Chapter 3

 

“There you are Nicholas,” Candace said as he entered the kitchen. “Where in the world have you been? The children were getting antsy so they’ve already left for my parents, and I’m ready to go.”

Tins of cookies lined the counter, and a gingerbread house covered in gumdrops sat in the middle of the table.

Candace cocked her head. “Nicholas, are you all right? You have a strange look on your face.”

Teeth bared, Nicholas swept the tins of cookies onto the floor and with his fist smashed the gingerbread house. When he turned to his wife, satisfaction at the shock on her face fueled him.

“Nicholas, what’s the matter with you?” Candace gasped as she backed away.

“You stupid woman, you never understood. Year after year you bring out all these repugnant decorations insisting I help you put them up.” He shoved his face within inches of hers. “You taunt me with memories I’m trying to forget. Well, my dear, this is how I remember Christmas.”

Nicholas grinned with satisfaction at the sheer terror that filled Candace’s face as he reared back with the axe held high. Her mouth open ready to scream, he sank the axe in her neck.

Adrenalin pumped through him at the sight of her blood as it splattered the walls, dripped down the cabinets, and pooled onto the floor. He narrowed his eyes in anger when he saw her head wasn’t quite severed, still attached by thin tendons. As her lifeless body crumpled to the floor, Nicholas brought the axe down one more time, until his wife’s head, her mouth still open in a silent scream, slid, in her own blood, across the kitchen floor.

Nicholas chortled with glee, as with one swift kick, he lofted her head into the air, to land in a bowl of poinsettias. “Now you can be your own decoration.”

With utter joy, Nicholas walked through the house, destroying everything in his path that had to do with Christmas. When he stepped onto his porch, twilight was setting in. The sled carrying the tree for his in-laws sat waiting. A smile spread across his face. Why not? Year after year he’s had to put up with the people of this town and all their holiday happiness. Well, no more. If they love the color red so much, he’d give them what they wanted. He’d show them what a red Christmas was really like. Eyes glowing with anticipation, Nicholas picked up the rope handle to the sled.

Candace’s parents, Carol and Jack Card, lived on the other side of a thick stand of evergreens. As Nicholas maneuvered the sled through the trees, the swish of the runners as it slid over the snow the only sound, a bird suddenly flew past to land on a branch directly in front of him. The snow-white dove’s eyes bored into Nicholas’s, rendering him incapable of movement. An internal battle of wills roiled inside him, until his lips parted in an ominous grin and the axe flew through the air. Disappointment wiped the grin from Nicholas’s face as the dove easily rose to a higher branch.

Muttering under his breath, Nicholas proceeded on his way, but knew the dove followed closely behind.

As he exited the trees, a horse-drawn sleigh approached carrying a couple cuddled close together and waving cheerfully as they drew near. “Hello. Merry Christmas to you, good sir. We’re heading for the parade. Would you like a ride?”

Nicholas’s grip tightened on his axe as the sleigh came to a halt.

The man leaned forward. “Sir, is that blood on you? Have you been injured? May we be of assistance?”

Nicholas glanced down and saw his wife’s blood covering his hands, coat and pants. His head began to pound as cold sweat trickled down his back. He swallowed the saliva that pooled in his mouth. He flexed his hand on the axe.

“Thank you for the kind offer,” he said with a smile. “I’m fine, but I can’t say the same for you. I’m afraid you’re going to miss the parade.” With a mighty swing, he buried the axe blade deep in the man’s chest, cutting through his jacket and sweater. Blood spewing, his eyes bulging, gasping for breath, the man’s hands twitched as he feebly tried to remove the axe. Nicholas wrenched it free, leaving a gaping wound, exposing cracked ribs and beneath them his pulsating heart, beating its last. Sobbing, the woman, visibly shaking, her teeth chattering, tried to scramble from the sleigh. Nicholas chuckled low. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Please, please, don’t hurt me,” she cried.

Nicholas’ nostrils flared as the smell of fresh blood permeated the air. “Oh, I’m not going to hurt you,” he said with a smirk. “I’m going to kill you.”

When she screamed, he split her skull open. As her head lolled, with another swift strike he sent her head flying. Blood soaked their jackets, ran down the side of the sleigh and lay crimson upon the crisp snow. As the horses whinnied and began to run, Nicholas tossed the severed head back into the sleigh. When her head landed in her lap, Nicholas couldn’t help but chuckle. “Good catch.”

Nicholas walked to where the snow wasn’t streaked with blood and used it to scrub the gore from his hands and face, thankful his jacket was black and would hide the stains.

By the time he’d reached his in-laws, it was full dark. Candles burned in the windows of the two-story gabled house, while the outside was lit with thousands of tiny colored lights. As he approached the porch, Carol opened the door. She wore a red sweater with sparkles that read Merry Christmas, a matching red skirt, and shiny white boots. “There you are, Nicholas. I was becoming concerned. Jack has taken the children to the parade, and I said I’d stay and wait for you.” She peered around him. “Where’s Candace? Do you have the tree?”

At the sight of her, Nicholas clenched his teeth. How he loathed this woman. Always cheerful. Acting as if she was Mother Christmas herself. “Candace couldn’t make it, but I have your tree.”

Carol knitted her brows. “That’s strange. The children told me she was just waiting for you to return, then she’d be here.”

“She’s doing some last minute decorating.” Nicholas hoped she couldn’t hear the tension in his voice. He wanted to be done here and complete his night’s work. “Now tell me where you want this tree. You don’t want to be late for the parade, do you?”

Carol hesitated before opening the door wide. “The stand is in the corner. If you could just place the tree there, we’ll straighten it later.”

Nicholas, keeping the tree in front of him to hide his coat, did as she asked. As he turned, he spotted the boxes of decorations waiting to be placed on the tree. Suddenly in his mind he was transported back in time, envisioning his parents’ bloody bodies. The room came in and out of focus. He shook his head trying to clear away the images.

“Nicholas, are you all right?” Carol asked.

Next to him lay a big red bow with a silver bell, and he reached for it.

As Nicholas walked away from the house, he couldn’t help but glance back. There, the big red bow encircling her neck, Carol hung from a hook on the porch, swaying slightly in the wind, her eyes bulging and her tongue protruding from the corner of her mouth, the silver bell dinging with the breeze.

Whistling a holiday tune, he picked up his axe and headed for town.

When he neared the ice-skating pond, he paused. Candace had told him that after the parade there was to be a big skating party with roasted chestnuts and hot chocolate. An idea formed in his mind, and he cautiously made his way onto the smooth surface of the pond. He began to chop holes into the ice, small enough not to be readily seen, but weakening it for an unsuspecting skater.

Suddenly the dark water was suffused with a golden glow. Nicholas looked up to see the angel from the nativity, her body pulsating with light, which, as Nicholas watched, became brighter and brighter. Once again her eyes seemed to lock with his. She was nothing more than plastic and plaster, he told himself as he slowly backed away, but a frisson of fear still coiled in his stomach. With his concentration on the angel, he didn’t notice the lone lost ice skate until his foot bumped against it. Without a second thought, he reached down and picked it up. Taking a few steps forward, and with all his strength, he hurled the skate across the pond. Satisfaction spread through him as he watched the serrated tip imbed itself in the angel’s chest. A loud popping noise filled the night as the angel blew apart, a spear of light knocking Nicholas down, its force hurling the axe from his hand.

Shaken, Nicholas rose to his feet and walked to where his axe lay, its blade impaled in the ice. Jerking it free, Nicholas snarled an expletive under his breath, as he continued into town.

As he rounded the corner and passed Miss Cozy’s quilt shop, Miss Cozy herself was in her display window arranging an intricately stitched quilt representing children sledding down a hill. Spotting Nicholas, she franticly waved him in.

Smiling to himself and thinking, This one is going to be easy, Nicholas opened the shop’s front door.

“Nicholas, thank goodness I saw you,” Miss Cozy said excitedly. “I don’t know if you have Candace’s present yet, but she was in the other day and fell in love with my holly berry quilt. If you’d like to see it, I have it right here on a rack.”

Nicholas nodded and followed her to where the quilt was hanging. Pretending to admire Miss Cozy’s design of deep green leaves covered with plump cranberries, Nicholas spotted an object lying on the counter that he recognized. As the thought took shape in his mind, he reached for the basting gun.

“Be careful,” Miss Cozy exclaimed. “I have very sharp tacks in that.”

“I was counting on that,” Nicholas said as he shot the tiny barbed tacks into her eyes. She screamed and tried to cover her face, but Nicholas emptied the gun into her head, hands and arms.

Nicholas knocked her to the floor and grabbed a pair of scissors. He stabbed them into her throat until bloody bubbles foamed out and ran down her chin. As a low gurgling noise came from her mouth, and her arms and feet twitched, Nicholas quickly wrapped her in the quilt, expeditiously suffocating her.

When he stood, he noticed a sign which read, ‘Have a Holly Jolly Christmas’. Nicholas, using a staple gun, attached it to the rolled-up quilt. Then, singing a Christmas tune, he picked up his axe and headed for the door.

Out on the sidewalk he passed the barber shop, its striped pole bright red and green. Sounds of the parade preparation could be heard. He was almost finished making his rounds. He had just crossed the street when police officer Yule came into view.

“Good evening, Nicholas,” he said with a nod. “You had better hurry. They’re lining up for the parade.”

What a perfect trophy you would make, Nicholas thought as he contemplated the best way to exterminate Officer Yule. A mental image of his head spiked on top of the town Christmas tree made Nicholas smile. But before he could make a move, Miss Plum stepped from her doorway and called Officer Yule’s name. To Nicholas’s disappointment, he tipped his hat to Nicholas and walked away.

Nicholas, smiling to himself, moved away in the opposite direction. He was more cunning than the people of this town. He placed the axe over his shoulder and headed toward his next unsuspecting victim.