Krampus: The Yule Lord Read Free Page A

Phyllis Tucker stood right next to him in her nightgown, house slippers, and husband’s hunting jacket. Phyllis was in her seventies, a small lady, and the hunting jacket all but swallowed her up.
    “Huh?”
    “I said, that was really weird.”
    He nodded absently.
    “See the way his eyes changed?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “That was really weird.”
    “Yes, ma’am, it sure was.”
    Several other people were venturing out, coming over to see what was going on.
    “Think he’s dead?” she asked.
    “I believe he might be.”
    “He looks dead.”
    “Does look that way.”
    “Hey, Wade,” Phyllis cried. “Call an ambulance! Wade, you hear me?”
    “I hear you,” Wade called back. “Be hard not to. They’re already on their way. Fiddle-fuck, it’s cold out here. You seen my jacket?”
    From three trailers over, the Powells’ two teenage daughters, Tina and Tracy, came walking up, followed by Tom and his wife, Pam. Pam was trying to light a cigarette and hold on to a beer, all while talking on her cell phone.
    “Why’s he all black like that?” Tina asked, and without giving anyone a chance to answer she added, “Where’d he come from?”
    “He ain’t from around here,” Phyllis said. “I can sure tell you that.”
    “Looks to me like he must’ve fell off something,” Tom said. “Something really high up.”
    Everyone looked up except Jesse.
    “Like maybe out of a plane?” Tina asked.
    “Or Santa’s sleigh,” Jesse put in.
    Phyllis gave him a sour look. “Don’t believe the Good Lord approves of folks disrespecting the dead.”
    Jesse pulled the unlit cigarette from his mouth and gave Phyllis a grin. “The Good Lord don’t seem to approve of most things I do, Mrs. Tucker. Or hadn’t you noticed?”
    Billy Tucker arrived, hitching up his jeans. “Shit! My car! Would you just look at what he done to my car!”
    Jesse heard a distant siren. Too soon for an EMT. Must be a patrol car. His jaw tightened. He sure didn’t need any more trouble, not tonight. And if Chief Dillard was on duty, that could be a bad scene indeed. Jesse ducked away and headed back toward his trailer.
    About halfway back he remembered that something else had fallen from the sky, had crashed through his roof, as a matter of fact, and the odds were pretty good that that something might well still be in there—waiting. Another one of them? He couldn’t stop thinking about the thing’s eyes, those creepy orange eyes. He knew one thing for certain: he didn’t want to be in a room with one of those whatever-the-fucks if it was still kicking around. He reached through his truck window and plucked the revolver up off the seat. It didn’t feel so solid or dependable all of a sudden, it felt small. He let out a mean laugh. Scared? Really? Afraid something’s gonna kill you? Weren’t you the one that was about to blow your own damn head off? Yes, he was, but somehow that was different. He knew what that bullet would do to him, but this thing in his trailer? There was just no telling.
    He gently inserted and twisted the key, trying to throw the deadbolt as quietly as possible. The deadbolt flipped with a loud clack. Might as well have rung the goddang doorbell. Holding the gun out before him, he tugged the door open; the hinges protested loudly. Darkness greeted him. He started to reach in and turn on the lights—stopped. Fuck, don’t really want to do that. He bit his lip and stepped up onto the cinder-block step, then, holding the gun in his right hand, he reached across into the darkness with his left. He ran his hand up and down the wall, pawing for the switch, sure at any moment something would bite off his fingers. He hit the switch and the overhead fluorescent flickered on.
    His trailer was basically three small rooms: a kitchen-dinette, a bathroom, and a bedroom. He peered in from the step. There was nothing in the kitchen other than a week’s worth of dirty utensils, soiled paper plates, and a couple of Styrofoam cups.