Something was definitely moving in the floor on the other side of the room and Meg charged into the darkness with a scream that was choked into a weak gag by the overwhelming smell of fire and soot. There was no doubt that the kitchen was totaled, with every surface scarred or burnt and the appliances blasted apart. Ceramic and glass popped under her feet as she stepped to the side, sweeping the light around and looking for the cause of the noise.
"OVER THERE! IT'S OVER THERE!" Marie yelled, waving the shovel wildly enough that she clipped Meg on the side of the head.
"GO LEFT!" Meg yelled, ignoring the pain and ran around the burnt stump that used to be the preparation island. Something saw her coming and scrambled away, heading back towards Marie. "IT'S COMING YOUR WAY!" she yelled as she slipped on a pan and fell to her knees.
Marie was crying as she raised the shovel and started swinging like a UV addict killing a piņata as she put her weight into it. There was the clang of metal on the counter, the floor, and what used to be the ceiling lamps as she missed again and again, sending shrapnel flying everywhere. Suddenly, she hit paydirt and something squealed, or rather howled in pain. Meg's flashlight exaggerated the look of horror on the maid's face as she dropped her shovel and ducked down behind the island. A moment later Meg was there and saw Marie cradling a prone Archibald in her arms.
"One thing for sure," Meg thought to herself. "That dog is having one bitch of a day!"
"Oh MY GOD!" Marie bawled, holding the struggling DAC in her arms. "What have I done? WHAT HAVE I DONE?"
Meg was surprised that her sense of humor was returning, but then she always found it easy to find black humor anyway. She wanted to tell the maid that she had just walloped the holy shit out of a 10k credit piece of her Mother' s 'Property' but didn't have the energy. Instead she lowered the light and scratched the dog's fuzzy head and he responded by licking at her fingertips and whimpering. The little bastard was more scared than hurt and he was definitely going to play it for all it was worth.
"He's okay," she said, figuring that if the maid had actually hit him he'd be dead.
"I-I don't know," she muttered, seeming to be more terrified by the fact that she might have just whacked the mutt than the concept of a small army of wind-up psychopaths lurking beyond the door that wanted to whack them. "H-he's bleeding. HE'S BLEEDING!" Marie cried, sounding like a little child.
Meg poked the dark stain on the dog's fur and felt it between her fingers before rolling her eyes and heading for what was left of the refrigerator to look for a snack.
"It's pasta sauce, not blood," she said as she pulled out a couple pieces of red fruit. "You didn't even hit him and I'm sure he'll be fine if you put him on medication. That's how you fix things around here isn't it?"
Marie stood up, still cradling the animal and glared. Something wasn't right with her, but Meg couldn't care less.
"Some people OUGHT to be medicated!" the maid snapped, a weird defensive tone in her voice. As she dumped Archibald on the counter, she straightened up and raised her voice even more. She was about to lose it and there was a weird stress on the words. "This - ALL of this -is YOUR fault! If they had just kept you sedated and gagged somewhere ELSE - in a PROPER FACILITY for people like YOU- this never would have happened!"
"You mean this would never have happened to YOU!" Meg snapped back, getting angry that the maid could blame her for some freak that hung out with a bunch of elves at Mort's northern pole. "YOU'RE JUST PISSED BECAUSE THEY INTERRUPTED YOUR SOAP OPERAS, YOU FAT-ASSED BITCH!"
"You arrogant little tramp!" Marie yelled back. "This IS all your fault! Your Mother was right. You are JUST like your father, always bringing trouble for others!"
"Fuck you," Meg growled, her anger growing enough that she no longer felt like yelling. Cocking her head to one side, she put her hands on her hips and laid on the sarcasm. "Oh wait, no one has ever said that to you before, have they? You haven't the faintest idea what a man feels like do-"
WHACK and a spray of stars.
Marie smacked Meg across the mouth hard enough to spin her head around and the fat woman's scarf came loose. As the maid looped it back around her fat neck again, Meg winced and spat out blood and something hard that felt like a filling. The touch of anger grew into rage and brought one of her favorite Sour Blood fighting lines to her lips.
"Alright she-bitch!" Meg spat as she clenched her fist around her flashlight. "Let's go!"
Meg punched the maid square in the mouth with the end of the flashlight, sending the heavy woman backwards into the counter holding her mouth. Archibald stood up yipping and dancing out of the way as the maid screamed and lunged forward, grabbing Meg by the hair and the earring. Latching her fingers into her scalp, the fat woman pulled her forward onto the prep island and reached back for the handle of the fireplace shovel. The flashlight spun out of Meg's hands and rolled across the counter, painting the room with a dim, flickering light.
"Oh, how I've WANTED to do this!" the maid snarled and Meg knew that the evening had been too much and she had finally snapped. Clawing at the maid's hands, she dug wet red furrows, but Marie held on. When the maid realized she couldn't reach the shovel she changed her direction and threw open a drawer next to her hip with a laugh.
"YOU LITTLE SLUT!" she yelled, coming up with a wicked looking cleaver and bringing it down hard, over handed.
Instead of pulling backwards, Meg dove forward onto the table, blocking the arm and clawing at Marie's eyes. The heavy woman was thrown off balance and the cleaver streaked past into the metal vent above the table with a clang. She swung again, but Meg rolled into the floor and it sank it into the chopping surface with a loud "thock" where her head had been. The debris in the floor bit into Meg's arm as she rolled over, trying to come to her feet and the heavy woman kicked at her and missed. Marie was wheezing as she came forward, looking sinister as she towered in the darkness.
The cleaver streaked down again, clipping one of the open drawers as Meg fell backwards into the darkness. She flipped over and scuttled around the table as the fat woman crunched through the garbage after her. Meanwhile, Archibald was going absolutely ape-shit on top of the counter, barking and working his way to a stroke.
"COME HERE <huff-huff>!" Marie yelled, being far too heavy and too wide to maneuver quickly and already sounding short of breath. "-YOU <huff>LITTLE TRAMP<huff>!"
Meg circled, keeping the table between them and was quickly behind her. In the weird light, she couldn't find a weapon so she did what Cog always told her to do and improvised. Lunging across the table again, she caught the folds of the fat woman's scarf and threw herself backwards, pulling Marie backwards against the table. Meg threw herself onto her, hitting her in the face with her forearm again and again until she dropped the cleaver and tried to cover her face. Grabbing it, Meg shoved the blade edge onto the woman's throat and pulled, drawing her rigid as she struggled. With the adrenaline and fear making her heart pound, Meg barely kept herself from pulling the blade back to finish it.
Marie kept flailing and each time she reached for the cleaver, Meg turned the blade and made the maid cut her fingers. Even in the dim light, she could see that the blade was moist and shiny and Meg hoped that none of it was hers.
"YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!" Meg yelled at the maid who only growled and spat. "AND YOU SAID THAT I NEEDED TO BE SEDATED? YOU'RE THE ONE THAT'S CRAZY AS HELL!"
Meg didn't know what to do beyond protect herself and continue to fight off the woman's hands until (she hoped) she'd come to her senses. Shimmer would have killed the fat woman long before now, but Meg wasn't cold blooded and couldn't do it. As it was, the woman's hands were ragged messes from repeated attempts to grab the cleaver's blade.
Something cold plopped onto the back of Meg's head and tumbled past to flop onto the cleaver. She blinked at it, suddenly oblivious to the frothing mad maid under her, and recognized the white powder as snow. Looking upward, she realized it had come from the vent and she listened, feeling a sudden burst of cold rushing downwards. There were garbled echoes of something getting closer and they began to coalesce into recognizable sounds -jingling bells and tiny voices screaming for blood.
Pain shot through her throat as Marie grabbed her by the windpipe with both hands. Meg had loosened her grip enough for her to get free and now the fat woman had her. Desperately, she tossed the cleaver aside and fought to wrench the hands off, but the fat woman had her fingers wrapped completely around her neck. With a brutal twist, Meg was pinned to the chopping block with the maid using her weight to hold her down. With spittle dripping from Marie's mouth, Meg panicked as she struggled in vain to get free. The edges of her vision were closing into a dark tunnel as the sounds of Marie's rantings faded into dull echoes. This was it. She knew this was how she was going to die.
Suddenly, the weight was gone from Meg's throat and she gagged, pulling air in deep gulps through her bruised throat. Marie had let go and Meg stared as she watched the maid's face contort as she clawed at the looped scarf around her neck, her eyes looking like bloodshot eggs with the scarf cutting into her thick jowls. There was a jerk and she rose several inches, the sound of her feet slapping against the counters on the other side as she fought for traction. Something came loose and a drawer of silverware crashed into the darkness like an explosion.
Meg rolled from under the maid's purple face, collapsing into the floor in a coughing fit as she grabbed for the flashlight. The pounding on the other side grew weaker as the maid flailed, and another hard jerk took her higher off the ground. Spinning back and forth slowly, the maid's hands hung limply at her sides. Above her, the scarf stretched into the air vent where something inhuman and dark chuckled happily. There was another jerk and the maid's head and shoulders slammed into the vent's hood with a clank and whine of crumpling metal.
Meg got to her feet and backed up, still coughing and trying to breathe but the fear made it impossible. In the darkness above her, there was a brutal crunch and something wet and warm sprayed onto her face, hair, and hands. Not wanting to see it, she backed up and ran for the living room. A terrified yipping followed and she stopped long enough to scoop up the dog as she ran for the door.
To hell with those things jumping her five steps into the yard, she thought as she ran - five seconds either way wouldn't matter. She tore past the tree, hopped over the cordon of presents and was in the clear. Ten more feet and she'd be at the door and-
Meg tried so hard to stop, that her feet flew out from beneath her and she flopped onto her butt. Gasping like an asthmatic, she cradled the dog and tried not to cry. A silhouette of a man with a floppy felt-banded hat and a large sack over his shoulder was on the frosted glass of the huge front door. He leaned forward to the handle and pulled, turning it.
Somewhere deep in her throat, what might have been a whimper died along with her hope.
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