Christmas At Wiz's - Chapter Three

The sound of Boomstick cheerfully yet loudly singing “Deck The Halls” from his room, with Jack Spaniels barking with him, wakes me up for Christmas Day. As I slowly sit up and let out a loud yawn, I can barely see out of my eyes. I wipe them before looking at the alarm clock nearby. 10:00am. Pretty late. Either I slept through it or I forgot to even set it. I get out of bed and put on my dressing gown before heading out.

Cleaning up the lab last night was an exhausting process, as was cleaning up the other rooms, so I went to bed later than usual. At least they're somewhat back to normal now, if not completely. The kitchen stills smells of burnt turkey, but hey, better than if it was something like burnt popcorn. That stench takes years to get rid of it. Believe me, I know.

I enter the living room, immediately catching sight of that strange yet surprisingly enjoyable Christmas tree again. I left Boomstick's gift there last night after sorting the rooms out. I briefly take a glimpse out the window to see if for once we've had snow, but sadly we haven't. Oh well, a man can dream. I walk over to the tree and crouch down to see what's underneath, lifting one of the beer can baubles out of the way. Boomstick's already taken his present from below, so now there's just another one left. Like the other parcel, this one is also wrapped up in newspaper. I pick it up and look at the gift tag: “To W, from B.S. :)”

I sit down on the sofa and unwrap it there. Once open, I cannot believe what I'm looking at. I pick it up and look at it more closely.

It is possibly the most asinine gift I've ever received. Essentially, it is a battered beer can made to look like some sort of robot, with pipe cleaners meant to be resembling its limbs and a face drawn on with a faded felt pen. One of the pipe cleaners is a different colour from the others, which just feels wrong. The facial expression the robot has makes it look like some sort of demented frog. Above all, with the way the limbs have been stuck on with old sticky tape, it seems very likely that it will fall apart within the next few days. Even a four year old could make something better quality than that.

There is a small device on the back of the robot with a button that I press. Where he found this device is anyone's guess. It plays a recording of Boomstick singing what can only be described as the more screwed up version of “Jingle Bells”, with mention of bleeding in the snow and a teddy bear shooting Santa Claus. Every few seconds, it keeps briefly cutting out. In short, this is a shoddily-made item that I can easily sense was made this morning before I woke up.

So why do I feel myself smiling?

I continue looking at that bizarre yet strangely charming robot for a while, feeling it in my hand and playing the song again. Eventually, I get up and head over to the lab with it. Once in there, I find the shelf with a shrunken head and some rare metal samples and place it between them. It somehow seems to fit in quite well all things considered. I give it one final look and head back out.

Boomstick's waiting for me out there, already wearing the dressing gown I gave him this year. I have to be honest, it suits him quite well. It matches that chequerboard jacket he always likes to wear.

“So?” he asks. “You like it?”

“Like what?”

“The gift I sent you.”

“Sure. I placed it on one of the shelves in there in case you're wondering.”

Boomstick chuckles to himself and heads in to look at it. I follow him and place my arm round his shoulder.

“I'll take it out whenever you want to use the lab,” I tell him. “Just in case something happens in there.”

Boomstick nods in response, a small smile across his face. After some time, he finally opens his mouth.

“So, you wanna watch Die Hard later today? Y'know, the best Christmas movie of all time?”

“Oh definitely. In fact, why don't we watch it now?”

We share a laugh together before heading out and getting the film ready.

Maybe Christmas won't be too bad this year. Especially with Boomstick celebrating with me. He may be a complete nutcase but at least things are never boring when he's around. Just like the tree in the living room.

Christmas At Wiz's - Chapter Two

For the past few hours, I've spent time working in the lab, partly as a way of de-stressing and partly as a means of keeping away from Boomstick. Most of it involved planning some experiments, but I also needed to clean it up a bit. Pretty hard work, but easier than babysitting an incompetent lunatic if you ask me.

After all this time working and trying to forget about the earlier events of the evening, I feel in need of a drink. I put away the experiment I was working on and exit the lab, walking down the corridor to the kitchen. Once there, I open the fridge door and find one smoothie bottle left. Banana and vanilla flavour. That'll do perfectly. I take it out and shake it before deciding to drink it in the living room, shutting the fridge door as I do so.

Boomstick happens to be coming out the living room at the same time I want to enter. I have to squeeze myself against the door to let him past. He looks at me with a frown on his face, but doesn't say a single word as he scurries off. Odd. I'd half expected him to complain that I was “blocking his route” as he sometimes does.

The living room is in a bit of a mess. The sofa has been moved slightly closer to the tree and its cushions are scattered on the floor. But I'm so exhausted that I think nothing of it. I put the cushions back on the sofa and move it into the right spot before sitting down. I breathe out a heavy sigh as I sink into it.

I open the lid off the smoothie bottle and drink it. The taste is just wonderful. Just what I needed after all the crap I had to deal with so far. I then start to guzzle it down further, not even stopping for a single break. I hear some rustling from the kitchen but I don't really pay full attention to it. Eventually, I stop to take another deep breath.

As I prepare to drink the final drop of the smoothie, I catch sight of the tree again. The beer cans are still there, but they look different. Each can hanging from a branch has been painted in different colours in order to resemble baubles. The can at the top is painted white and has had an “:O” face drawn on in red. Yellow wool has been place on the top to resemble hair and cardboard wings have been stuck on the back. A beer can angel I guess.

I keep looking at it for a bit. It's still a bit naff, but certainly better than what was there before. Maybe Boomstick isn't such a liability after-

Without warning, a loud crashing resounds through the place. I instantly recognise it as coming from the lab and race over there, still holding the bottle in my hand. I take one last swig at it before heading in.

I almost spit my drink out. The good news is that at least the lab hasn't blown up this time. The bad news is that it is a complete mess. Test tubes are scattered on the floor and some of the flasks have been broken. A strange liquid that I don't remember the name of is seeping out of one of the flasks. All of the cabinet doors are open with objects missing from them, and the trash can is tilted over on its side. And just when I'd cleaned it all up before going to the kitchen.

Boomstick is crouched next to one of the cabinets with Bunsen burners and tongs behind him, covered in garbage from what I assume was the emptied trash can. Alright, I take back what I said earlier. He's worst than a liability. He's a living, breathing nightmare. As soon as I've put the bin back in place and tossed my bottle inside, I march over to him, preparing to give him a piece of my mind.

“WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING?!” I splutter as I try to resist the urge to slap him in the face.

Boomstick doesn't reply. As I get closer, I notice what sounds like small sobs and sniffs. As I crouch down next to him, I realise that his cheeks are wet with tears.

Something about it makes me put my frustration aside for now. I place a hand on his shoulder.

“You okay Boomstick?” I ask, trying to sound gentle.

He lets out another sob. “I-I can't find it.”

I hate it when he gets emotional like this. I can never think of the right way to respond. I try to anyway.

“What can't you find?”

“The music box. I've looked everywhere for it but-”

He cannot finish his sentence before breaking down again. I wait a bit to let him get a hold of himself before asking him another question.

“What music box?”

“It's a red one with – moustaches on it and a button at the top that – that plays a song when you press it. I get it out every Christmas Eve, but I don't know where I put it.”

Boomstick anxiously twiddles his fingers about as he continues. “I looked in my bedroom – not there. Wasn't in yours either. Checked the bathroom, kitchen and lounge, couldn't find it. I went through the lab-”

I try to think of a suitable question, and then just blurt one out. “Maybe you left it back at your shack earlier this year? You know, when you went back there for one day before coming back here?”

Wrong thing to ask. This just makes him cry even harder.

“Boomstick? Boomstick? I'm really sorry.” I give him a hug in the hope that it will make him feel better. He lets out a few small hiccups before responding.

“N-no, I don't think I have…I'm sure I – I packed it up before comin' back here. In one of the bags.”

“Then it could still be in the bag,” I respond, attempting to reassure him. “What does the bag look like?”

“I think it was brown,” he responds in a meek tone unlike his usual self, not really explaining the type of bag it was. “But I can't find that either.” He breaks out into another stream of sobs as he covers his face with his hands.

I don't know why, but I kind of feel bad for Boomstick. Clearly the music box means something to him. And clearly he'll not stop crying until it's found.

“Don't worry Boomstick, I'll find it for you,” I say without thinking.

Boomstick uncovers his face and gives me an unsure look. “You will?”

“Definitely,” I give him a cheesy grin. “Christmas time is for helping others, right?”

That last sentence was so corny, I almost cringe upon saying it. Still, I don't want Boomstick to be upset on Christmas Eve. He is my friend after all. Even if he is a nuisance at times and has already caused so many problems today.

I help Boomstick up and give him another hug. He's stopped sobbing, which is a good thing, but I can still feel him trembling. I lead him out of the lab and to his bedroom. It might be best if he takes a break in order to calm down, as well as not wreck the rooms any further.

The bedroom is also in a state. The duvet and pillow have been tossed off the bed and the wardrobe has been completely emptied. All of the items from it are piled on the floor. At least Jack and Mr. Snappy are alright – Jack is sleeping in a corner of the room and Mr. Snappy is in his tank.

I place the pillow and duvet back on the bed and Boomstick sits down on it, letting out a deep exhausted sigh as he does so. I take his hand and squeeze it tight. He briefly looks up at me with tears still glistening in his eyes.

“You wait here Boomstick,” I say. “I'll check the other rooms again.”

I leave him sitting on his bed and head over to the kitchen. It's the same as in the lab and bedroom. The cupboard doors have been left hanging out and even the oven door has been opened. Why Boomstick would expect it to be in there, especially since he'd burnt the turkey in there earlier tonight, I have no idea. I shut it up quickly and then do the same with the other doors. The bin in which I threw the burnt dinner in earlier has also been overturned, so I sort that out a bit as well.

I think to myself as I close the last cupboard door. Where hasn't Boomstick looked? He said he'd looked everywhere – in his bedroom, the lab, the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the hall-

That's right! He didn't mention the hallway! I hurry over, thinking about the bag he was talking about. As long as I can find that, the music box should be found in no time.

Upon entering the hallway, I lift up the coats on the hooks and look underneath them. There's a beige tote bag similar to the ones used in the P.E. classes I hated as a teenager. Not quite what I expected when I think of the colour brown, but maybe this was the one?

I empty the bag and there it is. It is a small box with a button on the top and a black moustache drawn on each side. It looks pretty faded but still has a reddish hue to it. I smirk to myself. Mission accomplished.

I rush back into Boomstick's bedroom with the box in my hand. He wearily looks over at me.

“Boomstick! Is this the one you were talking about?”

“It is!” he gasps in delight. “Oh thank you so much!”

Laughing and crying at the same time, he rushes over and hugs me so hard that I can hear my bones crunch. I have to bite my bottom lip to prevent myself from yelling out.

“Thank you thank you thank you thank you!” he continues to babble out as he rocks me from side to side. My shoulder starts to feel wet.

“Okay Boomstick,” I tell him whilst mustering a grin. “You can let go now.”

He does so and takes the music box in the process, wiping his face at the same time. He sits down on his bed and I sit beside him. He presses a button on the box and it starts to play.

I recognise the tune as “Silver Bells”. For the past few weeks, I've heard different covers of it playing on the radio.

And then a woman sounding similar to Boomstick himself starts singing:

“City sidewalks, bloodied sidewalks,
Streets are coated in blood.
There's a feelin' of bloodshed.”

I'm left stunned. That certainly wasn't how the original one went. The soothing music makes it worst, as if death and destruction are indeed soothing things to sing about. Oh, well, to each their very own, I guess.

“Hear 'em screaming, watch 'em dying,

See death rain from above,

And on ev'ry street corner you'll hear…”

Boomstick has a small wistful smile on his face whilst he listens to it, and I notice another tear run down his cheek. 

“Silver guns, silver guns,

It's murder time in the city,

Bang bang bang,

Here them bang,

Just in time for Christmas Day.”

The song finally (and mercifully) finishes playing. Boomstick lets out a satisfied sigh and wipes his tear away.

“Mama used to sing that to me every Christmas Eve. She even made this box so I could keep on listenin' to it when I left home. Everytime I play it, it's like she's still here.”

He continues gazing at it whilst I try to think of a suitable response. “It was…an interesting song?” I finally manage to say.

Boomstick lets out a small giggle and then holds the box tight to his chest, shutting his eyes and cradling it as if it was his baby. Suddenly, he opens his eyes and starts to frown as if he's thinking about something.

“Y'know, maybe I should-” He stops himself. “Actually, never mind. It's nothin'.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'll tell you tomorrow,” Boomstick replies as he happily places the box on the side cabinet and lies down on the bed, not taking his eye off the thing the whole time.

“Well,” I say as I get up. “I'm glad you've got your music box back. You keep enjoying it.” I walk towards the door and open it.

Before I head out though, I turn back to face him. “Oh, Boomstick?”

“Yeah?”

“By the way, well done on the Christmas tree decorations. They look much better now.” I flash him a smile.

“Thanks. You're welcome,” he smiles back before looking back at the music box and pressing the button again. As he listens to it for a second time, deep in thought, I leave him in peace and head off to clean up the lab.

Christmas At Wiz's - Chapter One

“Boomstick, why have you decorated the tree with beer cans?”

“Hey, it needed something. Couldn't have a plain Christmas tree.”

Plain would have suited the tree more. A dozen crumpled beer cans have been tied onto old pieces of string and hung on the branches. Given their size, most of them are not so much hanging off the branches so much as sitting on the branches below. And as for the ones on the bottom branches, they're pretty much resting on the floor and pulling down their branches with them. Another beer can has been shoved upside down on the tip of the tree, which if you ask me is just being lazy.

“It's downright hideous! What were you even thinking?!”

“If you ask me, it looked even more hideous without anything on it. You only have me to thank for making it look better.”

Since the start of the year, Boomstick has been staying at my place and he's been driving me nuts the whole time. I don't remember a single day cleaning up his room and not finding a crumpled-up beer can underneath his bed. Said room has one wall with bullet holes all over it, from where he's been “venting out his stress”. He's allowed his dog Jack Spaniels to make a mess on the carpet more times I can count on both hands. His turtle Mr. Snappy has the strangest dietary requirements ever known to man. Worst of all, he's blown up the lab three times and I've had to be the one to fix it up again.

Normally, I would only allow Boomstick to stay here for the winter, since his shack isn't the warmest of places. This year however, things have been different. We've had to share the same living space for the sake of making working with each other more convenient. Boomstick hasn't been able to get out as much either – he normally goes to one of the nearby bars in the evening, but they've been shut down for most of the year. He only went back home for one day this summer, before deciding that it would be for the best if he remained with me.

It's now Christmas Eve. We have nothing really planned this year, which is just as well given how things are at the moment.  The whole time, Boomstick's been even more of a nuisance than usual. I just want a quiet Christmas but he keeps on insisting that we celebrate it “properly”, like have some sort of over-the-top party. First of all, I don't understand how that's possible with only two people, a dog and a turtle that eats anything in sight. Secondly, the neighbours will definitely complain about the noise.

I don't want to focus on any of that. I want to focus on getting everything else sorted out as quickly as possible. Most of my Christmas shopping has been done online, and by “most”, I mean I've only bought one gift this year. I've never been a fan of crowded places and long queues, even without the matter of having to wear a mask. It also means that I can keep a better eye on Boomstick in case he causes more chaos.

Boomstick got the Christmas tree this year. He won't tell me where he got it from and honestly, I don't think I even want to know. I doubt he paid for it with his own money though. I've never been a fan of over-the-top decorations so I tried to convince Boomstick that it would look better without any. He just accused me of being boring and not caring about getting into the festive spirit.

And now I'm looking upon what is possibly the ugliest Christmas tree since those pink aluminium ones that used to be around. The only thing that could be worst would be a pink aluminium tree with beer cans on. There's also a strange smell that I'm starting to notice, but that at least isn't coming from the tree.

At this rate, I could probably do with a beer myself.

“Well, at least make it look like you actually put effort into it!” I yell at Boomstick.

“I did!” he yells back. “I spent the whole afternoon gettin' it like that!”

“What, just hanging beer cans up?”

“Fine Wiz,” he grumbles. “I'll fix it up if it makes you feel so much better.”

By now, the smell has proceeded to get worst. Suddenly, the smoke alarm starts blaring from the kitchen. I panic and rush in there. Boomstick follows me in.

There is a horrible black smoke all around, which hits me in the face and causes me to start choking. I can barely see where everything is with it filling the room, though I can hear Boomstick also coughing behind me. Eventually, I manage to track down the oven and quickly open its door.

Inside are turkeys that I ordered online and had delivered here this morning. Or at least I think they are. They look more like blocks of charcoal now. Once I pull the tray with them on out, I get a fork and prod one of them with it. It just breaks one of the prongs off.

I turn to Boomstick and glare at him. “Why did you cook both turkeys tonight?” I ask. “One of those was supposed to be shared out tomorrow!”

“Eating half each wouldn't be enough for a proper dinner,” he pouts in the manner of a little kid.

“That doesn't – never mind.” I move the subject on. “Anyway, I thought you said that you could cook turkey! How the hell did you burn it then?!”

Boomstick picks up the recipe book on the cabinet next to the oven and flicks to the page

“It says in the recipe that you've supposed to cook turkey at 165°F for 40 minutes,” he says. “But that would take too long. So I thought: if I divide the time by ten to get four minutes and times the temperature by ten to get-”

It doesn't take me long to realise the logic Boomstick applied here.

“Boomstick, you didn't.”

“But it's simple arithmetic!” he whines. “Multiplyin' the temperature by ten and dividin' the time by ten! You should know it yourself Wiz, you're the numbers guy here.”

“Jesus Christ,” I utter to myself as I throw the blackened mess into the bin. “Well, I guess we won't be having turkey for Christmas this year.”

It'll be too late to get another one. Even if I did head out to the nearest supermarket, too many people would be there anyway. I don't even know what else we can have to replace it.

“Hey,” Boomstick says, eagerly whipping out a scruffy sheet of paper from his pocket. “At least I've got the recipe for Mama Boomstick's ghost pepper pie here! It's good for keeping you warm on winter nights!”

“You can eat it,” I groan. “I don't feel hungry tonight.”

I head out, still coughing from the smoke, and stumble over to the lab. As soon as I'm inside and shut the door, I shut my eyes, clutch my head and let out a scream.

Why did I allow Boomstick to stay here at my place? Why does he have to be ridiculously stupid? Why, oh why, do I have to spend Christmas with him?!

About This Blog

I've always had different creative ideas buzzing around my head for as long as I can remember, whether it be for a story, a poem, a script or something else entirely. I had different plans when I was younger for what I wanted to be when I grew up, but being a writer was the only dream I stuck with. Throughout my hard drive are plans for works I don't even plan getting published, yet still go into bizarrely intricate detail on characters, settings and plots.

Naturally, there are always pieces that I've written that I want to share with other people. Originally, I posted creative works of mine on my "Mamzelle Boomstick vs. The Universe" blog as a way of showing them off. However, it became clear that it would become too cluttered with both those and the more analytical musings on life and other creative works I was making. I ultimately decided that the blog was more suited to the other articles and set this one up instead as a result.

This blog contains just some of the many creative pieces that I have worked on in my spare time, whether it be short stories or poems. Quite a bit of it is Death Battle! fanfiction, as my username would indicate, but there are original pieces too. Some of them I wrote for university and others I wrote for my own amusement. The most important thing to know is that these are works that I feel happy looking back on and don't mind letting others see.

I hope you enjoy these works as much as I enjoyed working on them. I try to put a decent amount of effort into them, but ultimately I just try to not be too hard on myself and enjoy them as much as possible. That I feel is the most important thing when it comes to writing. ;)