| |
By Kay Hanifen
“I mean, I can’t know for sure if that’s how it happened,” Brenda said once she finished her story. “But every night, I dream about Liz and that awful day. If her curse was the sweater spurring her to violence, then I think that this is my curse: I have to live with the fact that my stupidity got two people killed.” She laughed weakly to herself. “So, after all that, I stopped being into gift giving, you know?”
“Man, don’t fuck with fibercrafters,” Maven muttered. John shot her a glare. Not helping. She seemed to sense that, because she added, “It wasn’t your fault, though.”
Brenda snorted but didn’t respond.
“Now I understand why you didn’t want to participate,” Ronnie said. “Sorry if we ever pushed you.” He’d been fidgeting throughout the Secret Santa and the stories that came after opening the gifts. John thought he looked a little green, but maybe he just ate too much. John’s own stomach hurt, though he couldn’t tell if it was from the amazing vegan Wellington and cookies or getting jarred around on the bus when it spun out into the snow bank.
Brenda shook her head. “It’s fine. You didn’t know.”
John’s stomach curdled. No one was stating the obvious. Where had that sweater even come from? Who was the one buying these things? He was pretty sure he drew Maven’s name for Secret Santa, but the memory felt oddly fuzzy now. If he did, he definitely wouldn’t have bought her an Elf on the Shelf. It would have been something small and fun like silly socks. Made from pure wool, of course. Warm, waterproof, and ethically sourced.
He felt like he could use a pair of socks like that right now. He was cold, and the pain in his stomach made him wonder if he had appendicitis, which didn’t make sense, because he’d already had his appendix removed at the age of twelve. Shifting to get rid of the ache, he couldn’t resist getting up and grabbing a couple vegan cookies from the plate. He would have to get the recipe from the Innkeeper, because this was one of the best vegan dinners he’d ever eaten. As an afterthought, he picked up a gingerbread reindeer to go with the rest. He felt a little guilty eating the ones shaped like an animal, but that was ridiculous and bordering on stereotypical.
No animals were harmed in the baking of this cookie.
The thought made him chuckle, earning him an odd look from Rich. He shrugged at his friend and sat back down. As the stories went on, Rich had been looking almost as uncomfortable as Ronnie. John had seen the faraway look in his friend’s eyes before. He usually had it when he was sitting by the bonfire at church events.
Maven glanced down at the cookies in John’s hand, her brows furrowing in mock concern. “You’re eating an innocent deer? That’s not like you, John and I’m worried. It’s a slippery slope. The next thing you know, you’ll be demolishing boxes of animal crackers. Oh the humanity!”
He rolled his eyes. “Maven, has anyone ever told you that you’re as funny as a funeral?”
She tilted her head, accepting the challenge. The thing about Maven was that, on the surface, she was a bit of a snarky bitch, but it was easy to earn her respect. He just had to snark back at her until it became a kind of game. “Well, that’s just because I knock ‘em dead every time.” It looked as though she had chosen death puns to be the bit this time. It was certainly better than the constant vegan jokes.
Look, he knew how certain vegans could be, and he tried to be one of the good ones. He wasn’t doing this to be cool or popular. He chose the vegan lifestyle because animals had feelings, and they had just as much of a right to live as humans. They didn’t deserve to be farmed in factories—constantly force fed and living in too-small pens. Factory farming was one of the biggest evils in the world, and he wanted nothing to do with it.
Mildred snorted, getting in on the game. “Yeah, when you’re not killing the moment.”
“She couldn’t flop harder if she jumped off the Empire State Building,” Rich said, the familiar teasing gleam returning to his eyes. John hoped he was feeling better. Whatever had come over him, it seemed to have been chased away by their little game. “But I am always morbidly curious about what she’ll say next.”
“Whatever it is, it always leaves me braindead,” John said and bit the head off a reindeer gingerbread cookie for emphasis. His stomach ached after he swallowed it, like thunder after lightning. What was wrong with him?
“You okay?” Rich whispered.
He nodded. “Upset stomach.” A spark went off in his brain. He had no idea if the Innkeeper was telling the truth about his niece being vegan. Could their host have lied to him about it and given him food with meat products? It wouldn’t be the first time someone decided to teach him the virtues of meat by sneaking it into dishes.
He decided to become a vegetarian in middle school after being forced to watch a documentary on the meatpacking industry for health class, and his dad absolutely hated it. He and John’s mom were divorced by then, so on the weekends that he had John and his siblings, his dad would serve them steaks and then force John to stay at the table until he ate it. John would sit at that table for hours, gagging at the sight of the bloody flesh in front of him, only being released for bedtime, where he would go to bed hungry.
His mom and dad once had a massive fight when he returned home starving after spending a weekend without eating anything because he refused to finish his steak dinner the first night. After that, his dad laid off him for the most part.
Until one dinner they had. His dad was smiling smugly the whole time, and when John had finally built up the courage to ask why, he told him that he’d snuck sausage into the dish he’d made.
When John spent the rest of the night throwing up because his body wasn’t used to eating meat, his dad barely apologized. That was the last meal they had together. John didn’t like to think about what happened during Christmas that year.
“Do you think he lied about the food being vegan?” John whispered to Rich, nodding to the Innkeeper. He sat away from the others, watching with his unsettling eyes and blinking about as often as the cat. The Innkeeper slowly picked up a cookie and brought it to his lips, eyes briefly closing in bliss before again training his gaze on the group. He seemed to follow every conversation with rapt attention, like a tennis match at Wimbledon, and he had a soft smile on his face, as though he was enjoying every word.
Rich shrugged. “Maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened to you. Was your stomach upset before you got here?”
Now that he thought about it, he had been sore from the bus spinning out and trudging in the snow. “I think so. That’s probably it.”
“Yeah, he doesn’t seem like the type. He’s been so kind to us.”
John glanced at the Innkeeper again to see if he was paying attention to them, but he seemed more interested in a conversation between Erica, Rachel, Ronnie, and Reverend Lane. Still, he leaned in close when he whispered, “You don’t think he’s being a little too kind? Like, he doesn’t seem upset at all that his family can’t come and his house is being invaded by strangers.”
Rich shrugged again. “Well, it’s literally his job to be welcoming. We’re at an inn, not just someone’s house.”
John sighed. “I guess you’re right. But I still can’t shake the feeling that there’s something weird going on here.”
“It’s been a very weird day. I think we’re all just on edge.” Rich reached over and grabbed a cookie from the non-vegan plates. While John was vegan for animal rights reasons, Rich never explained why he was vegetarian—not that people needed to explain themselves, of course. It was just that Rich had never really shown any other interest in animal rights beyond not eating meat and always looked vaguely nauseated when he smelled it cooking, so John wondered what the story was.
“Who wants to go next?” the Innkeeper asked, his intense eyes trained on John, burrowing into his soul. The rest of the room fell quiet as he got to his feet, crossed the room, and picked up a gift with his name on it.
Taking his seat again, he carefully unwrapped the paper and opened the lid before gagging and throwing the box to the side. “What the fuck?” he shouted, staring at the taxidermized reindeer head, its black, glass eyes staring back up at him. “Is this some kind of sick joke? Who would do that?”
All eyes turned to Maven, whose mouth dropped in offense. “Hey! I may be a dick, but I’m not that big of a dick.” She turned to John, her eyes pleading for him to believe her. “It wasn’t me. I swear.”
Some of the heat left him when he saw the pleading look on her face. He sighed. “I know. There’s something really wrong here, and I’m tired of pretending that everything’s fine. Does this seem fine to you?” He picked up the head of the innocent reindeer, and immediately realized his mistake.
The compulsion came over him like a tidal wave. Eyes rolling back in his head, his legs collapsed underneath him as he began to speak.
