A Christmas Rage

By Chadolinski.

Blake was a big, angry guy. He was angry because of his dirty and not-well-paid-enough job in the mines. His wife made him angry which was why he was driving home alone. He had strategies to deal with his anger. Currently he was trying a new one whereby he made her walk the kids home in the rain. It was only a couple of kilometres from the Christmas lights but it might teach her to be a bit more supportive. The other guy’s wife had his back when there’d been a bit of a scuffle at the Christmas carols. Not Lisa though. She’d had the nerve to suggest he’d had too much to drink and that he was embarrassing her! Get real. She was lucky it wasn’t HER teeth he had picked out of his knuckles after a bunch of lads had shown him the gate. It had taken a bunch too. He almost felt happy at the memory of the boys picking their friend up off the grass, but Blake was angry.

He peeled out of the car park in his Kia Rio. Well, it was his wife’s Car but he was driving it until he got his gigantic Ford back from the garage. Blake had been angry and run someone off the road with it. His anger was demanding and he was happy to oblige.

He he planted the accelerator as he overtook a battered, beige sedan. turning right onto Broke Road. Lights flashed in his rear view mirror. He didn’t even think as he slowed down, his anger surging again. Traffic piled up behind him as his speed dropped to twenty kilometres per hour. If he was in his ridiculously huge Ford he’d have slammed on the breaks and let it’s custom, rear bull-bar crumple the bonnet of the rude git behind him. The back roads were his. He’d lived in Pokolbin his whole life when he’d not been away in jail. Townies come out for Xmas at the gardens and they thought they owned the place. He’d show this guy. There was a round about up ahead. He’d stop, get out and clean the driver’s clock for him. There was nowhere to pass. He must have pulled over too far right because the beige P.O.S cruised slowly past him on the left. It tooted its horn cheerily mocking him as it passed.

Rage building, Blake jumped back into his car and laid rubber on the roundabout as he gave pursuit. There was about fifteen kilometres to the highway. Fifteen kilometres was more than enough. The predator in Blake took over as the Sedan turned away from the herd of Christmas visitors onto a lonely road that veered away from the popular safety of the wineries and cellar doors. He drove like a mad man. Sometimes he careened beside the beige sedan screaming abuse and invective out of the open passenger window of his wife’s car. Then, he'd drop back and flash his lights up and down from high beam to low.

They must have taken a turn he did not remember because the road changed to dirt and gravel and narrowed considerably. The trees and red glow of the sunset behind cast long shadows. It was spooky in parts of Pokolbin at night. Blake knew the driver was probably crapping himself. If not he soon would be. A sign passed which signalled a dead end. Blake smiled to himself as the car in front slowed and stopped. Trees butted right up to the road. There was no where to go.

He got out with his cricket bat in hand and was surprised to see that the other driver did too. Good. He’d not have to waste any energy getting him out of the car and could spend his efforts making a great big mess of the man. Better yet, the dim red light behind him revealed the driver’s figure to be that of a woman. A curvy one. Much more to his liking than his boney nag of a wife. He was a big man and his shadow obscured her features but he did not need to see her. His anger only needed to feel her. Break her.

“Seems to be the end of the road.” She said. He thought he heard tremors of fear in her voice as he raised a rocky fist to strike. There was a resounding clang as he hit her and his hand exploded in pain.

“Oh dear, Blake. That is not in keeping with the spirit of the season.”

He swore at her and swung the cricket bat which splintered like ice hitting concrete  when it made contact with her head.

“Fortunately for you, I am working at becoming a better person. I think I can help you.” Said the woman. She sounded kind of metallic, Blake realised absently. The next few seconds were agonising. When she stopped hitting him he tried to run and made it to his car. He dove in through the window, started the car and slammed it into reverse. A shadow leaped over his wife’s Rio. It roared like a demon and he could see it u-turn behind him blocking the road. It was the Beige Sedan only it had teeth. Huge teeth in a savage mouth and it grabbed the Rio and shook it like a terrier with a rat. Flung through the shattered windshield, Blake sprawled across the dirt road. The lights of the Kia briefly illuminated the woman before it was devoured completely.

She stood above him patting the cricket bat lightly on her left hand. She was every science fiction fan’s fantasy woman. Silver and reflective Voluptuous and deadly. She was a robotic queen of hell dressed in the whites of what once may have been a nurses garb. As she beat him the pom pom on her Santa hat flipped back and forth across her face. “Don’t kill me. I have kids!” Bubbled  Blake. When she stopped. “Don’t kill me! My family needs me. Mercy! Please.”

The robo-hellspawn cocked an eyebrow as she picked him up by his hair and loaded him into the boot of what was once again her car. “How‘d you know my name?” She asked.

“Wha..” Began Blake and his consciousness dimmed.

“I’m not going to kill you. Like I said, I am trying to be a better person, so I am going to help you. I am going to take you to a place where I can best give you that help.” Everything went dark as the boot closed but Blake thought he heard the thing say. “Wow. My first Christmas and already I have a handle on all of this good will toward men kind of thing. Socrates will be impressed.”