We all had to find ways to cope and to continue to endure, because no one was above it.
No one.
It must’ve been planned for years. He must’ve been watching me all this time—how I loved and cherished Angela. The Xmas Day Butcher knew where to strike me where it hurt most: my beloved wife.
Was I the perfect victim? Was I a job that needed to be finished?
“Do you think…” he swallowed hard. “Do you think that whoever’s behind this could be the same person who took Clara? Could my daughter still be alive?”
I crossed my arms and pondered the question. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But something’s definitely going on, and it’s not good. I didn’t tell you because everything was so frantic, but someone left messages for me. Bloody ornaments and a letter that warned me that I needed to play some game. My deadline is Christmas Day to find my wife.”
George’s eyes narrowed. “What game? Who sent you this? Lenny, this is insane. I can’t believe this is happening to you.”
I looked out at the snow-covered field in the distance. George was right—it really was insane. “This person calls themselves…” I hesitated, the words struggling to come out as I spoke them, “The Xmas Day Butcher.”
Suddenly, the cold winds howled around the farmhouse, rattling the loose wooden boards and pushing the snowfall all around us. It felt like an omen.
For a heartbeat, George didn’t move, then he let out gasp. “The Xmas Day Butcher…another one?”
His haunted eyes searched mine, something fearful behind them. “You don’t think…no, that’s impossible. He’s been dead for years. It happened 20 years ago.”
“What if it’s a copycat killer?” I whispered.
George tore his eyes away from me, tightly shut his lips, and refused to say another word.
CHAPTER 4
DECEMBER 4TH
Isat on my living room floor, legs crossed, the dying glow of the Christmas tree illuminating me in red and green, subtly mimicking my deteriorating state of mind. I was trying to forget my last conversation with George; it brought me nothing but pain.
The house felt so cold and abandoned without Angela—it was too quiet and too empty. She always brought the warmth.
Every ornament on the tree was like a ghostly memory of our time together throughout the years. If I weren’t able to find her, they’d remain as shattered, visual fragments of our relationship, floating aimlessly in my already tormented head.
Oh, how I missed her. I missed the way she hummed Christmas songs when she cooked our delectable Christmas dinner, the way she teased me with her Christmas underwear by draping it over my face, and the way she always insisted on putting every single ornament she could find on the Christmas tree until it nearly weighed it down to the floor.
She was silly like that, and she brought that out of me. I needed that—after everything I had gone through.
My hand drifted underneath the tree, reaching out to grab a dusty snow globe that had a winter wonderland inside. I pulled it out andshook it—the wonderland was suddenly engulfed in white. Something about that snow globe unlocked a memory, one from many years ago—one of my first interactions with Angela.
I found myself back there: at my high school in Gravestone. It was the town closest to Whisper’s Creek—that town was more of a civilized place, but expensive. It only got worse over the years.
Little hills of snow crunched under my boots as I crossed the courtyard, my breath leaking from my lips in little white clouds. It was my lunch period, and I’d chosen the far bench by the water fountain near a vending machine—an area no one else ever sat in. I loved the quiet there. I needed the calm; my mind was often too frantic—too chaotic. I always thought I’d snap, like I was destined to do so.
I sat down on the bench and pulled out a sandwich from my bag when the first snowball hit me square in the chest. A second volley was beamed at the back of my neck.
“Hey, freak boy!” one of them yelled; obnoxious laughter followed.
I tried to ignore it, but that never worked. High school kids were relentless and unforgiving—especially the bullies.
Another snowball smashed into the side of my head, nearly knocking my glasses off. I slid off my backpack and used it to protect my face. I wasn’t good at standing up for myself, and besides, I had zero backup, no friends.
“Look at this loser,” one of them sneered. “What’s he even doing in school? Shouldn’t he be institutionalized? The dude’s a damn psycho.”
They circled me, four of them, cheeks red from the cold, their ugly faces twisting with cruel smiles. My heart thudded hard against my ribs. I hated how tiny I felt next to them, how powerless and full of fear I was in their presence.
But then, someone decided to save me. I still didn’t understand why, but she was just like that—a kind soul, an angel that had descended from the heavens above to change my life for the better.
