Chapter 13
Iwoke with a gasp, lungs burning, chest locked tight like someone had locked a belt around my ribs.
My heart slammed against the inside of my body, desperate to escape.
I was blacking out almost every day now, unable to control myself.
It reminded me of when Colton Kilhouser had killed my family—how I felt back then, in a cloudy haze, believing it was all a cruel nightmare and nothing more.
I pushed myself off the couch, my legs shaky; the silence of my house was loud without Angela.
The floorboards groaned as I walked towards the window, peeking out at the frozen, white wasteland.
I pressed a hand against the icy glass, trying to slow my breathing, but it didn’t help.
My thoughts were a chaotic mess—flashing images of the axe being thrust into George’s body, Clara’s body hanging like a haunted swing set, and the severed limbs that the Butcher had sent me.
It was all too much to bear.
A harsh knock at my door interrupted my jumbled mind. At first, I thought it was in my head, but then I heard footsteps walking away outside, the subtle crunch of snow being stepped on.
I gasped. It’s him.
Every part of me screamed not to move, so I didn’t. Fear took over, paralyzing me. I took a few deep breaths and calmed myself down. Then I forced my feet to carry me forward—they felt slow and heavy, like I was being pulled back by an invisible man.
I made it to the front door and turned the knob, pushing to open. That’s when I saw it—another wrapped gift box.
It sat neatly on the floor, wrapped in green paper and sealed with Christmas tape. My gut twisted into knots. When would it end? I couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t stomach seeing another chopped-off limb or being ordered to murder someone.
But there it was—waiting. I couldn’t just leave it there, so I crouched down, my hands shaking, and picked it up. I brought it inside and shut the door. I tore it open, and inside was a pair of red Christmas underwear.
It belonged to Angela.
For a moment, I saw her warm face. I could see her so clearly—her infectious laugh, that teasing smile as she’d held them up to me in the retail store. “These are just for fun,” she’d said, her voice low and velvety. The memory hit me hard because she wasn’t with me, and I missed her dearly.
My stomach broiled as I realized that the Xmas Day Butcher had taken them off her; how embarrassing and humiliating that must’ve been for her. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to toy with me. I was growing extremely sick of it.
The air grew heavy in my house as cold filled my lungs. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I noticed the red envelope inside the box. He never failed to send one. I took it out and tore it open. I didn’t want to read it, but I had to. I needed to know what was next.
CLUE #7: “Now that he’s dead, sleep tight in your bed. We will now learn about my doctor. This one’s a real shocker!”
The words seeped into me like a poison spreading through my veins. My vision blurred, my throat tightened, and I swore I could hear faint whispering in the other rooms in my house—shadows dancing along the walls, messing with my mind.
I didn’t know who he was talking about, but Doctor Thomas T. Tuttle did come to mind. He worked in the Gibraltar Institute. I wondered if there was a connection.
I stuffed the letter back into the box and tossed it aside with disdain. I was losing it. I knew I was. George’s murder was getting to me, and the guilt was strangling me. The faint whispers never stopped. They grew louder, circling me like screeching ravens, torturing my very soul.
These words came clear, slithering through my ears: “You know what you did... you know what you did…”
I sprang up from my couch, heart pounding in my head, wild eyes darting between the voices that seemed to take shape on the shifting walls. The shadows took on faces—they were strangely twisted and human-like.
“Who are you, Lenny?” it whispered, the distorted voice sounding like my own. “Do you know what you’ve become?”
I wasn’t sure; I didn’t know what I had become. I was losing sense of myself and sense of what was going on. I screamed at nothing, in a panic—raw and desperate.
“Find me in the old white church…find me there…”
I freaked out as I shut my eyes, wanting it all to go away and to never come back. “Who are you?!” I shouted. “Why are you doing this to me?! Who the hell are you?!”
There was no answer. When I opened my eyes, the shadowy faces were gone. I felt like a damn lunatic, shouting at nothing.
What the hell is the matter with me?
Another knock disrupted my thoughts. This time, I quickly raced to my front door and checked the peephole. It was a familiar face.
“Lenny? You in there, man? It’s Joseph.”
It was Joseph Candela. The guy who worked in the building where Angela and Mayor Hamonte worked. The guy who seemed to be secretly in love with my missing wife.
I thought about ignoring him, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have some company. It was better than talking to the walls and slowly losing all of my marbles.
I went to the door and opened it. He stood there, in what looked like a cozy brown jacket, snow clinging to his boots, his head tilting at me suspiciously. “You look like damn hell,” he said. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lied.
He frowned. “You’re not fine, man. Come on. You need a buddy to hang out with.”
I crossed my arms. “Why do you say that?”
He let out a chuckle. “Dude, you called me. You told me about George, bro! Poor guy was murdered, and something about Clara’s dead body being found?
! This town is going to fucking hell! This Xmas Day Butcher has everyone freaking the hell out!
” He leaned in closer. “Plus, Angela’s still missing.
I know you miss her, man. I’ll keep you company until she returns. ”
Shit. I don’t remember calling him. Me and my big mouth.
I didn’t want to go with him, but the room felt smaller by the second, the air thick with the echo of my own jumbled thoughts. So I followed him out and shut the door behind me.
Joseph’s truck smelled like rust and old coffee. He didn’t talk much, just hummed to himself while the radio played a Christmas song. The snow outside was blanketing the town in white.
His tiny, one-story house sat at the edge of town, near some woods, not too far from where I lived. As we approached it, I noticed his porch light flickering in the distance. He parked up front, and we got out.
We marched to the door and jammed his key in. “Come on in, pal,” he said.
The moment I stepped inside, I smelled it—damp wood and the residue of bad cologne. The place was a cluttered mess. Tools, cardboard boxes, old holiday decorations, and masks sat in the middle of his bare living room, which only housed an old, ripped-up couch and a TV set on a dusty stand.
It made sense—Joseph was single, never married, with no kids. I had my suspicions that he was a serial womanizer.
When I inspected his wall adjacent to the TV, he had dozens of masks hung on nails. They were all lined up—faces of Santa and snowmen and reindeer—all creepy-like, looking at me with suspicious eyes.
What the hell is that about?
Joseph grinned and pointed. “Noticed it, huh? I’ve been collecting these since last year. It creeps people out—I like doing that.”
I tried to force a laugh, but my stomach turned. The air turned colder in here, and I could’ve sworn I heard it again—right behind my ear.
A gentle whisper.
“It’s him. He’s the Xmas Day Butcher.”
My heart rate rocketed. I jerked myself around; no one was there.
There was another one: “You know it’s true.”
I glared at Joseph, who was adjusting a Santa mask on the wall. I remembered Colton Kilhouser, how he wore a Santa mask when he killed my family all those years ago. It was Joseph; it was always Joseph. I couldn’t believe I’d never seen it.
The voices helped me realize the dark truth. He was obsessed with Angela and he was playing me. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before.
“Kill him. Kill him now.”
I stared at him as he walked over to a table and pulled open a drawer. A stash of photographs were stuffed inside. He came back my way, my heart still racing, and showed me a few photos he had of Angela. They were taken in her office.
It didn’t look like she knew they had been taken, like he had snapped photos of her in secret…like a sick pervert.
He glanced at me and laughed. “Don’t look so serious, Lenny. They’re funny! Right?”
“Kill him now!”
Before I could think about it further, I stepped forward and lunged. My arms wrapped around his neck as I threw him to the ground; the stack of photos exploding onto the floor.
He shouted, trying to tear me off him, but I was determined to stop the madness, once and for all. “What the hell, Lenny?!” he yelled. “Have you lost your damn mind?!”
“I know you have her. You have Angela. Tell me where Angela is,” I said icily, like something had possessed me.
He wriggled and squirmed, trying to break free. “I don’t know, man! Those pictures were just me goofing off! She knew about them! She knew! I swear!”
Suddenly, my mind went blank, and I blinked hard. The subtle whispers vanished, and it was silent again. I didn’t understand what I was doing or why I was doing it.
I let go of him as he coughed hard, and scurried away from me. “I—I thought—”
“You thought what?!” his eyes flashed at me angrily. “That I’m your enemy, or something? Are you insane?”
I held up my hands in peace. “No, no! I don’t know what overcame me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I saw the photos and…I don’t know.”
He looked at me with skepticism, eyes wide, unforgiving. “Just get out of my house, please. I don’t want to hang with you anymore.”
I slowly got up and straightened myself out. I understood where he was coming from; I’d do the same if I were in his position. I couldn’t believe that I allowed the voices to convince me that Joseph was the Xmas Day Butcher.
I was really losing it, and I needed to put my head on straight. I knew that I missed Angela, but there was no excuse to become an empty shell of my former self—a raving lunatic who lost his sanity.
I could barely look at Joseph as I made my way to the door, thoroughly ashamed of myself. “I’m sorry, Joseph. It won’t happen again. I…I’m sorry. I’ll walk home.”
What the hell is happening to me?