Merry Christmas!

I love writing a new Christmas story every year and this year's story brings to life the characters I created for my story in Discount Noir. I hope you enjoy this little offering. Merry Christmas, everyone!


AN IGGY AND BUBBA CHRISTMAS
By Sandra Seamans

“You’d best quit staring at me, boy, or I’ll mop the floor with your fat ass, pop you on a spit and eat you for dinner.”

Those were the first words Enigma Carpenter threw at me. Iggy, that’s what I call him, now that we’re friends and all, is a legend in these parts. Folks whisper his name with respect. Weren’t for him, we’d all be sucking blood through our dentures.

I’ll bet you’re wondering how an overweight, four-eyed, weakling of a kid hooked up with a legendary vampire hunter like Iggy. Well, I’ll tell you. I was wandering through the aisles of the local Wally-Mart doing some last minute Christmas shopping, when I stumbled into aisle 13, tripped over my own feet and landed on the toes of his cowboy boots. Hell, all I could do was stare, anybody would’ve.

The man was all of seven feet tall, bib overalls hanging loose on his scrawny frame. Saints battled with demons up the length of his tattooed arms, silver bullets and crosses dangled from one pierced ear while skulls and daggers dangled from the other. A set of silver-dipped Vampire fangs hung from a chain around his neck and a “Get ’er Done” hat rode high on his electric blue mullet. The man was awe-inspiring.

I decided right then and there that I was gonna write a book about Enigma Carpenter, even told him so. Said I could make him just as famous as Jesse James. Course I had to clarify that I meant the outlaw, not that dirtbag who dumped Sandra Bullock for a stripper. I didn’t want him thinking I was making fun of him, you know.

“Well, Bubba,” he says to me, “We’d best get you set for a hunt so’s you can get a feel for the danger that a vampire hunter has to face when ridding the countryside of them ugly blood suckers.”

We filled a shopping cart with camping gear, camouflage hunting clothes, and a shitload of garlic. After the basics we added a sack of fried pork rinds and a dozen Hershey bars to keep up our strength. Iggy tossed a couple of silver crosses onto the pile. “A hunter ain’t never got too many crosses when tracking them vampires,” he said. My credit card near had a heart attack when the cashier hit the total button but I remembered my Mama’s employee discount and that old card breathed a big sigh of relief.

We dumped our supplies in the bed of Iggy’s pick-up and headed out to the woods. When I asked him why we were hunting vampires in the woods, Iggy slapped my forehead and said, “It’s Christmas, boy, ain’t no self-respecting vampire gonna hang out in a town filled with crosses, mangers overrun with a fresh crop of baby Jesus dolls, and choirs singing Christmas Carols. Don’t you know nothin’ bout hunting vampires?”

Truth is I didn’t, but I wasn’t about to let Iggy know that, he might’ve dumped me along the side of the road for bait. Wasn’t exactly how I wanted to spend Christmas Eve, but huntin’ vampires hadn’t been high on my list either.

Iggy drove us deep into the Kindadensa Forest, the truck bouncing high over every rut in that old logging road. His headlights were wobblin’ up and down so bad, it was a good thing there was a full moon to light the way.

Once Iggy found a clearing to his liking, we set up camp. I unloaded all our gear from the truck, jumping out of my skin every time I heard a twig snap, while Iggy built us a fire and settled in with a bag of pork rinds. His crunching kinda dimmed the creepy sounds coming from the woods so I was able to crawl back into my skin.

After ramming myself into a hunting jacket, I settled in by the fire. “So when does the hunting start?” I asked.

Iggy gave me one of those I’m-gonna-roast-you-on-a-spit looks and said, “Boy, you’re just plain ignorant about vampire hunting aren’t you? Just sit back and relax, them vampires will be joining us presently.”

“They’re coming here?” I wasn’t sure if I cared much for being set out like a goat on a rope for any passing vampire to snack on.

“Sure,” he said. “They’ll be hungry and we’ll smell like ambrosia to them. Then when they jump us, we drive the stakes into their blood-sucking hearts. Piece a cake.”

After passing along his battle plan, Iggy rolled into his sleeping bag with a wooden stake held tightly in each hand. Wasn’t long before he was snoring and I was sitting there shakin’ like a bowlful of Jell-0, hoping like hell that Iggy wouldn’t roll over and accidentally stab himself.

With the full moon striking a midnight pose I could hear something moving in amongst the trees. A chorus of howls set my shakin’ into overdrive Them vampires sounded more like a pack of wolves then the gentlemen I’d always figured them to be. I clutched my stake tighter and kept hopin’ Iggy was gonna wake up in time to save my neck.

But it wasn’t vampires that came slinking round our camp that night. No sir, it was a mouth-frothing werewolf circling in closer and closer. Yeah, that stake I was holding wasn’t gonna do me a bit of good. I screamed, or at least I thought I did, but Iggy, he just kept snoring away.

Very slowly, so as not to spook that hairy beast into pouncing a minute before he was ready, I edged my way over to Iggy’s sleeping bag. I was wondering how to wake him up without getting staked in the heart when I remembered the silver bullets dangling from his ear. I sat as far back as I could and poked at him, but nothing short of a vampire sipping from his neck was gonna wake Iggy. I considered ripping those silver bullets off his ear, but thought better of it and just eased them out of his lobe real careful like.

Now you’d think a man who carried silver bullets would have a revolver somewhere on his person, but not Iggy. Being Iggy he probably went hand to paw when dealing with werewolves. Maybe had a silver knife tucked in his boot. Thing is, I knew I didn’t have it in me to fight Iggy’s way so I just I closed my eyes and rattled off a quick prayer.

That old werewolf was breathing mighty close to my left ear when I heard a voice coming down from heaven. “Damn, Bubba, open your eyes.”

I knew I must be dead already, cause there was Santy Claus riding up there in his sleigh just a yelling, trying to get my attention. “Here, boy, catch, you’ve been a pretty good Bubba this year and I got just what you been a wishin’ for.”

Now I’ve got a deep appreciation for Santa and an even deeper appreciation for unexpected presents, but unwrapping a package with a werewolf about to start slobbering down your chest…well.

Damn, if I was gonna die, I wanted to know what Santa had dropped in my lap, so I ripped open the package to find exactly what I wanted for Christmas. A nice .38. I slammed Iggy’s silver bullets into the cylinder and started firing. Okay, there were only two bullets, but I managed to shoot that damn werewolf in the foot with one of them.

The shooting must’ve woke old Iggy up ‘cause he was sitting there rubbin’ his eyes and lookin’ kinda perplexed after I emptied that gun.

He turned his head to have a gander at the werewolf limping off towards the woods. He stood up and pulled a silver-bladed knife out of his boot. See, I had reckoned right about that knife. Iggy walked over and stabbed that near dead werewolf right smack-dab in the heart. “Damn, werewolves,” he said. “They’re always spoiling a good vampire hunt.”

I just nodded with a big ole stupid grin plastered on my face. The legend had done it again. Enigma Carpenter was the greatest monster hunter walking the face of Cadaver County, and he let me tag along. That was the best Christmas this Bubba ever had!