“Red Christmas”, my one and only ever holiday story (naturally featuring that festive fellow, Adolf Hitler) is now online at Apex Magazine.
She puffed on the cigarette with quick, nervous jerks of her hand. The fur coat she wore was mottled in places and her big, dark eyes looked at me with a sort of nervous excitement. ‘I am being blackmailed, you see, Herr Hitler.’
I hated the smell of tobacco. I hated the cold of my office, above the Jew baker’s shop. I hated London, and this cold, soulless island on which I’d found myself, a refugee. I hated what I had become.
‘It’s Wolf, now,’ I told her. ‘The name. Just Wolf.’
She shrugged. She didn’t care who or what I was.