mothers-tears

Mary._ Turning at the soft sound of her name, she glanced behind herself. Then frowned. __assiter?_ ____ over here._ __here?_ She looked all around. __hy is your voice echoing?_ __himney._ __hat?_ ____ stuck in the fucking chimney._ She raced over to the fireplace and got on her hands and knees. Looking up into the dark flue, she shook her head. __ass? What the hell are you doing up there?_ His voice emanated from somewhere above her. __on__ tell anyone, okay?_ __hat are you__ An arm came down. A very sooty arm that was encased in a red sleeve that had white trim. Or what had been white trim and which was now smudged with ash. __ou__e stuck!_ she exclaimed. __nd thank God no one lit this fire!_ __ou__e telling me,_ he muttered in his disembodied voice. __ had to blow out Fritz__ match like a hundred times before he gave up. Fuck, that sounds dirty. Anyway, just remind me never to try to be Santa for your kid, okay? I__ not doing this again, even for her._ Mary stretched a little farther in, but the logs on the hearth stopped her. __assiter. Why can__ you free yourself by dematerializing__ ____ impaled on a hook that__ iron. I can__ go ghost. And will you just take this?_ __ha