Chapter 2 #2
Archer had a body count that would make a serial killer blush, but Diet Santa’s cheery disposition set his teeth on edge. He was almost afraid to reveal they were stranded. But what choice did they have? The alternative was hiking back into Silent Hill, and even Archer wasn’t that prideful.
“Our car ran over something and it flattened our two front tires. We had a donut but—”
“Oh, don’t you worry,” the man said, cutting him off with a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “We’ll get you fixed right up. I’ll send my boy Nick out in the truck to get your vehicle and get those swapped right out for you.”
Mac’s hand drifted subtly toward Archer’s lower back—an old reflex, protective without being obvious. Archer didn’t know if it comforted him or confirmed they should keep their guards up.
His boy? As in his son, or the last poor schlep who had stumbled into this godforsaken town? Anything was possible in this walking-talking Black Mirror episode. Archer’s survival instincts pricked like needles beneath his skin. This place felt wrong in the bones.
“If I don’t have the right size, you might be stuck here until the storm breaks in the morning.
I’ll call Rudy and see if he has your size once Nick gets back with your vehicle.
Why don’t you folks head over to the motel for some food, maybe grab a room?
Even if you’re only here for a few hours, it will be nice to get out of the cold, no? ”
“Yeah, totally. We’ll do that,” Mac said, already backing away.
“Tell my sister, Peg, I said to give you the family holiday discount.”
“Will do,” Archer reiterated.
They followed him inside just long enough to give the man—Beau, according to the card on the counter—their cell phone numbers, then turned to make their way across the road to the motel.
“Okay, what the fuck is going on in this town,” Archer asked.
“I feel like we’re being punked. Where are all the people?
Where’s the traffic? This is just off a major highway and I haven’t seen a single car.
That’s not fucking normal. Maybe we ran off the road into an embankment and this is purgatory? ”
“They’re just weird small-town people with a hard-on for Christmas,” Mac said, his tone sounding more self-soothing than self-assured.
“Which one of us are you trying to convince of that? Hm?” Archer asked in a hissing whisper.
“Listen, we’ve stayed in a lot of weird places. This is just another one to add to the list,” Mac said. “Also, remind me to get photos of this place before we leave or nobody is gonna believe a word of this.”
Archer nodded distractedly. “Yeah, good idea.”
The wind shoved at them from behind as if eager to get them inside, the snow swirling around their ankles.
Bells jangled jarringly as they pushed open the wooden door to the lobby.
At first there was only an eerie silence that followed, but then a woman in a red dress with snow-white hair appeared.
Like the man across the street, she had red cheeks and sparkly blue eyes that looked more maniacal than beguiling.
She beamed at them with the same gummy smile as her brother.
“Are you Peggy?” Archer asked, giving her his best smile.
“Why, yes,” she gushed, looking them over. “Well, aren’t you boys handsome? Have you been good boys or bad?”
Archer’s smile slipped off his face, jerking his head to his husband, hoping he might have misunderstood the weird… innuendo in the question. The air in the room felt suddenly warm, too warm, as if the heater had cranked up in reaction to her tone.
Mac was as frozen as that elf with the failed mechanical arm, the only movement a faint twitching in his right eye. Never a good sign.
“Depends on the day, love,” Archer said, putting on his best roguish expression. “Your brother, Beau, is towing our car back in from the highway to change a couple of tires. He suggested we rent a room to get out of the cold, just in case we had to stay overnight.”
Peggy clasped her hands together like they’d just announced they were expecting a baby in June, not stranded in a Christmas-themed fever dream.
“Oh, two flat tires on Christmas Eve? You poor dears. Is there anyone missing you?”
“Pardon?” Archer managed, mouth going dry.
“Were you on your way to visit family, dear?” she asked, another creepy smile spreading across her face.
“Oh, yes. Big family. Lots. More than you could even imagine. Famous too. There would be lots of headlines should we disappear,” he said, then laughed, noting the touch of hysteria he couldn’t quite hold back.
Now she was looking at him like he was the crazy one. “How nice for you, dear.”
Before he could find a way to steer the conversation away from another verbal concrete embankment, the beaded curtain that separated the front of the lobby from the back shivered, sounding like someone had disturbed a rattlesnake’s nest, and then a man appeared.
A man who, like Beau, looked like Santa—though pre-diet.
What the fuck even was this place? Once more his gaze slid to Mac, who was just blinking owlishly at the couple, mouth agape. What was wrong with him? He wanted to snap him out of it, but he was too afraid to look weak in front of these…Santa people.
He stared at the man’s white beard. “Does everyone in this town—”
“Love Christmas?” the man asked, cutting him off.
Definitely wasn’t his question, but that didn’t stop Santa.
“Sure do. There’s not a resident of Holly Harbour—” Holy Horror, Archer’s brain supplied unhelpfully.
“—that isn’t filled with the Christmas spirit.
You should come back when the weather’s nicer and see our nativity scene in the town square. ”
Archer nodded along, for the first time in his life uncertain of what to say. Given the rest of the décor, he imagined the nativity scene would be the stuff of nightmares. Probably featuring a donkey with glowing red eyes and a Baby Jesus that glitched in and out of reality.
Archer cleared his throat, then not-so-subtly elbowed Mac in the ribs until he grunted.
“Uh, can we check in please?” Mac asked, voice wavering like he wasn’t the tallest person in the room by about a foot.
“Absolutely. Harold, should we put them in the Yuletide Suite? You boys are…” she made a limp wrist gesture that had Mac’s jaw unhinging and hitting the floor like a cartoon character once more. His husband’s reaction would have been hilarious had Archer not been afraid for his life.
“Married?” Archer supplied.
The woman seemed relieved. “Yes, that. Don’t worry. We’re not like those other small towns. Our baker is gay.”
“Oh. How… nice.”
He had no idea what the appropriate response was for that. A thumbs-up? A Yelp review? A hostage video?
Mac was frozen stiff beside him, staring wide-eyed at something just out of Archer’s line of sight. Archer leaned in, trying to get a better look, but Mac wouldn’t move a single muscle, blocking Archer’s view of whatever horror had his ex—special forces husband frozen in terror.
“Yes, Peg, I think the Yuletide Suite would be perfect,” said pre-Ozempic Santa—er, Harold.
“Why does that sound so ominous,” Archer asked, forcing another uncomfortable laugh.
His voice cracked on the last note, because of course it did.
The two cackled like witches. Mac jumped like someone had put jumper cables to his nipples. What the fuck was his deal anyway? Was there a man with an ax dressed like a reindeer back there?
For an awkward moment, they all stood staring at each other. Then Peggy said, “That’ll be fifty-seven dollars.”
She stood there blinking at him expectantly.
“Do you take credit cards?” he asked, staring at the vintage cash register on the desk.
“That’s just for show,” Peggy said. She grabbed something from behind the counter, then slapped it down in front of him. It was a plastic sign with two QR codes. “Venmo or Cashapp?”
“V-Venmo,” Archer said, pulling his phone free and pointing it at the square.
Nobody was ever going to believe him. When he finished paying, he pretended to double-check the purchase while covertly snapping photos of everything in his path, which included half of Harold and Peggy—which made for a horror movie—worthy poster.
The fluorescent overhead light flickered at just the right moment, giving Peggy the expression of someone who lured lost children into houses made of gingerbread and candy.
She handed Archer a strangely shaped key. “Up the stairs to your left, follow the L to the very last room.” He nodded. “Oh, and don’t worry. There’s not another soul here tonight. You two feel free to be as loud as you want. Nobody can hear you scream.”
When she gave him a garish wink, he fought the scream building within him, giving her another stilted nod before backing out of the door, dragging his near-catatonic husband with him.
Once they were safely away from the pod people and back into the icy winds, Archer slapped Mac on the arm until he hissed.
“What? Ow. What?” Mac said, having the audacity to look affronted as he rubbed his arm.
“What? Welcome back, Major Tom. How was your flight? Where the fuck did you go in there?”
“I-It was nothing. They were just weird is all,” Mac muttered, face flushing red in a way Archer rarely saw unless they’d just had sex.
The color looked painfully out of place against the washed-out glow of motel floodlights.
“No shit. That’s why it would have been nice to have you as backup. Did you see that place? Did you see the—” he made the same limp-wrist gesture she had.
“Huh? No. Were they being homophobic?”
“No, actually. They were whatever the opposite of homophobic is? Homophilic? Homo-enthusiastic? Aggressively queer-positive? She practically showered us in condoms and lube as we left.”
“Huh,” Mac said, making his ‘imagine that’ face, seemingly back from his fugue state.