Home For Horny Monsters Ch 90

Hi, all! Annabelle Hawthorne back with more "Let's lewd the North Pole" adventures!

New reader? You brave soul. You think that you will understand what is happening here, but be warned that there are over a million words of content before this point. Actually, here's a fun fact I learned the other day: Part 4 of this story (chapters 43-60) is roughly 229,000 words!

But hey, I'm not your mother (despite some of my stranger email requests), so you do you.

Returning reader? Welcome back! We're about to ramp this bitch up to 88 miles per hour, which means you're going to see some serious shit!

I would like to thank everyone who has been part of this journey here on Lit. I know I do this almost every chapter, but a writer is nothing without their readers, and I choose to give credit where it's due. Thanks for your comments, feedback, and definitely leaving stars and such, as they attract new readers. I so enjoy seeing those "Holy shit, I just binged all your chapters" emails, then think how lucky those people are that they didn't have to wait 5 years like the most loyal of you. I don't even like waiting in line at the drive-thru!

Anyway, I hope this chapter finds you in good health and that you're ready to see what happens next. If you're scared of what may happen, then perhaps you should

Fight the Future

Wheezing for air, Mike fell from Christmas Future's frightening embrace onto cold, rough concrete. Looking up at the spirit, it was impossible to see into the darkness of their hood, or to make out any features except for the pale hand that quickly withdrew into a long, dark sleeve. It was hard to tell if the digits were skeletal, or if the skin had simply withered to a thin, pale layer of flesh.

"Take me back." He tried to stand, but his limbs were still weak from his attempt to manipulate the North Pole's magic. "I need to get back to the others."

The spirit said nothing, then pointed over Mike's shoulder.

"Asshole," Mike muttered, then rolled over to look. They were on the sidewalk just outside his home, the front yard empty of life. The hedge maze had dried up completely, the husks of his bushes covered in dead leaves. The front windows were broken, and a piece of plywood had been nailed into place over the door.

The spirit pointed again, as if urging Mike forward.

"No, fuck you. Your boss sent you to off me, I'm not stupid." Mike stood, his legs wobbling beneath him like a newborn calf. "Have you seen your siblings? Not the hot one, but Christmas Past. All those centuries of Christmas, pissed on by a corrupted Santa Claus."

Christmas Future tilted their head, then pointed again.

"Nah, I'm good." Mike moved to lean against the stone wall surrounding his house, but Christmas Future seized him by the collar and dragged him toward the house. He kicked and punched, but the ghost simply shifted out of the way or moved so that contact was minimal.

Mike went limp, forcing the spirit to drop him. They picked him up and dragged him toward the house, but Mike closed his eyes.

"Even if you take me, I'm not gonna look! You can't hurt me if I don't--"

The air was knocked out of him as Christmas Future threw him bodily through the plywood. The wood shattered and Mike nearly lost consciousness, his brain scrambled from the impact. The spirit picked him up again and dragged him through the house toward the backyard.

Luckily, the backdoor wasn't boarded up, which meant that Mike was able to twist the knob to unlatch it before he was shoved through. They were in the backyard now, and it was just as dead as the front. Amymone's tree was a jagged stump, while Naia's fountain was empty of water.

Mike closed his eyes again, but the spirit wrestled him into position and dug its fingers into his face, prying his eyelids open. He tried to bite the spirit, but the bastard moved out of the way.

"You know, I miss the days when people just told me my world was going to burn. Half expected to see it here, to be honest. So this is the future, eh? How far forward are we? Is

Winds of Winter

out yet?"

Christmas Future responded by shaking him and pointing Mike's face at the fountain.

"Okay, yes. I'm so sad, everybody is dead, boo hoo." Seeing these things would have terrified him, but he already knew that what the spirit showed him was only one possible future. "I'll change my ways, time to go back, I guess."

The spirit pushed him onto the ground. Mike got a mouthful of dirt, which he spat out.

"The future tastes like ass," he grumbled. Okay, so the plan to depress him had failed. Shouldn't the spirit have known that?

The ghost of Christmas Future kicked Mike in the ribs. The attack was so fast that Mike couldn't avoid it, but he was able to twist out of the way enough that the attack wasn't as effective.

"Oh, fuck, now I know why you didn't find me earlier." Mike tried to crawl away, his spaghetti legs doing him no favors. "You can see the future. You waited to nab me when I was all alone and would be weak--"

Another kick caught him in the rear, and he tumbled ass over head down the hill just past the fountain. He came to a stop, his eyes now on the gates to the Underworld. The lock was missing, and he could see the misty trees on the other side.

"Oh, you just screwed up." He army-crawled toward the gate, eager to get to the other side. Whether his body or spirit was in the future didn't matter. The Underworld would accept him either way, and he would come back with a fire breathing hellhound in just a minute.

Another kick missed him, and he managed to get his feet under him. The Underworld was so close, and the ghost of Christmas Future was hot on his heels.

Wait a second.

Mike's hand had closed on the cold iron of the gate when he remembered that Christmas Future could see all possible outcomes. Shouldn't it be wary of driving him somewhere with potential allies?

Was Cerberus even on the other side of this gate?

Instead of passing through the gate, he waited just long enough for Christmas Future to catch up to him, then twisted to one side and yanked the gate open. The metal bars capable of restraining demonic hordes slammed into Christmas Future, knocking the spirit back. They fell on the ground, hood slipping down briefly to reveal that the spirit's face was a smooth mass of flesh with holes where the eyes and mouth should be. A dark mist leaked from each orifice, pooling beneath the spirit's body.

"Oh, fuck me," Mike whispered, watching in horror as the mist tried to curl around his feet. He took a step back, tripping over a small object. It was the lock to the gate, covered in enough dirt that he hadn't seen it. "You were going to lock me in there, weren't you?"

Christmas Future stood by planting their feet and leaning forward without using their hands in a move that would have made Nosferatu jealous. The spirit made a sound like someone inhaling a tremendous amount of air, but Mike didn't stick around to see what would happen next. He did a hobble-run toward the greenhouse that probably looked like he had ridden a horse all day and now had a major case of swamp ass.

Christmas Future teleported in front of him, its arms outstretched, but Mike was ready. The gate was proof that the spirit couldn't accurately predict what was going to happen, not all of the time. In fact, it had only been a last moment decision that had kept him from going through the gate.

It was similar to what he would do while playing Slap the Cyclops with Sofia. Focus hard on one intent, and then do something else, or even the opposite. He could take a swing at the spirit, or try to slip past him, but perhaps those were the actions he was most likely to take.

Focusing hard on taking a swing at the ghost, Mike changed his mind at the last second and tackled the spirit to the ground. They bounced and rolled across the yard, the world blurring around them. It was the house again, but the fairies were having a snowball fight with each other while a pair of gargoyles circled overhead.

"So what's wrong with this one?" Mike demanded. The spirit responded by twisting behind him and smashing his face into the rock wall. Not only did it hurt like hell, but the gargoyles dropped down from above and an alarm went through the house. Streams of magic coalesced around them, and Christmas Future drove its knee into Mike's solar plexus.

"Oof." It was the only comeback available to him, but everything blurred again and now they were outside the burned out shell of his home. Mike gritted his teeth and tried to suck in some air as Christmas Future wrapped an arm around his throat and put him in a chokehold.

The tingling in his body was replaced by the roaring fury of his magic. Molten rage manifested as a blistering frenzy of electrical energy across his back, and Christmas Future blipped out of existence with a hissing sound.

Gasping, Mike crawled toward the home. He didn't know how long it would take before Christmas Future returned, but something important had occurred to him. These futures were only single possibilities from a nigh infinite number of outcomes. Were they just complex illusions similar to what Christmas Past could accomplish, or was he actually in these potential futures?

If the latter, then his family could help him if he could get their attention. He needed to be inside the house, just in case--

Christmas Future grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him away from the home. The spirit picked him up and tossed him onto a massive stone that appeared as the future shifted again. Mike smacked his lip on the cold marble, then leaned back enough to see his own name carved into the rock.

Mike Radley

Beloved husband, father, and friend.

He looked at the bottom and saw that it was today's date.

"Nice touch, asshole." He pulled himself over the headstone, just avoiding another kick to the head. Falling flat on the ground, he started laughing. After his dealings with Christmas Past and Present, he had expected a long, elaborate plan from the last remaining ghost. The bastard had even gone so far as to pick him off when he was vulnerable, but the plan had devolved into simply beating his ass the old fashioned way.

Christmas Future teleported on top of Mike, then tried to strangle him with long, bony fingers. Mike managed to take a deep breath, then released the banshee's cry. Christmas Future fell over backwards, clutching at where its ears would be if it had them. Its whole body rippled, spilling dark mist onto the ground.

Mike made a break for it, but stopped when he saw that the house was gone. Instead, the land was empty, as if a giant hand had scooped it away. The danger sense formed in his gut just as Christmas Future barreled into him from behind, and both of them fell into the hole.

When they landed, the world shifted, and he was in his basement. Christmas Future did the creepy standing thing as Mike just laid there, huffing and puffing for air. It was clear that this was going to be a fight of attrition, and he was never even going to catch his breath if this kept up.

When Christmas Future crouched over him, Mike used his magic to see the spirit's soul. It was impossibly difficult to comprehend, like staring into a fractal projected inside an infinity mirror. His brain was desperately trying to interpret the concept of eternity in a being composed of space-time, and his mind latched onto the mirror analogy.

"Eat my dick, discount Slender Man." Instead of forming his magic into delicate fingers meant for weaving, he twisted them into a thick spike and jammed it into the mirror. The metaphorical glass exploded, sending each permutation of the spirit flinging outward into the room.

The ghost of Christmas Future screamed as the world tore itself to shreds around them. Reality spiraled in a literal sense, the two combatants bouncing off the walls as the room transformed around them. Cracks formed along the edges of the room, revealing a nothingness beyond that which hungered for the light.

Despite the intense shifting of scenery, Mike felt himself enter a trance, as if he was driving a car on the highway. It had been so long since he had even driven a car, would he remember how? Whenever he tried to pull his attention back to the broken world around him, some stray thought would catch his attention, or he would forget what he was doing. It was simply easier to just go with the flow and pay no attention to the beings who were watching him. His body no longer hurt from being caught in a temporal spin-cycle, and he assumed it was because everything faded out shortly after fading in.

It could have been minutes, hours, or even days. Eventually, the room stopped spinning and he found himself back on the basement floor, shivering from the cold. He looked over his shoulder, but Christmas Future was gone.

Climbing to his feet, he made his way to the stairs and walked up. He pushed open the door and stepped out into the kitchen. It was empty, as if nobody lived there.

"Great," he muttered, rubbing at the lump on his forehead. When he leaned on the countertop for support, it felt strangely sponge-like. Puzzled, he lifted his hand away and saw that he could see through himself.

"That can't be good." He walked out of the kitchen and into the dining room. The table had the usual number of seats with the ghost of Christmas Future sitting at the end, a small radio clutched in their hands.

"You really are a creepy fucker." Mike tensed up, expecting the spirit to come for him. Instead, it turned on the radio, filling the room with the sounds of static. Long digits fiddled with the tuning knob, filling the room with a cacophony of sounds.

"Mi...ke...Rad...ley." It was a mishmash of conversations and music, put together into a cohesive statement that Mike absolutely hated. Leave it to a time traveling ghost to pick the spookiest fucking method of communication.

"I take it you have something to say." Mike sat down at the opposite end of the table, suddenly aware of how tired he was.

"I...win..."

"Whatever, dude. I'm still standing." Well, sitting for now, but whatever.

Christmas Future twiddled the knob furiously, and Mike's brain stitched the words together.

"Your actions...too unpredictable," it told him through the radio. "Each moment...too many variables."

"Should have put that on my tombstone," Mike replied. "Or maybe something mysterious. I'm thinking 'Here lies Mike. Chaotic sexy.' I've got a one-eyed friend who can tell you all about how I subvert expectations, but don't expect the same treatment I give her. That's a different kind of fighting."

"Couldn't guess...outcome fast enough." Christmas Future paused as if waiting for something, then twisted some more. Mike noticed dark lines of corruption on the spirit's fingers. "Too many futures to see, not enough...time to adjust."

"Haven't you watched Terminator? You'd love it. It's all about humans pissing all over the concept of you. Where'd you get the radio? I would be much happier with a Ouija board, or a Speak and Say."

The spirit paused, then twisted the dial some more. "Took you to an improbable timeline, but you spotted the trap. Am not fighter. Was only chance to...beat you. I failed."

"By trapping me in the Underworld? How would that work?" It had been a last moment thought back then, but now he was certain that Cerberus wouldn't have been there to help. It had been explained to him once that the Underworld was multiversal. Even if he wasn't in a timeline that made any sense, the danger to him would be very real and final.

Christmas Future nodded. "Very small chance, but had to obey...Santa."

"That asshole isn't really Santa." Mike leaned forward and scowled. "It's just the douchiest part of him wearing his skin like a suit."

The spirit sighed and went still. Mike wondered if their conversation was over, but Christmas Future lifted their cowl as if looking at him.

"Needed drastic measure." The ghost paused, whether for dramatic effect or because the next words weren't going to be right, Mike would never know. "Had to obey, even though...consequences. Can't take you back."

"Excuse me, what?" Mike slammed his fist down on the table, and it felt squishy beneath him. "What do you mean, you can't take me back?"

"No choice. Have to stop you before you stop Santa, but can't actually stop you." Christmas Future somehow found a sound byte of an audience gasping in surprise. "If I kill you, Krampus wins. Your family...revenge. Christmas...canceled. You had to die...someone else's hand. I'm stuck in paradox...too weak now. Can't fight any longer, can't take you back. Christmas still gets canceled."

The ghost nearly dropped their radio, but Mike noticed something else was wrong. The spirit had slumped over in its chair, more of that black mist leaking out of it. He inspected its soul, and was surprised to see that it no longer looked like a fractal, nor was it replicated. Instead, it looked like a tiny flame with ribbons of darkness attached to it.

"Wait a second." Mike stood and moved a bit closer. "If Christmas is canceled, then...you can't be the spirit of Christmas Future if..."

Somehow, that fucker found an audio clip of Jabba the Hutt laughing in response.

"No, you have to take me back!" Mike crossed the table, his magic lighting up the room and touching nothing as he got his hands on the spirit's throat. It didn't even respond, going limp in his fingers.

"Can't." Christmas Future pulled back its hood to reveal that the darkness on their fingers had spread into dark lines along their face. Only one eye hole still had any white around it. "All of this has already happened. Must let...events take..."

While Mike yelled threats at the spirit, it didn't go beneath his notice that it dialed the radio to one more phrase.

"I'm...sorry..." The ghost shriveled up beneath its robes, leaving nothing but a black cloak behind. When Mike tried to pick it up, it turned into black mist and oozed along the floorboards before vanishing.

Mike screamed in rage, then tried to grab the chair and throw it. Instead, it shifted less than an inch as his fingers passed through it. With the passing of Christmas Future, he discovered he could no longer interact with his environment.

He ran out into the living room and froze when he saw that it was empty. There was no furniture of any sort, the house stripped bare. What had happened to his family? Where had they gone?

Something cracked inside of him, and he leaned against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting. Tears of anger and grief rolled down his cheeks. Even though he had technically beaten the ghost, it had won in the end. Mike was stuck gods knew how many years in the future with no way to get home.

So many thoughts ran through his head at once that he felt disoriented. What had the others thought when he had vanished? Technically, he wasn't dead, so the house wouldn't have gone into hibernation...right?

Staring out the barren window at a cold, winter sky, he heard the soft ticking of a clock in his office. He wiped the tears from his eyes and stood, then walked cautiously toward the room. When he stepped inside, he saw that the office was clean, all the furniture removed. A cursory look into the sitting room revealed the same.

The shelves by the window had been built into the wall, and a small clock that had been left on the shelves let out a chime. The bell tolled three times, and then resumed its quiet ticking.

"Tick Tock?" He wasn't sure why the mimic would be here, but it was the only thing that made sense to him. He walked to the shelves and tried to interact with the clock, but his fingers could only stroke the surface, accomplishing nothing.

There was a shifting sound behind him, and Mike turned to see a man standing in the doorway, wearing a white button down with a pair of black slacks. His arms were crossed, and there was a slight smirk on a face that looked very much like Mike's. Auburn hair with streaks of white had been pulled back into a ponytail, revealing a faded scar along his forehead.