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This story is a piece of Christmas themed flash fiction. As usual, it’s unedited.
The Krampus Killer
Sated, the creature’s rage subsided.
The front door crashed open.
Four body armor-clad men carrying automatic rifles poured into the hallway, screaming, “Get down! Get down! Get down!”
Gregory raised his hands. The men swarmed around him. He started to ask what the hell was going on, then the butt of a rifle slammed into his face. He fell back against the wall. Blood poured from between his fingers as he pressed them against his splintered nose.
Two of the men shoved their way past Gregory, heading down the stairs to the basement.
A few seconds later, they called back up. “They’re here! Three…no, four. Jesus Christ. There’s more up there. He’s… He’s got ’em in sacks. They’re… oh, fu—”
The sound of retching drifted up the stairs, chased by the stench of half-digested burgers. Gregory wiped blood and tears from his face.
The creature waited, listening.
A woman charged into the house, heading toward the basement, her face twisted in anguish.
The man who’d hit Gregory grabbed her arm as she passed. “Captain. No!”
She pulled free of his grip and almost threw herself down the basement stairs. Gregory heard muffled shouts and the sound of sackcloth tearing. Then the woman reappeared, fury blazing in her eyes. Blood soaked her blouse.
She pulled a pistol from beneath her jacket and jammed it into Gregory’s face. “You evil son of a bitch!”
Gregory shook his head. “No, it’s not me. It’s my bro—”
The pistol roared.
Gregory’s head snapped back. Blood and bone and brains spattered the wall behind him. He crumpled to the floor.
The woman stood over Gregory’s body, her shoulders heaving and tears streaming down her face.
Gregory’s right eye twitched four times, then fell still.
The creature’s rage returned.