(Without further ado, I present a chapter that should've been put up a year ago! Quick hint: the end contains the best bit and my author's note is well worth a read too!)

Jeff the Gingerbread Man

Picture this: Christmas Day, you trudged downstairs and found yourself smack dab in the middle of a Hollywood-class holiday disaster scene.

The tree that you and Jeff had spent hours decorating the night before lay on its side, thrashing like a shark out of water, glass baubles smashing into the floor and plastic ornaments bouncing off in all directions.

Upon lifting a handful of prickly branches to find the cause of the ruckus, you discovered BEN tangled up in the multicoloured lights, clutching a candy cane violently.

Disgusted, you let go. This gave him a whack in the noggin full of pine needles. You paid no heed to his squeals of pain.

Moving on, you found the partially roasted Christmas turkey lodged firmly in a stocking. Partially roasted as in, one part was well done and juicy whlist the other half was still raw pink when you pulled it out.

All the other stockings had fallen into a crumpled heap on the milk-splashed floor, covered in soot. You'd hung them nowhere near a fireplace. Running a hand through your knotty morning hair, you found yourself desperately trying to comprehend it all.

At least the cookies you'd left out for Santa were still there. You stared at them and sighed in relief. The plate burst into screaming flames.

The cookies were scorched down to bitter charcoal, but you had no time to dwell on it, for you heard the distinct sound of D/N's barking and someone's muffled shouting coming from the kitchen.

Running as fast as you could to the scene of the crime, you found D/N sitting in front of the oven, tail wagging while he/she howled on like a broken record.

Dear Zalgo, don't tell me there's someone in my oven!

Minding safety first, you put on a pair of oven mitts and then opened the door. A demon tumbled out, his tail whipping a crack in the kitchen tiles. D/N immediately jumped him, and started furiously humping his leg.

"Aarugh! Get this little monstrosity off me!"

"Zalgo?" you gaped, eyes practically bulging out of their sockets.

The prince of darkness (reeking of alcohol, and looking most un-demonic with flashy glitter in his hair and a Santa hat on his head), made a shush gesture.

"Don't say a word, girl, or I will order my top henchman to make an assassination attempt on you right here and now!"

"Why the f*** are you in a bikini!?"

He vanished lickedy split, leaving behind a very confused (and somewhat disappointed) dog. You shook your head in amazement, but not necessarily the good kind.

"Please, no more surprises..."

"Hi," Jeff said.

You almost jumped out of your skin.

"Where did you come from!? Why is this happening to me? What is wrong with the world today? Whose ancestors did I displease?"

Breaking off into a babbling tangent, you sank dramatically to your knees. Jeff sat down next to you and sympathetically patted your shoulder. For some reason, he had a couch cushion under him.

"There, there. It won't get any better, so you should quit complaining and suck it up. That's what Nana used to say to me whenever I painted her toenails! Did I help?" he smiled, unfazed.

You sniffled. "No, but it was... it was... no. Just no, honey. Where did you get that cushion from?"

Jeff smiled sheepishly. "You know how you were busy gluing those broken decorations back together with superglue the other night?"

"Yeah..." you trailed off, unsure where this was going, but knowing full well it couldn't be anyplace good.

"You left the glue tube on the couch and forgot to put the lid back."

"So?"

"I sat on it."

The doorbell rang, interrupting you before you could have a full on fit of hysteria. You managed to pull yourself together enough to answer it. Jeff came along too, waddling with the giant cushion stuck fast to his backside.

You opened the door. Smirky halfheartedly swiped a butter knife at your face. Clearly, it wasn't meant to be a serious blow, but you dodged nevertheless.

"What the heck?"

"It's nothing personal, Y/N. Just following Lord Zalgo's orders. Do you adequately feel as though I have attempted to assassinate you?"

"Uh-huh."

"Marvellous. Merry Christmas."

The illusionist drew a length of rosy ribbon from his pocket, proceeded to tie the fastest (and poofiest) bow you'd ever seen to the butter knife's handle, hand it to you as a present and walk off.

BEN Drowned... In eggnog?

[Due to BEN's extensive (and invasive) presence in the next scenario, consider this a slice of comedy shortcake.]

BEN gave you a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey for Christmas: nabbed straight from the bookshelf of Jeff's girlfriend. He looked so ridiculously proud of himself that you felt guilted into feigning enthusiasm.

Delighted, the little elf jumped to give you a peck on the cheek and promised to buy the rest of the trilogy for your birthday.

You made a traumatised noise at the back of your throat, which was mistaken for unimaginable joy.

On the other hand, you'd got him a tube of Pringles gift wrapped in Mac Donald's wrappers. He looked at it with the wonder of a father gazing at his newborn child.

"F-For me?"

"Yeah, yeah. Go on, and don't say I don't give you nothing..."

Dark Link~
[*cough* Brain bleach will be distributed at the end of the chapter *cough*]

"Mine is bigger than yours," you crooned triumphantly, leaning in close to him.

He sweatdropped.

"They're the same size, sweet angel."

"No, mine's bigger." You leaned back and rested your head on his shoulder, looking straight at him, expecting him to admit it.

Dark Link sighed. With much regret towards letting you have a tad too much eggnog before beginning the competition, he reluctantly agreed that your gingerbread house was, despite coming from the same box, bigger than his.

"Yours is bigger, darling." Saying so, he eyed the kitchen counter doubtfully.

Sitting atop a festive tablecloth were two large gingerbread houses of identical proportion. Well, what might've been two large gingerbread houses of identical proportion at some mythiacal, faraway point in time.

One had a path of red and green peppermints which twisted through a garden of shimmering emerald icing, under an arch made by two candy canes resting their curved heads against each other, and straight to the adorned front door of an equally decorated gingerbread house with a dear little chimney and gumdrop windows and a dusting of speckled icing sugar on the roof.

The other house looked like the hideous ruin of a car wreck between an icing bag and the gingerbread man, with what appeared to be half a pound of sprinkles dumped on top for embellishment.

Delighted, you dropped back into your seat and started putting some finishing touches with a fresh tube of white icing sugar.

As he was well past done with his own gingerbread house, Dark Link watched you instead, cheek resting on hand. Soon, his eyes were going glitter glitter with elvish mischief.

Swatting his Christmas hat's giant pom-pom out of his face, the shade leaned into your line of vision.

"Give me some sugar, sugar," he purred playfully, sticking his tongue out.

You took one look at him, then down at your tube of icing sugar. Snickering uncontrollably, you aimed it it straight at his open mouth and tried to squirt a mustache on him.

It looked like something incredibly different.

Dark Link looked shocked for a minute.

But then, perhaps due to the fact that he hadn't exactly shied away from the eggnog either, he laughed and started licking it off. To which you responded by doing it again. And again.

He tried to keep up, but like with all food-related warfare, it soon got out of hand and became a rather messy show.

In hysterics, you fell back hard on your seat and whacked your clenched fist on its wooden arm repeatedly, face flushed rosy pink. Darkness did likewise, but fell off his perch instead, deep laughter rumbling from his throat.

The chair whacked into the countertop. Your combined laughter dwindled away; you both watched in horror as the walls and roof of Dark Link's gingerbread house gently caved in.

... Which revealed BEN sitting inside, cradling a hearty chunk of the house's interior in his arms like a newborn baby while taking a right gobble out of it.

Chewing merrily, the little elf raised his head to see where the sudden light had come from.

The hulking chunk of gingerbread slipped out of his tiny clutched hands and plummeted to the floor, cracking into crumbly smaller pieces upon impact.

All that BEN's frozen eyeballs could focus on... was the sight of Dark Link on his knees, gazing up innocently with a Santa hat on his head, and a mouth dripping creamy white confectionary icing onto the floor.

Giggling meekly, the little elf's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he toppled over in a dead faint right on the spot.

Bewildered, Dark Link wiped the icing from his lips and turned around to ask you what on earth BEN was doing in your kitchen.

You shrugged. "I saw him pop out the microwave, but I thought I was just seeing things again."

The gingerbread houses (and BEN's dirty mind) were ruined, but that didn't necessarily mean the former were any less delicious.

And so, despite the rude interruption from the KOed blonde elf, you and Dark Link began breaking off bits of the better-looking one and had yourselves a merry little feast. The ghost of C/N joined in too - after stuffing his blackmail camera under BEN for safekeeping.

Jingling Jack

You wanted to spend your Christmas doing something special. Laughing Jack would do "whatever" if it made you happy, or so he said.

Still, as he stood facing the front door of the first house, swathed in layers of snow-peppered winter clothes and a colorful Christmas hat, the monochrome clown began having second thoughts.

"A-Are yo-you s-sure ab-about thi-this, gu-gummy b-b-bear?" he stammered through chattering teeth.

"You said you'd do anything!" you beamed, the eagerness of doing a good deed keeping you toasty from head to toe. "All the profits from this sale will go towards medical research to find a cure for-

L.J knocked on the door, loud and hard. He was holding the collection box, while you had the goods. "Got it!"

You jokingly pouted and adjusted your earmuffs. When the sound of the door unlatching cut the quiet breeze, you jumped into gear.

"Hi! We're going door-to-door, selling cough drops and aspirin for charity! All proceeds go towards finding a cure for-"

The bleary-eyed man, covered from head to toe in gang tattoos, with funky pink hair and multiple piercings, dropped a wad of cash at your feet.

Then, he grabbed a box of aspirin from your tray and slammed the door in your face.

L.J clenched his teeth, livid at Pinkie's disrespect. He started rolling up his multiple layers of sleeves.

"Ohh, when I'm through with that punk-"

You straightened up, counting the cash with genuine delight.

"Ten bucks! What a nice guy!" you obliviously grabbed him. "Come on, hon, we've got twelve houses to go!"

Dragged helplessly by the sleeve, L.J spared a final glance at the punk guy's house before trudging after you.

The monochrome clown insisted on being the one to knock on the next door. You had no qualms, and cheerfully swapped places.

"Are you sure you know what to say?"

"Yup!"

Stepping up, he knocked again. This time, it was answered by a little girl who was chewing bubblegum, and a little boy - both around five years old. Their grandmother was with them, purse at the ready.

They stared in wonder at the holiday-themed clown, barely noticing you at all.

L.J took this as a cue to flash them his best smile. Crouching down to the children's level, he said, using his friendliest, most upbeat voice:

"Hey, kiddies! You wanna buy some drugs? For charity?"

The Previous Night, At The Creepypasta Mansion...
(Christmas Eve, 7:15 PM)

The surgery door opened and closed.

"It's a blizzard out there," Smirky grumbled, loosening a stripy scarf from his neck. He threw it aside, completely disregarding the coat rack standing right next to him, and his coat soon followed. "You could drown in it."

He put a special, unnecessary emphasis on 'you'.

"Hm. Is that so?" Smiley turned his head slightly in acknowledgement, but not quite enough for the illusionist to see his face.

He wasn't wearing his surgical mask.

As Smirky passed by, he took a curious-yet-disguised-as-casual look at his brother's work. Smiley, it would appear, was refitting restraints onto the surgery table. Uncommon, but not cause for alarm.

Restraints were the not-so-good doctor's norm when in preparation for a delicate surgery, one where he needed his patient to stay still, or if he planned to delve into the innards of someone packing more physical bulk - L.J, for example.

(Since Smiley had bypassed fabric in favour of leather, he assumed the latter.)

One thing that Smirky raised an eyebrow at, however, was the unusual addition of an extra restraint for the neck, and a tight-looking one at that.

Planning something for Santa Claus? He wanted to ask, but abstained.

"Who are you trying to kill? Laughing Jack?"

Head cocking to a side, Smiley simply gave him a closed-mouthed smile. Smirky didn't like it; it lent too much innocence to the psycho who had none.

"Something like that."

At those words, a peculiar sensation rose in his chest.

Apprehension? Why?

Throat stricken with a sudden dryness, Smirky turned his back on Smiley to head for the sink-

-and that's when three little words turned his blood to ice:

"It's for you."

He froze dead in his tracks.

"What... What did you just say?"

His brother's uncanny smile faltered, concern washing over. "I didn't say anything. You're still ill, aren't you? Has your fever come back? Please, let me-"

Smiley reached out for him. Glut with wary, Smirky stepped out of his reach and then some, posthaste.

"Don't have a fever," he mumbled. "And I don't want your help."

The illusionist turned around - and recoiled harshly as he came face-to-face with Smiley again.

"Why are you going so soon?" the not-so-good doctor questioned, stepping aside as they briefly circled.

"I-I have somewhere else I need to be." Smirky took another step back, less than three feet away from the exit.

Smiley hid the faintest ghost of a smirk as he respectfully turned aside. Then, without a breath of warning, hurled Smirky against the door with a sideways elbow strike.

WHAM!

The door's internal metallic mechanisms rattled. The sharp-toothed crazy thing's breath hitched. The back of his skull took the brunt of impact.

"Umph..."

Back pressed against the door, a stunned Smirky slid to the floor. Smiley pinned him by the throat halfway down and dragged him upwards, giving his brother a fair moment to absorb the worst of the shock before he stabbed him in the neck with a hypodermic syringe full of sedative.

Smirky writhed in discomfort, trying desperately to toss his head and rip the needle from his flesh, air hissing through his shark-like teeth as Smiley depressed the plunger as slowly as possible.

When the plunger hit the bottom of the syringe's marked barrel, the not-so-good doctor withdrew the needle with a wrench and cast it aside.

The fragile glass shattered.

At the same time, Smirky drew his knees to his chest and lashed out with a ferocious kick.

By a narrow margin, he missed the intended point. The kick connected with Smiley's pelvis instead, and would've shattered something if his bones weren't creepypasta-grade sturdy.

The scalding flash of agony forced Smiley to release his locked grip around his brother's throat, hollering.

Wasting not a second, Smirky ducked and bolted past him. Enraged, Smiley whipped around and caught him by the arm. Smirky whirled around, tearing free of his grip.

It happened so fast.

The moment Smirky's guard dropped (at the end of his spin), Smiley tried to strike him down with a vicious roundhouse kick. The illusionist evaded it, but was pushed into the heart of the surgery in the process - the true intent behind the attack.

By the time Smirky realized this, it was too late. Chuckling in a deeply unsettling rasp, not-so-good doctor tackled him onto the awaiting surgery table.

Despite the sedative flowing through his head, Smirky put up a hell of a fight, thrashing and clawing and snarling like a trapped animal.

Smiley kept him pinned with all his might, until he could him hold down with one hand, plus his whole weight.

Breathing faster from the thrill of it all, he snatched the neck restraint and pulled it over Smirky's throat.

Click, click, click...

In the process of securing it, his concentration momentarily wavered, and just like that, Smirky threw him off and dived from the surgery table.

Like before, Smiley managed to grab hold of him. The twins tumbled to the floor together, fighting a one-sided struggle.

(When one grew weaker by the second, whilst the other's strength and insanity had been amplified tenfold by an ultimate madness virus, one-sided was the only way to put it)

Thud!

Smirky landed flat on his back, wrists pinned above his head in an iron grip. Now feeling the sedative's bite, he only panted. Revelling darkly in his brother's helplessness, Smiley leant in.

"Scowling all the time isn't good for you. You really should learn to smile."

At the last word, the not-so-good doctor bared his teeth in a malicous grin. They were elongated, needle-like, and painted with strings of glistening red from a bitten tongue.

"You want me to... smile?"

Smirky gave Smiley the sweetest shark-toothed smile he could muster, relaxing under his weight. Then, he made a lunge and bit his shoulder.

________________
*flies past on a winged apple* HAAAAPPY NEW YEAAAAR!

For the scenarios of this chapter, I wanted to kick the funny factor up the arse a notch. I write because I love to make people like you laugh and distract from the woes of the day, even for the briefest glimmer of a second, and I hope this partiuclar chapter reflects on that!

Now, onto something a little more serious, concerning Smiley and Smirky's little segment. Think carefully before you answer. Would you like the next update to be a mini special chapter carrying on where this left off?
After all, it is our Phantomly tradition to celebrate whenever we hit triple digit milestones...

And finally, wishing you a fantastic day (or a night filled with good dreams), I now proceed to ask you to feed this poor, hungry, lonely chapter the first vote stars of 2017.
And don't forget to tell me which parts you liked the best in the comments!

Feed the comment box your positive opinions. *^*
This chapter is 3083 words long, excluding this author's note.

Toodles!
~TheNightPhantom