basement party

"How now Mike?" Russ keeps on scratching his head.

"I've told you we need a bigger one right?"

"I'm not the stupid one who wrote S-A-N-T-A you cocksucker! How would I know? How would I know that the SANTA we're going to summon won't fit this pentagram we made for SATAN you dumb illiterate shit?" he was half screaming while kicking Aaron's dad's toolbox.  

Mike was really tired. Being the only one who's not sleeping for 2 days reading that old rotten book really mess him up. The responsibility was always on the brightest. He had his whole life worrying on legal contracts they might not ever be getting, but this current problem in front of him was so big it won't fit the sixth pentagram he has made today.

"When we're famous I'm going to ask Maroon 5 if they have someone as stupid as you in their band. If we did get all this done tonight of course. Aaron's parents will be here in the morning, and now we have to deal with this dumb fat old man who can't give us anything but toys! Its not even Christmas for god sake! So how now Russ, tell me. How now?"

"I don't know Mike"

"How about we ask Santa himself?" both of them turns their heads towards Ritchie.

The whole basement turns silent, along with the muffled grunt from the big man in red, halfway buried in the basement's cement floor. Ritchie was the most quiet one, only saying important things when it is needed.

"Okay. Okay. We talk to the big guy" "Let's see what's his opinion on this fuck up this retard caused"

Russ lead the four of them towards the man, who had now stopped his struggling. He then yank the red Christmas hat Mike had stuffed in his mouth. The man's breath smell of candy, as he breathe the damp basement air in and out. He had no choice. He was on his massive bed in North Pole forty-five minutes ago. 

"Are you the kid who misspelled Satan?" Russ nods

"I've been in worse situation son, don't worry. I've been stuck in much smaller circles. I'm not mad at all for this."

"Even Maroon 5 made the same mistake, they're the kindest group of kids I've met. Down to earth. Good kids. Anyway, I can help you to return me back to the midgets, but I won't this time. I refuse to let you all send me back"

Mike wasn't sure about what he just heard so he walked forward, while pushing the almost crying Russ out of the way.

"So how Mr Santa. I'm sorry but you're in our way. We have to send you back, this is the only time we get everything right, EVERYTHING right but the name. I really need to go to sleep. We're not gonna keep you here in the basement feeding you like a gimp. Aaron's dad gonna be so mad at us if he sees you. So please Mr Santa. Let us send you home. Please,"

Mike was leaning too close towards Santa, and Santa was purposely leaning back. With a movement like an alligator, he lunge his upper body forward driving his forehead towards Mike's nose. Blood sprayed on Santa's face from the impact.

"You kids have no respect! I said I'm not going back there before tearing you up to pieces you little shit! Everyone who ever accidentally called me treat me with dignity, plead for forgiveness, and talked to me in a way which shows that they do feel guilty! I am SANTA CLAUS! You guys? Implying that I'm fat with every sentence? stuffing my mouth with my hat? You won't be playing anything after I pull your guts out! Ugh! Ughghg!"

The hanging light was swaying hard with each movement as Santa's mass was almost equal a hippo, causing their shadows to sway on its axis. Russ was silent, he's glad that Mike made the circle small enough not to let that beast forelimbs out, seeing the blood dripping from his nose. Ritchie was walking towards Mike to pick him up, with no words coming from him too. Aaron can't take it any more, he want all this to be done before his parents get back. He rushed upstairs, then another floor up towards his parents room.

Aaron knew already where his father keep the gun. He pick it out of the drawer while taking a deep breath. He then sits on the bed for a good 5 minutes. He locates all the mops and pails in his head. Shovels in the backyard, a big old rug on in a roll under the stairs. His car still have enough gas to bring them all somewhere they can bury Santa if they really kill him tonight. 

Satisfied, he exit the room and went downstairs with the gun, now figuring out by himself on whose gonna make the shot. His few last steps was greeted with Russ on the floor, sleeping in a pool of barf.

"What took you so long Aaron?" "We're halfway done already, sorry we didn't wait for you"

Mike was bloody to the sleeve, blood still flowing from his nose. His stained hand was empty, but Aaron recognise a screwdriver on Santa's right eye socket. Santa's head was limp, now mishapen, and slumped forward, definitely dead. Cohesive lines of mucus and blood flowing from his facial cavities. Ritchie is soaked from head to the waist like he just got pranked with buckets of pig blood, looking at the dead old guy while holding a bloody hammer. Santa life's ended, thus begin the cleaning.

"Now let's take care of this, and make sure the next time you draw a bigger circle" said Ritchie while wiping his glasses

"I know Ritchie, I know"

"It's 3 now, we got half a Santa to be disposed, and we haven't met Satan yet. Where's your dad's saw Aaron? It's nowhere in the toolbox for fuck sake"