Christmas, Bloody Christmas

Christmas, Bloody Christmas
A By Way of Pain Xmas Short


J.M. Dabney
Hostile Whispers Press


Copyright © 2019 by J.M. Dabney
Hostile Whispers Press, LLC
Cover Design By: Hostile Whispers Design
Edits by: Stephanie Carrano
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
REMEMBER:
This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places, is purely coincidental.
PLEASE BE ADVISED:
This book contains material that is only suitable for mature readers. It may contain scenes of a sexual nature and/or violence.


For all the readers who like a little something different in their holiday reads.


Contents
1. Cowen
2. Harrison
3. Cowen
4. Harrison
About the Author
Also by J.M. Dabney


Christmas, Bloody Christmas A By Way of Pain Xmas Short
Since claiming his boy, Cowen has to learn to adapt, but never as much as when it came to his possession's Christmas spirit. Will it end in bloodshed or will his boy's joyfulness keep the body count to a minimum?
Author Warning: This title contains scenes of torture, murder, whippings, an assassin with sadistic tendencies and his masochistic boy. If morally gray characters are not to your liking this book is probably not for you.
J.M. Dabney
This is a short story base on characters that you can find in By Way of Pain: Criminal Delights - Assassins. Link for this title can be found in the Also By Section of this e-book.


1
Cowen
Whimpers rang out pitifully behind me as I futilely scrubbed the gore from my hands and stared at the crimson caked around my nails. The frigid wind cut into my skin and I welcomed the pain as sleet struck my exposed body. Blood and chunks of flesh stuck to me; a testimony of a job almost complete. I lifted my gaze to the cabin and saw the twinkling of Christmas lights in the front window. A rumble worked up from my chest at the atrocious jingles my boy would have playing inside.
Holidays were simply another day. I’d made my first kill before I reached puberty, and even before then, my home was a somber, secured prison. My parents cared not to make my life festive at any time of year. Yet, I break my own rules to make Harrison happy. To live with a sociopath with sadistic tendencies couldn’t be an easy existence. I allowed him these little happy moments.
Every day he gifted me his pain and submission, his tears and blood. I just didn’t understand why he found so much fascination in Pagan traditions perverted by Christianity.
“Well, where were we?” I turned back to the dimly lit space. Drops of blood fell in a steady rhythm to the pools below to cause ripples upon the surfaces. “My boy is unhappy I’m working only days before Christmas. He asked for my presence as he decorates the monstrous tree he picked out.”
It gurgled and choked on its blood, and I gave it the barest of attention when I returned to my workbench. My fingertips stroked along the smooth hilt of a blade laid out beside the rest of my implements. “Keeping our possessions happy is important. We have to allow them to have the little things as long as it doesn’t spoil them and they forget to whom they belong. Such a slippery slope.”
I used the thick leather strap beside the bench to sharpen the already lethal knife. Once I was satisfied, I pivoted on my toes to face the table and closed the short distance. I stared down at the man on the table; restraints around his ankles, wrists and throat held him securely.
“I find these long scenes to be a bit of a bore. A quick slit of your throat or a single bullet between your eyes, and it’s all nicely wrapped up in a bow. But your situation has called for special treatment. As it is the season of giving, I even agreed to go above and beyond at no extra cost.”
With the blade held in my left hand, I placed the tip at the hollow at the base of his throat. Increasing the pressure slightly, I drew it downward, observed as the skin split to expose the meat and muscle beneath. His screams garbled by its lack of tongue.
As the hours passed, it became harder to reawaken it and continue. I didn’t know what it had done, if the slight was minor or major, or if my contract was paid out of sheer maliciousness. Either way, I did as asked because if nothing else, I took pride in my work.
My skin itched where it was coated in layers of dried and fresh blood. I grunted in disappointment when its struggles and screams ceased.
“Sir?”
I peeked through the open door of my work room at the sound of my boy’s voice. He stood on the porch wrapped tightly in a red blanket printed with candy canes and brightly wrapped boxes.
“My boy has grown impatient,” I whispered to the corpse and went outside to wave. I informed him I would be in soon, after I cleaned up.
I meticulously disposed of the evidence, stoked the furnace which would burn for hours to reduce the body to bones to be buried later. I barely felt the chill of the freezing water coming from the hose as I bleached and sprayed down the walls, benches, and floor. Pink tinted water disappearing down the drain.
My situation in life had changed so much since claiming my boy. The emotions he elicited from me still confused me as I still felt no urge to