Christmas is just five weeks away and I have a writing deadline to meet. Hellish Press is creating an anthology of short horror with a holiday twist, Joy to the World becomes End of the World, Dashing through the Snow becomes Slashing through the Snow. I really need some cash to get my wife the latest iPhone 15 XRZ, a “From Santa” gift that will appear under the tree. But first, I need to think up a uniquely dark and twisted Christmas story that takes the happiest time of the year and sends it straight to the gates of Hell. It’s harder than you might think when you’re surrounded by colorful lights, hot cocoa, carolers that just never get tired of hearing themselves, and let’s not forget everyone becoming a giver, only for a couple of weeks out of the year until they see their bank accounts and resort back to the takers they truly are.
I don’t have lots of time to research my subject matter either. I usually take some time to read about the people, places, and experiences that I plan to write about but my time is limited this holiday season so I’ll need to push my creativity to the limit. I’ve heard of people who go mad during the holidays as they crack under the pressure of the truth behind The Most Wonderful Time of the Year. And what exactly is that truth?
Let’s start with the family I haven’t seen in a year. You know the kind. The family you only see at Christmas because otherwise you’d be on the six’o’clock news. I never understood that. The Christmas spirit taking over like witchcraft and forcing people to be around others they despise, like it’s offering something of value to either party when it’s just explosive anger ready to erupt in the middle of eating Christmas turkey dinner with Uncle Henry, the only one who is actually liked. Poor Uncle Henry.
And of course, there are all the deals and the things you must have in your life and in your house otherwise it’s all FOMO. All that shit about “it’s the thought that counts” is just that, bullshit. If it’s the thought that counts, then why is everyone counting how many gifts they gave and received. No wonder people go insane and lose it. If it was the thought that counted, my wife wouldn’t be on me about getting her the iPhone 15 XRZ because Margie Mathers next door already has it. Fucking FOMO.
Lastly, the decorations. The brightly lit, spinning and singing snowmen and reindeer across each yard competing for the highest electricity bill. Last year, Don Mathers had the biggest snowman on the block with the longest carrot nose. Don’s definitely compensating for other shortcomings. The Four Hundred Dollar Train Set that Spans the Entire Yard Award always goes to The Owens. Our traditional Christmas lights went right out the window when my wife Darcy saw Santa Claus ejaculating his jolly all over the neighborhood. So we welcomed the largest inflatable Santa Claus on the block to our family. Wishing you all joy and peace from The Reese Family. That’s the truth about the merriest time of the year.
Come to think of it, that would make one hell of a story. A man loses his mind during a holly jolly Christmas and nobody is dreaming of a white Christmas anymore because it’ll all drenched in red. Since I have no time to research between meeting the writing deadline along with getting the Christmas decorations up, attending holiday parties, and mentally preparing myself to see my ultra radical sister who makes Berkeley locals look conservative, I’ll need to consume my every thought with my story. As I was out in the front yard, putting up my inflatable friend, I was imagining what my character would do as he descended into madness. I was of course interrupted by my neighbor Don Mathers, the man with the longest carrot nose snowman on the block. He waved to me. “Mornin’ Walter. I see you’re starting early this year. That’s great.” “Earlier the better they say.” “Margie made some Christmas cookies from scratch if you want some. It’s part of her 12 days of Christmas baking. They’re delicious,” Don said. “Thanks but watching my weight.” “A little fun never hurt anyone,” he smirked and I wanted to break that carrot right off his snowman’s nose along with his. Maybe even swap them out. Now that is exactly what a man descending into madness would do. “You’re absolutely right Don,” I smiled as big as I could and my eyes felt like they were going to fall right out of their sockets. “Great, I’ll get some and bring em out,” he headed inside his house. Last year was the first year Don started to be friendly with me. The same with The Owens. Once I crossed over and my yard started to look like elves vomited their Christmas spirit everywhere, I became one of them. Don walked out in his knitted red sweater with white snowflakes, a platter of cookies in his hands. “Walter, I’m glad you changed your mind. It’s truly the most wonderful time of the year.” I stared down at the pile of colorful sugar cookies shaped like stockings, Santa heads, candy canes, and Christmas trees with perfect red frosted trim and edible bows and gems. Those cookies infuriated me and I couldn’t stop thinking about tearing off Don’s nose and putting it onto his stupid mechanical snowman in his front yard. “Walter?” Don said. Without thinking much about it, I reached for a candy cane sugar cookie and shoved it into my mouth, chewing it mouth wide open, and stared right at Don’s nose. “W-Walter?” I’ve never been a big fan of sweets, but I figured, fuck it. Why not? Before swallowing the first cookie, I grabbed another and shoved it in my mouth and then another. Chewing loudly with my teeth chomping up and down, red and green cookie crumbs spilled down my chin and onto the grass. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you Walter but I think you should go inside,” Don was clearly disgusted. With the cookie tray in his hands, he marched back into his house and I spit the rest of the cookie out of my mouth and onto his side of the lawn. Next to his mechanical snowman stood a mechanical deer. Walking across his yard, without even looking around, I picked up the deer, threw it onto the ground and stomped the shit out of it then went inside my house. Now I could finally sit down and work on my story. “Walter, I asked you to hang the Christmas drapes. Your sister will be here tomorrow,” Darcy never gave me a break. “I just got finished putting up the Santa Claus in the front. I was just -” We were interrupted by a woman’s scream outside. “Oh my God,” Darcy ran out the front door to see who was in trouble. I walked over to the living room window and looked out from inside. There was Margie shrieking over Rudolph’s ripped off limbs across her lawn. I could hear her outside. “Who would do such a thing? How horrible. We paid $250 dollars for this,” Margie said. “Oh Marg, I’m sorry. There’s always someone out there ready to ruin the Christmas spirit,” Darcy said. Margie bent over and picked up Rudolph’s front leg. I smirked from behind the window blinds. I was feeling some pretty good adrenaline from those cookies and tearing Rudolph to smithereens, when Darcy came back inside, I was putting up those Christmas drapes and whistling, We Wish You a Merry Christmas. “You wouldn’t believe what happened. Someone destroyed The Mathers’ Rudolph. Some people really lose it during the holidays,” Darcy said but I didn’t quite hear her because I could only think about Don Mathers’ nose and how great it would feel to cut it right off. That night, I finally got some quiet time to work on my story. I was running out of time and the next day my sister was coming to visit. My sister was God’s way of playing a practical joke on my life forever or until she croaked and it didn’t seem like she was going to croak anytime soon. She hated men. She hated kids. And she was the only person I met who could start a fight with you because you said you loved pumpkin pie and that made you a racist. I had to get back to writing but my mind felt scattered. Then I heard something outside. From the living room window, I could see The Owens’ Christmas train light up in their front yard. As I stared out at the train, I heard a scratching at the window. Pulling back the Christmas drapes, I saw the stray cat that Darcy insisted on feeding everyday. That’s when a thought crossed my mind for my story. I went to the kitchen and pulled a knife out of the wood cutlery stand and opened the back door. “Here kitty kitty,” I whispered. It popped out from around the corner, curled its tail around the wall, and stuck it high up in the air. I reached over and scratched his back then squeezed the skin at his neck and shoved him down onto the grass. Thinking of Don’s face, I shoved the knife into the cat, pulled the knife out, and shoved it in again. It wasn’t until the next morning when the real fun would begin. We woke up to two police cars on our street parked in front of The Owens’ yard. Margie was outside in silk pajama shorts that were too short and her night slippers with fur on the tips and small heels. Don had on his navy blue with gold trim robe with the monogram M in gold cursive font. Stan and Jill Owens were outside and Jill was crying on Stan’s shoulder. “What in God’s name happened now?” Darcy said as she put her sweater on and went for the door. “Are you really going out there?” I said. “Walter, there are police cars on our block. You should be concerned too,” she walked out and I followed. Margie saw us from across the street and walked briskly over in her high heel slippers and veiny, cellulite legs. “I just can’t believe this,” Margie said. “What happened?” asked Darcy. “You know the stray black cat that wanders around here? Well, Jill went out this morning to get the mail and she found it. It was in one of the train cars in their front yard. Dead. There was blood and guts all over the train,” Margie said. Darcy was speechless with her hand over her mouth. “First our Rudolph and now this,” Margie said. I just stared at The Owens’ yard, remembering that feeling of shoving the knife through fur and skin. Remembering the cookies stuffed in my mouth and the crumbs falling down my chin. “This is too much. Walter, we should go back inside. Your sister will be here soon. Walter?” I felt her hand shake my shoulder. “What Darcy!” “I was just saying that your sister will be here soon.” “Oh, Katherine is coming?” Margie asked, digging for more information. “She goes by Lottie now,” Darcy said. And Margie scores. I chuckled and Darcy looked at me with wide eyes. “She goes by Katherine because that’s her fucking name,” I wish I didn’t have a sister. “I like Lottie,” said Margie. And with that, I turned and walked back to the house. “Walter?” Darcy called for me and I pretended not to hear her. What kind of name is Lottie anyways. Probably another word she learned in her Advanced Poetry class. I had to get back to writing but with Katherine, or Lottie, or whatever her name was now arriving in the next two hours, Darcy assigned me more chores. “I need you to wash those dishes while I run to the store,” Darcy said. “We just went to the store yesterday.” “I know but your sister is a vegan and she only eats gluten free food now. I didn’t know until this morning.” “Since when? Last year she had no problem filling up on French bread and ham,” I said. “I don’t know Walter. Why don’t you ask her when she gets here. Please do the dishes and pick up the living room,” Darcy walked out and slammed the door. Scrubbing the dishes and thinking about what my main character would do next, I stopped moving the soapy sponge along the plate. Gripping the plate in both hands, I turned around to face the kitchen, sink behind me, and slammed it onto the floor. I grabbed a drinking glass from the sink and threw that down. I was about to grab a coffee mug then spotted Darcy’s glass Christmas tray on the counter. It had a 1940s Santa Claus painted on it with those round rosy cheeks. I picked it up and brought it above my head. With full force, I threw it down and it shattered. The door opened and Darcy walked in. “I forgot my wall-” she stared at the kitchen floor and her mouth dropped open. “What the hell happened? Is that my 1940s Santa tray?” “Whoops,” I blurted and turned around to continue washing the dishes. “What is going on with you Walter?” “Just getting into the Christmas spirit Darce! A little fun never hurt anyone.” She walked out. And she slammed the door again. By noon, Katherine arrived. She brought her bearded dragon, what she called her therapy animal. The first thing I said to her was, “They let you on the plane with that thing?” “Not even a hello Walter. Yes, they let me on the plane with Lola. Therapy animals are a serious thing Walter,” she said. “Are they Katherine?” I replied. “My name is Lottie.” “Here we go. Lottie and Lola,” I rolled my eyes. “Lola is named after Lola Ridge, the Irish-American avant-garde poet. You would know if you were cultured at all.” Before I could respond, Darcy walked into the living room and gave my sister a hug. “It’s so good to see you Lottie. And who is your cute little friend?” Darcy asked. “This is Lola,” Lottie said. “I think it’s great that you have a therapy animal. They are so necessary in today’s world,” said Darcy. I looked at the bearded dragon. Her tongue slipped out and back into her mouth. She was kind of cute and she didn’t talk so I liked her already. She sat there calmly, looking around and slowly turning her scaly head. “So Lottie, Walter was wondering why you became a Vegan and started eating gluten free food,” of course Darcy would say this. “I wasn’t wondering. I just -” I was interrupted by Lottie. “You know Walter if you paid any attention to me when we were younger than you’d know that I was gluten intolerant. It just affected me more as an adult. You were always too busy writing your stories and never cared enough to notice. And if mom and dad weren’t so worried about you back then, maybe they would’ve noticed me more. As always, you got all the attention.” “Excuse me while I use the restroom,” I thought about that knife going through the cat. “Of course. Anytime you’re faced with the truth you run away,” Lottie said. “You do the same thing with me Walter and it doesn’t feel good,” Darcy always had to chime in. “Can a man take a piss in his own house?” “Walter, how could -” but before Darcy could finish bitching, I walked upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom. Staring up at the mirror, I tried to get a hold of myself and concentrate on my story but my mind was clouded with rage. I wasn’t buying Darcy that phone or the next designer purse or shoes or whatever she FOMOed over. This story was for me now. I washed my face and used the decorative Christmas towel to dry my face off, the one Darcy doesn’t allow anyone to use as an actual towel because it’s just for decoration. How did I end up in this gluten free, therapy animal, vegan Christmas festivity where towels are not used for the purpose of drying something off? Then, I saw it. Right out the bathroom window. Outside, stuck in a tree trunk, was Don’s chopping axe. I heard Darcy calling for me but my mind was on that axe. I walked downstairs. “You okay in there?” Darcy asked with a hint of sarcasm. “Why are you smiling like that?” Lottie said. “I’m great!” I said. “Well, dinner is done. Let’s sit,” said Darcy. Because Lottie was a vegan and ate gluten free food, Darcy felt it would be rude of us to eat meat and gluten at the table. She took it upon herself, without letting me know, to prepare a meal entirely of vegan grass crackers, steamed vegetables, and vegan sausage. “Walter, it’s not that bad. If you ate more stuff like this you wouldn’t have such a hard time using the toilet,” Lottie said. Darcy chimed in, “Lottie’s right. And you do sometimes go multiple times a day. The doctor said you should start eating better too.” “Why don’t you mind your own fucking business Katherine, Lola, whatever the hell your name is.” “Walter!” Darcy scooted her chair out and stood up. Lottie quickly walked over and picked up her bearded dragon and stroked it while whispering something to herself over and over again. “I’m not eating this cardboard shit. This is a waste of my writing time.” “You’re still following that dream of yours,” Lottie chuckled and rubbed the bearded dragon’s head. “You’re kidding right? You can’t even get your shit together enough that you need a fucking therapy animal!” Lottie’s mouth dropped open and she turned bright red, just like Old Saint Nick himself. “Walter, you and I will talk about this later,” Darcy said. “Can’t fucking wait!” “What has gotten into you Walter Reese? You’re being a real asshole,” said Darcy. I stormed through the kitchen and out the back door. Our backyard property and all the neighbors’ properties had no fences. My story was coming together all in my head. I walked straight across Don Mathers’ backyard to that axe sticking out of the tree trunk. After pulling the axe out, I held it in my right hand, pointed downward against my side and walked back to my house. When I walked inside, the kitchen and living room lights were turned off. The dinner table still had plates full of vegan cardboard and no one was downstairs. The upstairs bedroom light called for me as it lit the staircase and the muffled sound of the T.V. in our bedroom could be heard. I picked the axe up, held it with both hands, and walked up. The bedroom door was open a crack and I could see Lottie and Darcy sitting there with their glasses of wine. I kicked the door open. “What the hell Walter, what are you doing? You scared the hell out of me,” Darcy said. “I’m making my writing deadline bitch,” I swung the axe down onto Darcy’s head and split her skull. Her eyes faded into a mindless body and blood trickled down her forehead and into the crevice of her eye duct. Pressing my boot on her face, I yanking the axe out of her head and looked over at Lottie. She wouldn’t stop screaming and scrambled to get off of the bed. She looked over at her bearded dragon Lola, who was sitting on the dresser. Lola moved her rough, scaly head to the left and stuck out her tongue, then back in. “Don’t fuckin touch her,” I said. “Walter, please -” I swung the axe down onto Lottie’s head, lifted it out and swung it full force across her neck. Her head went rolling across the wooden floor, smearing a trail of blood along its path. Lola sat, calm and relaxed on the dresser, her tongue slurped out and then back in again. Lottie’s headless body dropped to its knees then its upper half slammed down onto the floor and I couldn’t help but whistle Jingle Bells. The bedspread was soaked in red crimson with Darcy hunched over, face first in the covers. Dark, wet puddles of blood painted the floor and I almost slipped but held onto the dresser. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and saw red splattered across my face and I couldn’t help but smile. I swung the axe into Lottie’s back and left it there. Gently picking up Lola, I walked downstairs to my computer. She sat on the couch pillow next to me, her tongue slithered out and then back in. I finally had peace and quiet to write my story. I was just about to start when I heard Don and Margie Mathers pull up in their driveway. I stopped typing and couldn’t help but wonder what my character would do next. I walked back upstairs to pull the axe out of Lottie and couldn’t stop thinking about Don Mathers’ nose. -Stephanie Evelyn (Sterp)