Milson (Chapter 6)

Chapter 6.

Milson loved his new job. For the next four weeks he would be Santa Claus Monday to Saturdays. Loved by all; bringer of joy and laughter and lollies and gifts. Finally, Milson was popular! Granted, he was a fat, hairy man with glasses in a velvet red suit, but hey, if that’s what it takes.

In the first day of his new found calling, Milson had felt more feelings of contentment and innocent love than ever. The children all looked at him with wide eyes. Gentle to the touch, softly bequeathing Barbie dolls and bikes. Milson was relieved to see that not all wanted game consoles and money. Money for Christ’s Sakes. Since when did Santa’s elves make money? Shit, if they did, Milson thought, wouldn’t it be easier to just kidnap an elf or two and start an underground slave labour counterfeiting con? Yeah, but not as rewarding, he figured.

He remembered one boy in particular. How he had shyly slipped into Milson’s lap, he peered above with questioning eyes. Milson had cheerfully greeted him, asked if he had been a good boy. The child uttered a barely audible ‘yes’ as he fretfully looked around him. Milson had asked if his mother was nearby and found himself somewhat confused as the boy responded with a flat ‘No’. Milson tried his technique of offering sweets in attempt to win the boy’s affections. It seemed to work as he gratefully accepted and thanked Milson.

“What’s your name Son”? Milson had asked.

“James” He replied hastily, shortly followed by “I have to go now”.

With that James pushed himself off Milson with a force that astounded him compared to his previous tenderness. Milson caught James’s wrist; “You haven’t told me what you would like for Christmas James”.

Milson’s eye’s still stung when he remembered that familiar look in James as he replied; “I just want a good Mum”. 

During the latter half of his second week, Milson found much pleasure in his clientele. However, the pay itself was not so rewarding. That Thursday evening as Milson sat in his room counting his earnings, he realised it was time for something drastic. Milson peered at the calendar that screamed “Twelve Days to Christmas”!, and decided to make a plan.

“On the twelve day of Christmas, it occurred to me, I may have to do some B&E’s”. Milson sung, only half jokingly as he got out his pen and paper. Milson spent some time calculating his current savings and sighed stressfully as he realised he had a long way to go. With this conclusion, Milson put on his Santa suit and prepared for some overtime.


* * *


The evening was cool and sharp as Milson walked the strange streets. He wandered amongst the homes, and peered in at the families bundled around the television, glowing in its warm light. Finally, Milson came to a house. It looked very much like his home, his mother’s home more to the point. The yard was dishevelled, and as Milson entered the weeds whipped around his boots, trying their best to prevent Milson from invading the property. Milson lifted his legs higher and trampled through the battlefield, slowly and silently making his way towards the back door.

Milson found a side window slightly ajar. He hoisted himself onto a discarded bucket and ungracefully wiggled through the window. On the other side Milson felt his way below and found the floor. From there he shimmied in, until he could shimmy no more.

“Fuck”. Milson muttered as he felt one of his boots slip away. He hastily lifted his bare foot and stood upright. His heart was pounding so hard he couldn’t hear his surroundings. He took some time to calm himself until eventually his ears adjusted to the sounds. Clicking clock, trickling tap, so far so good. As Milson’s ears carried on their work, his eyes joined the party as they begun to seek out their treasure. Milson noticed he was in a bedroom. The dormant bed displayed in the middle of the room lay flat. Milson relaxed and walked over to a large dresser holding treasures for the taking. Milson filled his sack with jewels and tried to prevent the jangling now coming from his booty bag.

Milson then heard another sound…some kind of scuttling. ‘Mice perhaps’? Milson heard a low growl below him. ‘I’m pretty sure mice don’t growl’ Milson thought as he looked down.

A small pointy faced terrier peered back with narrowed eyes and furrowed nose. Suddenly Milson saw a flash of white as he felt pain sear through his leg.

“Little Fuck!” Milson hollowed as the terrier tore into his ankle with microscopic machetes. Milson shook his leg forcefully and sent the mutt slipping and sliding to the other side of the room. Milson wasted no time and leaped head first out of the window. Within seconds he found himself sprawled in a garden bed, with his left behind boot below him. Milson raised himself up slowly at first; however upon seeing lights within the house flicker on in alert, he grabbed his boot, booty and fled.


* * *


In the early hours of the morning Milson still sat wide awake in his room. He surveyed the scene in front of him. “On the twelve day of Christmas, an old bird gave to me, two silver necklaces, five gold rings and a small bag of children’s baby teeth”. Oh, and not to mention an incredibly aching Achilles tendon inflicted by a fucking terrier. Milson felt ridiculous. All that effort for practically nothing.

 Milson hid his treasure and retired to bed. He planned to cash it tomorrow after work, and then, he would go out again. However this time, he was making sure there were no dogs.



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