R.B. Ashton
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Spoiled: A Christmas Kaiju Story - 1
🕑 Added 2021-11-05 11:01:01 +0000 UTC***Part 1 of 6 in a build up to some holiday revelry! This one gets off to a fairly slow start, but I promise it quickly gets out of hand after this...***
Holly Kensington had always had everything she wanted – her father was big and successful in business, even if he was rather small and retiring in their mansion. Things had changed a bit since three months ago, when her father remarried to a contemptuous, controlling woman, but Holly’s rightful position was about to be restored, just in time for Christmas. A new young man, Duncan Sinclair, had moved into their neighbourhood in Scarsdale, and while her dad was increasingly distracted by his new wife’s needs, Holly was positive that Mr Eligible Sinclair would soon be providing for her. He had dropped big hints that he’d be down at the Christmas Market this evening, and she intended to lay the foundations of a richly populated future. What’s more, her dad had all but confirmed she’d be getting a new car on Christmas Day, granting her full freedom to realise that new life.
Holly was on her way out when she got distracted by the enticing smell of gingerbread cookies. Her nose carried her away into the expansive kitchen, where she found a tray of freshly baked gingerbread men cooling on the island. With only the warm atmospheric lights on, and the high cupboards lined with garlands, it was a suitably seasonal scene that Holly couldn’t resist, so she glided over to the tray and took a cookie. Still warm. She turned the little man in her hand, inhaling the lush mixed spices. He was especially detailed; their house help, Deb, was an artist in the kitchen, and had given him a sensible, smart expression and a little icing bow tie.
Almost as handsome, Holly thought, as Duncan Sinclair. She wished she had him there. Oh Duncan – she pictured him in her hands. You smell delicious. Soon enough, though. Tonight was the night.
“What are you wearing?” A sharp voice made Holly spin around and she almost dropped her cookie. Lithe, tall Vivian was standing in the kitchen doorway, in her puffy grey coat, dark hair poking out from a green and white beanie that made her head look like an oversized peppermint. Vivian Giles, Holly’s slightly older step-sister (at 19 to her 18), who had not taken the Kensington name when her mother had. Because she was an objectionable hag.
Vivian’s scowl made Holly check her own appearance – a figure to be jealous of, no doubt about it. Holly was athletic, with firm muscles, great skin and enviable big breasts, and she’d put it on show tonight with an unquestionably sexy Santa’s Helper costume: short (very short) red skirt and a big buckled belt, and a fluffy white-coloured red top with a deep enough neckline to show off her tits. That’s where Vivian’s eyes lingered for a moment, albeit with disgust.
Forced disgust, Holly told herself. There was no way Vivian wasn’t jealous.
“I’m only sharing what I’ve been blessed with,” Holly explained, self-importantly, whilst gesturing with the gingerbread man in her hand. “Bringing a bit of seasonal cheer with my” – she arched her back, to stick out her breasts and ass – “assets. I see you’ve got the Scrooge angle covered, yourself. You couldn’t find clothes any more plain?”
“You’ll freeze to death,” Vivian said, shaking her head, as if she were her mother. “And this is . . . not what Christmas is about.”
“Not for you,” Holly shrugged, sliding the cookie under her nose, giving it a seductive nibble. “But I’m looking for something special for the season.”
Vivian gave an irritated snort and turned away. “Whatever, enjoy pneumonia.”
Holly gave her an insincere smile and wave as Vivian stomped off, and the front door slammed a minute later. She was so annoying, always trying to act better than Holly, and always behaving as though living here was such a disappointment. Holly paused a moment, giving the cookie another look. Forget Duncan, this little gingerbread person could be Vivian, today.
“What’s that, my dear unhappy sister? Oh, it’s too late for sorry.” With a cruel smile, Holly bit off the gingerbread head and started chewing happily. Absolutely divine.
She looked up and saw the housekeeper, Deb, standing in one of the kitchen doorways, watching with her perpetually unhappy expression. Deb was a tragic case of her own. She wasn’t much older than them, somewhere in her late twenties, and was pretty in an unkempt, lower-class sort of way, with her dark hair always bunched up and her curvy body generally hidden, as it was now, in loose dark trousers and unfitted uniform shirts. She had a good job here, living and working in a mansion she couldn’t have hoped to even visit otherwise. But she always looked tense, as though continually on the verge of saying something which she didn’t dare.
On this occasion, it was definitely something to do with the cookies, because Deb paced through the kitchen, looking from them back to Holly, and the one in her hand, with a slightly disapproving expression. To encourage a better response, Holly took another bite, and held her gaze while chewing.
Deb prodded another cookie on the tray to check it was cooling well, and sighed but still said nothing. So Holly tried to provoke her with a remark: “I love how detailed you make them, Debs. Really helps me imagine what I’d do if I could shrink Vivian.”
Deb humoured that with a small smile. She lowered her eyes back to the tray, with what Holly thought to be a “these weren’t meant for you” look, so Holly added, “I’ll pretend the next one’s you, if you’re feeling left out.”
That got a response, as the maid said, “You’re not fighting with Vivian again are you? I was going to ask why you’re not sharing a ride with her to the market.”
This made Holly pause, her smile fading.
“Only” – Des gave her a more meaningful look – “she’s taken the car.”
Holly almost crushed the cookie in her hand, then tossed it aside and raced through the house to the front door. She threw it open and looked out into the hundred-yard drive, with the glistening decorated white cedar tree and the large turning circle and the distinct absence of their shared Tesla. Dad’s Chrysler was there, shining black reflecting the twinkling lights that lined the house, but a big empty space for the Tesla. Holly turned back instead and shouted, emotions heating her face.
“Dad! Vivian’s taken the car! Dad!” Her voice rose to a scream that rattled the chandelier, and her father, Charles, hurried out from the living room. He was short and overweight with little hair left but a bushy moustache, and was dressed in a smoking jacket as though ready to settle for the evening, despite the early hour. People often joked, how did this squat, strange man end up with a blond beauty of a daughter like Holly.
Charles’ new wife, the ludicrously-named Faun, came up behind him, her presence begging the same question: Faun was tall like Vivian, with even darker hair, and though approaching her fifties she looked beautiful, always refined in smart pale suits and subtle lipsticks, as she wore now. Faun was ten years younger than Charles, taller than him, prettier, and better spoken, but she’d fallen for him the same way Holly’s mum had: because he was filthy, filthy rich, and he was a total pushover.
That, however, created the biggest clash in the household now, because Faun took deep, terrible exception to Charles giving Holly what she wanted, as she wanted to be the one in charge. Something proved again now by her cutting in before Charles could ask what was wrong: “Must you scream up the whole neighbourhood at your slightest inconvenience?”
“Vivian took my car!” Holly shot back, hotly. “I’ve got plans this evening – I’m going to meet my friends at the market.”
Again, when Charles opened his mouth to say something, Faun cut in: “It’s not your car, how many times do we have to discuss this? If you can’t share, you don’t deserve to use it at all.”
Holly glared, so affronted that for a moment she could not speak.
“Now, now,” Charles fussed. “There’s no need for that –”
“Oh there’s every need for it,” Faun spat. “Day on day we have the same complaints; the sense of entitlement with this girl! And look, you were planning to go out like that? Frankly, Vivian has probably done you a favour!”
“Excuse me?” Holly flared. She and her daughter were as bad as each other. “I’ll dress however I like.”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Faun rolled her eyes.
“Fuck you!” Holly snapped, the frustration bubbling right out hard enough to chill the reception hall. No one blinked. Charles’ mouth had fallen open with shock. But Faun, once she got over her own shock, gave a haughty laugh. There was triumph in it: she’d found an excuse to be horrible.
“Well, there we have it. That’s the final straw, don’t you think Charles? Congratulations young lady, you can forget going out at all this evening. And you can most certainly forget about getting a new set of keys under the tree!”
“What?” Holly darted forward, but Faun put a hand up and held her nose high.
“That’s quite enough,” she said. “I’ll not hear any more of your cheek. Go to your room right now.”
“You can’t –”
“I said go to your room!” Faun commanded with a voice that shook the house and utterly froze Holly. The woman had no right, and was awful, and Holly had absolutely no intention of doing a thing she said. But she was also frightening. Holly’s eyes rested on Charles, to insist he step in, but her father shuffled uncomfortably, swallowed and looked away.
“Dad!” Holly cried.
“Don’t you talk to him,” Faun snapped. “You’ve had it far too easy for far too long, young lady, and we can see the result of that, can’t we? Never in my life have I seen such insubordinate, vulgar behaviour from a young lady.”
“Dad . . .” Holly tried again, voice weakening as she saw her father wasn’t going to intervene.
He shook his head and murmured, “Let’s just – that is, I think it’s best – why don’t you go on upstairs, Holly, and we’ll discuss this with cooler heads shortly?” Holly kept glowering, and he raised his eyes to her again. He gave a soft, pleading nod, asking her to just go.
Gritting her teeth, Holly turned and marched up the stairs. She stomped on every step, wishing she could crack right through the boards and show them. As she made her way, she saw Deb watching from the kitchen door, completing her embarrassment. She raced on, down the long landing and into her room, and slammed the door after her. She held in the screams that she hated them all; they didn’t deserve it.
But she slumped on her huge bed and buried her head in her hands and sobbed.
It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes before her father gave a limp knock and sidled into the room. Holly sniffed and wiped her nose on her forearm, watching his cowed entrance.
“If you’ve come to offer to drive me, I don’t want to go anymore,” Holly said, bitterly.
Charles gave her an unhappy smile and shook his head. “No, it’s not, I mean – I can’t take you, sorry.”
Holly’s stare hardened. Of course she still intended to go. How dare he.
“You need to, that is –” he stuttered, trying to get out a predictable message. She should respect her step-mom. He had no choice but to enforce her rules. Whatever.
“She’s not the boss of this house, Dad,” Holly said, crossing her arms. “And I know you’re still giving me that car for Christmas. Whatever she says.”
Charles refused to meet her gaze, looking at the floor.
“Seriously? You can’t let her control you. I’m your daughter, not hers.”
His head bobbed along, conceding, but she could already sense where his allegiance lay, as it had for the last three months. Holly glared at him with distaste. All the more reason she needed to get out of here and see Duncan. But her father’s brow folded, something else he was trying to find courage to say. He looked over a shoulder as though worried they might be overheard, then dug in a pocket, quickly, to get this over with.
“Now, I might not be able to give you a car, not right now,” he said awkwardly, “but later, certainly, when Faun’s not so upset, and things cool down. In the meantime, and I know this isn’t the same, but I hope it’ll help – she doesn’t need to know –”
“Oh come on, Dad!” Holly cried out in impatience at his dithering. “What is it?”
“You’ll remember the Midwinter Jewel,” he said, pausing to give her a serious look.
Holly froze. Well this was big. The Midwinter Jewel had been in their family for centuries, so they said, and was quite possibly the single most expensive item the lavish Kensingtons owned. It had been the subject of multiple feuds, and was kept securely away from prying hands. As he read her surprised face, Charles’s expression softened, and he took his hand from his pocket, trailing a very long chain. He opened his fist to reveal it, a frosted diamond in elaborately worked platinum that looked like the world’s most expensive snowflake.
“We discussed, didn’t we?” Charles whispered. “This would be yours one day. Your mother wanted you to have it when you married. Or turned thirty, whichever came first. But the year has been tough on you, hasn’t t? And I thought, well, if we say it’s just to hang on to for now, yes?”
“Yes,” Holly replied with quiet awe, a hand already reaching towards it.
Charles let her take it, and she held it before her face, watching the light glitter through the diamond’s many chambers.
“Remember,” her father said, “they say you can use it for one wish. A wish that your heart desires.”
Holly’s heart lifted in her chest as years of childhood stories and fireside chat brought back a new sense of magical hope, where anything was possible and when she one day got her hands on this magical item, well, she could do anything. And right now, picturing Faun’s humourless face and no-tits Vivian sneaking out with her car, she wanted that power to do anything. It was Christmas, too – exactly the right time for the Midwinter Jewel to make miracles happen.
“Of course, it’s something to think very wisely about,” her father was saying, sagely. “Be careful what you wish for, it goes without saying, but also try to think in the abstract, that’s how your mother looked at it. A good wish is one for something we cannot get ourselves –”
“I wish to be big,” Holly blurted out, staring deep into the diamond. She wasn’t thinking about the words, just letting out her feelings. “I don’t want anyone to be able to look down on me or be able to make me feel small. I want to be special in a way that people can’t avoid, in a way that leaves no doubt. No one will answer back to me, no one will say I can’t. That’s what I wish for.”
She looked up at her father with newfound fire in her chest, sure of herself now, and found him watching her warily.
“Yes, well,” he began, a little sadly. “As I said, it’s something to think –”
Whatever tired precautions he was going to offer, he never got the chance. The Midwinter Jewel came to life in Holly’s hands, sparkling with a flicker that momentarily dazzled her. She dropped it with a yelp, for a second thinking it had just caught the light strangely, but she was suddenly overcome by a strange wobbly feeling. She was about to say something, to reach out to Charles, when the room started to constrict around her. She cried out, seeing the walls closing in, the ceiling falling – then heard the crack of the bed and her father shouting as he darted away from her, getting smaller.
No, it wasn’t the room or Charles that were changing. She was getting bigger. Quickly.
Holly slipped off the broken bed and landed heavily on the floor as she watched her arms and legs shooting out ahead of her, swelling, stretching towards the walls. Charles ran panicked out the door just as her foot hit the frame, toes as high as the handle. She stared dumbstruck at the size of herself, folding over as her head brushed the ceiling. She marvelled at her hands, bigger than plates, and had to bend her knees to fit in the room as she kept expanding. There was a great creaking underneath her, and she realised the floor felt weak, bending under her enlarging rear.
“Dad!” she shouted. “What is –”
But the floor gave way beneath her, and Holly fell with a cry.
