It was Joseph Candela. The guy who worked in the building where Angela and Mayor Hamonte worked. The guy who seemed to be secretly in love with my missing wife.
I thought about ignoring him, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have some company. It was better than talking to the walls and slowly losing all of my marbles.
I went to the door and opened it. He stood there, in what looked like a cozy brown jacket, snow clinging to his boots, his head tilting at me suspiciously. “You look like damn hell,” he said. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lied.
He frowned. “You’re not fine, man. Come on. You need a buddy to hang out with.”
I crossed my arms. “Why do you say that?”
He let out a chuckle. “Dude, you called me. You told me about George, bro! Poor guy was murdered, and something about Clara’s dead body being found?! This town is going to fucking hell! This Xmas Day Butcher has everyone freaking the hell out!” He leaned in closer. “Plus, Angela’s still missing. I know you miss her, man. I’ll keep you company until she returns.”
Shit. I don’t remember calling him. Me and my big mouth.
I didn’t want to go with him, but the room felt smaller by the second, the air thick with the echo of my own jumbled thoughts. So I followed him out and shut the door behind me.
Joseph’s truck smelled like rust and old coffee. He didn’t talk much, just hummed to himself while the radio played a Christmas song. The snow outside was blanketing the town in white.
His tiny, one-story house sat at the edge of town, near some woods, not too far from where I lived. As we approached it, I noticed his porch light flickering in the distance. He parked up front, and we got out.
We marched to the door and jammed his key in. “Come on in, pal,” he said.
The moment I stepped inside, I smelled it—damp wood and the residue of bad cologne. The place was a cluttered mess. Tools, cardboard boxes, old holiday decorations, and masks sat in the middle of his bare living room, which only housed an old, ripped-up couch and a TV set on a dusty stand.
It made sense—Joseph was single, never married, with no kids. I had my suspicions that he was a serial womanizer.
When I inspected his wall adjacent to the TV, he had dozens of masks hung on nails. They were all lined up—faces of Santa and snowmen and reindeer—all creepy-like, looking at me with suspicious eyes.
What the hell is that about?
Joseph grinned and pointed. “Noticed it, huh? I’ve been collecting these since last year. It creeps people out—I like doing that.”
I tried to force a laugh, but my stomach turned. The air turned colder in here, and I could’ve sworn I heard it again—right behind my ear.
A gentle whisper.
“It’s him. He’s the Xmas Day Butcher.”
My heart rate rocketed. I jerked myself around; no one was there.
There was another one: “You know it’s true.”
I glared at Joseph, who was adjusting a Santa mask on the wall. I remembered Colton Kilhouser, how he wore a Santa mask when he killed my family all those years ago. It was Joseph; it was always Joseph. I couldn’t believe I’d never seen it.
The voices helped me realize the dark truth.He was obsessed with Angela and he was playing me. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before.
“Kill him. Kill him now.”
I stared at him as he walked over to a table and pulled open a drawer. A stash of photographs were stuffed inside. He came back my way, my heart still racing, and showed me a few photos he had of Angela. They were taken in her office.
It didn’t look like she knew they had been taken, like he had snapped photos of her in secret…like a sick pervert.
He glanced at me and laughed. “Don’t look so serious, Lenny. They’re funny! Right?”
“Kill him now!”
Before I could think about it further, I stepped forward and lunged. My arms wrapped around his neck as I threw him to the ground; the stack of photos exploding onto the floor.
