The DHC’s in-person short story critique group recently gathered for a holiday get-together and drabble contest. All the submissions were truly amazing micro fictions, but only one was the holiday greatest! Congratulations to Matt Sprague and his piece, “Grandma.”

Read on to see the holiday-themed drabbles!

Grandma
by Matt Sprague

When she left her daughter’s house on Christmas eve, Evelyn Jacobs was a bright and beautiful soul. So alive, despite her age. She had no idea what awaited her.

When we found the body, she was a mangled mass of hard and soft tissues. A bag of pulped meat. She hadn’t just been killed, she’d been crushed. Her skull resembled a pumpkin weeks after Halloween. Whatever killed her hit her so hard that bits of bone were actually embedded in the sidewalk and her eyes had popped out of her skull.

The patrol officer that initially responded interviewed a number of people who actually witnessed the event. They claimed to have seen nothing but a red light followed by a red and white blur accompanied by a terrible jingling. A sound that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.

The force assigned their best detective and he promptly arrived on the scene. He knelt next to the body to examine it. “Cuts, crushing injuries, parallel slash marks. Classic.” The Detective rose to his feet. “We see this every year. Grandma,” he paused dramatically to slip on his aviators, “got run over by a reindeer.”

Mistletoe
by Sean Murphy

On Christmas Eve, my grandmother would wake me and my brother up and we would walk into the woods behind our house. She said burning mistletoe on the Yule log would bring good luck all year. That gathering mistletoe wards off evil. We did it every year, even when we were old enough to know better. We even did it after Grandma passed.

After I was married I told my kids about mistletoe and the good luck it would bring.

“What happens if we don’t?” asked my youngest.

“I don’t know, grandma never told us about that. Let’s not think about it and have fun.”  I didn’t let it cross my mind again.

I should have.

The following year my wife got transferred for her job, and we ended up in the City. On Christmas Eve, I took the kids to gather mistletoe, but the weather had made leaving the City impossible. We had no mistletoe for our fire that night.

The answer to the question. What happens when you don’t? My dead grandma came back to show me what happens if you don’t have mistletoe. She just finished the kids and is saving me for last.

Lesson learned.

Up on the Rooftop
By Sara Martinez 

This is the year I’m finally going to do it. I’m going to beat that asshole Clark. Every year, he puts up that monstrosity, browning out the neighborhood and keeping us all up with the brightness. Well, I’m going to do him one better. Mine will be bigger, brighter, but so much more tasteful.

I just need to finish the light grid: Gold and green and red moving in time with Christmas carols when they play. I spent a small fortune on the control box to rig it up, but it’ll be worth it.

I can’t believe it’s so dark already. And the roof is getting slick. Ugh, now the cords are tangled. How’d it get around my leg? Shit! I’m slipping. The cord pulls my feet out from under me and I slide to the edge of the roof. The strands already hung there snare me, catching around my throat. Every time I try to thrash free, it constricts around my neck. My vision tunnels as my body weight pulls the cord even tighter.

One last thought before the blackness takes me: at least this is a Christmas display no one will ever forget.

Ornamental
By Sean Michael

They’re ornamental. Not functional. Well, not functional enough to crack a nut.

I loved nutcrackers. Not sure when the fascination began but finding one for the collection had become a December tradition. My favorite part of decorating was finding the red and green container in storage and spreading them around the house.

Whatever. It was a fun tradition. If I make it to the new year, I’ll be burning that box along with the rest of the decorations. At first it was subtle. The short blue one and the Rat King were switched.

Fuck this. I struggle against the string of lights binding my wrists and ankles to the chair. The knots hold. The tinsel tickles the roof of my mouth, stuffed with oh-so-much care.

There are dozens, staring. Some I don’t remember buying. I’m not sure their eyes are painted on.

The Rat King is at my hand. The Knight with his sword to my throat. I struggle but it takes my index finger in its hinged jaw to the first joint. I hear the crack and scream into the tinsel. It moves down to the next knuckle.

This is going to be a long Christmas Eve.