Page 5 of Ho Ho Homicidal Mania
He makes a concerned face. “Poor thing. Did you not see I left you cookies—” he pauses and his eyes widen when his blue gaze settles on the plate “—raisins. Of course. I didn’t think you might be particular about that, I was in such a rush to prepare the space. Lots of people dislike raisins, I should have been more considerate about it. Any allergies?”
Does he want to… kill me via anaphylactic shock?
It would be an unorthodox but efficient and discreet way of disposing of someone who now knows this man’s secret. And since I did go out to party last night, it would be plausible for me to accidentally ingest something I shouldn’t.
But I shake my head. “Just dust mites.”
He nods and his smile wanes as he looks around. “I know the space is not ideal, but I will spruce it up in no time, and it’s well-insulated, so there’s no damp here.”
He’s mad. In a world of his own, and I’m an unwilling participant in whatever unhinged fantasy of his this is. Then again, I should have already known this, since he is theChristmas Killer. No one sane rips people’s teeth out then wraps their decapitated heads in ribbons.
But he isn’t trying to scare me, and he didn’t threaten me yet so… maybe I can make him like me? I’ve made podcasts about victims who managed to endear themselves to their captors and survived. Could this be my chance?
“I’m just so scared,” I tell him, desperate to appear younger and more innocent than I am, so he pities me. That’s right, Christmas Killer, I don’t deserve to die. I’m a nice boy, who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I think back to last night’s party, and the thoughtless way I accepted a drink from a stranger, just because he was hot, makes me cringe. I know the methods criminals use to victimize people, and I should have known better. As it turns out, reading about crime is very different from actually dealing with manipulators trying to spike your drink. If my life experience wasn’t so limited, I would have known that.
And now here I am, trying to make the most prolific killer in my statelikeme.
Fuck my life.
Trying to pressure him into releasing mewould backfire, so being ‘nice’ is the tactic I’ll be sticking to for now.
“I understand. The situation is new to me as well. I’ve never had a witness before. Or survivors.” He opens the basket to reveal a thermos, cups, plates, and food. Does he want to have a picnic with me, or something?
As much as I want to deny it, when he pours hot chocolate into the cups, my stomach demands to drink itright now.
But what if he’s just being nice to fool me, like Sexy Santa had? What could he gain from poisoning me, though? Unless it’s his thing to watch someone die a slow and painful death.
“I imagine that must be extraordinarily awkward,” I say with a nervous chuckle and stare at the marshmallows he tosses in from a cardboard packet. Could those be spiked as well? He didn’t put any in his own mug.
My mind flashes back to the moment the saw ripped into my dead abductor’s neck. I’ve seen so many photos of crime scenes, yet it can’t compare to the real life experience. The sudden smell of blood in the air, the awful sound of the blade as it ripped through meat and cartilage…
Maybe I can go another hour without eating after all?
As he passes me the hot mug, I wonder if he chose a burgundy shirt so blood doesn’t show on it as much.
“Let’s consider it a Christmas miracle,” he says with a smile and bumps his cup against mine. “My name is Nico, like, you know, Saint Nicholas. But no ‘h’. It will be a while until I work out exactly what to do with you, so it would be nice to get to know each other.”
I struggle to remain serious, because for all his prowess in remaining free over the years, this guy is utterly deranged. And unpredictable, andthatmeans the next time I wake up, there might be a knife against my throat.
“Blake. And, uhm, my big brother must be worried sick about me,” I add to check his reaction.
“I’ll find out about that, but Blake… Sometimes life takes a turn, you know? A few years ago, I lost my grandfather, and he was the only family I had left. It wasn’t an easy transition, but I adjusted over time.”
Does he mean… I’ll be adjusting to living in a cell with no windows?
“You want to just keep me here on my own?” I ask in the most sullen voice I can muster.
“It’s all so fresh it’s hard to tell. I don’t believe in gifting pets for Christmas, but I could consider getting a puppy for you, if you think you won’t deal well with solitude.”
Is that even a question? I hate him so much already for restricting my freedom, for the abduction, for the farcical ‘treats’ meant to subdue me, but I’m still fighting back tears at the thought that this might be my life now. Stuck in some freak’s cellar.
“What kind of life is that?” Rips out of my chest as I step closer to the bars, pinning him with my gaze. “There’s no sugarcoating murder. Even if it’s just murder of the soul, andmy soulis going to die in these conditions!”
But it’s as if he’s not hearing me at all. He cocks his head and stares into my eyes so intently my heart rises to my throat. I overdid it. I couldn’t stay nice, and he’s gonna kill me. Or leave me here alone for a week to ‘teach me a lesson’.
“‘There’s no sugarcoating murder’…” he repeats. “I could swear I knew your voice from somewhere! You’re Cryptic Boy Wonder.”
