I am a member of the Denver Horror Collective writer’s group. This year, for our holiday meeting, we did a drabble contest. This was my entry:
This is the year I’m finally going to do it. I’m going to beat that asshole Clark. Every year, he puts up that monstrosity, browning out the neighborhood and keeping us all up with the brightness. Well, I’m going to do him one better. Mine will be bigger, brighter, but so much more tasteful.
I just need to finish the light grid: Gold and green and red moving in time with Christmas carols when they play. I spent a small fortune on the control box to rig it up, but it’ll be worth it.
I can’t believe it’s so dark already. And the roof is getting slick. Ugh, now the cords are tangled. How’d it get around my leg? Shit! I’m slipping. The cord pulls my feet out from under me and I slide to the edge of the roof. The strands already hung there snare me, catching around my throat. Everytime I try to thrash free, it constricts around my neck. My vision tunnels as my body weight pulls the cord even tighter.
One last thought before the blackness takes me: at least this is a Christmas display no one will ever forget.