The fat man with the epic beard was a little startled that little Norman was able to sneak up on him. He prided himself on being aware of his surroundings and the fact this creepy little turd was able to do what the fat man felt impossible unnerved him.
“Ho Ho where did you come from?” He asked.
Little Norman just shrugged and answered, “my mother’s vagina.”
The fat man decided to ignore the odd reply and Norman for now and finish the job at hand.
“Hey mister?” Norman said, “you wanna see my friend.”
The fat man continued to work, “no, not really,” he said.
Norman didn’t seem to mind the fat man’s bluntness, he was used to it, “He’s been waiting years to finally meet you.”
“That’s nice,” the fat man said nearly done.
“He doesn’t like you, you know,” Norman added.
The little hairs on the back of his fat neck spiked. That was an interesting thing to say.
“I don’t like you very much either.”
The fat man turned from his unfinished job. Little Norman stood there expressionless. The boy seemed average enough, except for an unusually large zit on his right cheek. Something was off. He just couldn’t put his nose on it. He needed a little help. The fat man tapped the rim of his glasses. “Stupid glasses. Why aren’t you working, now?” He tapped them again, and again but nothing. The fat man couldn’t get a reading. The glasses, when working, would list all the important information needed on a child; name, address, parents, Christmas list, must have items, from said Christmas list and more importantly where they naughty or nice.
The fat man lifted his glasses, resting them on his fat forehead, “looks like we do it the old fashion way.”
The fat man waddled up to little Norman, who just stood there unmoving, looked him up and down. He smelled bad, not terribly unusual. “Still nothing.” He grumbled, “not a damn thing.”
Wait a minute the fat man thought? Hanging on the wall was a family portrait.
“Hrmm, dad, mom, older daughter, younger daughter…” he looked at little Norman, “no brother?” He looked to the other pictures that typically plastered a home. Same deal; dad, mom, two daughters. Where was this little turd?
The fat man looked at Norman, “do you live here?”
Little Norman still showing no emotions answered, “nope.”
“Then why in the Merry Christmas are you here?”
“My friend wants to kill you.”
The fat man gave a nervous, ‘ho ho’ and scanned the room for creepy little Norman friend. It was just him, the fat man noted. That quickly changed when Norman’s right shoulder popped up and made a tremendous crackling sound. His right arm continued to expand in length and width. It was a grotesque mess of muscles and veins. The arm was twice the size of little Norman. If things weren’t odd enough. they got really bizarre. Weird even. The zit on Norman’s right cheek, it pulsated and grew to the size of a tennis ball. A small, perhaps the size of a ballpoint pen, left arm grew between the space of the zit and Norman’s right nostril. The tiny left arm grabbed the zitty flesh of the pulsating skin and pulled until it ripped, revealing a small face and head. The face was surprisingly normal and came with a fully grown beard.
“Well, that just happened,” the fat man said, “I think I’m done here, now. It was nice chatting with you little fellow.”
“WAIT!” The zit face screamed. “You’re not fucking going anywhere!” The scream itself should have woke the sleeping family, but The Fat Man’s magic kept everyone asleep until he lifted the spell, “until I get what I want!?”
“Ho! Ho! Now listen, here? I don’t have time for this Tomfoolery. I still have a million houses to get to,” the Fat Man tried to reason with Norman and his friend, “what if I gave you something special?”
“Where listening?” The zit face monstrosity figured it couldn’t hurt to listen to his nemesis.
The Fat Man pulled out a fancy, expensive drone. Held it in his hand and the thing took to the air buzzed around the room and hovered within arm’s length of Norman. The zit face wasn’t pleased and commanded Norman to destroy the fancy, expensive drone. With a swat of Norman’s monstrous arm, the drone lost control and smashed into the nearest wall. Leaving behind smoldering area from the drones collision.
“So, OK, I guess that’s a no, eh? I’m sure I have something in this bag that should work,” the Fat Man looked into his bottomless bag of stuff. Grumbling and groaning while he shuffled things around.
Thirty minutes and a stack of toys from floor to ceiling later.
“Well, you’re a tough pickle to bottle,” the Fat Man pulled on his snowy white beard little perplexed, “but, I think, I do have one more thing in my bag of goodies that a little freak like you couldn’t resist.”
“Show us, Fat Man!” The zit face demand, “and it better be good, we are growing tired of your delays.”
“Oh, it is good. Very good,” the Fat Man answered, “however, it’s not for you my disgusting zit. It’s for Norman Ryder.”
The boy with the monstrous zit on his face seemed confused. His entire life he was bullied, teased and ignored because of growth on his face. No one ever seemed to know his name. Even when he discovered that the zit on his face was something evil and allowed him to do horrible things. Little Norman Ryder was still ignored.
“You know my name?” Little Norman Ryder asked.
“Of course I do, Norman. I know all the boys and girls on my list. I also, know that there was one thing more than anything you’ve wanted,” the Fat Man joyfully told Norman Ryder.
“SHUT UP!” The zit face screamed, “stop talking to him, you fat asshole. Stay back!”
The Fat Man ignored the insults. Walked towards, Norman, clutching a small object in his chubby hands he walked within striking distance of Norman’s monstrous arm. The Fat Man held out the object in his hand. A tube of Acme Zit Off Extra Strength.
Norman’s monstrous arm hit the Fat Man solidly in the chest. Sending him crashing into the Christmas tree. Ornaments flew in every direction smashing as they hit the nearest solid object. The Zit Off cream dropping from his chubby hands at the feet of little Norman.
“What is that?” The zit face asked, “Norman DO not pick that up!”
Norman curiously picked up the tube against the strong wishes of his hideous friend.
The Fat Man lying against the wall in a heap of lights and toys stood up. “Norman, I’m sorry. For everything that has happened to you. Most of all I am sorry that I ignored your one Christmas request.”
The boy with the zit face twisted the cap to the Zit Off cream, squeezed a dab of the clear cream onto the tip of his finger and against the horrified screams of the zit face, applied the cream to the affected area.
Almost instantly the hideous zit with murderous intentions fell off and withered into nothingness.
“Well, that wasn’t fun at all!” The Fat Man proclaimed, “what do you say, you and I finish up this Christmas business? Then we head back to the North Pole for some cookies and hot cocoa?”
For the first time, Norman Ryder smiled.
Several hours later. The youngest of the Bagley family awoke from her Christmas slumber. Emma Jean, a freckled faced red headed girl, was downstairs in a flash, with practiced grace she slid across the wood finished floors to the living room entrance. Hoping to find the greatest Christmas day haul ever recorded. Instead, she found an eight-foot-tall pile of assorted toys, a new Cadillac and other gizmos, along with a wrecked Christmas tree and a smoldering pile where the drone burst into flames hours earlier.
The stunned Emma Jean shrugged and wasted little time unwrapping.