Colton Kilhouser. The first Xmas Day Butcher.
That name wasn’t just a piece of lore tied to this cursed town. It was the black hole in my memory—the one I’d spent twenty years pretending didn’t exist. That sick, twisted monster killed my foster parents and my brother, Lincoln. They kept telling me that I was too young to remember, but I did. I remembered the screams, the blood, the ominous silence in the aftermath, and the way those monster’s eyes stared up at me—with no life behind them.
When I moved in with Corita—the sweet old woman who spoke to me in Spanish—I tried to start over, but the kids at school wouldn’t let me. They said I killed my family myself. They said Colton Kilhouser wasn’t even real—that it was an alias they were trying to bury.
The press and the media never showed any photos of him—only sketches and drawings. It was all very hush-hush, like it was a cover-up. But I was a barely functioning kid at that point. What did I know?
The bullies told me that Leonard Frost wasn’t even my real name—that my actual name was Colton Kilhouser. One of the most ridiculous conspiracy theories I’ve ever heard in my life. If I murdered my family, I’d remember.
I took off my gloves and rubbed my hands together for warmth, trying to shake off the ice-cold chill that that namegave me. Colton Kilhouser was supposed to be long dead. That’s the part I didn’t understand about this “Xmas Day Butcher.” The part I refused to acknowledge.
I had tried so hard, for so long, to forget that name—to erase it from my mind forever. When it came back, I refused to believe that he still existed. I didn’t understand how Colton Kilhouser had come back from the dead. It was impossible. The only possible explanation: a copycat killer. But why? Why now? Why is there a return of the Xmas Day Butcher?
A scream ripped through the plaza, echoing throughout the air, shattering the calm. Our heads jerked towards the window, eyes wide, immediately alarmed at whatever the hell was going on.
I spotted Detective Castillo running across the plaza towards the noise outside. I threw myself out the door and followed, my boots almost slipping on the ice. A small crowd of concerned townsfolk had gathered near a streetlight. An elderly woman stood frozen—pointing at something, her face paler than the snow falling around us.
“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “You told me about that missing woman, and I got scared.”
Castillo tried to calm her. “It’s alright, ma’am, just take a breath.”
My eyes followed her pointed finger. A Christmas stocking hung from the streetlight on a string—it gently swayed in the wind.
Something about it didn’t feel right at all. I stepped closer, grabbed it, and tugged softly. It was heavy.
I glanced at Castillo. “Should I…” my heart nervously thumped against my chest, “…check what’s inside?”
She nodded.
I pulled on it and broke the string that it was connected to. I slowly peeked inside, and as soon as I did, I dropped it in horror.
“What is it?!” Castillo asked frantically.
I turned to her. “It’s a goddamn foot,” I whispered, my voice trembling.
It was a severed foot. It was as white as ice, frozen and stuffed inside the stocking. The woman screamed again, and so did everyone else in the crowd as they dispersed and ran off.
CHAPTER 6
DECEMBER 6TH
Ididn’t sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the Christmas stocking swinging in the wind, the severed foot stuffed inside. The foot had Christmas-colored nails—red and green. Detective Castillo had confirmed that with me.
Angela had painted hers just like that before she vanished. She’d been smiling when she did it, sitting on the couch, humming some Christmas carol under her breath.
Now that image made me want to puke my guts out. That son of a bitch had chopped off her foot, stuffed it inside a stocking, and swung it over a streetlamp for the entire town to see, like some demented Christmas prop.
It was already morning, and I barely slept a wink. The snow had calmed, but the world outside my window was still as white and dead as the day Angela went missing. Detective Castillo safely stored the severed foot for the forensics lab, but who knew if it’d make it there in time.
The silence in my house felt heavy, and ever since yesterday, it felt like the whole town was now holding its breath. Everyone knew something was wrong now, but Castillo still wanted to keep a lid onthings for as long as possible. She didn’t want people to know that a deranged lunatic was on the loose in Whisper’s Creek.
I stepped outside to get out of my head for a bit, if that would even be possible, and that’s when I noticed the gift box.
Jesus Christ, another one.
It was calmly sitting on my porch—a neat little thing wrapped in shimmery green paper, and tied with a red ribbon. The freak must’ve been dropping them off at my house in the middle of the night. How the hell did they withstand the cold?
I felt a twitch in my neck, and the air seemed to thicken as I crouched down to pick it up. It was quite heavy as I brought it inside to set it on my coffee table.
