Drama In The Diorama: Halloween vs Christmas

 “I thought I had the Hansel & Gretel gig, but no—they gave it to that Gingerbread Hag. I think she might have been banging one of the Grimm boys. But hey, just look at how far we’ve come—I’m a Halloween display in a third-rate department store, and you’re a hapless booze-fueled security guard—what’s not to love, am I right?” 

She gave a derisive chuckle.

“Wait, wait—you're only supposed to be able to move your head and say a few threatening witchy things,” the bewildered guard said as he fumbled for his pepper spray.

“But I have a very serious question, and if you don’t answer it, I just might have to do one of those ‘witchy things’ and turn you into a mouse,” she said with a wicked laugh.

“Okay, but please don’t turn me into a mouse—I’m lactose intolerant!” he said, clutching his pepper spray.

“It’s not even Halloween yet, and there is a snowman village diorama on the next aisle—why?” the witch asked, shaking her head in disgust.

“I don't know; I guess they decided to bring them out early,” the befuddled guard stammered. He plopped into a pumpkin-looking beanbag chair, massaged his temples, and hoped this would all just go away. He then took a pull from his pocket flask.

“Ah, yes, let's blame the infamous 'they' for this seasonal fuck-up,” she said. “Never mind, we’ll just handle it ourselves.”

“Who's we?” the guard asked, tumbling farther down the rabbit hole.

“Slim, what do you think?” The witch turned her head toward a tall, dark figure standing just behind the guard.

“Holy hell! It speaks, too?” he asked, craning his neck to see the black-cloaked grim reaper holding an orange Fender Stratocaster, on which he played random Halloween-themed rock parodies. He took another, longer pull from his flask.

“Well, it's a full month too early for these holiday interlopers,” the reaper said. “These Frosty wannabes and the rest of their Christmas ilk already have the longest holiday season; now these greedy Christmas creepers want Halloween too!” He seethed as his fiery red eyes glowed in their cavernous sockets.

“Easy, Slim; he doesn’t realize that snowmen are the vanguard of Christmas creep! We're going to have to handle this ourselves,” she said, glowering at the snowman village in the next aisle.

At hearing the witch's threat, the largest snowman yelled back, “Sorry, you green-faced bitch—I mean witch—but we’re going to be here until New Year’s Day! So piss off you hideous Halloween hag!”

“Very nice alliteration you icy bastard. Leave before we make you!”

The snowman laughed. “If you come over here, I’ve got a big surprise waiting for you!”

The reaper jumped to the defense of his friend. “Yeah, I've got something for you too, you frigid fuck—right here!” he said, lifting his cloak and grabbing at the fleshless pelvic area where his phallus used to reside.

“This is our time!” the witch yelled, shaking her fist. “If you refuse to leave, we'll come over there and kick your snowball asses!”

“Hey, if you want to square up and throw hands, bring it!” the snowman yelled back.

“That's absolutely hilarious!” the reaper snorted, barely able to contain himself. “You have broken twigs for arms, a carrot nose, and buttons for eyes, and you want to throw hands—that’s brave talk from a member of the yellow snow clan!”

The witch chimed in, “Are you sure you don't want to wait for your boss—that jolly red-suited, ruddy-faced, eggnog addict with his indentured elves and reindeer posse?”

“Nope, bring it, crone!”

“Oh, it's on!” she yelled as she and the reaper trudged toward the next aisle.

Seeing the Halloween displays move off their platforms, the guard snapped out of his trance. “Stop! Hold on a minute. You guys can't fight in the store,” he shouted in the most authoritative tone he could muster. “Please stop; I'll lose my job! I can’t go back to living with my parents!”

While attempting to get between the holiday combatants, the guard tripped over an extension cord and fell headfirst into the snowman display platform, knocking himself unconscious.

“Do you think he's dead?” the reaper asked.

“Well, isn’t that more your department?” she replied, shooting him a quizzical look.

“Either way, we need to get back to our aisle and go radio silent for the duration.”

***

In the morning, the store manager found the drunken security guard asleep, sprawled across a pile of dismembered snowmen, cradling the remnants of a broken orange Fender Stratocaster in his arms. The empty flask beside him and his pissed-soaked pants, told a sad story the manager had long suspected. Human Resources suspended him immediately. His continued employment was contingent upon successfully completing alcohol rehabilitation as well as counseling for his apparent latent anger issues toward the holidays.

Once the commotion died down, the grim reaper, sans guitar, looked toward the witch, gave her a bony thumbs up, and said, “See, I told you that would work!”

The snowman village diorama was not replaced until after Halloween.