The Burden

My father was dead.  I carried, they told me, a terrible burden.  I had, perhaps somewhat naively, assumed this to be metaphor. 

"Here it is," the butler said, dropping the thing with a hollow, papier-mâché thud, "the family vampire."

It was withered and dry, curled in on itself until it was no larger than a toddler.  Sticklike arms and hands like dried twigs occluded the gaping holes in its face.

"A hundred milliliters of blood each day," he said.

"And if I don't?"  I watched the thing.  Malignant eyes glinted deep in the sunken sockets.

"I'd advise against it, sir."

Amateur Efforts

"I made another few last night." Gertie brushed her hair back from her face, leaving a smudge of clay on her cheek. She spoke above the noise from her workshop. "I think I'm getting the hang of this. Do you want to see?" She glanced at Edam through lowered lashes.

Edam did his best to smile. Gertie was a dear little thing, and she did try...

With a flourish, Gertie threw open the workshop door. The shuffling sounds and gurgled half-words grew louder. Edam's smile froze on his face.

"They're... artistic," he managed. "Well, it's good... that you're doing something... creative."

Their Blood as Sweet as Their Sin

Krampus leered, his long red tongue flicking out to caress each face. Frieda, Nana, and Gertel cringed away, trapped. The demon flicked his bundle of birch twigs.

The door behind him opened, outlining his twisted form in light. The children wept with joy to see the red suit, the black boots, the twinkling eyes. "Saint Nicholas!" they cried. "Save us!"

The saint smiled down at them. "Children, children, do you not understand? Krampus is a demon bound by chains. I am the man who holds his leash. What does that make me?"

The door swung shut again. The darkness returned.

Freedom

Brindle purred on his back in the sunbeam. Dust motes danced as the sun drifted lackadaisically toward the horizon. He flicked his tail, threatening to smear Hardod's scroll. The wizard jerked the paper away, muttering imprecations. Brindle sneezed merrily.

"It's all very well for you," Hardod grumbled. "Cats serve no lords, so what have you to fret about? All whimsy and carelessness."

"Of course we are frivolous. It's our only defense." Brindle opened his eyes. "Have you never thought, O Wizard, what it means to serve no one? Cats are beholden only to ourselves, and there can be no excuses."

It's Always Grinning

I guess there was a little bit more.

---

Jay slipped inside and eased the door shut with a sigh. A rough night. Maybe he'd get a bike or a car or something to avoid that walk again.

The foyer was dark. He reached for the light switch and froze. Something blocked the way into his apartment. He knew without seeing that it would have a huge, round head with a lipless mouth and row after row after row of teeth, teeth, teeth. It turned to face him, already grinning widely.

You're already involved. Everyone is. It held out a flabby hand, tipped in claws. Dance with me now.