We continue our chain story. Read about how it started here.
Please welcome our 6th author, Franziska Dirnberger (aka @agirlmadasbird), a poet at heart who sometimes dips her toe into writing stories. She is currently obsessed with Dylan Thomas, loves the smell of a new book, is interested in life's difficulties and sometimes starts singing and dancing in the streets for no particular reason.
BLOODY SANTA vs ZOMBIE SIREN. Chapter 6 by Franziska Dirnberger
Back in the olden days a rumor, widely spoken about, had filled Kaffeeklubben Island. When Edwin and all the first-born elves were still alive, a tale was whispered of beautiful women drowning entire armadas by luring them into a seductive net of soft melodies.
One of them was Laira, an elder amongst the emancipated tribe of the ladies of the water. Her slender figure, black hair and piercing blue eyes had led countless strangers into termination. They were so oblivious to the approaching of their end, that not until acute teeth sunk into arteries, fate dawned on them. Countless eyes filled with terror had gazed at Laira while her heart had widened with excitement. But on the eve of the centennially nomination of a new Santa everything as she knew it changed.
For hundreds of years the Sirens had lived in coexistence with the elves and Santa. Until this one particular nomination day, this impertinence, this human stepped onto Kaffeeklubben Island and claimed his right to the throne of Arctica. Santa Claus the Redeemer, as he called himself, slayed the unprepared Council of retired gift bringers and announced a new era of Christmasy Traditions. The bloody battle fought to prevent this wrongful uprising left the Kaffeeklubben Siren tribe defeated and smaller in numbers. Upon the dawning of his victory, the new Santa Claus raised his theatric dooming voice and cast a curse:
“No one will ever see you as flesh and blood, you will be damned to live a life as ghastly antics, only the sun will reveal your awful faces. Not dead, nor alive your figures get frozen. As beautiful ghostly creatures you will walk the land by night, haunted by a craving for mammal flesh.“ This was before the steriliziation started and Santa degenerated to a clumsy sack of curse words.
The aftermath of the bane had severely devitalized the Siren tribe of Kaffeeklubben Island. Driven by their urge for meat, neither elves nor baby reindeer were safe from their sharp claws.
Before, hunting had been a dance of pleasure and pain, equally arising as the season of the tides. After Santa’s brutal strike the Sirens collapsed in a cloud of desperate preying on the weak and least tasteful members of the food chain, cloned elves, first generation.
Sometimes Laira would keep one of the elves alive for interrogation, but their numbly brains only revealed fractures of Santa’s growing dictatorship. The fictional numbers of weapons and H&K USP what-nots were no reason for not eventually drowning them.
So much time has passed since the unspeakable had happened that almost everybody had forgotten about the very existence of the once so beautiful women.
Laira’s heart ached of the mere memory of it. Since then, her tribe has gathered strength and power. Now it was time to act, to reclaim back their rightful territory and teach that bastard of a Santa a lesson.
Pacing up and down the hallway of her cold, dark chamber, she felt this urge again. Her eyes darkened at the smell of pulsing blood.