As the first polished black boot peeked out from the fireplace, Chase peeled one eye open and sniffed through his egg-nog haze.

By the time the second boot joined its partner, Chase was crouching near the arm of his recliner, his hand slipping into the pocket of the chair to retrieve the emergency camo-face paint hidden within.

Pfwafh.

The intruder landed. Chase rolled forward, somersaulting silently over the bear-skin rug into the nook beside the brick mantle and hugged himself into the shadowy corner. He smeared black paint under his eyes and down his nose, breathing though his mouth, listening to every muffled grunt coming from the hearth.

Chase peered around the corner to see a large backside wiggle out from below the mantle. There was another phwafh as something soft and heavy landed in the ashes. He leaned closer, his hand edging toward the iron poker. Chase's watch chinked against its metal stand.

The figure in the fireplace froze.

"Well, well, well," came an echoy baritone.

Heaving the poker in his right hand, Chase lept out of the shadows just as the intruder swung back and out of the opening. The rouge rogue grabbed a handful of soot and tossed it into Chase's eyes, temporarily blinding him.

Chase howled.

"Trying to catch me unawares?" chuckled the trespasser. Chase dropped the poker as he clawed at the ashes on his face. He caught the faint peppermint scent of the fat man's labored breath. He coughed, opening his eyes.

His opponent stood facing him, boots soiling the white bear-skin rug. His wintery blue eyes twinkled above a snow white grin. He had one hand on his enormous belly and the other outstretched toward Chase, palm up. He flexed his fingers back once, twice, the sign language equivalent of "bring it."

Chase brought it.

He bent down, grabbing the edge of the rug and tugged hard. The force of the jerk knocked the jolly man backwards off his feet. "Ho! Ho! Hoooooof!" he cried as he fell back and rolled behind Chase's calico couch. Chase launched himself into the cushions, his arms lunging over the back of the sofa. He heard a frantic scuffle and came away with only a handful of white ermine.

"Out jumps good old..." Chase whispered, then stopped as the glass blown pineapple ornaments, which Chase bought for their resemblance to grenades, jangled. 'Ah,' he thought. 'I know where you're hiding.'

Chase eased himself off the cushions onto the floor. He belly crawled to the far side of the living room, near the large picture window. The evergreen hung darkly before the winter scene outside. Silently bringing his knees up under him and bending himself into a ready-for-launch squat, Chase stabbed the plug into the wall socket.

The tree erupted into multi-colored brilliance, and the technicolor outline of his enemy could be seen against the curtain.

With a triumphant yelp, Chase surged forward, fists clenched and shoulder down. In mid-jump, the tree was pushed forward and over and the fat man reeled around to face him.

Chase plunged head first into the soft, red, furry belly of the intruder and bounced off, landing hard on his backside on the wooden floor.

"Ho! Ho! Ho!" the man cheered, his arms flailing wildly about him. He danced side to side, the footwork of a boxer - heavyweight class - his eyes wide and gleaming. "Ho! Ho! No!" he bellowed, bringing his arms down and behind his back.

In a flash of red and white, the jolly elf wielded a sword-length candy cane in each hand. He swished them through the air, the slim hooks of peppermint on the ends catching the lights from the tree. He laughed and approached Chase, still sitting on the floor.

"HO!" Swish! "HO!" Swish! "HO!" Swish!

Chase, dazed by the display with this cavalier candy, sat hypnotized as the intruder approached. With a flick of his wrists, the fat man brought both canes around front and hooked one into each of Chase's nostrils.

Then he pulled, up and hard.

"Looks like someone needs a bit of the Christmas spirit knocked back into him, eh?" he gloated.

Just before Chase blacked out, his world a peppermint nightmare, he saw one black boot raise slowly from the floor and heard the fat man sing. "Up on the house top..."

Kick. Kick. Kick.

Chase awoke, face down in the bunched up bear skin. Before him on the floor, tied up with green and red ribbon, lay a new can of face paint and a small plate of sugar cookies. Chase groaned and grabbed his nose. Sitting up, he reached for the small note attached to his present.

"Santa 32, Chase 0. Thanks again for the fun. Merry Christmas, Chase. Same time next year.

Your pal,

Santa Claus.

P.S. You suck."

Chase growled and ate a cookie.

Chase was perfectly still, listening in the dark night. He wasn’t sure what had shattered his dream of perfect Hawaiian beaches and perfect bikini-clad beauties, but he knew better than to ignore his instincts. He filtered out the noise of the fire crackling and popping in the fireplace and his own breathing, deep and regular. He tuned out the rhythmic tic tic of the grandfather clock in the corner and focused on the remaining sound.

Thump, thump, thump.

Something – no, someone – was on the second floor. Having pinpointed the source, Chase quickly ended his still-sleeping charade. Carefully, quietly, he moved from the den to the staircase. Slipping off his slippers, he padded silently up the stairs in his bare feet.

Chase paused at the top, listening for any sound that would pinpoint the location of his evening visitor. A cold draft drifted across his feet. Turning towards the back of the house, he followed the trail of icy air.

“Umph.” Chase smiled coldly in the dark as he heard the grunt. He had stubbed enough toes on his free weights to recognize the noise. He swiftly moved to the door of his bedroom.

Glancing in, Chase saw a shadowy shape moving in the center of the room. Other than a large bag, he didn’t see the outline of any weapons. He entered the room in a silent rush, hitting the intruder low.

His momentum carried both of them further into the room. The intruder, much smaller than Chase, swung the heavy bag at him. Chase felt a sharp pain as the sack slammed across his back. He broke away and ducked as the intruder swiped at him again. He circled his opponent, letting the darkness and his knowledge of the room work for him.

“Umph.” Chase stumbled and almost fell as he tripped over the free weights. Those weights were going to be relegated to the basement in the morning – if he survived the night.

As he struggled to regain his balance, the interloper pushed the advantage. A faint swoosh warned Chase of the impending impact. Too late to avoid the hit, he did the only thing he could – he opened his arms and grabbed the sack.

Holding on to the sack, Chase and the intruder began a silent game of tug-of-war. Despite his size advantage, Chase couldn’t wrench the bag away. Whatever it held was obviously of great importance. Chase tugged hard on the bag – then suddenly let it go.

Surprised by the unexpected release, the intruder staggered back under the weight of the bag. Stumbling, off-balance, the backwards retreat was brought up short by the bed. Chase watched as the shadowy figure teetered for a moment, then lost the fight with gravity and fell onto the bed.

Chase rushed in, leaping on the prone figure, trying to pin it to the bed. The intruder struggled viciously to escape his grasp. Chase rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a well-placed kick to the groin.

“That’s a cheap shot,” Chase muttered. “Fight like a man.”

Free of Chase, the intruder grabbed the bag and headed for the window. With a curse, Chase scrambled off the bed and tackled the fleeing figure. They both fell hard to the floor, with Chase on top. Chase quickly immobilized the interloper.

Chase held his opponent down and struggled to catch his breath. As his breathing returned to normal, he started to notice some details that he had overlooked during the fight. For one thing, the body underneath him was way too soft. It also had curves – lots and lots of curves. Lifting his head, he looked at the face that was faintly illuminated by the moonlight.

“Damn. You’re a woman!” he exclaimed.

Dark eyes flashed back at him. “Brilliant, Sherlock, just brilliant. You get an ‘A’ for observation. Now get off me.”

Chase felt his temper flare, and fought the urge to strangle his unwanted guest.

“Lady, I don’t know who you are, but if you haven’t noticed, you’re not in any position to be giving orders. Who the heck are you, and what are you doing in my bedroom?”

“What do you think I’m trying to do, you idiot? Don’t you know what day it is?”

“It’s December 24th, Christmas Eve. Who are you? Santa?” he demanded.

“Get real. I’m Samantha Claus. Do you really think that Dad does all these deliveries by himself?”

Distracted by her curves, Chase didn’t see the wrapped present until it was too late. It crashed into his head and he crumpled to the floor.

Standing up, Samantha looked down on the unconscious Chase.

“Sorry, Jackson, but I have a schedule to keep.” Samantha place the slightly dented present next to his head.

“Merry Christmas.”

A brief flurry of snow fell down the chimney. Chase sat in his armchair, mellowed by a hot bath. Very seasonable, he thought. The grenade that followed the snow wasn't quite as seasonable.
Synapses flared. Adrenalin pumped. Chase was transformed. He leapt from the chair, caught the grenade, and in one swift movement came to his feet. He froze for one aching moment as he checked the grenade.
Got it: Tri-Tetra Fluoroxetine Nitrate Gas-Grenade Mark I.

Stasis broke. Chase bounded into the bathroom and lobbed the TTFN grenade into the full bathtub. Chase knew that TTFN gas was water-soluble. As he crept to the window and opened it silently, he ran through a mental checklist of TTFN symptoms:

Victim retches as toxins hit nervous system.
Chase made loud retching noises.
Major muscle groups are paralyzed.
Chase dropped to the carpet with a loud thud.
ETA death: 30 minutes-without antidote.

Chase was now on the window jamb. He glanced down.
The drainpipe, he thought. He slid on a pair of leather gloves, wrapped his belt in a taut figure-of-eight around both ankles and, pushing it against the pipe, hauled himself up with both hands.

He peered over the parapet to see a man creeping across the roof wearing a red suit and a fluffy white beard. He was also carrying an AK47 assault rifle.
Chase slid down out of sight. He'd estimated that the drainpipe was clamped at twenty-five foot intervals, so he shook the belt from his ankles, placed the soles of his feet flat against the wall, and tugged on the drainpipe.

The wall clamps gave, just as the barrel of the AK47 poked over the parapet. The top section of the drainpipe swung away from the wall with Chase still clinging to it. The night air was shattered by the roar of the AK47, and a hail of bullets clanged against the drainpipe.
But Chase was no longer there: he'd dropped onto the phone cables below. As the cables snapped, Chase grabbed one end and swung in a graceful arc towards the brick wall of the building opposite – straight through a ground floor window.

Percy Nuttall, Chase's long-suffering neighbor, leapt from his chair as Chase came crashing into the room. Chase hit the floor, rolled, and came up running.
"Chase!" roared Percy, "You blithering idiot! Can't you―"
"Sorry Percy, old boy," interrupted Chase without stopping, "But there's a man on my roof―"
"White beard and red suit, no doubt, " said Percy testily.`
"Actually, yes," shouted Chase, still on the run. Then he heard the unmistakable roar of a Ford Mustang. "They've got my car!" he shouted to Percy.
Still running, Chase grabbed Percy's car keys from the sideboard, bounded through the garage door and slammed it shut, sliding the bolt.

Chase leapt into the Porsche and floored the accelerator as Percy hammered on the locked door wailing: "Not the Porsche, Chase! Please…!"
The Porsche leapt forward, tore through the roll-up doors, and roared out into the street with a cone of crumpled metal draped across its hood. It shot straight up a ramp into the back of large removal van.

It was a trap!
Chase jammed on the brakes. The Porsche squealed to a stop an inch from the rear of the van.

He turned to see four masked men carrying assault rifles standing behind him. "What now, Superboy?" said one of the men mockingly.
To the man's surprise, Chase gave a broad grin and raised both arms in the unmistakable gesture of surrender.

Even blindfolded and handcuffed, Chase could tell he was being marched into a large hall. The blindfold was torn off, and he found himself facing the entire squad of ICU's Covert Operations Unit. Along one wall hung a huge banner saying: Merry Christmas, Chase, You Are The Best.

The men shuffled nervously, an unspoken thought hanging heavily in the air: Sure, it was a ruse, but Chase Jackson surrendered.

Q-ute, the female Chief of ICU, stalked grim-faced across the podium. Rough-handed, she unlocked the cuffs. "You surrendered, Jackson. You broke the code. Why?" she snapped.

"I knew from the very first it was you…and I guessed why," said Chase with a faint smile. "Remember, I was the one who busted the Philadelphia cartel of the S.P.E.C.T.R.E. Syndicate, Phil. S.P.E.C.T.R.E., and destroyed their entire supply of TTFN. The only grenade left we kept down at HQ; the very one that dropped down my chimney."

There was a sigh of relief and a thunderous round of applause.

Q-ute looked very relieved. "But why did you go through with it then? You could have just called it off. After all, you are on leave."

Chase's face split into one his trademark lopsided grins.
"To tell you the truth, I needed the exercise."

A light dusting of snow falls down the chimney, and Chase shifts into action mode to apprehend the intruder. Moving to the one place where he’s sure to be in the prowler’s blind spot, Chase shakes his head disdainfully. It’s just like those SPECTRE agents to be up to no good on Christmas Eve, he thinks while settling into position. Evil never takes a holiday.

Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, the villain is right there in front of Chase. From his elevated vantage point, on the mantle above the fireplace, Chase has a clear shot at his target. As he launches himself at the figure below him, Chase idly wonders when SPECTRE agents started wearing red velvet uniforms. Fur lined, no less.

Chase lands on the man hard, driving him down to the ground. As he impacts the hardwood, the man loses his grip on his utility bag, it’s contents sent spinning across the floor. Thinking quickly, Chase grabs the rim of the man’s odd floppy hat and pulls it down across his face. While the intruder is temporarily stunned, Chase expertly twists one of his velvet-coated arms up behind his back in a painful arm lock. Oddly enough, Chase finds himself precariously balanced on top of him as if the man were a big rubber ball. With pretty much the same jiggling bounce to him.

"All right pal, who are you and who sent you?" Chase demands with a sharp twist on his captive’s arm.

"Mmphh don’t hmmff recognufff uuurff sssthhta Claus?" the man mumbles through the fur-lined brim of the hat. The prone assassin adds a yelp as Chase applies an Indian Burn to the arm still held firmly in his grasp.

Chase sneers as he says with only a small trace of jealousy, "The Claws, huh? You SPECTRE agents get all the cool nicknames." Suddenly, the small mountain of man under Chase gives a twist. As he begins to roll over, Chase belatedly realizes what it must be like to be an ant on a bowling ball. Crashing headfirst into the sofa, Chase decides it’s time to change tactics. Quickly rolling into a standing position, Chase drops into a jujitsu stance and verbally lashes out, "Man, you stink."

Finally able to pull the hat from his face with his non-twisted arm, the red clad figure mutters, "You try spending a night at the wrong end of 8 reindeer and see how you smell. What do think it is that makes them light enough to fly anyway?"

Momentarily taken aback, Chase replies, "Was that a code phrase? Because you aren’t making any sense Big Boy." Remembering to stay alert, Chase demands, "What are you here for? Assassination? No? Torture then. Wasting your time, you’ll never get anything out of me!"

"I was trying to bring you something," winces Chase’s opponent as he gingerly rotates his injured shoulder. "This definitely moves you to the Naughty List."

Gently toeing one of the paper-wrapped objects strewn on the floor, Chase grimly laughs, "Yeah, I’ll bet you were bringing me something! So which one has the plastic explosives, Fat Man?"

"Plastic! I’ll have you know, these are hand-crafted from natural…" the man starts to huff out before Chase cuts him off. "Yeah, sure. So how did a big guy like you manage to slip in here anyway?"

"Why, I just…" the man begins to say as he lifts a finger toward the side of his nose. Chase immediately springs into action, executing a perfectly timed anhuso-pakuro cha ki kick at the man’s rising hand. As he completes the roundhouse kick, Chase cautions his opponent, "No sudden moves, Velvet Boy. How do I know you don’t have a nostril gun in there or a throwing knife hidden under that beard?"

"That’s it, young man. I’ve had quite enough," says the man dropping into a fighting crane stance. "Bring it on, Pops," says Chase, as the man stretches his arm out, palm quivering. The resulting impact sends Chase flying back to again slam headfirst into the sofa.

Easily lifting the semi-comatose Chase into the armchair, the man quietly apologizes, "Sorry for using the Polar Power Punch on you, son, but I’ve got to get going. No time for these games you young folk play. Now listen to the sound of my voice. I was never here… you are getting sleepy… there was no fight… sleepier…"

Chase wakes with a sudden start, the movement causing simultaneous pains in his head and his ribs. A vague memory of falling and hitting his head while adjusting the star on his Christmas tree has Chase ruefully, but gently, shaking his head. Next year, he thinks to himself, I’ll take vacation during Easter. No deadly trees at Easter. Just fuzzy bunnies. No danger there, right?

Chase grabbed his pistol from the coffee table at his feet and walked slowly towards the fireplace. A quick glance out the family room window showed a fresh blanket of snow that muffled the sounds from the outside world. But at that moment, in his mind, there was no outside world. There were only the light flakes falling into the dying embers in his fireplace, the barely perceivable crunching of snow from a stranger’s footsteps on the roof above, and the cold steel in his hand.

The flakes of snow sizzled on the red coals. An absurd image pops into Chase’s head of an overweight man wearing a red coat and pants, and a big bushy white beard dropping from the chimney into his living room. The image quickly disappeared as an object suddenly drops into the middle of the fireplace. Ashes and coals fly out of the opening and scatter on the hardwood floor.

In an instant, Chase recognizes the object as a grenade. Without wondering whether the grenade would explode and send shrapnel or gas, he leaped behind the heavy leather couch in front of a large window. He grabbed the base of a heavy stand lamp and tipped it towards the glass. It shattered as the thump of the exploding grenade sent the remaining ashes and coals into the suddenly frigid air.

The lack of a heavy concussion from the explosive made Chase realize that the grenade was of the gaseous variety. He kicked the few remaining shards of glass from the bottom of the wall-height window with his bear-claw slippers and scrambled to the ground before the cloud of gas could touch his skin. He sat panting on the frozen ground and wondered why someone would try to gas him on Christmas Eve. Whoever it was knew he was snoozing in the armchair in front of the fireplace. The only way to know that would be to see him through the very window he just shattered.

With the pistol in his hand, Chase scanned the ground for the telltale signs of a snooping visitor. The footprints showed a single person. The scoundrel didn’t count on him being alive and decided to save the clean up for later. Unfortunately for him, Chase was a light sleeper.

Chase knew that there was only one way for a person to get on the roof without the use of a ladder. He slid along the wall to the corner of his house and quickly stole a glance to the oak tree on the other side of his garage.

He saw a dark shape jump to a branch from the roof. He knew he had been a naughty boy lately but he didn’t think that his behavior warranted anything more lethal than a lousy fruitcake. Besides, Santa Claus couldn’t move like this guy did as he climbed down the frozen bark of the giant tree.

Being careful to keep to the shadows, Chase crept along the side of the house to the bushes beside the front entrance. He watched as the masked man removed a small black pack from his back and found a handgun with a silencer. Chase hoped that the guy would decide to use the front door. A quick shot to the arm holding the pistol would do the trick and still allow him to do a little interrogation.

Chase sized up his attacker. About five foot nine, not very big, but the right size for climbing a tree and moving stealthily across a roof. He would have to be careful. A small stature doesn’t necessarily mean an easy target.

The attacker walked towards Chase and climbed the steps. At the top he paused, glanced around, shoved the pistol in his belt, and pulled a small tool out of his pocket. As he approached the doorknob with the tool, Chase saw his chance to attack. He lunged from behind the snow-covered bush in an icy explosion and tackled the unsuspecting man. The attacker, gasping for his breath, reached for the pistol in his belt only to find that it had been knocked loose.

Chase pointed the barrel of his gun between the eyes of the black ski mask. Their breaths formed clouds that dissipated in the wintry breeze.

“Pretty late for Christmas caroling but since you’re here to sing, might you regale me with your reason for interrupting my slumber?”

The attacker didn’t move. Chase decided that a little force might have to be administered to get the guy to sing tonight. With his left hand, Chase grabbed the bottom of the ski mask and yanked it over the attacker’s face.

The below freezing temperatures did nothing to prevent his heart from burning as he stared into her beautiful face.

Snow pelted the windows, the light tip-tap of crystallized water on frosted panes was starting to drive Chase mad. This was a sinister snowfall. How ever such a concept could work was beyond him, but it felt right. Maybe a diversion for some evil person's deeds... some deceptively innocuous... he stopped himself once more, fingernails digging into the arms of his easy chair.

The last month had been excructiatingly placid. He was the "winner" of a months vacation, and was unable to talk his way out of it. His boss was still sore about the time he blew up that city block downtown. He was being punished.

Chase wasn't a docile creature, his guts were steel springs hung on wound-up rubberbands, a ball of reflex and kinetic energy. After the first hour at home, he had dive rolled and drawn his pistol at the creaky foundation five times. While Christmas shopping at the mall, he tackled a suspicious man in a red suit, spraining his arm in two places with a reverse cobra clutch maneuver.

He shook his head and shuddered, remembering how happy the mall staff was to see him again. He downed his club soda (he still thought of himself as "on-duty" or at least "semi-off-duty") and began to doze in front of the fire. Dreams of high-speed limousine chases with drug barons and exploding helicopters put a smile upon his face.

A hissing sound jangled him awake. He didn't know how long he was out, but he knew he had made a tactical blunder and was surprised a gun wasn't pointed at his head. At first he couldn't discern the origin of the sound, it had grown darker in the room. Why? The fire! He strained his bleary eyes at the fireplace and saw a large pile of snow. Someone had doused his flames.

A light rustling began in the walls. He was being invaded! As dangerous as the situation was, he felt relieved in a sick way. He waited at the mantle with his hands out, a pair of black combat boots appeared, a camouflaged leg... "Oh a hardcase army type, this might be fun!" Chase thought.

When he deemed the man sufficiently far enough down into his waiting maw, Chase struck. He locked his hands around the surprised man's ankles and dragged him down and out, like the chimney was some sort of bizarre home invader dispensing machine.

Chase fell on top of him in an instant, trying to get the upperhand. This one wasn't having any of it. Fueled by adrenaline and annoyance at climbing down a damned chimney, he threw Chase off and laughed as he watched the agent slide into a table, candy dish toppling, red and green m&m's going everywhere.

The invader grabbed a hot poker from the fireplace and stalked toward Chase, swinging wildly. The lightfooted agent dodged, his eyes darting about, looking for something to arm himself with. He cursed under his breath for not installing a concealed holster in his bathrobe.

The invader pushed forward, Chase retreated until his back was against the wall. He reached for a plastic candy cane and brandished it in front of him, the huge man with the steel poker sneered at him. Another deadly swing at Chase's head, he rolled away toward the man's left and cracked him behind the knee with the decoration. He grunted in surprise as his leg gave out. Chase jumped back to his feet, hooking the mans poker with the cane and yanking it free. Unarmed and lame, Chase knocked him out with a blow to the head, the red and white candy fascimile breaking in two.

Chase knelt down to examine the unconscious invader. He pulled a sealed, unmarked white envelope from one of the downed man's pockets. As he started to open it, the window broke.

The window broke because a full grown man had jump-kicked through it, screaming wildly as the broken shards were scattered across the floor. Invaders always have partners and backup plans. He really was getting rusty during his time off. Chase adopted a combat stance he had picked up in the Congo, a battle set with no less than five dozen ways to rip out a mans eyes, and beckoned the second invader to come.

This one was young and needed time to mature. His style was raw. Chase picked apart his defenses with mechanical precision. They traded furious blows back and forth, Chase landing body jabs and limb strikes until the young man was heaving in pain and out of breath. One more lumbering punch from the youth was caught in Chase's waiting hand.

He yanked the invader forward and spun him around in his grip, driving his arm halfway up his back. With a surgical chop to the neck it was lights out, invader number two dropped like a sack of toys atop invader one.

Chase knelt and retrieved the envelope and opened it. A festive, colorful scene was printed on a card. He opened it up and read the contents:

Thought I'd spice up your holiday. Merry Christmas, Love you Chasey!
-Mom

She always knew just what to get him.

I swung the briefcase with all of the force I could muster. It caught his face just as he stepped through the swinging door leading into my kitchen. Blood sprayed the wall as he flew back and the door tottered back and forth, but it would never settle because I was already on the move. I threw the briefcase down and barreled through the door, shoulder-first, just like I used to do with the linebackers from my college days.

The intruder lay on the floor, wanting to cradle his jaw but scared to touch it. It was shattered by my handiwork. He wouldn’t be eating solids or even talking solid for weeks to come. Somehow though, he was still conscious. That means I get to do some more work.

“Honey? What was that noise?” Someone who was special to me was calling from the other room but I had this under control and didn’t want to disturb her.

“Nothing, Delores my dear,” I yelled back. “I’m just tidying up some paperwork from my briefcase. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Delores?” she asked accusingly.

Oops. “Sorry Suzy. I was reading one of the names on the papers.” She’d believe that. The blondes usually do.

I thought the big guy might be down for the count but he was starting to struggle back to his feet while I parried wits with Suzy. I still wondered how he got in. I first heard him upstairs when it sounded like he was struggling across the roof. Maybe I needed to check my chimney again and seal it up.

He was now back on his feet and glaring at me in confusion. From the bewildered look in his eyes, I’d say that first hit stunned him pretty good. This would be an easier job than most. I got in Lotus Crouch #14 - The Singing Gorilla, and rocked back and forth, ready to plunge in. Seeing me must have scared him because he looked like he was starting to get desperate… and terrified. Using the rocking motion, I began to crab-walk towards him, inch by inch, hands at the ready.

He dived for the counter and picked up the only tool available to him: A nutcracker. Great, I was really scared now. He began swinging it wildly, side to side. I waited until he had his arm checked across his body and I moved in for the kill. As he was swinging it back, I grabbed it and kept the momentum going… down and around… twist… turn… and over. His wrist gave a satisfying snap and the nutcracker was positioned to live up to its name. I squeezed his hand, the hand squeezed the nutcracker, the nutcracker squeezed… well, let’s just say it was something it wasn’t made to. His eyes glazed over and the nutcracker dropped to the floor. He tried to back-peddle away from me but he didn’t get far in the hunched over position he was in and backed into the counter. That would leave a nice mark across the lower back making it hard to sit-down. I let out a satisfying chuckle.

“Chase? Are you sure everything is okay?” Suzy was still calling me from the other room again.

“Yes dear. I just had something that cracked me up.”

The poor guy just glared up at me from that hunched-over position. His jaw hung at an odd angle, one hand hung limply at his side and the other cupped his manhood. Even I can have sympathy for those in pain. One chop to the neck and he melted to the floor in a heap. I made sure his jaw wasn’t bleeding too badly and dragged him by his good arm to the store room. Closing him inside, I propped a chair against the door to keep it shut. I grabbed two champagne glasses and a bottle and began to move back to the den and Angie. Or was it Suzy?

“Chase darling, so you’ll know, my brother came into town today.” I handed a glass to her and began to pour. I didn’t like where this was headed. “He needed a place to stay so I gave him the 2nd-story West Wing room. I think he wanted to move the bed though, away from the window.” That would have made a good scraping sound upstairs. “I told him to raid your fridge if he wanted something.” Well, I could see that he used to have the same jaw-line as her.

I sipped my drink and gazed into her eyes. “If he’s like you, I’m sure he’s a knock-out.” I could apologize in the morning after Suzy and I got done, then I could give either Delores or Angie a call, whichever one didn’t have a brother.

“Chase Jackson” A giant voice boomed down the chimney. “You have been VERY NAUGHTY!!” Chase wasn’t listening; he had leapt from the chair and sprinted through from the room, down the hallway and into the armory. All manner of weaponry hung on the wall, from swords and spears to rifles and shotguns. There was even a case that held his favorite pistols. There, there it was! He grabbed his bo staff from where it leaned in the corner and backed out of the room, kicking off his slippers as he went.

“Chase Jackson, you naughty, naughty boy!” The voice was massive, sonorous in a way that shook the very foundations of Chase’s massive mansion. “You will have more than coal in your stocking this year!” Chase stalked slowly down the red-carpeted hallway. The lights that hung from the ceiling swayed suddenly as there was a loud crash from the living room where Chase had just been sitting a moment earlier.

“Who are you?” Chase called from threshold of the hallway. The front door was directly across the foyer from the aperture of the hall where Chase stood. The kitchen was on his left and on the right was the living room where, Chase suspected, the intruder now stood, waiting. “What do you want?”

Laughter, long and loud echoed throughout the entire building. “I am St. Nictus, twin brother to the one you call ‘Santa Clause’ and usurper to the throne and crown of Christmas" Chase was shocked. He had no idea that Santa had a brother! “Now, young Chase Jackson… come out from where you’re hiding and do battle with me.” This nutcase obviously had to be stopped, or Christmas would be ruined forever!

With grim determination, Chase stepped out from the hallway entrance, into the grand room. Standing there, clad in a red jump suit lined with black fur stood the largest, fattest man he had ever seen. Fully seven feet tall with fists the size of cinder blocks, the giant stood at his full height under the room’s twelve foot ceiling. He stank like cigarette smoke and cheap booze and his face was lined with deep, dirt encrusted wrinkles. Chase had these observations noted in the blink of an eye and before another word could be spoken he sprang into action.

Planting the butt of the bo staff on the floor he catapulted himself up onto the bookcases lining the wall and using the staff as purchase on the floor ran along the cases parallel to the ground. The giant old goblin saw him coming and with inhuman speed for a man of his size easily ducked aside as Chase finished his semi-airborne charge with a flying kick. Recovering was simple for the smaller man and as his feet connected with the ground instead of their intended target he tucked into a roll and came back upright, whirling the staff overhead to bring it to rest along his forearm and tucked under his shoulder. Feet apart, arms spread and bo staff at the ready, Chase waited the evil giant’s charge.

The massive man snarled and spat into the fireplace and with one hand brushed aside the chair the young warrior had occupied earlier, clearing a path to his victim. The entire house shook as the titan took three steps to cover the distance and began to lay about him with gigantic fists. Blocking was out of the question for Chase, so instead he used his speed and skill with his weapon to deflect those blows that he could not directly avoid. Around the room they chased each other, speed and skill vs. strength and size. Each punch thrown by St. Nictus either missed its target entirely or slid along the bo staff to swing wide, while Chase’s own hits landed about the head, shoulders and stomach with little to no effect.

Backing up, always retreating, Chase knew that this could not end well for him. He could not avoid the behemoth or block his blows much longer. He had to find some way to hurt this juggernaut! Just as the hairy old villain reached out for him one last time the young man tripped backwards over a lamp that had been knocked down in the tussle. His foot came up as he went over backwards and connected squarely with the smelly old man's groin.

“Oh, oh, oh….” Was all that was uttered from that massive mouth as two huge knees came together. Eyes wide, mouth in an ‘O’ and hands cupped over the injured area, the titan fell over to one side.

********************************************************

“Well, Chase, it seems you’ve been busy this Christmas Eve.” Santa said as he stood beside the hero gazing at his brother’s unconscious form.
“You could say that, Santa” Chase quipped “It seems St. Nictus’ weakness was his jingle balls.”

The ice cubes rattled in the empty glass when he put it back down on the table. Chase Jackson swirled the bourbon around in his mouth before swallowing, then stared at the fire, feeling a warmth provided by either the alcohol or the fireplace. He wasn’t sure which.

He turned up the stereo to near-deafening volume. The floor shook to the strums of the stand-up bass, as precision saxophone runs bounced off the walls and carried throughout the cabin. Noise complaints were hardly a concern when the nearest neighbors were more than a mile away.

Christmas alone with my friends, and I couldn’t be happier, he thought to himself.

He managed his way into the kitchen to fetch cookies and more bourbon. Finding a bag of carrots in the crisper, he added one to the plate. He scrawled a shaky note that simply read: For Santa.

The plate found its rightful place on the table near the hearth. Between air-saxophone licks, Chase munched the carrot to a nub and took a bite from one of the cookies. The bourbon washed it all down nicely.

“The family tradition continues,” he announced to the empty room.

Thinking that two more fingers would make good company, he returned to the kitchen for a refill. Sadly, the bottle was empty.

“Goodnight Mr. Beam,” he muttered as he tossed the bottle in the dustbin.

On his way past the fireplace, Chase revisited the plate of cookies. Sucking on the last ice cube from the rocks glass, he was struck by the thought that the cookies-and-carrot thing was pathetic. Not only was he an adult, he was the world’s most renowned action hero. What was he doing entertaining foolish notions under the pretense of tradition? Ridiculous.

He crumpled the childish Santa note into a ball and tossed it into the empty rocks glass. As the last few beats of “A Love Supreme” resonated from the speakers, he reached for the remote.

“Goodnight Mr. Coltrane.”

He powered down the stereo and soon fell asleep in his chair, wrapped only in the glow of the dying fire.

----------

Even with his senses dulled by the alcohol, he awoke in the dark with the sudden awareness that something was wrong. Then he heard it:

Hiss!

It was the sound of snow falling through the chimney onto the gray yet still warm embers. Delicately crunching footsteps followed from above.

Someone was on the roof.

In a flash, Chase leapt from the chair. His head was instantly clear. Beside the door he kept his favorite sidearm. It was in his grasp before his hand hit the doorknob.

There was an audible woosh as he opened the door. The cold air pouring in was as abrasive as a snowball to the face.

Barreling into the elements, Chase found his way to the old oak tree. His father had planted it here, shortly after finishing the construction of the cabin. In the years since, the oak had grown to heights that far exceeded the trees that had been on the property before it. Chase’s mother once said that it was the best seed that her husband had ever planted.

Chase never really knew what to make of that comment.

The folds of the bark served as finger holds, as Chase expertly scaled the tree trunk. A sturdy limb provided an avenue to the roof, and he took it, albeit somewhat clumsily. Perhaps the bourbon had not worn off entirely.

He leapt from branch to roof with a resounding thud. After gathering his legs beneath him, Chase surveyed the area.

No footprints, no marks in the snow whatsoever. In truth, the undisturbed snow upon the roof looked kind of pretty, especially with all the trees beyond it lit so nicely by the moonlight.

Chase was confused. Perhaps he was roused from his slumber by his own excitable defense mechanisms. An action hero has to be alert at all times, after all.

Would an enemy really attack on Christmas Eve of all times?

Even enemies have families.

----------

After two logs and some work, Chase restarted the flicking fire, laughing at his own idiocy. He always had been too quick to jump at the nearest sound, too “on the ready”.

He was in the middle of nowhere for gosh sakes. Nothing to worry about here.

One more drink would sure be nice, he thought with a sigh.

Settling into his fireside chair, his eyelids felt heavy.

In the fireplace, the logs shifted, crackling and swirling sparks into the room.

Jerking awake once again, Chase noticed a brownish glow to his right. Upon the chair side table was a full bottle of Jim Beam bourbon, with a crumpled paper attached.

The note simply read:

For Chase.

-From Santa.

It wasn’t much of a noise. But then again, it didn’t have to be for Chase Jackson to wake up and spring into action. His taught body sprung from the warm leather comfort of his favorite chair. As he dove into the air his body naturally formed into a ball.

As Chase was in mid air, he saw Nadia. In a microsecond, he absorbed everything. She was curled by the fireplace, her naked body a perfect work of art. Slightly rolled to her side, her breasts seemed to reach up and greet him with pleasure. A small smile came across his face as he remembered last night. Desire began fill him again as his body began to descend to the ground.

Chase thought to himself, “Save then world, then ravish the woman.”

That rule had rescued him many times. He had seen too many heroes get the formula all mixed up. Just before he hit the ground, he realized that he was naked too.

“Not a good thing,” thought Chase.

He hit the ground and rolled and then jumped towards the fireplace where the sound emanated. Nadia stirred slightly from the motion. All she saw in her sleepy eyes was a flash of flesh fly over her. Chase deftly tumbled to a halt next to her, his hand cupping her mouth.

Chase’s finger rose to his lips and Nadia knew to be quiet. “I need to borrow this,” he whispered into her ear while pointing to the fireplace. Nadia saw particles falling from above. Someone was coming down the chimney. She didn’t have time to be afraid because her eyes caught hold of what Chase had borrowed.

Chase was tying her Victoria’s Secret Teddy Bear Nightie around his waist and through his muscular legs. He looked like an athletic Sumo wrestler with a slightly mauve jock strap. The pink faux fur accented his contained manliness. As Chase nimbly reached for the poker by the fireplace he saw his reflection in the mirror above the alcove. He approved of what he saw.

“Nice buns,” whispered Nadia as Chase winked at her.

“World, then woman,” thought Chase to himself.

Chase’s arms began a windup like the great Babe Ruth, pulling the poker back like a Louisville Slugger baseball bat.

“Timing, it’s all timing,” reflected Chase as his left leg lifted up into the air, his slender waist turning with awesome power. Chase ‘knew’ the moment. It was uncanny how his senses worked in tandem with his brilliance.

Just as Chase begun his powerful swing, a leg came down into the fireplace. The poker exploded into the kneecap of the intruder with a sickening sound of breaking bone. Before the intruder could scream, Chase said to himself, “Welcome to my home.”

“Whooooeeeeeee!” came the scream from in the fireplace.

Chase’s quick, snakelike movement flipped the poker over and used the hook side to grab the fabric of the pants leg. He yanked on the poker like a sadistic dentist hoping for pain.

“OooohhhhhheeeeeoooouuuUUU!” echoed the scream.

Chase reeled him in. It was a him, dressed in red, sooty and skinny. “And quite frankly, ugly too,” thought Chase as he examined his prey.

“Great Vidhya of Bharathi! What is going on here!” screamed the dark skinned man with a deeply black mustache. His eyes were filled with terror. His dirty red suit was trimmed with dirty white fluff. His eyes were strangely attracted to the mauve outfit that Chase was wearing.

Chase spun the poker like a high school twirler and fiercely thrust it towards the intruder’s throat, stopping only two layers of skin away from death.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” bellowed Chase.

His guest quivered in fear and wimpily said, “Merry Christmas. Ho. Ho. Ho.”

A quick kick to the head and the guest responded with courtesy. “I am most sorry. I am Santeesh. I am here to bring you Christmas joy and many presents to you.”

Chase adjusted his outfit and felt uncomfortable as Santeesh focused his eyes on the pink fur. Chase noticed that Nadia’s eyes were focused there too. Chase shook his head hard and thought to himself, “World. Woman.”

As Chase lifted Santeesh, he twisted his scrawny neck in his perfect arms.

“Just where is Santa and what have you done with him!?” yelled Chase.

“I am most sorry. Mr. Santa is no longer available. I am Santeesh. I will be your Santa now.”

“Outsourced? Santa’s outsourced? Something has to be done!” yelled Chase as he noticed Nadia’s soft eyes beckoning him.

Chase made a decision as he wrapped Santeesh tightly with the cord from the shades. He had made up his mind. It was set like a steel trap.

“Ravish woman, then save world,” said Chase to himself as he began his newest adventure.