I crouched down and picked up a stray hammer from a half-opened toolbox. “I didn’t kill Clara!” He picked his axe back up. “Liar!” I stood up and threw the hammer at his face; he cried out in pain, shutting his eyes and lowering the axe again. With my body trembling all over, I sped over to him and kicked the axe out of his hand by aiming for the handle.
I picked it up swiftly and swallowed down the lump in my throat. He fluttered his eyes open, glaring at me with such anger; every fiber and cell in his body wanted me dead.
He roared and ran forward, his hands balled into tight fists, his face twisting with bestial rage. I did what I had to.
I swung the axe back and swung it forward, straight into his chest.
With a horrifyingcrunch—it sliced into him, creating a massive gash of red—blood spilled out as he gasped for breath, his mouth sputtering, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.
My hands shook uncontrollably as he fell backwards, his body hitting the ground with a strong thud. The axe stayed fixed into his body, crimson liquid pouring out of him and onto the floor. “Oh god, oh my god,” I whispered shakily. “What have I done? What the hell have I done?”
I looked all around, my eyes darting in all directions. I needed to leave—I needed to get the hell out of there. That’s when I noticed the window; it was slightly ajar. That’s when I realized how the Xmas Day Butcher had entered. But I couldn’t stay thinking about that; I needed to go. My adrenaline surged through my veins, lighting up every molecule in my body.
I ran up the steps, my shirt getting caught on a pointed edge on the wall, a protruding nail. I ripped it off and exited the basement. I closed the door and didn’t bother with the lock. I ran for my life, the cold biting into my face, freezing up my throat, and burning my chest.
I’m sorry, George. I’m so sorry.
CHAPTER 12
DECEMBER 12TH
Snow was falling around me, enveloping me in a blur of white and freezing cold air. My mouth let out ragged breaths, my lungs turning to ice, my throat closing up. I stumbled through what felt like a snowstorm, my legs becoming heavy, the thick crunch of snow pounding in my ears.
I soon felt it. I whirled around and saw it. A shadowy presence was watching me, the same one from before—a dark shape lurking ahead in the eye of the storm. I powered through, trying to be brave, trying to show the shadow I wasn’t afraid of it, despite the horrid act I had committed.
I tried to scream at it, but my voice was swallowed up by the snow. My heart hammered as I marched on, but the landscape suddenly changed. The snow turned into gravel. It wasn’t cold anymore; it was hot, and the change caused my body to erupt with chills.
I was in an old building. I thought it was a hospital or an institute—the walls were cracked and peeling. The windows around me were broken and hollow, staring back at me like empty voids. There was a flurry of people inside—dark figures moving through the blackness, their faces distorted, their bodies blurring with rapid movement.
When I blinked, I was in front of a house, my home. It was cold again. My eyes noticed the Christmas lights hanging from the roof, the lights flickering erratically. An inflatable snowman buzzed on the porch. It should’ve felt joyous and festive, but it didn’t. Everything was wrong. Angela was gone, unable to enjoy Christmas.
There was screaming all around me, glass-shattering shrieks that penetrated my eardrums like sharp knives. I shut my eyes tightly and covered my ears, trying to drown it out.
When it finally stopped, I opened them and saw Clara’s frozen, dead face in front of me. I let out a scream and stumbled back onto the snow.
I tried to move, but my body wouldn’t obey me. My head started to grow heavy, my thoughts spinning in so many directions. Something flashed across my mind—the visceral image of an axe carved into George’s body.
Then—I woke up in my bed.
I gasped for air, my chest heaving, my body slick with sweat. The morning light shined through the window, bright and blinding against my face. I checked my watch; it was10:22 AM.
It had to be a dream. It had to be. But the aching in my arms and the searing pain I felt in my legs told me otherwise. It told me I killed George St. Nicklaus with his axe. What if someone saw me running through the snow?
No, that’s impossible. Practically no one lives around George, and it was the dead of night.
I was the only person who interacted with George on a semi-regular basis. I needed to get my story straight; I needed to stay innocent for Angela. I raised my hands; they were pale, with no blood on them. But to me, the blood was still there; it was invisible…because I became a murderer.
There was no turning back. The Xmas Day Butcher got what he wanted; he thrust me into his twisted game. As long as I got to see Angela again, I’d continue with the game. What other choice did I have? I had no life without my wife. Without her, it wasn’t worth living.
I turned my head towards my nightstand and grabbed my phone slowly, my fingers shaking as I dialed Detective Castillo’s phone number. The phone started to ring. When she answered, I tried to steady my voice before speaking.
“Hey, Lenny. How are you doing? Anything on Angela?”
“Detective, I think something happened to George. He’s not answering his phone.” I loathed lying, but I had no other choice. I had to clear myself of the brutal crime I had committed. I knew my guilt would overcome me eventually, but for now I’d play the part for Angela.
“Did you visit his home?”
I was afraid of myself because of how easy it felt, the sly words slipping out of my mouth like honey. “That’s the thing, I went to knock on his door and everything. He just didn’t answer. I don’t know what’s up with him.”
