What a Jolly Time

Every room of the inn was filled. On this cold winter night, each guest slept calmly with a warm fire roaring at the their bed end. All guests but one. In room 114 was a man that trouble followed. Each location that he swept by he left others in tragedy and despair. Lives choked and slashed from the fabric of natural order. His name was Mr.Trandor. A tall English fellow. Thick brown hair that swept in waves to the side of his tall face. His eyes were deep set in his skull giving hint the most serious of expressions when the light hit his brilliantly blue eyes. His face was slender with a sharp thin nose and balanced lips that formed a small smile with little effort. His beard was trimmed and kept immaculate giving him a gentlemen of estates look. While the guests slept Mr.Trandor sat in the chair facing the fire, his hands covered in leather and fingering a small knife in his hands. His eyes were staring into the dancing flames. One might think of Mr.Trandor as an evil fellow, Mr.Trandor thought of himself as a reliever of a boring life. He always chose his targets based on their enjoyment of the festivities. Why should one live if they could not enjoy the joy and love around them? He thought of it as spitting in the face of all human kind, which included himself. This time, it was a bit different. Resting on the edge of the bed frame was a cream colored shirt, which now had a large coffee stain running down it. The other thing that was unforgivable to Mr.Trandor, was ruining his clothes. He flipped the knife in his fingers to remember the man who carelessly ran into him. He was to much into the festivities. The man apologized profusely with a slap happy grin on his face, even offered to pay for it, but the damage was already done. It was right there, when Mr.Trandor look into the man’s eyes and felt the coffee soaking into his shirt, that he was certain. This man had to die.

The next day Mr.Trandor exited the room and moved and slinked through the crowds to spot his target. The man that ruined his shirt was sitting with his family. A women with long blond hair and an equally blond boy and girl. The man joked and laughed while his family joined in the revelry and mood. Killing a man was no joke. All men would die one day, but not all men died at the same time and from the same thing. Some died by a man of the name Mr.Trandor. Sometimes it was a knife in the back or to the chest. Other times poison of the favorite drink. Silence pistols, bow and arrows, even sometimes an explosive or two. Fireworks were always a blast for him to use. Of course the men he killed never wanted to live in the first place. Their eyes were tired and dull, their moods and energy draining all those around them. During the high times of holiday cheer a haze of disdain and gloom permeated around. When they entered the room cheer and happiness were dosed like water on a flame. Even Christmas trees twinkling dimmed their lights and drooped to one side. So when he killed them, they looked at him with eyes full of hate. Not because they were leaving this world, but because they could no longer pollute it more with their negativity. No more smashing hopes and dreams or sucking the life out of the moment. Their fun had come out an end.

This was a bit different. The man that had ruined Mr.Trandors shirt, well that was just in poor taste. A reckless man. Left unchecked, who knew what they might end up doing. He looked at the man, his laugh bellowed through the space over the rest of the crowd. The man had probably forgotten about his sin. The family got up and moved to a candy cane coffee bar. Each one got a drink. Ah, death by drink it was. Mr.Trandor moved after them. He stalked as they moved along the festival waiting for the perfect moment. A needle in hand that would puncture the plastic top and insert the perfect amount of poison. The man moved to a standing table and set his drink down.

This was it!

Mr.Trandor snaked keeping his eyes fully on the man and the family. He made it look as if he was looking for something and with a quick smooth motion inserted the need, pushed and backed off into the crowd to watch. Heart attack would be his next present.

The man got up and gabbed his drink, he smiled and told a joke about shoe tying. The the cup went to his lips.

Then stopped millimeters away. He said something, moved the cup away. Mr.Trandor hissed and tapped his finger impatiently.

The cup once again rose to meet the mans lips. Then retreated. The cup moved up and down as the man had endless conversation and jokes he offered. As if a string was attached to the bottom, the cup never fully reached his mouth. Then as it seems it was finally time, the string broke and as he brought it to his lips a man ran into from behind.

The cup dropped, spilling its contents over the snow.

Mr.Trandor stared in disbelief.

An exchange of apologies between the men ensued then his target cleaned up the cup from the snow and threw it away.

So close. Fate had struck against him. He would have to get up close and personal with this one.

Mr.Trandor slunk through the crowd. This time a slim knife in his right hand. The knife carved out of obsidian, barely visible if turned to an angle. It was as thin as paper and the cut would non existent. It would move in an out of the body in a rapid motion leaving an artery, or maybe an organ pierced and hemorrhaging. The person would be a walking corpse, not know that they were slowly dying from the inside. Mr.Trandor now came up to his victim. Once again eating and drinking something purchased from another vendor. The carefree attitude quickened Mr.Trandors pace and he reached the mans side.

This was it.

Mr.Trandor moved to the mans back, his right arm like a venomous snake about to strike the right side of the man. He was aiming for the lungs. Let them fill, let him choke. He touched the mans back, felt his hand and arm effortlessly heading towards the mans ribcage, to his lungs. As the knife pierced the mans clothing he spun quickly to meet Mr.Trandors eyes. His face still stuffed with a hot dog.

The knife caught, snapped, a micro second to late, a fraction of time and space allowed this man to some how evade his attack. Mr.Trandor was stunned, the man was stunned.

The man finished the hot dog in his mouth. “It’s you!” he exclaimed wiping his crumbs away from his lips.

“It is I” Mr.Trandor nodded awkwardly. He was not used to being caught in the act of murder.

“Oh man, again , I am really sorry about your shirt. I have been up all night thinking about it.”

“Well it was one of a kind, from the finest sheep raised in the highlands of Gregory The fifth. Mohair wool.” Mr.Trandor grit his teeth, but as he looked into the mans face he saw something he did not normally see. Torment, shame and true regret. The mans face and deep in his eyes he could see that there was a sense of man that had truly made a mistake. Not just a hapless fool, running and frolicking in the glory of the festival, ignoring all those around, damaging everything and anything that they came in contact with.

“That sounds insanely expensive and” The man sighed deeply from his core “gosh, is there anything I can do?”

Mr.Trandor, in a rare moment, admitted that he had almost made a mistake. He was running off emotion. The shirt meant a great deal, but a mistake was the universes way of giving Mr.Trandor a lesson. He smiled at the man.

“You know, do not worry your self over it. I will have it sent to be cleaned and if there is no remedy, then it is a causality of chance. Please” Mr.Trandor put out his hand “enjoy your family and be a bit more careful”

The mans face lit up and seemed that he might cry. A great burden had been lifted “You bet man, again extremely sorry. I will be more careful. Here take this” He handed Mr.Trandor a ticket to the gingerbread ferris wheel “bought an extra one on accident, the view is great up there.”

Mr.Trandor took the ticket, smiled and turned away walking back through the crowd. His spirit was high and he spotted a hot chocolate stand where he treated himself.

As he took a sip another man rammed into his back. The chocolaty drink spilled, this time he dodged it. Mr.Trandor spun around to the assailant.

A man in sun glasses frowned “Hey, why don’t you watch where your standing. What’s with the get up, some Victorian actor or something.” The man turned to his girlfriend and made more rude remarks about him then walked away.

Mr.Trandor followed with his eyes. His next victim was selected.

I wrote the first lines about the inn one night, but never went back and finished the story. I wanted to have an over the top nonsensical villain. I wanted him to be a gentlemen that had the highest of standards. Mr.Trandor is who sat down in room 114. While this is more funny, I would like to do a more serious, intense story about a unwanted guest. A room that holds a killer of the ages. A serious threat to humanity, who is not killing for humanities sake.

Happy Holidays everyone! Enjoy and makes keep the spirits high or you might find Mr.Trandor lurking around you.