The Human Santapede by Adam Millard

Author:Adam Millard [Millard, Adam]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: Bizarro, Christmas, Comedy, Horror, Humor & Satire, Humorous, Santa
Amazon: B00ON3Z8MK
Publisher: Crowded Quarantine Publications
Published: 2014-11-15T06:00:00+00:00

17

Finklefoot stood in front of the huge, gothic mansion, his tiny hand hovering a few inches from the door. The doorknocker was a bronze thingummy in the shape of a giant sack of toys. At least, Finklefoot hoped that’s what it was. Not that it mattered; the elf was far too small to reach it. Whatever possessed a person to install a doorknocker so high up, especially when ninety-nine percent of the land’s inhabitants were elves?

But that was the thing. The owner of this mansion didn’t want callers; didn’t like them. Didn’t like anyone, really. It was a miracle that there was a doorknocker in the first place, and also that there wasn’t an electric fence running around the grounds, and a couple of rabid hounds sitting out front. It was also a miracle that Finklefoot had mustered the courage to approach the mansion. He was either really very brave, or incredibly stupid. Perhaps a little of both…

“Fangleflop!” a voice hissed. Finklefoot’s heart leapt up into his throat before moving beyond that. He could almost taste the arteries. He snatched the walkie-talkie from his belt and depressed the button. Not depressed the button, as in told it a sad story and called it a hurtful name, but pushed it in.

“Shhhhhh!” the elf gasped. “And don’t keep startling me like that. I’m not carrying a change of dungarees. And please get my name right. If I’m going to be your second-in-command, you should be able to remember who I am.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Santa said, impatiently. “Where are you? Right now, at this minute, presently?”

Finklefoot swallowed his heart back down and said, “I’m about to knock on Belsnickel’s door.” He gave the door a cursory glance. “Remember? You said I should speak to the Companions? Why?”

“Oooooh,” Santa said. “I bet you’re awfully frightened right now, but don’t let him intimidate you. At the end of the day he’s my second-in-command, and—”

“Hang on a minute. He’s your second-in-command, too? So you have three second-in-commands?”

There was a long crackle as Santa exhaled. “Technically, I have six second-in-commands, if you’re including the Companions, my wife, and yourself, and then, of course, there is Hattie Hermann, which makes seven, and then—”

“Look, do we have time for all this nonsense?” Finklefoot said. “I’m about to have a heart-attack here, and I’d really rather get this over with so I can get back to the village, preferably in one piece.”

“Ho-Ho-Hold your horses, Finkleflaps,” Santa said. “The reason I called. Yes, there was a reason. Your wife, Trixie. She’s not best impressed that you’re working straight up until Christmas Eve. A couple of your gang reckon she’s on the warpath. You might want to keep an eye out for her; I know what elf bitches be like when they gets a bee in their bonnet.”

“Did you just speak gangsta?”

“Is that what it was?” Santa said. “I thought I was having a stroke.”

Finklefoot closed his eyes and sighed. Not only was he standing on the porch of one of the

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