Page 90 of Single Girl Rules: HoHoHo

“Of what?”

He lowered his eyebrows even more. “That your mouth. Belongs.To. Me.”

I loved when he acted all possessive. I was definitely goingto let him fuck me again later when everyone else was taking an after-Christmas-dinnernap.

I plopped down on the couch between Ash and Slavanka.

“Ghostie thinks Isabella cut the…” I started.

“Whoa! Look!” said Ash, completely cutting me off. Shepointed at the TV screen over the fire.

A news report was playing on a local English-language channel.And the breaking news banner at the bottom read: SANTA SIGHTING. Ash ran overto the TV and turned up the volume. I joined her and warmed my hands by the roaringfire.

“Now let’s go to Johanna Wolfenbergerdorff, live at the scene,”said the anchor.

The feed switched from the news desk to a blonde woman on asnowy mountain.

“Thanks, Heinrich,” said the reporter. “I’m here on the slopeof the Royal Spielzeughersteller Hotel where all the presents were found.”

“Hey!” said Ash. “That’s our hotel!”

“It is,” I said. “And that’s the tower where we’re headed.” Ipointed to a ruined stone tower in the background of the broadcast.

“Shhh!” she hissed and leaned closer to the TV.

“But that’s not all,” continued Johanna. “One young manclaims to have actually recovered a piece of Santa’s sleigh.” She waved a guyon screen who looked like snowboarding was his whole personality. “Can you tellus why you think that the debris you found came from Santa’s sleigh?” sheasked.

“Yeah, bro,” he said. “It has MADE IN THE NORTH POLE engravedon it.” He held up a piece of one the steel runners we’d jettisoned when Flashhit the eject button. The camera zoomed in on the engraving and then zoomedback out to Johanna.

“Well there you have it,” said Johanna. “Presents strewn allover the mountain, and a piece of Santa’s sleigh. Proof that Santa exists? Or apublicity stunt by the Spielzeughersteller Hotel to help perpetuate the myththat Santa’s workshop was…”

“It’s not a stunt, bro,” interrupted the snowboarder. “It’sfor real. I was out here last night shredding the mountain. And I’d just stompedthe sickest stalefish when these two sleighs flew right past me. Presents were flyingeverywhere. Santa was driving one of them. And the other sleigh was out ofcontrol. There was no driver. Just three snow bunnies wrapped in Christmas lightsgettin’ some dick. It was totally gnarly, bro.”

“Ooookay,” said Johanna with a nervous laugh as she shovedthe dude off screen. “Apologies for that graphic visual. Let’s talk to someoneslightly more credible.” She waved a five-year-old girl over.

“Look at what Santa gave me!” the girl said with a huge gap-toothedgrin. She held a brand-new doll up way too close to the camera.

“Can you tell us where you found that?” asked Johanna.

“Over there!” The little girl pointed up the mountain towardsthe tower.

The camera man zoomed in on some presents still littered onthe mountain from our slutty sleigh ride. But what caught my eye were thepeople standing around the base of the tower.

One of them looked like…me. And another one had red hair. Andanother was definitely Daddy.

“Is that us?” gasped Ash.

“It can’t be. Right?” What kind of weird Christmas voodoo wasthis? First the sleigh on the balcony had disappeared, and now we were seeingourselves on TV in a place where we definitely were not standing.

Before I could figure out what was happening, a dozen guys inyeti suits – big furry white things – skied into the top of the frame.

“Ah! Run!” yelled Ash at the TV as the yeti men all pulledTommy guns off their backs as they approached the people at the tower. Thepeople who looked like us.

They skidded to a stop, aimed, and fired.

The background of the news feed turned into chaos.

The impact of the bullets sent snow and rock and ice flyingeverywhere. Some nearby skiers fell over. Others turned and disappeared intothe forest. Anything to get away from the Christmas morning massacre.

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