Thoughts & Ribaldries
Published 'Fresh Blood' 1994


“It’s the thought that counts,” said Densil.

“Well, I thought of giving lots and lots of lovely presents but decided against it,” countered Basil, whose sense of humor was lost on Densil. The pair of them traveled together towards Elfclaw House for Christmas, where, apparently, Lord Elfclaw had arranged all kinds of Dickensian activities - including an artificially frozen lake for ice skating.

The tall chimneys rose like the Devil’s fingers pressed into an iron sky, as the car gasped its last exhaustfuls along the winding drive. They were heartily welcomed by Lord Elfclaw who was disguised as Santa Claus. The three Elfclaw daughters were particularly becoming as reindeers with mock antlers and shaplely bodies, tantilizingly decked with incomplete animal skins.

“I’m glad you could come. Let Donna see you to your rooms. And as soon as you’ve washed the road off, come and have a heart-easing scoop of punch in the lounge.” Lord Elfclaw sounded as if he were reciting a speech learned when he didn’t understand it.

Densil and Basil were soon ready but not before arguing the toss about who had priority in the shared bathroom. Densil ridiculed the fact that Basil’s room was chock-a-block with variously sized boxes neatly wrapped in a pink silky paper bearing a holly and robin motif. Basil must have sent them on earlier, with the intention of piling them under the Christmas tree for the other guests to “Ooh and aah” at. Basil countered by saying they were simply full of scrunched-up tracing paper. This was the best ploy since he knew Densil would not believe him if he claimed they were not his parcels at all.

Having returned downstairs, they discovered the lounge tenantless except for an angry coal fire sputtering in the huge hearth. The punch bowl stood on the sideboard with contents looking like lumps of fruit-peel in blood slopping from side to side - as if a servant had just placed it there and vanished (up the stairs).

Suddenly, there was the zithery sound of girlish laughter from the garden outside. The window was blocked by a large shaggy Christmas tree, as yet undecorated, so Densil and Basil looked at each other bewildred. And were they meant to help themselves to the punch?

Thinking that their host was more hospitable than most, they shoveled the punch into two of the glasses that hung on hooks around the bowl. They gulped it, whilst they tried to gain a better view through the window upon the back lake. There was a sleigh being drawn across it - a red figure waving and at least twenty tall reindeer lifting their legs high. The sleigh’s boot was overspilling with pink parcels. Whether it was the effect of the punch conjuring up solid burps like bodily innards, Densil and Basil no longer had a Christmas spirit, where thoughts no longer counted. Days were short around the winter solstice, and all went black like dead ice that cannot melt.

It is a pity dead bodies cannot really enjoy being undressed by others, as live ones do. That is perhaps a godsend, however, since they would not particularly relish being roasted afterwards.

Vampires’ testicles are a delicacy as are rare armfuls of stolen blood. Densil and Basil were the next best thing. Lord Elfclaw who was not quite the calibre of host they had originally thought (which proved something), raised his glass of punch, now so red it had become blacker than the Devil’s version of Christmas Eve. Surly servants dragged in the feather-light parcels and the giggling reindeer curled together before the roaring fire, playing brittle games of cats-cradle and pick-a-stix, amid the cozy yuletide cheer and fellow feeling. Tomorrow being Christmas Day, they could be opened.