21 December 2014
The Great Christmas Bloodbath
From Carolyn Hax's Hootenanny of Holiday Horrors 2014:
Like many children, when I was growing up I had a hard time sleeping through the night on Christmas Eve. Early one Christmas morning when I was around 5 years old, I was in my bed awake waiting for it to be time to go upstairs and collect my stocking, when I heard a scream and loud thumps from my parents room upstairs. Curious and scared, I crept upstairs and tiptoed into my parents bedroom. What in front of my wondering eyes did appear than my father, passed out half on the bed, half on the floor with blood running down his face, and my mother passed out nearby clutching a bloody towel. I screamed, imagination running wild with visions of Santa Claus sneaking down the chimney and assaulting my parents. Luckily my screams awoke my mother who was able to calm me down. Turns out my father had a particularly realistic dream of being buzzed by a fly, jerked his sleeping head to avoid it and and rammed his forehead into the corner of his 1980s clock radio, cutting a big gash in it. He screamed, panicked and passed out at the sight of his own blood. My mother, aiming to help, stood up too fast and after grabbing a towel and beginning to apply it to the wound, passed out herself. That's where I entered to the bloody scene. My father spent Christmas with a giant bandage on his forehead, I was consoled with presents, and the day was dubbed The Great Christmas Bloodbath. We never were able to get all of the Christmas Blood out of the carpet.
Like many children, when I was growing up I had a hard time sleeping through the night on Christmas Eve. Early one Christmas morning when I was around 5 years old, I was in my bed awake waiting for it to be time to go upstairs and collect my stocking, when I heard a scream and loud thumps from my parents room upstairs. Curious and scared, I crept upstairs and tiptoed into my parents bedroom. What in front of my wondering eyes did appear than my father, passed out half on the bed, half on the floor with blood running down his face, and my mother passed out nearby clutching a bloody towel. I screamed, imagination running wild with visions of Santa Claus sneaking down the chimney and assaulting my parents. Luckily my screams awoke my mother who was able to calm me down. Turns out my father had a particularly realistic dream of being buzzed by a fly, jerked his sleeping head to avoid it and and rammed his forehead into the corner of his 1980s clock radio, cutting a big gash in it. He screamed, panicked and passed out at the sight of his own blood. My mother, aiming to help, stood up too fast and after grabbing a towel and beginning to apply it to the wound, passed out herself. That's where I entered to the bloody scene. My father spent Christmas with a giant bandage on his forehead, I was consoled with presents, and the day was dubbed The Great Christmas Bloodbath. We never were able to get all of the Christmas Blood out of the carpet.
Labels: holidays
# posted by mamurd @ 6:00 PM 
