Teeth by Chynna Blue Scott
TODAY’S BREW: Still boozy cider.
On a theme today of forcing people to show us their writing and letting the world take a look. Chynna Blue Scott is a brand new friend of ours that keeps right up, and she has a great voice. I am so very pleased to let you have a look at her handiwork here, then go have fun on her blog to see an excerpt of her first novel! Follow her on Twitter and check out her blog!
by Chynna Blue Scott
We aren’t the only ones who have Christmas trees.
Others have Christmas trees, too. And they don’t decorate them the way we do, oh no. They decorate them bad. Real bad.
Bad for us, anyway.
See, when we go a-running a-round, a-searching out our Christmas tinsel and baubles and lights and all that other insignificant bullhocky, they do a different kind of shopping.
A same kind. But a different kind. It’s all relative, yah know?
You don’t know. But I know.
I heard them, talking. The pale one with the teeth and the pretty eyes, she’d spotted the one she wanted. He was tall, athletic type, typical college footballer. She wanted him, she hissed. They were going to get him, just like they got the others. Just like her brother got the pretty little girl.
I assume he was her brother. You never know with them. But he had the same pale face, the same sparkly eyes. The same teeth.
My finger slipped on the railing I gripped, watching them. It was cold, the ice glittering under the floodlights. Skate-blades glistened like silver razor-slashes. I knew how this would play out.
I hadn’t been able to stop them getting the pretty little girl, at the waxworks. I could still see the bubbles when I closed my eyes.
I’d stop them from getting him.
They wouldn’t come out until he went to leave. The twins liked to make their move in the shadows, to hear their victim’s heart speed up as they walked through the dark patch… Not tonight.
I sauntered up to the athletic guy, flipping my hair back, my smile all teeth. It was easy to get him to come with me. Satisfying to hear the girl’s frustrated hiss split the night air, snaking toward me like a spark along a dynamite fuse. I’d lit the dynamite, alright.
I was ready for the bang.
The athletic guy’s face said he couldn’t believe his luck. Oh, he was lucky. God damn lucky. Luckier than he knew.
I wouldn’t hang him on my tree. I wouldn’t drive spikes into his hands and display him like an ornament, dress him like a nutcracker and force him to walk all day and all night… Not like they would. I’d seen it. Seen it a million times. Not this time.
He never saw it coming. Three sharp slashes, and hot blood spurted, steaming in the frozen air. He gurgled, sighed, and fell. He wouldn’t get back up again. No, I wouldn’t display him. My teeth snagged my lip as I dragged him back into an alleyway, slithering red trail a glaring red-arrow pointing to his location. I wanted him to be found. He deserved a burial.
Once they had chosen him, he was already D-E-A-D dead. I just made sure it was painless as possible. Quick job, over and done. His head lolled back as I slumped him against the brick wall, his mouth open comically.
The twins watched me, alternately hissing and spitting. They followed me out of the alleyway and back to the ice rink, their footsteps soundless. No one paid any attention to them as they passed. My black coat hid the blood well.
I needed a drink. I thought about strapping on a pair of skates, gliding over the ice in my long black coat.
I saw the boy’s eyes light up as he caught sight of a young girl, her long hair a shimmering blonde swathe. I sighed, and made my way over to her. My smile was all teeth.
“Hey, there’s a party going on round the corner. Interested?”