George gave me an annoyed look and then scoffed. He cracked his knuckles and looked into space, misty-eyed. “I was strict with Clara because she liked to party and drink. She was only 22 years old.” He sucked in a breath, fighting back tears. “We always fought about that. She loved her freedom and felt entitled to it, but I was trying to keep her safe. I loved my daughter, and I always will.”
I nodded, understanding his reasoning. “So you were strict with her because you wanted to protect her?”
“Damn right,” George said, his voice getting rough. “But when I found out she was seeing Henry Hamonte, that was it. That kid’s nothing but trouble, and his father, the mayor—don’t get me started on that crooked son of a bitch.”
I swallowed hard, heat rising in my throat, the thrill of learning something new in this dark mystery. “Wait…you think Henry Hamonte killed her?”
George nodded firmly. “Oh, I’m sure of it. That boy was a disaster. I bet he killed Clara and hid her body somewhere. I always knew it was him,” he muttered.
I took a deep breath. “It could explain why Henry is dead, too. He was found frozen in the snow just a few days after Clara’s disappearance. They said it was alcohol poisoning.”
George leaned in, turning his head, his eyes filled with fire. “You think that was an accident? That smells like guilt to me, Lenny. I bet he killed her and then did himself in because he couldn’t take it.”
It did make sense. If Henry was involved with Clara in a romantic way and things went sour, he might’ve killed her—perhaps by impulse or by accident. But he could never be properly questioned because he died soon after.
I rubbed my chin, thinking of any possible connections. “If Henry killed Clara, what does that have to do with Angela? What is the Xmas Day Butcher getting at?”
George shrugged. “Angela was at that Town Hall holiday party too, wasn’t she? She worked for the mayor, after all. What if she saw something she shouldn’t have? What if she knew too much? Remember—Mayor Hamonte is a corrupt little shit swallower. If I could crush him underneath my foot like a cockroach, I wouldn’t hesitate.”
I recalled what Angela had said to me once, before she vanished. She’d warned me that Mayor Hamonte wouldn’t like the restoration project she was working on for Whisper’s Creek, but she hadn’t had a chance to give more details.
What if Angela’s disappearance is tied to that restoration project? What if Mayor Hamonte didn’t want that to happen?
There was a hard knock at the door. I froze. George looked at me, suspicion in his eyes. I could barely move, but I knew what it was. I had a feeling, churning away in my stomach.
We both slowly got up. George grabbed his axe as he led us down his dark hallway towards the front door. “If it’s anyone I don’t know, I might chop off their arm. I’m just letting you know,” he warned.
When we arrived, he opened it slowly, and there it was, waiting for us on the doorstep. Another gift box, wrapped in white paper with a red ribbon.
George stepped outside and looked around to see if the person who dropped it off was still in the area. They weren’t—they always vanished like a shadow.
I lifted it and opened it up. Inside was a red envelope, a bloodied Christmas gnome, and a severed finger with a ring on it. It was Angela’s finger.
I glanced at George, my stomach rising with bile—his face paled. I kept it together and quickly tore open the envelope, sliding the letter out, reading it as George opened his mouth to say something.
CLUE #5: “Do not trust him, but do check his basement; a man’s secrets are grim. Check tomorrow night, and turn on the light. You’ll see that the Xmas Day Butcher is right. Do not check before; I’ll be at your door…I’m always watching you, Lenny, and always remember—Angela’s body parts are plenty.”
I slowly looked up at George, my chest tightening with fear. My hands trembled as I stuffed the letter in my pocket. “What does it say? What the hell does it say?” he asked frantically.
“He cut off Angela’s finger,” I mumbled, my throat dry. “It’s signed by the Xmas Day Butcher.”
George gasped, short of breath. “My god…”
I have to play his sick, fucking game…I can’t risk it. He’ll kill Angela, or worse. Fuck! What the hell will I find in George’s basement? When will this end?!
CHAPTER 10
DECEMBER 10TH
Icouldn’t stop shaking as I paced through my house, my hands trembling so hard that I dropped the latest gift box on the floor. The walls felt closer than usual, like they were suffocating me. George had kicked me out of his place; his horrified face had frozen with fear, ordering me to get out of his house like I was some stranger. The clock had struck midnight as I raced back home, freezing winds wrapping me in their unforgiving cold.
He wanted nothing to do with the madness surrounding the Xmas Day Butcher. He said it was complete nonsense, and he wanted no part of it.
But it wasn’t nonsense. It was real.
I sat down in my chair, trying to calm down, trying to keep the room from spinning. Eerie voices whispered in my ear: “Angela…she’s gone. You know what you’ve done; there’s nowhere to run…do not trust him…”
My living room was dark, and silhouettes of bodies seemed to dance around me when I wasn’t looking. They slid across the floorboards, jumped around the Christmas tree, and inched closer to me—like theywanted to swallow me up.
