When my home was in view and when some of the snowfall had subsided, that’s when I saw it.
There was a dark shape on the porch of our house. At first, I thought it was just a pile of snow that had somehow accumulated or some delivery box from the post office.
When I got closer, the knot that had already been growing in my stomach tightened. I immediately knew that something was wrong, that something terrible had happened. I didn’t know how I had it, but my gut knew—it always knew.
When I slowly came up the steps on the porch, I saw that it was a small gift box.
My heart dropped. I hadn’t seen anyone leave it there, and I knew Angela hadn’t been outside. I set the plastic bag I was holding down on the porch and crouched beside the gift box sealed with Christmas tape. My gloved hands were shaking as I carefully opened it.
Inside, there was a red envelope. I used my finger to rip it open, and inside was a white letter written in strange, scribbled handwriting. The paper was perfectly white, in mint condition. I realized quickly that someone was meticulously toying with me and sending me a message that I needed to pay very close attention to.
CLUE #1:“You have 24 days to find Angela. Your deadline is Christmas Day. Now, you must play my game. You only have yourself to blame. My life has been filled with strife; now find your missing wife. Signed, The Xmas Day Butcher.”
As my eyes analyzed the words, they didn’t make any sense to me. I felt my breath escaping me, my heart pounding in my chest, myvision blurring, and my mind racing to make sense of the madness I had just read. I looked inside the box and searched inside to see if there was anything else…there was.
A small, bloodstained object wrapped in tissue paper. My stomach churned as I lifted it up.
A pair of reindeer earrings. These weren’t just any earrings. Angela wore those earrings; they belonged to her…and the metal was tainted with something dark and wet.
Someone had taken my beloved wife—a sick, deranged bastard.
A pained sob broke out of me as intense panic crawled up my throat.
No, this can’t be real. This has to be some sick prank, some cruel joke that Angela is playing on me. But she’d never do anything like this. What the hell is going on? What have we done to deserve this?
I stood up shakily—legs trembling—the gravity of the situation was enveloping me whole. I had no idea what I was going to do.
The snowfall worsened around me, the bitter winds slicing my cheeks, and my hands became numb as I stumbled backwards, losing my balance. The cold air swiped the letter out of my hands and into the darkness as the sunlight faded over Whisper’s Creek.
I did the only thing I could think of in the moment: I screamed her name like a wild beast that lived in the forest behind our house.
“Angela!” I shouted, my voice shrieking, her name echoing through the dark, calm sky, hoping I’d reach her somehow—some way.
I stared at the front door of our small house and bolted through it, my heart racing as I searched every room. I looked in the kitchen, the living room, and the bathroom. They were all empty. There was no sign or trace of her. She really had been taken.
As I doubled back, I found her fuzzy pink slippers on the floor of the kitchen, and her matching Christmas sweater with reindeer was draped over the back of the couch in the living room.
It seemed like she was immediately taken just as she got home. Like she didn’t get the chance to really settle in. I thought of the back door and ran over to it; it was unlocked. I practically threw myself into it and busted it wide open, but I was met with rows and rows of snowy trees and white nothingness.
“Angela!” I screamed into the sky, my voice lost in the harsh gusts of wind.
There was no answer, not a single trace of human life in any direction from our home. The nearest neighbor was a few miles away. We lived in seclusion, and I had no idea who’d want to take my dear Angela away from me.
I dropped down to my knees and faced the cruel silence of the darkest night of my life. I got back up, slowly—preparing to face the fury of the coming storm. I marched into the cold, fully intent on retrieving the letter that saidCLUE #1.
This Christmas Day changed my life forever.
After I retrieved the letter—I ran back inside the house and called 911. It rang and rang until the signal sputtered—no answer. We had the worst signal where we lived, and the snowfall didn’t make it any better.
I had already called Angela several times—no answer. I sent her about a hundred text messages, none of the messages were going through. I had no idea where she was and I was losing my mind.
I had to run to the police station in town and that’s exactly what I did. I ran and ran, breathless, icicles in my chest, snow falling all around me—until I reached the edge of the town square.
It was a small, grey building with frost accumulated on the front windows. There was a lot of uniformed bodies moving quickly on the opposite side of the glass, like something urgent was happening.
As I was about to go up the steps—a flurry of police officers rushed out the doors and ran past me, dashing to the parking lot where there police cruisers were. I couldn’t even get a word out regarding Angela’s disappearance until a woman crossed me as she finished barking orders into a walkie talkie.
I waved my hands at her frantically to get her attention. “Excuse me? Excuse me!”
