Greg's Weather Forecast

"We thought it was over... but here it comes again!" chuckles the weatherman, cueing some pop song about returning shit. Urgh, the kind of noise my daughter listens to.

"Thank you, Larry." The camera switches back to an overly made-up woman, trying too hard to hide her age. "And now, we're going to Bloomington, where Chuck found that a dog can be more than a loyal companion. For his owners Debbie and Richard Swanson, Bobby became a symbol of hope against all odds, when the poodle surprised everyone by heroically..."

Rubbish! Oh, look, the Swinesons are at it again!

Bah!

The slimy parchment of my ever-sagging ball sack is more surprising than their yapping dog.

Blood pools in the palms of my sweat-soaked hands. They itch.

Again.

I gotta do something before another wall gets hurt.

"Oh no, Roxy, honey, it's just my balance... the hip replacement and stuff. Why, yes, I did fall on my knuckles. Again. Do bring little Sam here for Christmas: it's perfectly safe."

Right.

Five a.m. No messages, no calls, no flying fucks could bring her to this corner of the country. Not this year.

Where's the goddamn robe tie?

Barbie always teased me for sleeping nude, but in the end she didn't mind. Or... she minded just the right way. My Barbie...

Suck it up and get that fancy sweater. Dressing the part sends all the right frequencies and shit to the subconscious. Eyes shut, hands spread like a poor imitation of Christ:

"Hello, Universe. I am ready to receive that snow."

I spy through one heavy eyelid. It all looks the same. Ok.

What now? Eggnog! Make it myself. Every year: no exceptions and no sissy's portions. You either drink, or you don't.

Ok, focus and dream of a white Christmas. Like the song? Oh no, there won't be any goddamn Christmas cards this year: that was Barbie's thing. But I'll be damned if I don't put up every single one of her wonky decorations.

"The weather around you is the weather in your soul."

Can't get any fucking colder in there.

Hang the bloody mistletoe here. Put the rotting tree in the corner. Light the wretched fireplace up. Stinky stockings all above.

It is snowing. The returning heatwave is not real. It is cold, and it is snowing.

And what about these? It's a gagging garble-fest in the box!

Ok. Breathe and try again.

...or hang the whole knotted mess! Simple. Stylish. "Postmodern Industrial Buzzword." Ha! Gorgeous!

Laughter?

"And who the fuck let you in?"

A sour-looking raisin bulges its eyes at me from beside the main door.

"You look like one decrepit, sweaty, judgmental fucker! And the reindeer on your sweater is even wonkier than your pitiful cherry-stained cheeks. Now get the hell..."

Oh, wait. Never mind.

"Cheers, old fella!" He gives me a crooked smile while raising a mug of eggnog.

This bloody thing is made of poison ivy! Never could tell her how... ah fuck it. It has a reindeer, and she made it.

The raisin's stomach barks at me.

"You don't have time for lunch!" I wag a finger at the mirror. "You have to get the house ready for Sam and Roxy!" They are coming here to enjoy the snow. Besides, eggnog has egg in it. Lean proteins and all that.

The door wobbles as I reach for the handle, dragging musty boxes marked "outdoors" behind me.

"Goodness, Greg! Are you alright?" Geez, Fucking Deb. Didn't manage one sip of outside air and... Give me a break, woman!

"Peachy, neighbor. Peeaachy!" Keep on hanging stuff, and she'll go away.

"You look... hot." Yap, yap, yap. Let it go, woman! Licking her lips, tasting the gossip. Old Greg is going insane. Must be getting Alzheimer's or something. Put him into a home and lock him there.

"Oh, yeah. You want a piece? I'm sure Rich won't mind." My jaw cracks under the weight of a forced smile as I wink her away.

Chuckles. As artificial as her bosom. She retreats indoors. Fucking Deb. Everything needs to be perfect, and she's wasting precious time like that. Keep your mind focused. The heat is not real. Snow is.

That's all that matters.

When the last box lets go of its shape under my jagged hands, it is already dark. And somebody started renovations inside my head without a warning. Be quiet! Get indoors. Get in bed.

Wait, what was it they said more?

"Never go to sleep without a request for your subconscious."

Ok, here goes nothing. "Dear Subconscious, make it snow so Roxy will want to come here for Christmas. Greg out."

The night blends into a mess of sweat and itch. Fucking sweater. Oh, but it's working! It's bloody working! I am a magnet for the snow; my will is full and crystallized; my focus is nature's doom.

I can feel it in my body!

That... or tons of urine.

I stopped counting after the tenth run for the latrine. Ah, fuck it, I'll just finish sleeping on the couch. Nothing for me in the bed anyway. Besides, it's closer to the can.

Finally, the sun graces me with its first sheepish smile through the yellowing curtains.

Still counts: I have the right to be up now.

"Where's that wretched techno-brick?" The screen is too dark, and I squint my eyes until the hair from my brow taps my eyelids.

No calls, no messages, no nothing. 5 a.m.

It also says that screen luminosity is set to max, the lying brick. Whatever. "Invite the abundance in." It's snowing, and Roxy and Sam are coming for Christmas.

Deep breath. I'm ready.

Turn on the big screen... and there he is.

"Come on, Larry, give me some good news, buddy!"

"...embarrassing, Diane. And I should apologize to all of our..."

"You bet your tiny balls you should apologize!" I chase the sweat running down my neck with my broken, chewed nails.

"...received the wrong data..."

"Keep it going!" The sweet relief provided by my nails made its way down my neck and onto my shoulders, peeling the sticky wool from my no-doubt sautéed skin.

"...the forecast for this Christmas needs to be readjusted..."

"Yes, fucking, yes! Readjust me everything, Larry!" Two hands are now rhythmically relieving the parched skin of my shoulders from layers of dried-up sweat, and I don't want to know what kind of other gunk.

"...to a record-breaking 95 degrees! As you can see..."

"Bloody hell!" I sweated my fucking brains out... for this? A green and black firework explodes a few inches from the screen. Busted another remote, Greg? You should buy the whole box. Bah, whatever, I'll just leave it on. But I'm giving these lying bastards a piece of my mind!

I tear the sweater off my blotched skin. Like a band-aid, it tears back at my chest hair, then screams with static crackles as I throw it in Larry's lying piehole.

Finally free, I can scratch every inch of skin within reach, while kicking the pants aside on the way to the landline. The mobile thing is just for Roxy.

"Thank you for calling LocalNews." Bla bla bla. "...please input your zip code..."

"Like you don't already know everything!"

"All of our agents are currently serving other customers; please hold the line."

"Oh, I'll hold! I'll hold the whole goddamn day while you do bloody nothing!"

"Your call is very important to us..."

Never working. Never helping. Getting paid for sitting on their lazy butts all day.

Let me grab the tablet machine and go to the media. I'm gonna get social with all the scamming morons who made a fool of me. Okay now, one finger after the other. Left index, right index, left index... picking up speed here!

Tweet: "Respectfully, your bloody shit doesn't work."

Tweet: "The Universe is either deaf or an asshole. And so are you."

And you know what? It's the fucking Global Warming. Everyone is flying, and cruising, and driving... where do you people need to go all the time?

Tweet: "Back in my day, we left the house only for Church and work!"

"Channel Five LocalNews, Jenny speaking, how may I help you?"

"You can stop sending tropical weather for Christmas, Jenny."

She chuckles. CHUCKLES!

"I'm bloody serious! What the fuck is wrong with your returning heatwaves out of season? I have a family!"

-Click-

"Hello?!"

Oh. You. Fucking. Didn't.

Call. Again.

This Jenny lady needs to learn a thing or two about respect.

It rings... and then beeps busy. No recorded message, just busy.

You know what? Fuck it.

"Fuck it all! I'm going to Facebook! That's right, I'll tell all of my friends what kind of scammers you LocalNews people are, and how you treat loyal customers. Good luck staying in business after that!"

Eggnog first. And skip the mug.

I'll teach them.

I'll teach them all!

Gosh! I've been typing so long that I grew a second set of hands.

"Wait, what?"

A woman's scream breaks through the night. I have to help her!

I wake up in a puddle of eggnog and sweat... I hope it's sweat. The sofa swallowed me and won't let go of my skin. Some crappy horror movie is playing on the telly.

These bloody teeners! Too reckless, always making a mess of things: it's either all joints and petty theft or sex and Ouija tablets. Oh, the ghosts didn't want to speak with you? No shit! It's cause they are dead! And now there is a demon in your house? Boohoo! Should have sold your soul for some brains instead. I could do fucking better!

Wait.

I could do fucking better.

Here, a cutting board and a rocking knife. Carve a few letters. Ouch. Oh well, squeeze the wound on the board for sacrifice.

What more? Christmas candles, red as blood, a picture from the mantelpiece, and a part of her... The brush on the sink. She never cleaned the damned hair out of it! It's perfect, so soft and smells like her... Jasmine or some other lady thing.

There we go, all in a circle. Light the candles now, and...

"Barbie... can you hear me?"

A cat shrieks outside, a few cars drive by, their lights squeezing weird shadows out of everything. Another teener drops dead on the screen.

"Talk to me, baby, I missed you so much!"

The clock beats 3 a.m. Lightning crackles in the sky outside the window. All candles are blown out at the same time. No thunder.

"Barbie... is that you?" My voice crackles as damp vapor leaves my throat in a thick white cloud. As it dissipates, it reveals a female silhouette in the shadows before me.

I steady my hand. I know better than to reach out now.

"Barbie...?"

"Barbara is sucking cocks in hell!" A thundering masculine voice spews all around, as more flashing lights outside the windows illuminate her slowly rotating head. Vertebrae pop incessantly with every loop.

"Ha! You wish!" Her head stops and hangs sideways, tiny worms leaking out of the black, glassy eyes. "We both know she doesn't do head, so cut the crap, demon. I've got a deal for you."

"Oh, mate, that's my line!" The thing brings Barbie's broken head back up. "So what is it you want to do? Sacrifice your daughter for money, get a young squeeze for the cold nights?"

"Ha, 'cold' nights?"

Wait, let me guess... It squeezes Barbie's brow with her right hand, just like she always did when pretending to think.

"Revenge on Channel Five and all those hippies that sold you on the attraction law? I can make it the worst outbreak of diarrhea in the history of this nation... for the right price." It sensually licks its lips. "Feeling any serial-killer-y lately?"

"Oh, shut up! I just want it to snow this Christmas. You can get my soul after."

"A soul for a little white Christmas? How anticlimactic."

"I want a reason for my daughter to come all the way up here."

"That's sweet, mate. A little sad but sweet. Unfortunately, your soul isn't quite what we're looking for right now."

"What is this crap? Just take the damn thing and give me something! It doesn't even have to be real, just make them say it on the news when Roxy's watching!"

"Look, I respect the guts of you, I do. So I'm gonna level with you on this one: you're just too old for us. There is literally no value in your potentially premature demise."

"Premature? Don't you get the soul thing after I die?"

"Nah, that's Hollywood. We deal in PTSD and high-value generational trauma."

"I called you here and-"

"Enough already!"

A gurgling cackle fills my ears until there's no more room for consciousness.

A dreamless night, and I'm awakened by the first timid rays of sun again. I collect my aching joints from the floor. Still no goddamn robe tie.

I strain to push my hands together.

"Oh God, please, if you make her think there will be snow, I swear I'll never curse again."

"Doesn't work like that, mate." Crumbs and worms land on my shoulders. Barbie's body is eating donuts on the ceiling.

"Worth a try... You sticking around now?"

"Yup. Standard haunting term, roomie."

...

5.a.m. No calls. No messages. No hope.

"Whatever... Help me get this garbage out?" I swing my arm over all the wonky decorations.

"Eat something first?" Barbie's body hands me a doughnut. It's slimy and hard at the same time, and something's moving in the glazing... but whatever, I guess. I'll bite.

...

The highlight of today was the sound of Debbie's head hitting the grass outside my porch. Just because I leave the door open doesn't mean you should enter. Got a glimpse of Not-so-Barbie... Ha! Ain't no poodle recovering you from this one, Deb!

...

I wake up in my bed, breathing in a faint Jasmine smell. There is no warmth beside me, but I still reach a hand out, where her face would be. Damp and squirmy, something tickles against my fingers.

I open my eyes and see gunky black worms oozing out of Barbie's eyes and nostrils, biting my skin, trying to crawl inside... But that smell... My body bulges to bridge the gap between us.

"Whoa, mate! What the hell?" The bellowing, distorted voice breaks through. "I'm just wearing her!"

"If you can't handle a decrepit boner, you shouldn't go around causing one!"

She's gone.

No more moaning, gurgling, or random chain dragging sounds.

The faulty step squeaks as I climb down to the living room and get a hard reality check. Dust, ashes, and some form of filmy rot are spread all over. Not a single festive item, but plenty of trash. The place smells foul...

...or is it me?

The building bitterness at the back of my tongue says I'm done checking the phone. Just that, just done. I'll be alone now, and... you know what?

That's actually ok.

My ball sack rests comfortably on the cool floor. So quiet, I can hear the clock chipping away at whatever life I have left. Wait... not the clock. It's... something splattering. Oh, more worms, of course. I raise my eyes to the source of the latest worm shower, only to meet the empty eye sockets of my long-rotting Nana, hanging upside down from the ceiling.

"I thought you left."

"Ran for my wardrobe. Check this out, mate." A high-pitched ring, like a hybrid between tinnitus and a broken TV signal, hits me between the ears, and suddenly my Nana's body speaks in her own voice.

"Would you like a cookie, my little pumpkin-nums?"

"I'm older than her now. Breaks the immersion."

"Fair... How about this?" Nana swims through the ceiling, pink gown fluttering in and out of the plastered surface, before disappearing into a wall. Then, the fireplace explodes with crimson flames as my father's voice booms out of it.

"You disappointed me again, boy." His face makes the flames swell with each syllable.

"What else is new?"

"Tough crowd."

He disappears into the walls again.

"Grandpa!" Sam's voice reaches me from behind.

"Ah-ha, that's too far!"

"It's not me, I only wear the rotties!" The demon's whisper vibrates in the floor under my butt.

Oh.

Oh!

I bounce up like a stung rabbit, only to see Roxy cover her eyes with both hands.

"Eeeew! Dad, close that robe!"

There's that pesky robe tie!

Sam simply throws his arms around me, chattering something about a cartoon or a boy band, something Korean. I cannot tell the difference anymore. But this grandpa is allowed to be a little forgetful.

I let his warmth sink in.

Roxy is already all over the place, opening windows, piling dirty plates, gathering the rotting trash. And then she grumbles:

"You really couldn't put in the tiniest bit of effort for us?"