Black Christmas

Chapter 9

It's 12:05 on the west coast, and the elves are already too late. As they trek out of their parking spot in the woods, the eight elves look around at the police cars and screaming victims on the block wondering how the hell anyone managed to do all this in five minutes.

"Is the fucker even human?" Drew wonders aloud.

As the elves duck behind a dumpster cubicle, Greg stops them for an extra moment so he can think.

"We're going to have to examine one of these scenes. We're obviously too late to stop him here, but this trip won't be a waste. Let's gather some clues."

The elves scan the block to find a murder scene that isn't already crawling with police. It's understood they have to find one of the fresh scenes that hasn't yet been interfered with. Additionally, it's rather obvious that they can't be seen by the cops.

"That one."

Greg looks in the direction Gavin is pointing. The windows on the one-story house are stained red, but the nearest patrol cars are a few houses down. "Good work, Gavin. Move in, boys."

The elves get to the house and head in. Being sneaky is no longer necessary, replaced by a need to keep their visit discreet. If the crime scene looks fresh when the cops finally get there, they'll have no reason to suspect it was already examined.

The seven eighths of Greg's task force that saw Santa's office are instantly reminded of it, as the first thing they see is blood.

"Watch where you step," James orders.

Greg nods in agreement. "If we track blood, they can read our shoeprints. It's one of the oldest tricks in the books, but it works. We can't become suspects."

The remaining elves heed their warnings and step around the blood. This leaves them little floor to walk on, but they take it for a look around.

Room by room, the elves don't find much. Each bedroom is splattered with blood, and shows clear signs of a struggle. Obviously, the main event was in the family room.

As the task force reaches the scene they sought for, they look under the Christmas tree at four body-sized lumps, wrapped in decorative paper and tied neatly with bows. Oozing out between the scotch tape is blood, which Bailey feels and proclaims to still be warm.

A scan around the room sees little more than copious amounts of blood. The only new clue lies on a table by the fireplace. "Look at this, Greg." Drew points at the table which obviously used to contain cookies and milk set out for the children's' idol.

Greg looks at a shattered plate and tall glass full of blood. On the rim is a mouth stain. He looks closely and realizes that the sadistic prick who did this took a sip of his victims' blood before leaving the house. With each new discovery the task force has made, Greg has managed to hate the killer more and more. This is no exception.

"What do you make of this, James? Cannibal?"

"No, sir. Cannibals eat flesh, and the bodies underneath that wrapping paper look intact. Not everything has a great answer, and I think this could mean little more than our friend is even more deranged than we already knew he was. It also reiterates the fact that he's killing because he enjoys it."

"Alright, decent info. Anything else, men?"

The eight elves look back at Greg and shake their heads. They've all seen enough.

"That's all for now, then. He's headed west, so his next stop should be eastern Russia. There's a town near the coast called Khatanga. That's where we'll go, but we've got to hurry to beat him there this time. The plan remains the same."