Milson (Chapter 7)

Chapter 7.

It was Christmas Eve, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. That is until Milson comes along.

Milson had spent the past week on mischievous midnight missions.

On the eleventh night of Christmas he had decided to raid a seemingly vacant house. Vacant that is, until Milson entered and set off the alarm. A short night with little reward.

On the tenth night of Christmas, Milson’s “true love” gave to him, two hundred dollars cash and white substance in a small tin. Milson’s gut tightened as he recalled that night. It had started off successfully. A silent entry with no injury.  Milson was just settling into his surrounding when a thin, pale man entered the room wearing nothing but a black satin robe and a woman’s wig. Milson’s admirer did not appear shocked to see him, which shocked Milson, however not nearly as much as when the man stopped dead in the middle of his romantic ramblings, rolled his pupil pinpointed eyes back into his head, and fell gracefully through the glass coffee table with a crashing thud. There he stayed. Milson obviously did not. He scooped up random objects and money from the debris below and headed off into the night somewhat shaken and sexually confused. 

But, he didn’t let it get him down. Milson carried on with determination late into the ninth night of Christmas. Which, consequently stole some of his bravado towards the business when he met a rather challenging colleague: a crim with a crowbar. In the scope of things Milson was quite fortunate not to be brutally beaten that night, but it seemed fate must have been looking the other way, just as the crim was when Milson snotted him over the head with a lamp. Milson luckily escaped with a few bruises, a hundred dollars and a 6-pack of VB. ‘Well, why not?’ Milson had thought, ‘after such a hard days work I deserve a hard earned thirst’. Milson had walked home with the cider in his hand and a bounce in his step. He whistled a merry carol and when to the bottom of his refreshment, danced a merry jig as he tooted into the vibrating VB bottle.

By the eighth night of Christmas Milson was tiring of his second occupation. His chronic anxiety had returned, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide his demeanour at work with the children. He was slowing developing into a cranky, old, sour Santa. His soul was beginning to feel rather sour also. Milson did not feel remorse at all for stealing personal belongings, for he thought them pointless anyway, although did feel terrible for the fright he had caused.

The worst was on the eighth evening. Milson was spent. Time was dwindling. He found a large, luxurious two story house in an affluent estate, amazingly easy to enter despite the large gates. The vast amount of vacant land surrounding the abode allowed Milson enough coverage and space from the public eye to scale not only the towering barrier, but the building itself also. Milson had successfully made it onto a balcony which had called to him from above, waving him over with the soft, white curtain that billowed from the open doors.

Milson obeyed and met the curtains face-to-seam. He also met a young girl face to face and made her scream. Loudly. The girl threw a large ceramic object at Milson, which whizzed past him at a dangerous speed before shattering on the ground some distance below. Milson was backed against the balcony, projectiles and screaming increasing by the minute. Milson took a deep breathe and jumped over the balcony. He free-fell for what seemed like eternity before suddenly stopping. His head pounded and ears rung. He was sure his lungs had stopped working. He couldn’t move. Suddenly, somebody released the hounds. They’re teeth were not miniature machetes like the terrier’s; but blinding blades shining smooth with salivation in the shimmering moonlight.

Milson suddenly felt fine, fantastic in fact, and decided he may go for a run. He picked up what was of worth, (which upon later survey amounted to fifteen dollars and two crystal fairy figurines), and bolted for the barricades.

By the seventh day of Christmas, and after the previous night’s episode, Milson decided it was the Sabbath Day and one of rest.  He had pawned all his collections, and now counted all his ‘savings. Milson was very relieved to find he finally, had (just) enough to purchase a basic coffin and service for his mother.

 

It was time to go home.

 

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