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?!