Once his vision cleared, he focused on the fabric mongrel and lunged for it. He grabbed the silky cloth just beneath the pompom and held it in a choke hold. The fluffy ball opened its tiny, grey mouth and shrieked.
The hat stopped tearing at his third toe and turned—white mouth smeared with dirty snow and dripping blood.
Jim acted fast. Taking the squalling tuft in his mouth, he bit it off. Warm fluid gushed down his throat. Gagging, he spat out the dead chunk of fake fur.
A low snarl came from behind him.
A sick fist punched him in the gut.
“I won’t look.” He shook his head. “Maybe it’ll go away if I don’t look.”
He could hear it dragging its wounded body closer. A soft, yet hideous, splashing that signaled its approach.
“I can’t do it.” Jim looked over his shoulder just in time.
The hat was coming straight for his head, sailing through the air, mouth gaping. Its snapping fangs made it look like a crazed, toy shark moving in for the kill. He rolled to the side before it could clamp down on his face.
There was a soggy plop. Then silence.
Picking himself out of his powdery trench, his eyes darted to the walkway.
No hat.
He sighed. “I gotta lay off the booze.”
Taking a minute to catch his breath, Jim started to stand when it charged him.
He landed face first into a fresh bank with a quiet fllloooppp. His screeching muffled by a mouthful of slush.
The hat tore at his neck, embedding its canines deep.
While batting at his attacker, somehow, he managed to get to his feet. Tearing at the wriggling demon hat, he staggered toward the garden shed, near the back of the yard.
Get … the … hedge clippers, he thought. Chop … little … bastard … to shreds.
The demon hat shook him with the force of a pitbull. Jim swerved, fighting to keep on his feet. Loss of blood was making him weak; tired.
“Three … more … feet.” He could almost touch the small shack now. “You’ll squeal … then…”
Almost there.
Then, he hit it. Jim’s head flew back with the force of the blow. The Santa hat was knocked free.
He could hear his old man cackling; “I told ya. I told ya to put your stuff right away after using it, didn’t I? You so goddamn stupid. You never learn.”
The shovel fell back into its hiding place, beneath the thin layer of fresh flakes. Jim followed soon after; an imprint of the plastic handle stamped into his forehead.
He heard something moving over the snow as unnatural sleep came to claim him.
Someone was coming. Coming to save him. Everything would be all right …
Something warm and fuzzy crawled over his neck. Jim sank his fingers into its soft fur.
Everything would be all right …
* * *
The moon cast a spotlight on the sidewalk, picking out the icy patches for Travis. He glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes to six. He would only be twenty minutes late for dinner. Still, Mom would be furious. Later, after her new boyfriend went home, Travis would pay for it.
It was all his dad’s fault. If he hadn’t gotten so tanked while they were playing with Travis’s new Xbox …