the giant snakes slithering , following their master as though they heard the chimes and knowing what was about to come , moved as fast as he did.

       At the end of the stairs, stood a door with an engraving of the Cross on it. Instead of The Son of God on it, there was an old bearded man, in robes looking down at thee children who lay dead at the feet of the cross.

         A vague description of his games. Of what was about to happen.

       The door creaked loudly as he pushed it open fully. The cobras at his feet slithered in swiftly and went straight to the center of the room, on which a three legged wooden table stood.

         The largest of the cobras twisted itself round one of the legs of the table till it reached the top. Opening its mouth widely, it lunged at the small object lying on it, but the Grim picked up the object and it bit the wood instead.

      Leaving it there moaning in pain, he walked to an inner chamber in one corner of the room.

      Very carefully, he tied the strings holding the object onto his fingers and as he sat down on a chair, the object dangled at his side.

        A wooden puppet. Made to look exactly like Santa Claus.

                          *  *  *  *  * * * * * * * *

    
      Arlo Broderick was an average young man. He wasn't married and lived in a quiet neighborhood in Milan, Italy. His job as truck driver wasn't well paying and so he took up extra jobs every now and then to help on the side.

        For the night, he worked as Babbo Natale , the beloved Santa Claus at the children carol party held in Piazza Duomo. His job entailed handing out little gift boxes to smiling children and taking pictures every now then with them and their parents.

       It had been this way for years. Tonight was going to be no different. Or so he thought.

      
                          * * * * * * * * * * * *

       A little blonde girl with clear blue eyes walked up to him and smiled with missing teeth.

      "I wansh a pishure" she said.

        "A picture? Okay kiddo" he smiled as he ruffled her hair and picked her up.

        He looked around for a photographer, and finding none, he walked with her into a photo booth.

       He sat and with her on his legs, struck a funny face pose for the camera.

      As the light flashed, he pupils dilated and his entire body began to jerk. The child began giggling, clutching on to his beards. She was clearly enjoying whatever it was that was happening to Babbo.

      All of a sudden, she stopped giggling and her hand fell from his beards. Her eyes rolled back in her their sockets and a soft barely audible whimper escaped her tiny lips before she went limp and dropped to the floor with a thud.

         Blood had begun seeping out slowly from beneath her. The same blood on Arlo's shaking hands.

        He had killed her. By one single thrust of his hands into her back. He stopped jerking as the realization of what he had done hit him.

          Glancing at the now pale body at his feet, made to leave the booth.  No one noticed him as he left the piazza and rushed out into the cold night.

        His keys dropped from his hand as he fumbled with them, trying to unlock his truck.

      Despite the cold, sweat rolled down his face as he drove away as fast as he could.

       Behind him, a soft creepy voice giggled and spoke
   
           "I wansh a pishure"

    Dismissing it as his imagination, he continued driving not knowing where he was headed to.

      Two minutes later, he heard the low giggle again.

       "I wansh a pishure" It came louder this time.

         His hands began shaking as he drove and he was beginning to lose control of the truck.

        A low chuckle beside him made him turn, and his eyes locked onto clear blue ones.

        The child.

  It was the last thing he ever saw as she raised the ice pick in her hand and struck his forehead with it.

     How a child as frail as she was able to handle a ice pick, he never got to know. He died seconds later as she continued piercing his head with it and his brain spewed out.

       Back in hell, The Grim Reaper untangled a different puppet from his hand. This second puppet like looked just like a little blonde child with clear blue eyes and missing teeth would, if she existed.

The End

  *Hey there! Hope you liked this. I'm sorry if it wasn't good enough. I'm kinda really sick. On Christmas day, I know I know. Its sucks. Hope you had a nice day and don't forget to vote. Thanks!*

PS. Babbo Natale is Italian for Santa Claus.