Holiday Man #9

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Action and Adventure  |  House: Booksie Classic
The long awaited #9 is here! That means that I'm working on the last Holiday Man right now! #12! This one is Thanksgiving! New characters are introduced!

Submitted: October 10, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 10, 2013



Thomas Trinity’s therapist had only made his fear of socializing worse. Thomas now vomited when someone tried to strike up conversation with him. He was barely able to go out to get food.

His therapist, Maurice Patkins, was obviously doing something wrong. That’s why Thomas wanted to kill him.

Not kill him himself, though. For one, he didn’t want to go to jail, and for another, he wouldn’t be able to go out and do it, let alone buy a gun. That’s why he contacted Holiday Man.

Thomas wasn’t too sure where he got the contact information. It might have been given to him by a past friend, before Thomas’s social anxiety completely ruined his life.

But Thomas’s therapist would be killed, and then he’d go and try to find a better one.


Holiday Man walked up to the door of the light blue house. It was in a neighborhood far too active for his liking. He knocked on the door and waited, trying not to seem obvious to the people tending to their lawns or playing in the leaves. The door finally opened, and a man, looking to be in his early thirties, with long brown hair down over his shoulders, and a smile so wide you could tell he did it often, looked at Holiday Man.

“Hello William,” said the man. “How are you? What do want from me this fine afternoon?”

“Oh, shut up, Mel,” said Holiday Man. “Just let me in. People are noticing me.” He pushed past Mel into the house.

“For one, William, I don’t do suspicious thing very often, so people don’t really think I’m suspicious. And for another, you’re only making it more suspicious by your anxious entrance.”

Holiday Mansat on the couch. “I said shut up.”

“You told me to shut about asking how you were. So I changed the subject,” said Mel. He tilted his head to one side. “What’s the matter? You aren’t ever anxious when I see you.”

“Well, that’s because we usually have these meetings at my house,” said Holiday Man. “Why did you make me come here?”

“I thought we might change our usual routine, you know, for fun.”

Holiday Man glared at Mel. “What do you want?” he said with agitation obvious in his voice.

Mel smiled a wide smile. “Well, I’ve recently been trying to brainstorm ideas for the upcoming Thanksgiving mission. I have come up with three that you might like.”

Holiday Man sighed. “Mel, I’m fine with the pistol and machine gun I take every year. I thought we agreed that there isn’t any weapon Thanksgiving themed that isn’t just stupid.”

“Yes, we agreed, but that was when I was younger, less creative,” said Mel enthusiastically.

“You mean four years younger and less insane?”

“Well, twenty-six is pretty young, and you certainly can’t judge me for being insane, Mister Kills-for-the-sheer-fun-of-it.”

I’ suppose you have a point there. But the more insane you are, the more fun you have, Mel.”

“Then you must have a lot of fun,” said Mel.

“Life’s a ball,” said Holiday Man. “Now, show me these three weapons.”

“Alright.” Mel went into another room and came out with what looked like a large cooked turkey.

“What,” asked Holiday Man, “is that?”

“This, “ Mel began, “is a turkey grenade launcher. It will fire grenade in the shape of drumsticks.”

Holiday Man stared at him. “What?”

“Yous ee, if you pull back the leg of the turkey like this-” Mel pulled back the leg of the turkey and there wa a clicking sound, “-it shoots.”

Holiday Man was still staring at him. “Why would I use that?”

Mel paused. “Well, you like explosions…”

Holiday Man raised an eyebrow.

Mel picked up the turkey and brought it back to the room. “it seemed like a great idea at the time…” he shouted from the room.

He came back out with a turkey baster filled with red liquid.

“A turkey baster?” Holiday Man asked.

“A turkey baster filled with pepper juice, “ Mel told him.

“Again, why?”

“To incapacitate people.”

“Why don’t I just bring pepper spray instead?”

“Well, that’s not very Thanksgiving themed.”

Holiday Man stared at Mel again, and Mel sighed. He brought the turkey baster back to the room. “Stop being so picky,” he shouted.

Mel came back out with a knife. “This is the last weapon I have. It’s a carving knife.”

“How much did that cost at Wal-Mart?” Holiday Man asked.

“I’ll have you know, I made this myself, just like I made all your other unique weapons like the gun and knife cane and the fireworks rocket launchers.”

“Oh,” said Holiday Man, “how sincere. Here’s another question: Why didn't you buy it at Wal-Mart?”

Mel waved the knife. “This is much more reliable than an actual carving knife. I made it with a different kind of metal. But I gave it a wooden handle, see?”

Holiday Man sighed. “You really want me to buy something, don’t you Mel?”

“If you do not, I will have to kill you.”

“And if you try to kill me, I will have to kill you.” Holiday Man stared at Mel. “But then I wouldn’t have anyone to make and repair my weapons. Alright, I’ll buy the knife.”

Mel smiled widely. “Wonderful, that’ll come up to about four hundred dollars.”

For a knife?” asked Holiday Man.

“Oh, don’t act like that’s expensive for you. I know you’re loaded.”

“yes, but I’m not like the stereotypical rich snots that I’ve seen. I like to save my money.”

“If I price this at eight hundred dollars and then lower it to four hundred, will you buy it?” Mel asked him.

Holiday Man stared at Mel once more, then said,” You know what? Shut up and let me buy the stupid knife so I can get out of here.

“Wonderful, I’ll take cash.”

“That’s all I carry.” Holiday Man took out his wallet and gave Mel four one hundred dollar bills.

“Thank you,” said Mel. “Uh, can I get these in fives?”

“Give me the stupid knife, Mel,” Holiday Man said with an edge in his voice.

“Alright, alright.” Mel gave Holiday Man the carving knife and put the money in his pocket.

“I’ll see you at our next meeting,” Holiday Man said as he opened the door.

“Unless you go blind,” Mel pointed out.

Holiday Man grumbled one final “shut up” and walked out to his car.


The house was average, nothing really popped out. But the lawn was extraordinarily kept and decorated. There were cheesy pink lawn flamingos, out of season in Holiday Man’s opinion, and gnomes by every bush and rock. There wasn’t one leaf in the yard, but there weren’t any trees either.

It was almost dusk when Holiday Man snuck into the house from the back. He was quiet and stealthy, and he pulled out his pistol with a silencer.

He walked slowly through the house, until he came to the dining room, where his target, Maurice Patkins, sat praying thanks, alone. There was a whole turkey in front of him, along with mashed potatoes and other common Thanksgiving foods.

Holiday Man  sat across from Patkins without making a sound, set his gun down in front of him, and clasped his hands together.

He listened while Patkins gave thanks. “And thank you for the blessing of this wonderful food, and thank you for tonight, which I don’t have to spend with my so called ‘family’. Thank you for Percy, my cat, and thank you for my past pets of my childhood. Amen.”

“Amen,” said Holiday Man.

Patkins stood up quickly, holding his butter knife.

“put the butter knife down,” Holiday Man told him. “I really doubt it can beat my gun.” He pointed his pistol at Patkins.

“What do you want?” Patkins asked.

“Unless,” Holiday Man said, ignoring Patkins’ question, “you’re a magician, and can turn that butter knife into a gun and kill me. I would very much prefer that ending of my life than if I tripped while running with scissors.”

“What do you want from me?” Patkins asked with more fear in his voice.

“Well, my name is Holiday Man and I’m here to kill you.”

Patkins held the butter knife tighter.

“Oh, for crying out loud, put that butter knife down.” Holiday Man took out his new carving knife. “This is the least threatening weapon I have with me and it’s still better.”

Patkins kept holding the butter knife.

“Do it or I’ll shoot you,” Holiday Man told him.

“You’re going to shoot me anyway,” said Patkins

“A valid point, but I won’t kill you right away if you put the butter knife down. I would actually like to talk to you first.”

Slowly, Patkins put down the butter knife. “Talk to me about what?”

“Oh, various things,” said Holiday Man. “I have a few questions, like where is this cat you spoke of? Percy.”

“Why, so you can kill my cat?”

“What? Holiday Man exclaimed. “I don’t kill animals! Especially the fluffy ones.”

“How am I supposed to trust you?

“Oh, there’s probably no way I can get you to trust me.” Holiday Man spotted the cat in the hallway and began calling it. “Here kitty kitty.” He reached his arm out for the cat. “Come here, Percy.”

The cat walked over to him and he picked it up. “My goodness, this cat is fluffy,” Holiday Man said as he pet the cat. “Why would anyone even think  about killing something this fluffy?”

“Please,” said Patkins, “don’t hurt him.”

Holiday Man pointed his at Patkins. “You are a terrible listener. This cat, as I said, is fluffy and soft. Therefore, I will not kill him. I wouldn’t even kill him if he wasn’t fluffy.” He looked at the cat. “What is he, a Maine Coon or something?”

Just then, the doorbell chimed. Holiday Man looked at Patkins. “Were you expecting someone?”

Patkins shook his head.

Holiday Man grunted and stood up. He handed the cat over to Patkins, mumbling, “Here, hold this.”

He straightened his tie and brushed of the cat hair, then opened the door to find a police officer.

“Hello, Officer. What are you doing here on Thanksgiving evening?” Holiday Man held his gun behind his back.

“Who are you?” the officer asked.

“I believe I asked a question first.”

The officer glared at Holiday Man. “I’m on duty tonight. I came here to pay a quick visit to my brother, Maurice. I’m his brother.”

“Oh, you’re here to see Maurice?” Holiday Man said. “Maurice!” he called “Your brother is here!”

He let the officer inside. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch a name.”

“And I didn’t catch your’s,” said the officer.

“You don’t need to know my name, Officer.” Holiday Man pointed his gun at him. “Drop your gun to the floor. And your taiser.”

The officer did as he was told. Holiday Man called Maurice into the room.

“Shane, what are you doing here? Patkins asked when he stepped into the living room.

“I was coming to say Happy Thanksgiving,” Shane told him.

“How brotherly,” Holiday Man commented. “Are you two the only ones left in your family?”

They stayed silent.

“Oh, come on. I’m just a hit man here to kill Maurice Patkins. Why would I go after your family? Well, of course, I will have to kill you, Shane. You’re a witness.”

Percy trotted into the room and sat down next to Holiday Man with a meow. Holiday Man looked at the cat, then at Patkins. “I can’t believe you would think I would kill him.” He sat down and Percy jumped in his lap. “It’s a shame he’ll have no owner in a few minutes.”

Holiday Man looked at Patkins. “Now, assuming you have more family than this, why aren’t you with them? It’s Thanksgiving after all.”

Patkins hesitated.

“Oh, come on,” Holiday Man said. “It will buy you time for a miracle to come and save you. Perhaps a nosy neighbor will come, thinking something’s wrong.”

Patkins took a deep breath. “I didn’t go because they would all start criticizing me. Including Shane.” He glared at his brother.

“Well,” said Holiday Man, “I think family should be endured, no matter what. Of course, what do I know, I killed my parents.”

“But Shane is the worst,” Patkins told him. “Always saying I should have gone into law enforcement.” Shane glared at Patkins.

“Ah, I had a brother before. I killed him too. Just a few months ago, in fact.”

“You really seem to like killing,” Patkins stated.

“No really?” Holiday Man said sarcastically. “I kill because this economy doesn't have a lot of jobs.”

“Was it something in your childhood that might have triggered this interest in killing?”

“Wha- of course it was something in my childhood! What else would it be?”

“Do you like killing because of the power it makes you feel?”

“Power?” Holiday Man laughed. “If I were in this for the power, I would have accepted the offer to join a gang, and then I would have eventually made my way to the top. I like killing for the pure thrill of killing.”

Holiday Man pointed his gun at Patkins. “And I don’t think a miracle will come. Goodbye Patkins.” He shot Patkins as Shane screamed “No!”

He ran at Holiday Man who took out the carving knife and slashed Shane across the throat.

Holiday Man stood up, and Percy jumped down from his lap.

“Goodbye, Percy. Don’t eat their bodies right away.”

He walked outside and closed the door, then walked to his car.


Detective Larson looked at the bodies in the room. One was shot, the other was slashed across the throat. The Thanksgiving dinner in the dining room was cold. Larson’s partner, Copperfield, was hold one of the victims’ cat.

“What are you doing?” Larson asked Copperfield.

“Holding a cat,” said Copperfield.

“Did anyone in the family want to take care of it?”

“No, it’s going to the shelter.”

Larson nodded, then inspected the bodies.

“Whoever did this was really good at not leaving any clues,” said Copperfield.

Larson grunted. Copperfield was right.


Holiday Man stepped out of the animal shelter, and walked to his car. He set the kennel in the passenger’s seat, and drove off. A meow came from the kennel.

“Don’t worry, Percy,” Holiday Man said. “I’m bringing you to a new home.”


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