A Stephen King Christmas

Or Account of a Visit from God Knows What

By

Joseph Micheal Pettine Jr.

'Twas a Stephen King Christmas and all through my home

Not a creature was stirring, it felt like a tomb;

The bonfire was stoked in the fireside with care,

In hopes that the dark ones would flee from the flare;

The children all cowered with fear in their beds,

While visions of monsters danced inside their heads;

And ma with her crucifix and me with my gun,

Settled down to wait for the rise of the sun,

When from the dark night there arose such a clatter,

I sprinted outside to see what was the matter.

The events which followed came about so fast,

That God only knows how much time truly passed.

The blood-moon shone down on the new-fallen snow,

There was silence save for the cawing of a crow,

When, what from over the hilltop should appear,

But a hairy beast eating a slaughtered reindeer,

It dangled the young fawn's lungs and gave them a lick,

I knew in a moment that I would be sick.

More rapid than eagles the sounds seemed to flee,

And my heart skipped a beat as the beast spotted me;

"By Maturin the turtle and Shardik the bear!

Do I spy a gunslinger caught deep in my glare!

By the names of Randall Flagg and the Crimson King!

I gladly meet your challenge and I take wing!"

Large, black, leathery wings unfurled before my eye,

To the house-top it flew through the bleak winter sky,

It turned back to face me and, I must confide,

I dropped my revolver and dashed quickly inside.

Inside, I could hear it clacking on the roof,

The dancing and pawing of each giant hoof.

From the chimney, there came the most horrible sound,

The flames blew out as the thing came down with a bound.

It had to be nine feet from its head to its foot,

And its form was all tarnished with ashes and soot;

It licked its crimson lips with a bloody smack,

It gave out a startling howl and I howled back.

It walked and the flooring fractured under it's weight!

Its purple eyes stared at me with a look of hate!

Drool oozed from the great maw that curved like a bow,

And on top of its head sat a small mound of snow;

A small stump of bone it held tight in its jaw,

Then a centipede ran over it's tongue, I saw;

It leaned into my face, a vile stench on its breath,

A smell 'twas unmistakably the scent of death.

I was heavy and round and as short as an elf,

Yet I stared the brute down, quite in spite of myself;

A look in my eyes as it loomed 'bove my head,

Let the beast know it too had reason to dread;

We spoke not a word, but went straight to our work,

Plunged my hand through its eye and gave a strong jerk,

Then with my arm laying deep into it's brain,

I twisted and pulled and it yelled out in pain;

It pushed me aside and shambled straight to the door,

Then laughed with amusement as I lay on the floor,

"You are brave, Gunslinger, and put up a good fight,

Merry Christmas, Gunslinger, you shall live tonight!"