A Christmas to Remember: A Choose Your Own Horror Novel

by Matt Shaw

  She looked at the pile of presents on the sofa, “I feel guilty, I didn’t think we were getting anything for each other... you know, given the circumstances.”

  I did my best ‘shocked’ expression, “Why wouldn’t I get you anything? It’s Christmas! Drink?”

  “I could murder a cup of tea, thank you...”

  Funny... I could murder you.

  Actually, no ‘could’ about it.

  “Take a seat - don’t start without me...” I left her next to her presents and ventured into the kitchen to grab her a cuppa. One last drink. Funny, had she known it was going to be her last meal - I bet she wouldn’t have been keen to settle on Turkey Drumsticks earlier. I flicked the kettle on.

  “Thank you for today,” she called through. “I know it’s been a little weird but, I’m grateful - even if I do come across as a bitch from time to time...”

  Is that an apology? Too little, too late.

  Milk, tea-bag... one sugar.... just wait for the kettle.

  “And, apart from the occasional blip, I don’t think it’s been that bad a day.”

  Oh, glad you think so.

  “Kids certainly seemed to enjoy it...”

  Kids seemed to enjoy their presents. Big difference.

  The kettle clicked, signifying it had finished boiling. I took it from it’s plate and poured the boiling water into the waiting cup. Job done, I walked the hot drink through to the lounge where my wife was patiently waiting.

  “Thank you,” she said as she took the cup off me.

  “My pleasure.”

  “So,” a quick sip and she put the cup down, “where do I start?”

  I pointed to what was Leon’s head, “There would be a good a place as any.”

  My wife reached over and grabbed the parcel, “It’s heavy,” she said.

  ‘Was that excitement in her voice?’ I wondered as I reached, subtly, for the knife.

  She wasted no time in ripping the paper off until there was nothing but Leon’s severed head resting in her lap. Her eyes went wide with fear. This is it. That’s what I wanted. I reached across with the knife....

  She screams with fear...

  “I’ll put them to bed,” I said.

  Another act of cruelty before I finish the job permanently.

  Nothing less than what she deserves.

  “Come give mummy a hug,” she turned to the children. I thought she’d have put up more of a fight. Obviously learnt, earlier, that they don’t like it when we argue.

  Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.

  I watched as the kids gave their mother a hug - part of me quite thankful it looked as though it was a nice, big squeeze... Nice that their final cuddle was a good one. Another part of me, the darker side, wondering whether I’d have said something if the cuddle wasn’t as good. After all, they won’t be doing it again.

  Probably not.

  I just want them in bed now.

  My wife handed me their overnight bag.

  I want to finish what needs to be done.

  With the hugs out of the way, I chased Ryan and Sarah up the stairs having told them ‘the last one to bed is a rotten egg’. Not quite sure where that came from.

  I waited, in the bedroom, for them to finish brushing their teeth after I fished their toothbrushes out of the overnight bag.

  “Don’t forget the ones at the back,” I called through knowing, full well, that they’d probably ignore it. Seconds later, when they both came charging into the bedroom, I knew they’d not done the job properly.

  I don’t care, though.

  Not tonight.

  I have the rest of their childhood to learn how to be a good father.

  I just want them to go to sleep now.

  “Read us a story....” begged Sarah.

  “Tomorrow. We’ll go out and buy some books... some new story books, we don’t have any here,” I lied. I’m pretty sure there’s one knocking around at least. Pretty sure. “Whatever you want,” I told her. I turned to Ryan, “And you can choose your own story too. Don’t need me reading it for you now you’re a big boy!” He smiled as I gave them both a kiss on the forehead. “No matter what happens,” I said, “daddy loves you both. Lots and lots.”

  “And Jelly-tots?” asked Sarah.

  What the fuck. Must be something new their fucking mother has introduced.

  “And Jelly-tots,” I smiled.

  I stood up and walked over to the light-switch, ready to flick it off.

  “No!” shouted Sarah. “Leave it on!”

  “Okay,” I said. “Night night. don’t let the bed bugs bite,” I said as I stepped out onto the landing, pulling the door closed behind me.

  They both look knackered, hopefully they’ll fall asleep promptly. Not that it really matters - neither of them are ones for getting up after they’ve been put to bed. They know their mother never stands for it and, all the time they think she’s here, they won’t try anything.

  I listened at the door, for only a second. Can’t hear any major movement. Only the sounds of them trying to get comfortable on the inflatable beds. Really must sort that. I’m sure there’ll be sales on tomorrow. There normally is. Might be able to pick them up a couple of beds. I wonder if they’d want bunk beds...

  I turned away and walked down the stairs, back into the loun....

  What the fuck.

  In the middle of the lounge was a severed hand - cut off at the wrist... where the watch was still ticking along quite nicely. My wife was nowhere to be seen. Shit.

  “Honey?” I called out.

  Honey? Like she’d really answer to that now.

  I looked around and noticed the front door was wide open.

  SHIT!

  I ran over to the door and looked into the street. She was nowhere to be seen. Next door neighbour is a police-officer - did she go around there?

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  I stepped back into the house and closed the door.

  That’s it.

  I’ll have to just pack the kids up and get the hell out of here.... I can’t go to prison. I’ll never see the kids again...

  As he stepped back into the hallway - towards the lounge again - his wife suddenly came around the corner and stuck a large kitchen knife into his chest, piercing his heart. She screamed loudly as he dropped to the floor - dead in a matter of seconds.

  The kids, disturbed the screaming, came down the stairs to see what the commotion was. They never got over the sight of their mummy killing their daddy. Their innocence ruined forever.

  ~ FIN

  My wife screamed loudly as I approached her with the kitchen knife. She tried to get up, from the sofa, but slipped and ended up on the lounge floor where she raised her hands up to protect herself from the oncoming stabbing frenzy she was to endure.

  I fell on top of her and she screamed again as I plunged the knife into her stomach. I loved the look of terror in her eyes and I felt myself harden... This was my time now. I pulled the knife out and stuck it in again. Penetrating her as though fucking her with my cock. Each stab causing her to cry out a little more.

  “Mummy?”

  I froze.

  Crying from the top of the stairs.

  I turned around and saw Ryan and Sarah standing, on the top step, watching me....

  I turned back to my wife who was desperately trying to pull herself away from underneath me...

  You decide what happens next!

  He runs out of the front door

  He has to kill everyone

  Having been seen butchering their mother, the husband panics and runs from the house - still clutching the knife. Realising his children won’t ever forgive him, he ends up taking his own life in a nearby wooded area. His body is found by a dog-walker who ends up needing therapy.

  Having lost both their father and their mother, the children ended up in a Foster home. They never got over what they say and grew to be damaged individuals.

  A note from the author
r />   You sick fuck! Yes, I put the option in the book, for him to kill everyone, but that’s only because I could see someone complaining the option wasn’t there IF I left it out! You just chose to butcher a six year old girl and an eight year old boy. And yes, you could use the excuse he HAD to kill them because he realised they’d never get over what they saw but, that’s not the point. They’re children!!!!

  I suggest you put this book down and seek immediate therapy.

  Either that or start again and try and let the children leave the story unharmed from the horrors within these twisted pages!

  Consider yourself told off!

  - FIN

  and swiped across, catching my wife in the throat. The blade went through her skin as if it were butter and tears open a large, gaping wound. I stepped back, a look of pleasure on my face, as she aimlessly grabbed at her throat -blood spraying from it. A funny gargling noise from her mouth.

  “You won’t take my kids off me, you cunt!” I hissed as she rolled off the sofa and onto the floor. The blood less of a spray now but still pooling, on the floor, around where she lay.

  That’s going to be a bitch to clean up but I don’t care. Don’t give a fuck.

  I dropped to my knees, in front of her, and stared her hard in the eyes as the last of her life faded from them.

  Good Night, whore.

  You decide what happens next!

  He goes the whole hog and cut her head off for the Christmas Tree

  He realises there are kids upstairs and cleans the mess up.

  I reached under the Christmas Tree for the hacksaw and pulled it out from beneath the pine branches. I’ve been looking forward to this all day. This is my Christmas present. My real one.

  I lined the blade up with the hole I’d just slit, on her neck, and started to saw. Slowly. Wanted to savour this. The feeling as it goes through. The sound of the teeth cutting through the bone. The sound of the stringy bits of tissue snapping as the blade makes short work of them. My hand feeling the slight vibrations through the handle. My only regret is I couldn’t keep her alive as I did this. Let her feel it. Every little saw.

  Regrettably it didn’t take long before her head rolled away from her body. Wish I could have made it last longer. I suppose I could have, if I bought myself the cheaper hacksaw I was looking at. At the time, though, I worried it wouldn’t have been up to the job.

  Couldn’t really ask someone if it would cut through ‘person’.

  I put the blade down and lifted my wife’s head up, the mouth dropped open. Is it wrong I want to give myself a little head? She makes for such a pretty corpse.

  You decide what happens next!

  His mind completely snaps

  He puts his Angel on top of the Tree

  He thinks she needs fairy lights in her eye-sockets

  Whoa!

  In all the excitement I nearly forgot about the fairy-lights. Can’t forget those. Right in the eye-sockets. She’d look awesome on top of the tree with her ‘eyes’ flashing on and off.

  I need to do it.

  Only regret it if I don’t.

  I put her head down, on the sofa, so that her face was pointing upwards and then, using my thumbs, I gouged her pretty blue eyes from their sockets. A horrible squelchy feeling made worthwhile at the thought of how pretty her eyes will be when I’ve finished.

  No longer will she have blue eyes.

  Well... sometimes she will have.

  But other times they’ll be green... or red.... or yellow....

  I dropped the eye-balls onto the floor. One rolled under the sofa. Dammit. Mustn’t forget that’s down there. Don’t want the kids finding it tomorrow.... I stood up... where are they.... ah yes.... I peeked behind the sofa and found the left-over box of Christmas lights from when I had finished decorating the tree. Here we go.

  He spent the next hour wrapping the lights around his wife’s head so that a large cluster of bulbs were positioned in her eye-sockets. Flicking the on switch, she did indeed have green... and red.... and yellow.... and even blue eyes. It was beautiful...

  His final act was to stick the head upon the top of the Tree - by ramming downwards, the top of the tree went up her neck and into her brain. A wobble test confirmed she wasn’t going anywhere.

  He stepped back and admired his handiwork. Beautiful.

  That night, after he had gone to bed, an electrical fire sparked from his bodge-job. His wife’s hair was the first thing to go up, then the Tree.... then the sofa...

  Had he known his wife had also taken the Fire Alarms, he may have replaced them and survived the inferno. Unfortunately, he - and his children - perished that very night.

  ~ FIN

  I sat back down upon the sofa, clutching her head lovingly, before undoing my trousers and lowering them to below my knees. A quick re-adjustment to free my cock from my shorts - made hard from the pleasurable act of killing my wife - and I sat there stroking it in my right hand.

  The bad part of me wonders whether I could get away with keeping her head for this very purpose... I positioned it over my throbbing penis and pushed down. Still warm... still wet.... It’s nice. The way her mouth dribbled a little saliva down my shaft... it was like she was still alive. This was better, though. No moaning. No telling me not to cum in her mouth.

  I gathered pace as I moved her head up and down. Loving the feeling of her tongue slapping against my shaft.... it wasn’t long before I started to feel that familiar build-up of an orgasm. As it hit, I couldn’t help but moan out loud... all these years together, it was the first time I had ejaculated in her mou.... what the fuck?

  I felt a splatter against my leg and looked down.

  Shit!

  Didn’t think it through properly.

  My sperm had shot out of her neck stump.

  Well, that’s a passion killer.

  Ah well, already have quite a bit of cleaning up to do before the morning. What’s a little semen thrown into the mix? I pulled her head off my penis and sat there, for a moment, looking her in the eyes whilst getting my breath back.

  Her eyes.

  Even I can’t stoop to sticking my penis in her mouth. No matter how excited I am. Some lines just can’t be crossed and I’m sure that’s one of the lines at the very top of the ‘not-to-cross’ list.

  I should just stick to the original plan.

  I looked to the Christmas Tree.

  She’ll look great at the top.

  I wonder what the kids will think when they see it.

  Sure they’ll love it.

  Holding my wife’s head by a clump of hair I walked over to the tree and raised her above the top of it. Just slam it down I guess.... can’t be that hard.

  Without thinking any further, I brought the head down hard so that the top of the tree penetrated her head, via the neck stump. Letting go of the head, I held my hands either side ready to catch it should she fall but she didn’t.... simply wobbled from side to side a little. If anything leaning to the left ever so slightly, I’d say but... guess that was to be expected given the weight.

  Sometimes trees struggle with Angels... let alone heads.

  Happy it wasn’t going anywhere, I stepped back and admired my handiwork.

  She looks good.

  Better up there than on her own body!

  Very festive.

  I have to say, I’m not sure if I can wait until the morning for the kids to see this....

  Despite his mind obviously breaking, he did manage to wait until the morning to show his children what he had done. No one believed them when they said ‘mummy was on top of the Christmas Tree’ - their dad simply correcting them, in front of the people who were told, that it wasn’t mummy... it was an Angel. He then went onto say, quietly, that their mum had actually run off with another man.

  The children were never the same again.

  ~ FIN

  I fetched the hacksaw from underneath the Christmas Tree, where I stashed it earlier and walked over to her body. Now this
... this I’ve really been looking forward to!