Filthy Christmas

Gagged in the Gingerbread House

TW: Gagging, false imprisonment, kidnapping, mention of murder, psychopathic MMC.

NORA

The last thing I remember is walking down the street and feeling like someone’s following me. I briefly recall taking a sharp turn into the small alley I’ve walked more than any sane person has.

I know this city better than the back of my hand, so I was sure no one in their right mind would follow me. But apparently, they did. The back of my head throbs with pulsating pain, someone must have hit me there to knock me out and drag me... well, here?

Slowly, I lift my head to look up and around.

I can’t move my limbs; it doesn’t take a genius to know I’m tied to a chair.

There’s an object in my mouth; I don’t know what, but I’m clearly gagged like a festive meal pig, there’s no way I could scream for help.

Whoever took me had it all planned out ahead, clearly.

I’m not popular enough to be kidnapped or targeted by a killer. Seriously, I’m nothing special—definitely not delusional enough to assume someone snatched me just because I got a couple of thousand likes on my true-crime podcasts.

Just because getting kidnapped on a random Thursday evening isn’t enough, whoever is behind this stupid stunt had to make this weird by locking me into what looks like a gingerbread house.

The door opens and my whole body goes rigid at the screeching sound. Slowly, I turn my head to look in the direction and blink a couple of times until I know that what I see is real, not a fruit of my imagination.

There’s a person standing at the door. I can tell it’s a man by the way he’s dressed and the body shape for as far as I can see it under the thick layer of clothes. I don’t know who it is because the face is covered by a mask, which in my opinion is equally as terrifying as it is fucking stupid.

Think the frosting from gingerbread man, but scarier—and neon green.

As much as I want to demand answers, I can’t. I mean, I try to, but every word leaves me like muffled sounds that remind me of the growls and snarls of a rabid animal, not language.

“Merry Christmas, Nora,” my kidnapper says and walks closer. “I know how much you hate the holiday season, but I still brought you a present.”

Wait, I think I know that voice. Sure, I haven’t heard it for many years, but I couldn’t mistake it for anything else. No one could forget a voice that plagued their nightmares for years on end.

“There it is,” he whispers when he gets so close, I could grab him if it wasn’t for the restraints. “I knew you didn’t forget me, knew they all lied. You’d never forget me.”

My eyes widen as he leans in so close, the neon of the mask almost blinds me. “Anyone but you, Nora. You’re the only one who ever cared, the only one who heard me when I spoke, the only one who ever mattered.”

Slowly, he pulls away from me and reveals a small velvet box he’s been hiding behind his back. “I got you this. It’s not much, but I’m sure you’ll love it regardless. Do you want to see?”

I watch him toss the box from one hand to the other nervously and decide to play along, just in case he has thoughts way darker than kidnapping me. Slowly, I nod my head and wait for his reaction.

Callum eagerly opens the box and turns it around to show me the stunning emerald ring. “Green is your favorite color, right? I listened to your podcasts, all of them, but I didn’t hear you mention anything about it, so I assumed it has to be the same as it used to be when we were kids.”

My eyes dart between the ring and the dreadful mask.

How am I supposed to react to this mess? I’m gagged, tied to a chair after he hit me in the back of the head hard enough to knock me out, then dragged me to this place, and now, for some twisted reason, he’s presenting a ring to me?

“I know this is a lot to take in, but I’m sure you understand. You always understood me like no one else could.” Callum says, closes the box and starts pacing the room like a caged animal.

“I did this,” he raises his voice and motions around the room, “I did all of this for you. The place is a perfect replica of our childhood home, but I made it into a gingerbread house because it’s the setting for Christmas.

I know you don’t like this time of the year, but I figured I can change that.

We can replace the bad memories, Nora.” He stops, turns to me and takes a step closer again.

“We can replace them together. Just you and me. Finally, only us.”

Tears well up in my eyes. I’ve spent years in therapy to forget the childhood we shared, but here he stands, claiming we can fix the mess simply because he decided that we can.

Some things are easier said than done, and at this point, the fact that Callum stands in front of me is more of a reminder of the nightmare than the possibility of forgetting.

“Oh, no, no, no, don’t cry, baby Nora,” Callum mutters and drops to his knees in front of the chair I’m tied to.

His trembling hand reaches up to wipe the tears that escape my eyes.

“Don’t cry, baby, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, not this time.

They don’t have any power over us anymore, I’m here to stay, they can’t force me to leave anymore. ”

I want to scream, to rage, to demand to be let go, but he has successfully taken any chance of doing that from me. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t storm out and demand for him to leave me alone.

“I’m not your foster brother anymore, Nora,” Callum whispers, wipes the last tears off my cheeks, then slowly straightens up fully.

“I’m not that scrawny, scared kid anymore.

The prison changed me, you know. Fifteen years, Nora.

Fifteen fucking years that you took from me.

But don’t worry, baby, I’m not angry, not at you.

I spent every day behind the bars counting down the time until I can walk free and get back what’s mine. ”

He brings his hand to my face and cups my cheek. For a second, I forget who is the man in front of me and struggle to connect the gentle touch with the dreadful crimes I know those very hands have committed.

When he drops the mask to lean in and press his lips to my forehead, I want to scream.

He still looks like Callum and not at all. He’s bigger than the teenager I remember, obviously older, and handsome, sharp facial features have replaced the scared, puffy face I knew before.

The only thing that hasn’t changed about him are his eyes—one blue, the other hazel. I used to trust those eyes with every secret I had, every fear and dream, but looking into them today, I see nothing but betrayal, pain and suffering.

“Would you like me to remove the gag, baby?” Callum asks, his voice gentle and if I didn’t know better, I’d mistake the tone as caring.

I nod my head because that’s all I can really do at this point.

The corner of his lip twitches, but the smile never appears and his shoulders lose some of their tension. “Okay, I can do that. I can do anything you want me to, but you must promise me one thing. Can you do that, baby? Can you promise me you won’t scream the moment I take the gag out?”

I nod again, more eagerly, mainly because my jaw is aching with tension from having my mouth this wide open all this time.

Callum flashes me a wide smile and eagerly reaches behind my head to unbuckle the straps connected to the gag. His hand brushes against a sensitive area, which makes me hiss and he instantly pulls his hands away. “Oh, no, did I hurt you? I’m so sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to.”

Didn’t mean to my ass. Of course he meant to hurt me, if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t hit me hard enough to knock me out. Clearly, when he planned out this nightmare, he understood that there’s a chance of leaving lasting damage or at least causing great bodily harm.

He reaches for the straps again, finally gets the buckle undone and carefully removes the ball gag from my mouth. “There, better?”

I work my jaw by closing and opening my mouth, welcoming the relief that floods through me. I have no idea how people do this of their own free will—the ache is just awful.

The moment I finally fix my facial expression and close my mouth, his lips are on mine.

Callum’s large hands grab the sides of my face as he uses the moment I gasp in surprise and thrusts his tongue into my mouth.

He’s not kissing me like he’s starving—he’s doing it like kissing me is the only thing that could keep him alive.

Soon, his kiss becomes more aggressive, like he’s trying to claim everything I have as his own with his mouth alone.

When Callum finally pulls away, I’m gasping for breath and his lips are swollen.

He presses his forehead against mine and lets out a bitter laugh.

“Fifteen years, baby. Fifteen fucking years I had to wait for this to happen and my own body betrays me by demanding oxygen. Fuck breathing, I want to kiss you forever.”

This time, as he leans in to kiss me again, I quickly turn my head to avoid his lips. Callum slides his hand to the back of my neck and grips it painfully while he uses the other to turn my head against my will to kiss me again.

If I thought the previous kiss was aggressive, it had nothing on this one. He’s kissing me with so much force that I fear he might bruise my lips and when his teeth capture my bottom lip, I taste blood in my mouth.

When he pulls away again, Callum looks completely crazed. “You. Are. Mine.” He growls. “I went to prison once and I don’t mind going back if it means I get to keep you. Mine, Nora, only mine. Get that through your thick skull!”

Just as suddenly as he gets angry, Callum calms down, picks up the small box from the floor, and opens it again. He takes his time, carefully taking the ring out of the box and slipping it on my finger. “There, perfect fit,” he whispers, then looks into my eyes and smirks. “Mine.”

“You’re crazy,” I whisper and my voice sounds weaker than I want it to be.

“Yeah, crazy about you, baby.” Callum retorts with a grin.

I shake my head quickly and try to sound more assertive. “No, not that. Don’t twist my words. What I meant was that you’re out of your fucking mind!”

“Out of my mind? Sweetheart, I threw my mind away the second I tasted you.” He purrs and winks at me.

I can’t believe this is the predicament I find myself in. Of all the awful things that could’ve happened to me, this just had to be the one.

Taking a deep breath, I try to calm down, but the way he looks at me like I’m his next meal sends me over the edge.

Anger burns in my veins as I lean closer to him and hiss in his face, “you’re a sick fuck, you know that?

You killed my mother in front of my eyes, right next to the Christmas tree!

You think I’ll jump into your arms and beg to be loved by you?

You really believe I would want to celebrate the day my mother was murdered with the very man who took her from me? ”

Callum’s face twists in rage as he screams, “She had to die! That bitch didn’t let me love you!” His hands grab my shoulders and grip them painfully as he snarls. “You’ve always been mine, Nora, and you will always be, like it or not.”