Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
He’s holding something, and I’d recognize the thick vintage ribbon in my sleep, because I’ve read all the articles, books, and watched every documentary about the Christmas Killer. Hell, I even publish a special December podcast about him each year.
“Oh shit… shit,” rips out of my mouth before I can stop myself, but facing the bogeyman of New England while being chained to the wall is too much to handle. “Please, just let me go. I won’t even remember you. It’s science.”
His nostrils flare in a long inhale. He’s thinking. Maybe I do have a chance. I wasn’t his target after all. If I get out of here and report him, I could probably go into witness protection.
It should be the last thing on my mind, but I’m excited that I could be the one to crack the case of the Christmas Killer.
“Calm down and put the gun away. We will sort this out. I did save you from him after all, did I not?” He points to the dead guy whose neck is partially severed now but doesn’t look back. All of his attention is on me.
He did save me, by accident. Still, he wants me to stroke his ego, so I nod and attempt to steady my voice. “Yes. I am so, so thankful. Please, can you just toss me the keys to those chains? I’ll show myself out,” I add but grip the gun more firmly when the muscular form moves closer. He’s still a few paces away, and I already feel crowded, a mouse hiding from the mountain lion.
He’s young, too young to be the Christmas Killer. Some historians believe he claimed his first victim in 1912, but the person I’m seeing can’t even be in his thirties. Is this man a copycat?
The monster makes a sad pout. “I can’t let you go, I’m afraid. But I see you appreciate the Christmas spirit.” He points to my costume, in which I wouldn’t have been caught dead in if I hadn’t been trying to get laid at a nightclub. “I’m sure we’ll get along just jolly.”
He moves so fast I yelp and step back, but pull the trigger anyway, only for it to… do nothing.
I freeze, and he pulls the pistol out of my hands with a soft sigh. “Next time pull the safety off first,” he says and demonstrates, as if I haven’t just tried to kill him. Despite the terror sinking deep into my body, all I can focus on is that there might be a next time, and that surely means he doesn’t plan to leave my head wrapped in the same ribbon as Sexy Santa’s.
I open my mouth, ready to face him again, but before I can make any noise, a sharp sting makes me glance to my arm, where a small needle is embedded in my flesh. My eyes meet the killer’s blue gaze, he smiles at me, and then everything blurs.
The last thing I hear is his soft murmur.
“Sleep in heavenly peace…”
Chapter 2
Nico
“Welcome in December, you know what time it is...” says my favorite true-crime podcaster, Cryptic Boy Wonder, and since I know exactly what’s coming, I finish the sentence with him.
“It’s time for the Christmas Killer!”
I hang a big red bauble on the Christmas tree to replace the one a customer broke earlier today. I don’t mind. It happens. People rush around when December starts, eager to get decorations and gifts from my shop. If anything, I’m surprised this Tuesday evening is so slow and I might get to close on time for once.
It’s for the better, because I do need to work out what to do with my prisoner downstairs.
For now though, I will indulge in the soft, warm voice of the podcaster who is very excited to talk about me. Is it a little self-involved to listen about crimes I know better than he ever could? Yes, but it’s my little indulgence when I’m alone in my Christmas kingdom. And aren’t the holidays all about being gay?
“But you know what I always say: There’s no sugarcoating murder!” Cryptic Boy Wonder’s soft voice says into my ear. “This festive season, I will chronologically discuss each murder, since the early twentieth century to the present. I’ve invited special guests, who have their own theories as to when the original killer might have been first replaced by a copycat, but to me it’s clear that the frequency of murders changed within the past decade, going from them occurring every now and then in December to a pattern of at least one victim every year.”
I step back to admire the tree, which is a focal point of the store. Thanks to the tall ceiling, it can dwarf every other decoration, reaching all the way to the second floor, and I love it that way. I’m a traditionalist at heart. Maybe it’s because I was brought up by my granddad, or because whimsy gives my heart the warm fuzzies, but even my more avant-garde craft projects have a touch of nostalgia.