On the first Day of Christmas

The Iron Writer has thrown out another Challenge. To write a short flash fic story each of the twelve Days of Christmas. Each one will have it's own elements, twists, and movie theme.


12 Days of Christmas - Day 1
400 words
Theme: A Christmas Story
Elements:
A Double Dog Dare
A Red Rider BB Gun
Turkey Eating Dogs

Day 1

Crawling on my belly I slowly crest the hill with my cowboy hat shielding my eyes. I glance to both sides, the rest of my posse waits for my signal. These cattle rustlers have made their last mistake. Aiming carefully, I take the honor of vanguarding the salvo that soon follows. It’s over in seconds. The fiends lay motionless in the dirt.

Johnny stands up and waves his rifle in the air. “We got those A-holes!”

Billy looks at him horrified. “Aaawww! You said a bad word!”

Johnny runs across the playground and begins claiming his kills. Tin cans, paper plates, and magazine clippings lay defeated. Billy rebuts Johnny’s claim to several kills. Their squabbling quickly escalates into ground wrestling.

When will they grow up? Next year’s middle school. We’re practically adults, they should start acting like it.

Something whizzing past my nose pulls me out of my thoughts before Johnny yells, “Hey! I killed this one, right?!”

Billy groans, “Ohhh MAN! ... Johnny! You butt-head! You threw it into old man Raymond’s yard!”

I follow Billy’s finger to the little blue ball just inside the neighborhood demon’s fence.

Johnny’s shoulders slump. “I’ll… buy you another”

Billy gazelle punches him. “My grandma gave me that!”

“Why don’t you go get it Johnny?” I ask.

“Why don’t YOU?!”

“I dare ya…”

Johnny points dramatically at me. “I double DOG DARE you!”

Billy whispers, “A double Dog dare… you gotta do it now…”

It’s true. A double dog dare HAS to be done… it’s man code 101. I set aside my trusty Red Rider BB gun and head for the fence. To them I seem fearless. In reality, I’m so scared I may pee myself. I jump the fence and retrieve the ball. Turning back I notice, to my horror, Raymond’s hellhounds: five little beasties with the charisma of hungry velociraptors. I barrel through the metal gate of their pin. They noisily give chase and, as I race past his door, the devil incarnate steps out and screams, “What’s all this racket?!”

I springboard off his patio table into the bushes next door. Inside the hedge I can see into Raymond’s dining room. All five mongrels are on the table destroying Christmas dinner. The poor turkey is shredded and thrown everywhere, just as Mr. Raymond returns. His shriek matches how the neighborhood kids feel when he gives their toys to his dogs.