10. Santa
Chapter 10
Santa
D one. The last microscopic camera is in place inside the diner. It was far too easy to gain access to the space, after I disabled their pathetic alarm. I wander into the back room where the employee lockers are kept, and my hand trails over the one marked ‘Chrissy’. I pry it open and pull out her dark blue apron, and the notepad she uses to write orders down, allowing my fingers to skim over the indentations of her loopy writing on the blank page. Like the creeper I’m becoming, I lift the apron to my nose to see if I can get a hint of her smell, but it instantly disappoints me. I throw it back into the locker, pull out an extra shirt she keeps inside, lift it to my nose, and am rewarded with the faint hint of laundry detergent, and a distinct floral scent. I slip the shirt into my backpack for later, so I can wrap it around my cock and dream of the breasts it belongs on.
I place everything else gently inside the locker, ensuring nothing looks out of place, before leaving the diner the same way I got inside. The sun is starting to crest over the fading night sky, and with it comes the crisp, clean smell of another day. My tired body protests that we’re not heading home and to my opulent bed, but instead creeping back towards the direction of Chrissy’s house. I left the Mustang back at my home, ready for a deep clean, and instead took a nondescript beige sedan, that I occasionally use when I’m stalking my prey, so I don’t garner unwanted attention. It fits in better with her neighborhood, and won’t be immediately questioned if it’s found closer to her house.
I wonder if she’s an early riser like I am? Does she like to have hot coffee while staring out the window at the sky of a new day? My brain is filled with jumbled thoughts and curiosities about her, and it’s starting to stress me out. Why do I care if she likes coffee in the morning? Soon enough, she’ll have her throat slit and her blood coating my hands and cock, and what she likes to drink and do won’t matter. I drag my hands down my tired face, and attempt to shake off this unknown, and unwelcome, feeling that is inhabiting me. She doesn’t matter. She’s fucking prey. She’s a means to satisfy an itch, that’s all.
I slide into my vehicle down the street from Chrissy’s house, where I can monitor her movements. The radio plays Christmas music in the background, as I check through my phone for any mention of my brother’s hit-and-run. I pull up an article, with my father and brother featured in the accompanying photograph, and roll my eyes at the title.
“Governor Brantford and his youngest son, Micah, giving back to the community.”
If I thought the title was a cheesy joke, the article itself is even worse. Someone actually gets paid to write this crap?
The Governor, and his youngest son, took part in a Christmas toy drive for underprivileged youth at the Burnside Center. The event raised over four hundred toys for local youth, and featured a real-life Santa they could take pictures with, and tell their Christmas wish lists to, while sitting on his lap, as well as offering a complimentary buffet dinner. The Governor has always championed the more impoverished neighborhoods in Boston, and has stated that we should all be extending hands of assistance to our neighbors with less. He truly is a man for the people.
Yeah, right, he’s a real man for the people, like he didn’t have one of his staff suck his cock on the way to the event, that he showed up to in a stretch limo, while his sons watched. Real fucking hero, that guy. I shouldn’t even be surprised that I didn’t get any credit, as the unfortunate soul who was forced to play ‘Santa’. I did all the fucking work, while he and my brother smiled for the cameras. Nothing new there, I guess.
I search for a few more minutes, but don’t find any mention of the accident, or the condition I left the morgue in last night. Hmm, I wonder if they haven’t discovered what I did yet. I pull my laptop from the back seat and break into the morgue cameras, without them having any idea I’m in their system, taxpayer’s dollars at their best. A chuckle leaves my lips at the shocked faces of the morgue technician, and the two police officers, overseeing the state of the corpse’s remains. The metal drawer is pulled out, and thick goo is sliding off the edge of the surface, and pooling on the floor below. The sheet has been pulled back, and melted flesh greets my eyes. There’s no sound available, but based on how the two officers are looking green, and one has his mouth and nose covered with his arm, I’m guessing they’re not enjoying the holiday gift I left them. Pity. If I had more time, I would have made it even better. You can’t rush a work of art.
Movement on the street catches my eye, and I slam my laptop closed and scrunch down in my seat. Coming out of the house a few doors up from my precarious position, is none other than the object of my current insanity. She has her rich, auburn hair thrown up into a messy bun, and her face is clear of makeup. The thick jacket hides the rest of her from the cold temperatures, and I only get a glimpse of her legging-covered legs, and red Converse shoes, as she walks with purpose down the street in the direction of the diner.
One down, one to go. Now to check my work on the hellhound. I had already left him a little peanut butter-covered gift in their backyard. If he ate it a little while ago, there’s a good chance that he’s having a much-needed nap time. I leave my car, after confirming no one on the street has eyes on me, and make my way to the side of their house. The window I had pried open last time is my best way inside. I slip a small metal crowbar out of my side pocket, and use it to force the window open. I halt, waiting to see if the demon canine will hear the noise, and come running to accost me. After a minute or two, and no sign of it and its ferocious mouth, I force the window higher, and pull my body up and through the opening, landing in a crouched position, and once again waiting to see if my presence has been noticed.
My eyes adjust to the darkened interior of the messy bedroom. Clothes are haphazardly thrown everywhere, and surfaces are littered with makeup, gizmos, and half-drunk water cups. A feeling of revulsion rises up my body at the state of her room, and my OCD demands that we immediately leave this space or, better yet, set fire to it. How does she live like this? I don’t know how you would ever be able to find anything in this state. A snoring noise coming from the direction of the double-sized bed has me stalking toward it, the crowbar still clutched in my hand and ready to strike out. Fuck, I never thought I would be the type to hurt an animal. People, yes, animals, no, but unease spirals through me. This thing will rip me to pieces if given the chance.
I pull back a holey, deflated-looking comforter, and underneath lies a massive monstrous furball, outstretched against the surface of the mattress, his large paws spread out, half under a lumpy pillow, and his face is turned to the side with his long tongue slobbering outside of his mouth, and his sharp teeth on display. Jesus fuck, this thing looks like a mythical creature of death. I use the end of the crowbar to lightly poke one of its muscled hind legs and hold my breath, knowing my life will flash before my eyes if this thing is awake. Other than one of his paws and ears twitching, he remains snoring away. Fuck, I guess the tranquilizer worked. Thank fuck.
I release the tense breath I was holding, and continue looking through the mess that coats every surface in Chrissy’s room. A bright pink piece of fabric on the messy floor catches my sight, and I bend down to grab it, as I keep watch on the beast from the corner of my eye. It would just be my luck if this fucker suddenly woke up and took a bite out of my ass. I raise the pink contraption only to groan. Fuck, it’s her thong. I clutch it in my hand and bring it up to my nose, and the musky smell of her pussy scent lingers, and causes my balls to tighten and my cock to throb. My tongue slips out, and I lick at the cotton crotch of her panties, the hint of her taste still left on the fabric. The urge to pull my cock out right now, and fuck the scrap of cloth, almost overwhelms me, but lucky, the snoring furball reminds me about my perilous position in this house.
I tuck the panties into my front pocket, and proceed to quietly set up a few cameras in her room. Honestly, I doubt she would even notice if I left them out in the open with all this mess. I’m just about to install the last of them, when a noise out in the hallway has me tucking myself into Chrissy’s overcrammed closet, as the bedroom door swings open. “Toothless! Where are you, boy? Do you need to potty before I leave?”
I watch as Daisy walks into the room, her hands on her hips, and face filled with annoyance. “I swear if he wasn’t a big teddy bear, I would ignore his ass and let him suffer having to hold it, ’til his momma comes back from work.” Ah, fuck, this chick is going to try to wake that beast, and then I’m going to die. I should have tranquilized her ass too. “Toothless, you goof, wake up. Don’t you want to go potty, pretty boy? ”
She leans down and puts her face near the beast’s snout while shaking him. I hold my breath, counting down the last seconds of my life. After shaking him more than once and the dog not budging, she straightens and rolls her eyes. “Fine, you better not pee anywhere, and stay away from my damn shoes. I mean it, Toothless,” Daisy groans as she leaves the room, the bedroom door remaining wide open, and I release a huge sigh of relief.
Once I hear the front door slam shut, I quickly make my way out of the closet and get to work placing the remainder of my cameras around their house. I hesitate at the other bedroom door, presumably Daisy’s room. I should put a camera or two inside there just in case, yet I can’t make myself open the door. I don’t understand the feeling that is slamming into me; I’ve never felt it before, and I sure as fuck don’t like it. With a groan, I move away from the door and back towards Chrissy’s room.
Her laptop catches my eye in the corner, thrown on top of a bunch of dirty laundry, and curiosity gets the better of me, even though I know I’m strapped for time. Toothless could wake up at any moment, or Daisy could decide to return. I quickly open the laptop, and snort at her lack of password. This girl is too much. Her background screen is a photo of the beast snoring away, wearing a colorful sombrero. I get to work installing my spyware, so that I can hack into all her files, and watch what sites she visits. Before I crawl back out the window, I quickly pull out my phone and test all the cameras, ensuring all of them are sending back an image. I give a snoring ‘Toothless’ the finger, climb back out of the window, and make it back to my car without incident. Toothless - 0, Stalker - 1.
Before I leave her back yard, I slip up onto the back porch and discreetly pull out a package from my backpack, wrapped in thick black wrapping paper with a bright red bow, and leave it on the patio table littered with an ashtray filled with cigarette butts, and forgotten beer bottles. Once I’m in my car, I pull out the pink thong, rubbing it against my hardening crotch, and before I get on the road, I pull out my stiff cock and wrap the fabric around it tightly, until it almost hurts. This is going to be a long fucking drive home.