Chapter 5
The snow kept coming down like it wanted to bury the whole damn town, and maybe it should’ve, once and for all. I was riding with Detective Castillo into town in an effort to find Angela and to spread the word again.
The police car’s wipers squeaked uselessly against the windshield, smearing more snow than they cleared. Eventually, she turned them off.
The roads that led out of Whisper’s Creek were sealed in a shell of ice, and every other officer in Whisper’s Creek was either busy keeping cars from skidding into ditches or helping the ones that had already fallen into one. That meant we were on our own.
“I appreciate you doing this again,” I told her, my voice low. “I know you’re stretched thin.”
Castillo just nodded, eyes locked on the road. She looked tired, same as me, but there was steel in her—she was tough. “We’ll find her, Lenny. She’s out there somewhere.”
When we pulled into the square and parked, the town was wrapped in lights and color, like there was a Christmas festival taking place.
Giant plastic candy canes embedded into the snow, lifelike Santas propped up near the retail stores, and a fully decorated Christmas tree in the center of the plaza with every ornament you could think of—glass balls and sparkling angels that shimmered in the light, metallic ribbons and artificial snowflakes that complemented the rest of the tree.
As we stepped out of the car, the sweet aroma of chocolate chip cookies and cinnamon drifted out from the bakery across the street from us.
Angela loved all of it, and she would’ve wanted to see all of this. I needed to find her before it was too late. Even if I had to play their sinister game. I refused to spend Christmas without her.
Castillo and I went from shop to shop again, showing people the photo of Angela on her phone, asking if anyone had seen a woman in a red coat with dark hair, about five-foot-six.
The answers were all the same again—shakes of the head, worried looks, polite no’s.
I followed her, half-focused on the people we were asking for information and half-lost in thought, while I maneuvered around hills of piled-up snow.
The last time I saw Angela was on the morning of December 1st. I tried to think of why she could’ve been abducted, but no answers were coming to mind. It just didn’t make sense. It must’ve had something to do with me.
I tried to tell myself she was just fine—that I’d find her before Christmas Day and everything would go back to normal.
But the truth was, Whisper’s Creek was a strange town, and it felt like the type of place where people went missing and never returned.
I thought about Clara’s mysterious fate, and that’s what frightened me the most.
“Lenny!”
The familiar voice caused a chill up my spine. I turned around reluctantly.
Joseph was standing near the giant Christmas tree in the center of the square, a duffel bag with jingle bell symbols draped all over it strapped across his shoulder. His dark blue work coat was zipped all the way up, and his eyes examined me with concern.
“Dude, I heard,” he said, walking toward me slowly. “Angela’s missing? Why didn’t you tell me?! What the hell is that all about? That’s wild as hell!”
I nodded, my jaw tightly clenched. “Yeah, it’s been the worst. She wasn’t home later that day, on December 1st—when I went shopping for her Christmas gift.”
His face scrunched up with worry, and he looked like someone had punched him in the gut. “Holy shit, Lenny. That’s so awful. I can’t believe it. Where could she have gone?”
“I just don’t know. We’ve been asking the whole town,” I sighed. “I’m hoping she’s just holed up somewhere; maybe she got lost because the roads are blocked coming into town. Anything but…” I trailed off, unwilling to say what I feared most.
Joseph nodded slowly, his eyes looking me up and down. There was a pause before he asked, in a soft tone, “You two...were things okay between you? Everything good at home?”
The question hung between us like a thick fog. I couldn’t believe he had just asked that. “Of course, everything is fine, you damn idiot!” That’s what I wanted to yell into his smug face, but I chose to keep my temper in check.
My stomach tightened. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean. We were just fine. We weren’t fighting or anything. Is that what you were wondering?”
He’d better back off before he says something else that's just as idiotic.
“No, I didn’t mean—” he started, holding up a hand, indicating peace. “I know that married couples fight. Shit happens, man. It’s happened to me, too. But did she ever talk about leaving you or anything?”
I took a step toward him, not believing that he was continuing with his intrusive line of questioning. “No, she did not. She never would.” I angrily pointed a finger at his face. “I had nothing to do with her going missing—if that’s what you’re getting at.”
Joseph flinched backwards, taken aback by my harsh reaction. I was on edge.
Yeah, that’s right. I’m not rolling over, buddy. Especially when you talk to me in an accusatory manner.
He awkwardly stared down at the snow, his free hand sliding into his pocket.
“I’m sorry, dude. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything.
It’s just…she’s a good woman. She’s so kind and beautiful.
I just can’t picture her disappearing without saying something first. That’s just not who she is as a person. I do work with her.”
I folded my arms, staring into his eyes with intent. “I know exactly who she is, trust me. I’m married to her.”
He chuckled, trying to diffuse the rising tension between us. “You’re right, bud. You would know.”
“I’d never hurt her, and I never have,” I said flatly. “That’s the honest truth. I swear on my dead brother’s name.”
He looked up at me then, his face now pale, his lips pressed together, not knowing what to say next.
“Alright, man,” he said. “I believe you. I do. I’ll keep my eyes open for you. I’ll ask around at work; maybe someone saw her.”
“I appreciate it, Joseph,” I muttered. I barely meant it.
He turned to leave but paused after a few steps. “Hey, Lenny?” he asked over his shoulder. “If you hear anything…please let me know. Will you?”
I stared at his back. “Yeah, sure thing.”
He walked off, shoulders slumped. I watched him until he disappeared behind the row of stores that faced the lot.
I wanted to believe that he was worried, that he truly cared about Angela’s well-being and how she had gone missing, but something was off.
I didn’t appreciate the way he was insinuating things about our marriage. The way his wide, pervasive eyes stared at me like I had something to do with Angela’s disappearance.
Whatever was going on, I had the feeling that Joseph knew more than he was letting on, but without any proof, I couldn’t do jack shit about it.
I searched around for Detective Castillo and found her talking to a group of residents building a snowman.
I decided to go into a Christmas store on the corner, a few feet away from me.
The bell over the door jingled, and the warm air brought me great relief.
The place was packed with Christmas mugs, ugly sweaters, and an assortment of candies like candy canes and gumdrops.
Behind the counter stood a woman in her sixties, her hands wrapped around a hot mug of cocoa.
“Good evening,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Have you seen Angela around anywhere? I’ve been here before, Betty, but we’re just trying to find her.” I showed her Angela’s picture on my phone.
She squinted and frowned. “Oh, no honey. I still haven’t seen her. I hope she’s okay!”
“Me too.”
The woman hesitated, then leaned in slightly, her voice dropping. “You don’t think it’s connected, do you?”
I arched an eyebrow in curiosity. “Connected to what?”
“To that other girl who disappeared—Clara St. Nicklaus. She went missing last year around Christmas. Some say it was the boyfriend, Henry, or maybe a killer. Henry’s dead, but what about Clara? Could she be with Angela somewhere?”
It felt like a block of ice slid down my spine. Whatever fate had been thrust upon Clara, I hoped it wouldn’t be the same for Angela. “Right…Clara. She was never found. I don’t know. The whole thing’s terrible.”
The woman’s eyes darted to the windows, where snow was falling against the glass. “You’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you?”
“No. What rumors?”
She lowered her voice even more, like there was a ghost that might eavesdrop on us. “They say her father, George, snapped one night and killed her. Just like that man who butchered that family on Christmas Day twenty years ago. Colton Kilhouser—the man they called The Xmas Day Butcher.”
She didn’t know that the family she was talking about was my family.
It had been so long ago, and I never brought it up—ever.
I tried to erase my past as best I could.
I lived in seclusion and rarely ever spoke with anyone in town.
Only George knew that that had been my family. Thankfully, he kept quiet about it.
Detective Castillo learned of my past after she researched me—I was sure there was a special file with my name on it in their police archives.
Colton Kilhouser, that damn name twisted something deep inside me, like a serrated knife. I hadn’t heard it in years, and yet it still haunted me, long after the dark deed had been done.
The woman continued, “George knew that couple, you know. Peter and Maria Frost. Two boys were there as well—I forget their names, but one died and one survived. I don’t know where the survivor went off to—maybe an institution.
” I was shocked that I didn’t end up in one, to be fair.
“George used to bring them hams every Christmas. They say the murders were a result of a curse—The Curse of Whisper’s Creek. ”
I didn’t answer right away; that name was now stuck in my mind, and my thoughts were in disarray because of it. I felt like I was about to faint while I tried to work past the heart-shredding pain I had gone through so many years earlier.
Colton Kilhouser. The first Xmas Day Butcher.
That name wasn’t just a piece of lore tied to this cursed town.
It was the black hole in my memory—the one I’d spent twenty years pretending didn’t exist. That sick, twisted monster killed my foster parents and my brother, Lincoln.
They kept telling me that I was too young to remember, but I did.
I remembered the screams, the blood, the ominous silence in the aftermath, and the way those monster’s eyes stared up at me—with no life behind them.
When I moved in with Corita—the sweet old woman who spoke to me in Spanish—I tried to start over, but the kids at school wouldn’t let me. They said I killed my family myself. They said Colton Kilhouser wasn’t even real—that it was an alias they were trying to bury.
The press and the media never showed any photos of him—only sketches and drawings. It was all very hush-hush, like it was a cover-up. But I was a barely functioning kid at that point. What did I know?
The bullies told me that Leonard Frost wasn’t even my real name—that my actual name was Colton Kilhouser. One of the most ridiculous conspiracy theories I’ve ever heard in my life. If I murdered my family, I’d remember.
I took off my gloves and rubbed my hands together for warmth, trying to shake off the ice-cold chill that that name gave me. Colton Kilhouser was supposed to be long dead. That’s the part I didn’t understand about this “Xmas Day Butcher.” The part I refused to acknowledge.
I had tried so hard, for so long, to forget that name—to erase it from my mind forever.
When it came back, I refused to believe that he still existed.
I didn’t understand how Colton Kilhouser had come back from the dead.
It was impossible. The only possible explanation: a copycat killer.
But why? Why now? Why is there a return of the Xmas Day Butcher?
A scream ripped through the plaza, echoing throughout the air, shattering the calm. Our heads jerked towards the window, eyes wide, immediately alarmed at whatever the hell was going on.
I spotted Detective Castillo running across the plaza towards the noise outside.
I threw myself out the door and followed, my boots almost slipping on the ice.
A small crowd of concerned townsfolk had gathered near a streetlight.
An elderly woman stood frozen—pointing at something, her face paler than the snow falling around us.
“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “You told me about that missing woman, and I got scared.”
Castillo tried to calm her. “It’s alright, ma’am, just take a breath.”
My eyes followed her pointed finger. A Christmas stocking hung from the streetlight on a string—it gently swayed in the wind.
Something about it didn’t feel right at all. I stepped closer, grabbed it, and tugged softly. It was heavy.
I glanced at Castillo. “Should I…” my heart nervously thumped against my chest, “…check what’s inside?”
She nodded.
I pulled on it and broke the string that it was connected to. I slowly peeked inside, and as soon as I did, I dropped it in horror.
“What is it?!” Castillo asked frantically.
I turned to her. “It’s a goddamn foot,” I whispered, my voice trembling.
It was a severed foot. It was as white as ice, frozen and stuffed inside the stocking. The woman screamed again, and so did everyone else in the crowd as they dispersed and ran off.