This is the third of a series of short stories I am writing this December.
Click here to read the explanation of why I’m writing them.
Deep in the city sat a row of houses. Unremarkable at first glance, mundane at second. Half way down the row of terraced houses lived the McIntyres. In the house lived Wilson and Joanna McIntyre, along with their son Rupert, and one rather old but kindly dog called Leah.
Wilson and Joanna loved their son more than anything in the world, maybe a little too much. As we know, all children need to have their boundaries enforced and bad behaviour discouraged, but the McIntyres had let their son get away with far too much.
You see Rupert was spoiled rotten; nothing was ever good enough for him. Rupert would cry, Rupert would wail, Rupert would always get his way. But today was the day where Wilson and Joanna would wish they had been stricter, and Rupert would wish he was better behaved.
Today was Christmas Day, just after lunch. But it was not like the years before. Wilson and Joanna had fallen on bad times and money was not as abundant like times past. The tree sat in the corner, the underside bare. The turkey for lunch had been two sizes too small for the family of three.
“It’s time for presents” Rupert practically screamed.
Pushing his chair back from the table and running over to the tree in such a rush that he almost trampled the family dog.
“Well Rupert, you know, your Mother and I have been having some money troubles lately”, Wilson spoke through a big sigh.
“And what with Leah’s vets bills” Joanna continued, “we have had to cut back a bit.”
“So, we haven’t been able to get you everything you wanted this year” Wilson finished off, knowing what was coming.
They could see the kettle which was Rupert’s temper beginning to boil over. His red skin taking on a rosy hue and his anger pumped his emotions into overdrive.
“But”, Joanna tried to get ahead of the oncoming tantrum, “you remember your Aunt Mary who passed a couple of years ago?”.
“She left you something special”.
Wilson disappeared into a side room. Rustling ensued and he reappeared pushing something on castors, covered in a white sheet. Aunt Mary had passed and left the family very little in the way of possessions save a single, well used, upright piano.
“Oh this better be good” Rupert declared causing both his parents to frown deeply.
He pulled the sheet back, revealing the piano.
“We thought you could learn to play, wouldn’t that be nice” Joanna said meekly, knowing that Rupert’s facial expression meant only once thing.
“A Piano?” Rupert half screeched, “A Piano?!”
The volcano of his temper erupted. The pyroclastic flow of his disappointment destroying all in its path as it rolled through the room. Wilson and Joanna, frozen in dismay didn’t step in to ebb the flow of his rage, hoping instead he would tire himself out; that is, until Rupert’s anger was directed at the tree, pushing it over which in turn knocked a vase from the windowsill. It smashed and it’s noise woke Wilson from his inaction.
“THAT’S IT” he bellowed, scaring himself as well as the others.
“This is unacceptable you ungrateful brat! Go to your room now” he followed with little more control over his temper.
Rupert, having never been admonished in this way, was stunned into compliance and ran upstairs to his room.
“You will be lucky if Krampus doesn’t come take you in your sleep for being so beastly!” Wilson shouted up after him, “He steals bad little boys away in a sack, never to be seen again.”
Joanna laid a hand on his arm and he shook his head.
“What have we done. We have failed him Joanna. We raised him wrong.”
The tree was put back in its upright position but Christmas was ruined. Day turned to night and the final light was turned off, sleep consuming all but Rupert, who still sat fuming in his room.
Unable to sleep he was left with nothing but the clicking and creaking of the old house until the melodic notes of a piano fluttered from downstairs. Rupert ignored it, his parents were asleep so there was no one left to play the aged instrument. He knew that the dog would bark if anyone dared break in.
A single note, short and sharp, refocused his attention. Rupert was not filled with fear, the opposite in fact, he was filled with anger again; how dare someone play his piano.
If Rupert had cared about waking his parents, if he had entered their room to warn them that he heard something unexpected downstairs, he would have found they could not be woken. However, Rupert did not care to rouse his parents, and headed straight down the stairs to see who dared to touch his things.
The soft tapping of the keys grew louder. Storming into the lounge, to the source of the sounds, Rupert froze as soon as he saw what sat at the piano. Before his mouth caught up he blurted out “You can’t play that, its mine!”
“I thought you didn’t want it, Rupert? You wanted a bike? Make your mind up Rupert, what would you like?”
The towering creature sat hunched over the piano; half-human and half-goat.
With hooves for feet and ears which came to points below twisted horns, it was covered in fur and speaking in rhymes.
“It’s m…m…mine” he stuttered.
His lips were suddenly very dry, he swallowed so loudly the creature stopped playing and turned to look at him.
It’s blood red skin and black eyes were too much for Rupert.
“You act like this house is yours, and I hate to say, your parents have failed you, it’s our time to play”.
In the blink of an eye, the beast sat at the piano disappeared in a cloud of smoke and re-appeared behind Rupert holding a big red sack.
“You are a very spoilt child Rupert, you destroyed this tree, now I’m afraid Rupert, you’re coming with me.”
