by Steven Holding
He loathed the season of goodwill, but festive choirs congregating upon his doorstep really got his goat.
Red-cheeked warblers, arriving unannounced, expecting pennies for their impromptu performance!
Dozing, jarring harmonies awoke him. “The Twelve Days of Christmas”! He grimaced, determined to ignore the lyrical list of gifts being delivered at his door.
It got worse with each verse, until line number five. Like a broken record, the same three words repeated.
Barging outside, he shuddered at the sight of pale strangers bearing presents.
Five gold rings on five severed fingers, held in the cold dead hands of five carol singers.