Lauren Beukes

I have a wicked little festive vampire story over at Paul Cornell’s blog (novelist, comics writer and Dr Who scribe).

Here’s a taster…

…There were more crashing sounds from the roof. A clatter and a long scraping sound, as if of the world’s largest sword was being drawn from, like, the world’s largest scabbard.
‘It’s that gorgeous werewolf of yours again!’ Edward snarled. ‘This time I swear, nothing you can say will prevent me from tearing his lupine throat out.’
There was another thump and a bump. Now they seemed to be coming from inside the walls. I clung to Edward in terror. And then there was a terrible crash and the sound of something big and rustly and adorned with tiny bells being knocked over. The Christmas tree. Dad and I had hung the decorations this afternoon before he went on shift. Well, I hung the decorations and he just watched and drank a beer, until I tripped over a chair and he had to help in case I broke a leg on a bauble or something.
‘The living room!’ I yelped. Edward burst through my bedroom door and tore downstairs. I limped after him, still holding the gold box.

I emerged into the living room to find Edward still snarling, but with a confused, impenetrable glaze in his eyes, looking down at a large pudgy guy with a beard and a red suit, covered in a dusting of soot and sitting among the remains of our Christmas tree. There was a large bulging sack beside him.
Santa Claus stood up and dusted himself off. He seemed pissed off. ‘A Christmas tree right in front of the fireplace? Really? Do even you know what kind of fire hazard that is?’
‘We weren’t planning to light it…’ I said, defensively.
‘Who are you? What do you want in this house?’ Edward moved towards Santa, his teeth bared, his fists clenched at his sides. He was restraining himself for now, but only barely.
Santa shook out his hat and replaced it jauntily on his head. ‘Hey there, I’m Santa. Although you might also know me as Father Christmas, Grandfather Frost, Papá Noel or Baba Chaghaloo. And I’m here to see the little lady. So buzz off, Twinkles.’
‘“Twinkles?”’ Edward said, incredulously. ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’
Santa sighed. ‘Didn’t we just go through this? Is your brain made of marble too?’
‘But you’re a myth,’ I muttered.
‘Exactly!’ Santa grinned, ‘And way I hear it, Bella Swan, you’re practically the village bicycle for mythical creatures – romantically at any rate. That’s why I’m here!’
‘What?’ I was dazed by the accusation. ‘Who said that? I’ve never even had sex.’
‘That’s what I hear too. Don’t worry, I can help you with that.’
It was too much for Edward. With a strangled noise he leapt at Santa, his lips pulled back to reveal his fangs, bright as steel. I screamed. The gold box dropped at my feet…

Read the full story here.