A Christmas to Remember: A Choose Your Own Horror Novel

by Matt Shaw

  I stumbled into the kitchen, my head pounding with all these different thoughts about what I’ve become and what I’d done. Without needing to think any further, I grabbed the serrated knife from the knife-block and pressed it against my neck.

  I have to do it. It’s the only way I can save the children. Hopefully, they’ll never see the horrors of what I’ve done. Hopefully, to save them, my wife won’t ever tell them. I can’t have them knowing what I am. I can’t.

  I shut my eyes and ripped the knife across my jugular - the warmth in my body spraying out across the length of the small kitchen as coldness took over. I dropped to my knees and then to my side.... sight fading....

  After his death, at his own hand, his wife and children discovered his body in a thick, red pool of blood. His eyes lifeless and his neck wide open. Despite hoping his children would be protected from his actions, they learnt every detail whilst growing up in a Foster Home after their mother had a complete mental breakdown and failed to care for them properly. Their childhood innocence destroyed forever.

  ~ FIN

  Knock! Knock!

  A knock on the front door quickly followed by another series of knocks. I’d nearly forgotten how impatient she was. I walked through to the kitchen and peeped out of the window. The streets full of cars - even a police car parked up the road, a little further away from the house. Guess my neighbour got to bring a work car home with him again - perk of the job, I suppose. If I were him, I’d have left it back at the station. Ever since getting onto the force, just over a year ago, he’s been keen to tell everyone and anyone who’ll stand around long enough to listen. Stupid really, given the sort of people who live around here. And he wonders why he sometimes gets eggs thrown at his house.

  Can’t see the wife’s car. She must have parked it around the corner in one of my designated parking spaces. Cheeky bitch. She lost that privilege when she moved out. Those spaces belong to the household and she isn’t part of this household anymore...

  I’m surprised she didn’t throw the car up, on the curb, outside the front door. Less distance to walk.

  Knock! Knock!

  Does she really believe I didn’t hear her knocking the first time?

  It’s not as though my house is so big I’d fail to hear someone banging on the front door. Especially with how hard she’s knocking it. I’m surprised the door doesn’t fall down leaving her stood there, with the kids - a look of surprise on all of their faces.

  I’ll let her in soon enough. Just, it’s cheering me up a little.... leaving her out there. It’s bad enough that it is so cold out there but... yeah.... it’s pissing down too. She’ll be soaked through.

  A little laugh escaped my mouth. I’m such a bad man. Probably going straight to Hell. It’s just the thought of her having to stand around, drenched, for the rest of the day... well, that in itself is a nice Christmas present. And it’s not like it’s my fault. I’m not the one who insisted she packed all of her clothes. She left some extra clothes here for the children, she could have done the same for herself too.

  She probably thought I’d have dumped them in the local charity shop. What kind of man does she think I am? I mean, other than the kind of man who cuts his partners new lover into tiny pieces?

  Mind you, the pieces aren’t that tiny. I purposefully kept the pieces on the larger side of things so as to keep the amount of wrapping required down to a minimum.

  I hate wrapping as it is! Let alone when I’m wrapping really small fiddly bits and pieces. Fuck that.

  Knock! Knock!

  Okay, I guess she’s waited out there long enough now.

  I walked through to the front door and reached out for the handle.

  Here we go! Let the fun and games begin!

  What happens next is up to you!

  He opens the door and the police are there

  He opens the door and his wife and kids are there

  He suddenly panics

  There was another knock on the door as I reached out and undid the safety chain. The more I heard the knocking, the more I felt as though I wasn’t about to open the door to my wife and the kids. I don’t know why I felt that - just.... something about the sound of the knocking.... Hard to explain.... Not feminine.... That make sense? And the kids certainly couldn’t knock that hard! If it were down to them, they normally knock once - quietly - and then start shouting through the letter box.

  “Coming!” I called through the door as I unlocked the top lock.

  My heart dropped when I finally pulled the door open. Two police officers stood there, their hats tucked under their arms.

  “Mr Burrows?” asked the officer to my left.

  How did they find me? How did they know what I had done? No one saw me fight with... him. No one. I was so careful not to be seen. Maybe the neighbours reported the screaming? He certainly did scream when I went at him with the hacksaw.... no.... they couldn’t have.... impossible. His mouth was glued shut. Used the extra strength glue to be sure he couldn’t rip through it. And I clearly remember, as I hacked at him... up until the point he passed out - which was pretty quick anyway - he was just making loud ‘mumble’ type noises. The neighbours couldn’t have heard that through the walls. Not a chance. Besides, if they had - surely the police would have come by straight away.... flashing their blue lights.

  I casually looked over their shoulders - no flashing lights on the car. No back-up either.

  “Mr Burrows?” the first officer repeated.

  “Yes?” I answered.

  I tried to stay calm but half expected one of them to suddenly lunge forward and throw me to the floor before placing the cuffs upon my wrists and hauling me off to jail for what I’d done. Guess I’ve seen too many movies.

  “May we come in?” asked the first officer - giving nothing away.

  “Sure,” I said, my heart pounding so hard I thought it was going to explode right there and then. I desperately tried to think if I had anything incriminating left out. The thigh is in the oven, not that it looks like a thigh anymore. The rest of the body is wrapped, neatly, under the tree and I doubt they’re about to start unwrapping anything.... Can they even do that?

  No.

  They need a search warrant. Ask if they have one?

  No.

  They haven’t asked to search anything yet.

  I led the two men through to the lounge and offered them a seat. With them sat down, I sat in the chair opposite.

  “Mr Burrows, I’m sorry to say we have some bad news....”

  “What is it?”

  He sat and listened to the officer explain about the fatal car crash. No survivors they had said. The two children died on the scene and the wife - she passed in the ambulance, on the way to the hospital. He sat, blank-faced, as he listened to how it looked as though a tyre had blown and sent the car into a spin, on the motorway, before it slammed into the central reservation. Other cars swerved out of the way but the truck hit hard, straight into the side of the wife’s car.

  The one silver lining to the cloud was - he had gotten away with murder.

  ~ FIN

  Knock Knock!

  I walked through to the front door and opened it. Excited at the prospect of seeing my children again but a little bit nervous at the same time. I want them to have the best Christmas ever and, yet, I want their mother to have the worst Christmas of her whole miserable life. Well, what’s left of it.

  Okay, the security chain pulled off and the top lock undone, I’m ready. A few deep breaths. You can do this. I put the fake smile on my face - for the benefit of the wife and pulled the door open.

  “DADDY!” shouted my two children, Ryan (8) and Sarah (6), in unison.

  I crouched down to their level and held my arms open - ready for their warm embrace. Neither of them hesitated in running through the front door and into my arms. It felt so good to hold them again. For me, this was already the best of Christmas presents. My wife’s head on the Christmas Tree will be a close second.
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  A couple of seconds passed before the kids let go of me and ran through to the lounge. I couldn’t help but laugh as I heard them scream for joy at how many presents were under the tree. I’d never get tired of hearing their little screams of joy. I expect I’ll never tire of hearing my wife’s screams of pain later, either. Can’t wait.

  “You going to invite me in?” she asked - soaked through to her skin.

  I held the door a little wider and stepped to one side.

  “Merry Christmas,” I wished her, as she walked past me - kicking her shoes off - taking her coat off.

  “Is it?”

  She seems grumpy. I’m not sure if that’s because of me or because she hasn’t heard from lover boy today. Hard for him to send her a Christmas message when his head is under the Christmas Tree... Perhaps I should have used the mobile I found, in his trouser pocket, to send her a message this morning.

  Yeah. Should have done that. Might have made for a more pleasant afternoon with her.

  “Well, I’ll admit it...” she said as I followed her into the lounge, “... dinner smells good.”

  I smiled.

  If only she knew.

  “Daddy! Can we open a present!”

  “After dinner,” I said. The wife prefers them to eat their dinner before allowing them to open their presents.

  “Please - just one.... one before dinner....” shouted Ryan - the excitement in his voice making me wish I were young again. Christmas loses some of the magic when you get older.

  “It wouldn’t hurt,” my wife said.

  I shot her a look. Typical. She wants me to be the bad guy. Normally she is the first to say ‘no’ to them. Not even five minutes and she’s already trying to win the kids over. Bitch.

  “Please, daddy... just one present?”

  What happens next is up to you!

  He lets the kids open a single present each

  He doesn’t let the kids open a present each

  He ignores them to talk to the wife

  “Okay, as your mother said it’s fine... you can each open one present,” I said to them. She might have said it was ‘fine’ but I knew, deep down, she’d have wanted them to wait until after dinner. It might have looked as though I were being mean but.... I still felt as though it were a little victory for me. And that was better than nothing... I turned to my wife, “Dinner’s not quite ready yet anyway.” A smug grin on my face, I felt, was enough to show her I knew what she was playing at.

  Both the kids screamed a little scream of happiness and ran towards the Christmas Tree.

  “Never were any good at that, were you?” said the wife - looking at the Christmas Tree. I knew it wouldn’t have been up to her standards.

  “Maybe you should have left me the pre-decorated tree,” I replied. I’m still shocked, when she got her belongings out of the loft, she took it in the first place.

  “I bought it,” she pushed.

  “With my credit card,” I stepped past her and walked into the kitchen. The potatoes needed to go in the oven.

  “Fuck you!” she hissed quietly when she walked into the kitchen, behind me. “We both made payments towards that credit card!”

  I didn’t say anything, as I slid the potatoes into the oven on the shelf above the meat. There was little point. She was obviously in the mood for an argument. To think, here was me believing she could put aside our differences for day. For the sake of the kids, at least. And she honestly thinks she’d make the better guardian, between us? I don’t think so - constantly putting herself before the kids...

  She carried on arguing with me but I ignored her words. I just stood there, smiling at her - pretending to listen. Instead, I focused on the sounds of presents being ripped open in the other room. The sound of laughter... the sound of... screaming.

  Screaming? What the fuck?

  My wife stopped talking and walked into the lounge to see what was wrong.

  I just froze to the spot.

  I knew what is was.

  He was so busy bickering with his wife, he didn’t think to check which presents the kids were opening. In their excitement, they chose to open one of the bigger of the presents they pulled from under the Christmas Tree. The severed, unblinking head of Leon Tope. The police were on the scene within fifteen minutes to make their arrest. The kids never got over what they saw. Their innocence destroyed forever. The wife went on to remarry, a young man named Arnold.

  ~ FIN

  I turned away from my wife, out of disgust. Even on Christmas Day she couldn’t let us get on. She had to make herself out to be the better person.

  “Well?” she carried. “You didn’t answer them... can they open a present each? Just one.”

  ‘Just ignore her,’ I thought.

  “Can we?” Ryan, the eldest, asked.

  It was no good, it got to me. I turned to my wife, “Why do you have to do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “You know what?”

  “No, I don’t... your children just want to open a present - it is Christmas after all.”

  She had a grin on her face that made me want to hit her. Punch her square in the fucking face. Don’t do it. Don’t sink to that level. At least, not with the kids in the room. Is it too early to send them to bed?

  “You never let them open their presents. Not until they’ve eaten all of their dinner...”

  She uses the idea of presents as a bargaining chip. Neither of them have massive appetites and they’re always quick to say they’re full. With the presents at stake - she always manages to force them to eat more than what they’d normally eat. I swear, she’d pile the plates so high... as though trying to get them to eat what they may have missed out on, in their meals, earlier in the year.

  I carried on, “The only reason you’re saying ‘yes’ now is so it makes you look like the nice parent....”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about...”

  Fucking liar! “Yes you do!” I yelled.

  I barely noticed the kids were getting upset by my raised voice.

  “You couldn’t manage one fucking day, could you? One fucking day for the sake.....”

  “Don’t swear in front of the children!” she yelled back.

  Sarah was crying. Ryan was visibly upset too.

  “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do!”

  “We shouldn’t have come - this was a mistake!” she hissed.

  “STOP IT!” shouted Ryan.

  I froze and turned to him. The sound of his young voice temporarily broke my escalating mood within seconds. I was so keen for this to be a good Christmas for the two of them and yet here I was screaming at their mother. It didn’t matter what the reasons were, behind the argument. They didn’t need to see it. We should keep it behind locked doors. Out of their sight. As much as I thought, and believed that, though - it was hard. And some things needed to be said...

  You decide what happens next!

  He lets the children open A present each

  He lets them open all of the presents

  He tells the kids off for whining, his wife needs to be told

  I looked at the wife. She was just stood there with a self-satisfied grin on her face - as though she had won that round because she was the ‘kind’ parent and I was the ‘meanie’.

  “No, kids. You can’t open one present....” I said.

  Their faces dropped with disappointment.

  “You can open ALL of the presents!” I finished.

  They cheered with joy and rushed towards the settee, where they sat - ready to receive the presents from under the tree.

  I turned to my wife and gave her a ‘fuck you’ look. I win that round. I’m the kind parent. She’s the meanie... Ha! Only let them open one present? Daddy let them open everything!

  “If you want to sit on the settee, I’ll hand the presents out,” I said to her.

  My wife ignored my ‘fuck you’ look and walked to the settee, choosing to sit between the kids. Bitch. I w
as going to sit there. Ah well, enjoy it - it’ll be the last time you get to sit between them. The last time you get to enjoy their company. Might as well let her make the most of it.