Lyrics to Last Christmas by Wham (1984)
Marie Antoinette hated working Sunday nights.
Pretty, sixteen, and stuck-up, Marie worked part time at the Forever 21 in the Exclamation Gardens Town Mall helping old women and clueless husbands find designer underwear. It was a thankless, annoying, and degrading job and Marie despised it. She was too good to work like a commoner, she should be sitting on a throne somewhere and living a life of luxury. She was on the cheer squad and one of the most popular girls at school; boys worshipped the ground she walked on and girls watched her walk by with envy on their faces. All of her teachers bent over backwards to give her good grades even if, maybe, she didn't deserve them, and she never got into serious trouble despite, admittedly, being kind of a mean girl. Life was good for her at school…but outside of it, she was treated just like everyone else. Her looks didn't get her far (though she could definitely still use them) and people didn't bow down to her. Life was nothing like high school and, honestly, she didn't like it.
The worst thing about life was having to work. Marie enjoyed the finer things in life and wouldn't be caught dead in anything less than high end. She wore the best clothes, the cutest jewelry, and simply had to have all the latest accessories. She upgraded her iPhone every year, only bought Gucci bags, and wouldn't settle for anything cheap, second hand, or subpar. Unfortunately for her, those things weren't free. As a girl, her foster parents bought her whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. She was daddy's little princess, after all, and she always got what she wanted. As she got older, however, her parents started to say "no" more often, and her dad started talking about teaching her responsibility and "the value of a dollar." She still got what they wanted, but she had to cry, throw tantrums, and stomp her feet for it. When she hit fifteen, that stopped working. Daddy gave her a fifty dollar allowance every week but nothing else. She couldn't afford anything she wanted on that measly pittance, so she was forced to get a job.
Entering the work force had been a culture shock for Marie. She was appalled, simply appalled, but everything about it, from getting up early to the laughably small wages. The simple concept of work itself baffled her. Why didn't she get paid for the time it took her to get ready for work? Why didn't she get paid for the time it took her to travel from work to home? Why didn't she get paid for the time she spent relaxing after work? She deserved to, you know. She was always too tired to do anything after work, and it was because of work that she felt that way, so it would only be fair that she get paid for it.
She told all of this to her manager once, and he called her spoiled and entitled. Like, uh, yeah, I'm entitled because I don't think I should have to work for my money.
Real entitled.
As much as Marie hated working, she hadn't not having money even more, so she worked whenever she could. Beginning in November, she began picking up extra shifts. The store was busy with holiday shoppers from open to close, and she didn't even get paid extra for having to deal with more customers than usual.
What a crock.
She hated working on Sundays because she got out late and had to get up early for school the next day. She worked this Sunday because she needed a few extra dollars , but half way through her shift, slammed with customers and listening to the same five canned Chrisrtmasn songs filtering from the store's overhead speakers, she started to regret it. She stayed behind after her shift to clean up and take inventory, and by the time she locked up, she was exhausted. She slung her purse over her shoulder and walked down the breezeway running between the stores. All of the shops were shuttered and the food court empty. Wreaths, garland, and other Christmas decorations covered every conceivable surface and the music played to a deserted mall. Baby, it's cold outside.
Well, it is December, so…
The only people she met on her way out were one of the security guards and a janitor pushing a mop bucket in the direction of a distant spill. Happy Christmas music still filtered through the speakers, playing to no one at all.
Last Christmas, I gave you my heart
But the very next day, you gave it away
This year, to save me from tears
I'll give it to someone special
Marie reached the side door and pushed out into the frosty night. Tall street lights towered over the parking lot, each one festooned with a wreath trimmed in softly glowing lights. The only car in sight was her own, parked so far away that she could barely see it. The desolation of the normally busy parking lot unnerved her, and she hunched her shoulders against the cold. She walked as quickly as she could, the cold wind raking her face and sapping the heat from her body. Behind her, a dark figure stepped from the shadows and watched her intently. It was tall and lank, clad all in black and wearing a red Santa jacket lined with white fur. Its face was covered by a black ski mask with wide, ghostly holes for the eyes and mouth and it held something in one gloved hand.
Marie made it to her car and reached for the door handle, but froze when she spotted something sitting on the hood. She furrowed her brow in confusion and went to it.
A present, wrapped in red paper and s[porting a jaunty yellow bow. Her puzzlement turned to excitement and she plucked it from its resting place. If there was one thing Marie loved, it was getting gifts.
She ripped the bow off and tore open the paper. The package felt weird and squishy in her hands, and she tried but failed to figure out what it was. Red liquid leaked out and dribbled across her palm, and she crinkled her nose. What the fuck?
Reaching in, she took her gift out and held it up to the glow of a nearby light.. Its texture was soft and pliable like jello and it was coated in a sticky substance. She narrowed her eyes to see better, and that's when she realized what it was.
A heart.
Marie let out a horrified squeal, and the heart fell from her hand, plopping wetly to the pavement. She jumped back and bumped into someone. Before she could turn, a strand of Christmas lights looped around her neck and pulled tight, cutting off her air supply. Her eyes swelled in their sockets and terror filled her chest. She began to thrash, and her attacker responded by spinning her around and lifting her off her feet. Pressure expanded in the center of Marie's head, and her heart slammed against her ribcage. Her mind screamed at her in primal fear, but she couldn't obey its command to flee and breathe. The edges of her vision tinged with gray and the fight slowly ran out of her. Her face was tingling, her head swam; she gave one final jerk, and blackness stole over her.
When sure that she was dead, the killer let her body fall to a heap on the pavement. Dropping to one knee, the killer produced a wickedly sharp knife that gleamed in the light and began to saw at one of her feet. Flesh ripped, tendons snapped, bones crushed. When the foot was severed, the killer turned it back and forth, staring at it with the giddy glee of a child. Standing, the killer shoved the foot into the sack and then dragged Marie's body to the lamp. Staring down at her pallid face, the killer remembered last Christmas, the way Marie had laughed in that hateful way of hers. Rage bubbled in the killer's chest, and kneeling again, the killer took out the knife and raised it into the air before plunging it into Marie's chest. Again and again, the blade slashed and hacked, laying open the dead girl's throat and ripping out one of her eyes. Before stringing her up, the killer cut out Marie's tongue and stomped it under the heel of one Santa boot.
Fuck you in hell, bitch.
Once the killer was done, Marie hung from the lamp by the string of lights, her head bowed as if in prayer and her hair covering her face. Her arms dangled at her sides and she swung gently back and forth in the frigid breeze.
Satisfied, the killer disappeared into the night, leaving Marie as a warning to the others.
Santa Claus is coming to town.
On the snowy morning of December 18, Abe Lincoln woke to the sound of the clock radio.. A boisterous deejay was hawking tickets to a Michael Bubble concert and playing "Your favorite hometown holiday hits." Abe sat up, stretched, and yawned. Tall and lanky with a neckbeard that he could never seem to turn into a mustache combo, Abe was seventeen in three weeks and looking forward to it. A fastidious student, Abe was the kind of guy who thought long and hard about the future. He hadn't decided what he wanted to do with his life, but he was thinking he'd like to be a veterinarian. He loved animals and he felt a strong civic responsibility to do the right thing no matter the cost.
Then again, he had been looking into social work a lot lately and was beginning to think he'd like to do that instead. He liked kids and helping children in need seemed like the most noble career path one could pursue.
The problem was that there were many such career paths, and honestly, he wanted to do all of them. You can really only pick one, however, and he just didn't know which one he wanted to spend his life on.
Luckily for him, he was still young enough that he could put the ultimate decision off for a little while longer. There were other pressing matters to occupy his mind for the time being, such as Cleopatra.
A dreamy sigh escaped from Abe's lips at the thought of Cleopatra.
Cleo was the captain of the cheer squad and the most beautiful girl in school. She was tall, fair-skinned with exotix green eyes, and had curves in all the right places. She was everything that Abe had fantasized about - hot, classy, feminine - and he had been crushing on her for as long as he could remember; she was just as beautiful in fourth grade as she was now. Some people grow into their beauty, others change everything about themselves to attain beauty, but not Cleo. She was naturally stunning.
She also didn't know that Abe even existed.
That was an exaggeration but not by much. They didn't travel in the same circles exactly but theirs was a small school where everyone knew everyone else. They had had many classes together and he sometimes offered to carry her books or do her homework, so she knew that he was alive, but she didn't see him as anything more than another guy. At worst, she thought he was a pathetic simp. At best, she liked him as an acquaintance.
Not even a friend.
For many years, Abe had pined for her from afar, too scared of being rejected to ask her out. She was the most heavenly and angelic creature Abe had ever beheld. She was perfect in every way and Abe loved her entirely. He realized on some level that he had put her on a pedestal, that she probably wasn't as perfect as he thought she was. Part of him was afraid that if he made a move, his vision of her would be shattered. What if she rejected him with excess cruelty? What if she laughed at him? What if they actually got together…and he found out that she smelled downstairs? Or drank milk right out of the carton? What if he found that she wasn't the angel he thought she was,...what if she was a normal person with flaws and quirks that he couldn't reconcile with?
Was it worth having his illusion of her broken?
On the one hand, he didn't think it was, but on the other, he couldn't go on admiring her from a distance.
Getting up, Abe went to the bathroom and took a long, hot shower to wake himself up. He ducked his head under the spray and let the water sluice through his hair. He squirted a slug of body wash into his loofah and scrubbed himself from head to toe, paying special attention to her underarms; his BO was hella bad sometimes.
Done, he jumped out, wrapped the towel around his waist, and drowned his armpits in deodorant. He brushed his teeth, floosed, and gargled with mouthwash, which he spat into the basin. He checked his reflection in the mirror and turned to both sides. He hated to be down on himself but he had to admit: He was ugly. He was too thin, his features too sharp. He had been trying to gain weight (so that he could work out and convert it into muscle, of course) but his metabolism was off the chain and burned ten calories for every calorie he took in. He spent a whole summer eating ridiculous amounts of meat and cupcakes, and he only gained two pounds. A lot of people would kill for a metabolism like his, but he hated it.
You know what they say, though: The grass is always greener on the other side. Everyone strives for perfection, but perfection is a narrow and slippery platform that is all too easy to overshoot. Back in his room, Ab dressed in a pair of tan cargo pants and a jersey with the number 16 emblazoned across the chest in white. He started to put on his tennis shoes, but realized that he didn't know whether or not it had snowed overnight/ Abe's parents weren't exactly rich and he always wore his shoes until the soles were thin and falling apart. If he wore them in the rain or snow, his feet would be soaked in seconds.
He pulled the curtain aside and peered out. A thin layer of white covered the world, and the sky was the color of ash, threatening even more snow. The barren trees along the sidewalk shook in the icy breeze, and snow swirled in motes of dust in bright sunlight. Letting the curtain fall closed again, he fetched his snow boots from the corner where he had placed them a few days before and pulled them on.
The kitchen was empty when he walked in, a note from his parents on the fridge. They had gone on a couples' retreat in the mountains to work on their marriage and had left a to-do list for him along with a fifty dollar bill. He pocketed the money and thought about what he would spend it on as he ate a bowl of Grape Nuts. It was ostensibly for food, but he could survive on what was in the pantry and fridge. If he did that, he could spend the money on something else. Was that ethical? He couldn't see a logical way that it wasn't, but it still felt dishonest. Abe was honest to a fault and if he felt something was wrong, he'd die before he did it. His parents gave him that money to buy food with, not to squirrel away in his sock drawer.
He'd think about it some more. For now, he had to hurry or he'd be late.
Getting up, he sat the bowl and spoon in the sink, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and went out the back door, locking it behind him. An icy blast of air blew over him and he shuddered. He lowered his head and walked to the bus stop, freshly fallen snow silent beneath his feet. He got to the bus stop just as the bus turned onto his street. It rocked and swayed as it lumbered through the slush and ice. It stopped in front of him and the doors thumped open. He got on, dropped into one of the front seats where all the good kids sat, and stared out the window. His mind quickly turned to Cleo and he lost himself in thought. There was a not insignificant part of him that wanted to ask her out and get it over with, but a slightly larger paper told him to hold off. He and Cleo knew each other, but they didn't know each other well enough that him rolling up and asking for a date would seem reasonable. You can't just randomly ask a girl out. I mean, put yourself in her shoes. Some lanky guy you barely know asks you out. Like…can we at least be friends first?
The bus pulled up to the school and stopped. Everyone filed off and packed into the building. Non-offensive, politically correct holiday decorations - snowmen, snow flakes, a trans flag with a clenched fist holding a piece of mistletoe - adorned the walls and lockers. Abe weaved through the crowded corridors and arrived at his locker. He opened it, grabbed his history book, and went to the cafeteria. His friends - Al Einstein, Nick Tesla, George Carver, and Joan of Arc sat at a table near the wall, eating and debating something intently. Abe went over and sat next to George. "Hey, guys."
Even as he spoke, he noticed the haunted looks on their faces.
"What's up?" he asked, his voice sobering.
Joan hesitated. "Someone killed Marie Antoinette last night."
That sentence entered Abe's ear, rattled around, and exited the other ear without touching his brain. "W…What?"
"Someone cut her up and hung her from a streetlight," Nick said.
"I heard both her arms and legs got cut off," George said in that nasally Steve Urkel voice of his.
"I heard she got raped," Al said, "after she was dead."
A look of disgust flickered across Joan's face and she held up one hand, palm flat, like a cop directing traffic. "Okay, that's enough."
It took Abe a minute to fully process what had happened. Marie was captain of the cheer squad and one of the most popular girls in school. The thought of hjer being dead, much less murdered, was so downright bizarre that Abe could hardly compute it.
The only fact that Al, Nick, George, and Joan could agree on was that the killer had left a card with the inscription, "I know what you did last Christmas."
"What does that mean?" Abe asked.
"I don't know," Joan said.
Abe looked across the room. Past a forest of bodies sat the popular kids' table. Helen of Troy, Catherine the Great, Cleo, and that bastard JFK huddled together. Helen and Cathy were both pale and shaken. Cleo wept onto JFK's shoulder and Abe's eyes narrowed. JFK was the everything Abe wasn't: Handsome, charismatic, and popular. He and Cleo had been on again, off again dating since last year and Abe could almost hate him for having what he himself so desperately wanted. There was also the fact that he was a selfish, lunk-head bully, but Abe could overlook those things. He could not, however, ignore the way Cleo looked at him - dreamy, adoring, the way that he, Abe, looked at her.
"I don't know why you're so broken up," he heard JFK say. "You stil have me. I'm way better than Marie Antoiinette."
Like a flash, Cleo slapped him across the face and stormed off, hands clutched at her sides. Joan barked sardonic laughter and Al and Nick both winced. Abe saw none of this and wouldn't have cared if he had; his only thought was for Cleo.
Getting up, he went after her, catching up to her in the hall. "Cleo!" he called. "Wait up!"
She didn't stop, didn't even slow.
Abe ran after her and even though he was all legs, he had to power walk to keep pace with her. "Hey," he said and rubbed the back of his neck, "I'm sorry about Marie. You have my condolences."
Cleo's jaw clenched and her eyes flashed with anger. For a terrible second, Abe thought she was going to lash out at him, but instead, she hissed through her teeth. "I can't believe he said that. He's such a jerk."
They were passing the office now, heading aimlessly in the direction of the gym. Kids dug through their lockers and hung out in big groups, and teachers clutching cups of gas station coffee hurried toward their classrooms. "Yeah, that was kind of messed up," Abe said, being careful not to dumb too much on JFK. "But maybe he didn't mean it that way."
"What way?" Cleo demanded.
Abe fumbled for a response. "Maybe he was trying to cheer you up. I mean, yeah, it came off as really bad, but he's exactly the best at expressing things."
"He's an asshole," she said in a tone of sheer finality.
"Well, yeah," Abe said, "he is that."
For the next ten minutes, they walked around while Cleo vented about JFK. Abe could almost trick himself into believing that she was opening up to him and that they were bonding, but he knew deep down that they weren't. She was letting it all out and would be doing the same thing no matter who he was. She wasn't talking to him, she was just talking.
But still, that was a step in the right direction.
The bell rang shortly thereafter and Cleo sighed. "Anyway, I gotta go." She turned without another word and walked off. Abe looked after her, and she disappeared into the quickly forming crowd.
In first period, the teacher, Mrs. Poindexter, addressed the class. "Obviously, one of us is missing." Everyone's eyes went to the empty desk at the far left of the room. Mrs. Poindexter's voice was grave as she explained that Marie had "passed away last night." She didn't elaborate but everyone had already heard. The school was abuzz with the news and rumors began running rampant even before breakfast. Abe wasn't exactly sure what had really happened but did it matter?
Who would want to kill Marie anyway? Abe wasn't sure about the details of the case but he was almost certain that it wasn't a simple robbery gone wrong or anything.
It was some serial killer shit.
A cold shiver went down Abe's spine.
Once class began in earnest, Abe struggled to focus on his lesson, but thoughts of Cleo distracted him. She was really down about Marie and her fight with JFK. I should do something nice for her, he thought.
That was easier said than done. What could he do to cheer up someone who had been through as much as Cleo had today?
An idea came to him, but it involved being dishonest.
Abe bit his bottom lip and squirmed in his seat. The prospect of breaking the rules made him feel antsy. He had always followed the rules. He was a good kid, a teacher's pet, a nerd; he rarely took risks and prided himself on doing everything by the book. He didn't know if he could even physically do it.
What choice did he have, though? His chances with Cleo were on the line. If he wanted to be with her, he would have to take risks. Asking her out in the first place was a huge risk in of itself. If he couldn't do this, how could he expect to do that? He took a deep breath, drummed his fingers on the desk, and looked around.
He was going to do it, he decided.
When the bell rang, Abe took his book back to his locker and made his way to the side door. He looked sneakily around, then slunk out. He stole across the icy parking lot, heart racing, and ducked around parked cars and trucks to shield himself from the windows. The back of his neck tingled and he expected someone to try and stop him, but he made it to the street unmolested.
First, he went to the Rite-Aid on Bull Run Avenue and bought a box of chocolates. Next, he hit up the florist at the corner of Tammany and Versailles. He browsed the selection for a long time, unable to decide. His first choice was roses, but he didn't want to go full romantic. It might make his intentions too obvious.
Then again, why wouldn't he make his intentions obvious? You don't get what you want by pretending you don't want it. You get it by actively pursuing it. Playing hard to get wouldn't do him any favors. It would only complicate things. He was naturally defaulting to timidity and that was the worst way to go about trying to win a girl over. You can't be meek and oblique, you have to be bold and straightforward.
He took a deep breath and bought the roses.
By the time he got back to school, the last class was just ending. He waited for the bell, then went inside. Kids looked at him funny as he carried the flowers and chocolates down the hall, and his face burned with embarrassment. It would all be worth it in the end, though.
At his locker, Abe stashed the flowers and chocolates inside and went to his next class. He was nervous and edgy the whole time, pangs of dread rippling through his stomach. Time seemed to somehow go both too fast and too slow; slow because he wanted to hurry up and get this over with, and fast because he needed just a little more time to amp himself up.
The bell rang, signaling lunch, and Abe waited for everyone else to leave before gathering his books and going to his locker. He lingered over the flowers and chocolates for a long moment, unsure of what to do, then made up his mind and grabbed them. He went into the cafeteria and looked around, spotting Cleo sitting by herself at a table near the vending machines. He took a deep breath and walked over. He stood beside her, waiting to be acknowledged, and when she didn't notice him, he said, "Hey, Cleo, I got you something."
She turned around and her eyes darted between his smiling face and the proffered presents. She blinked in surprise and looked to be at a loss for words. "Uh…thank you."
"I figured you've been through a lot today."
"Thanks," she said again. She took them and looked uncomfortably from one item to the other. When she read the label on the chocolate, however, her eyes lit up. "Ferrero Rocher? I love Ferrero Rocher."
Abe chuckled nervously. "I'm kind of intuitive like that."
The truth was, he knew her favorite chocolate, her favorite food, her favorite color, and, really, almost everything else about her. Surface level, at least. "Finally someone is," she said and shot a dirty look over her shoulder, "he always gets me Palmer even though that's totally poor people chocolate."
JFK sat with Catharine, Helen, and a few other popular kids, glaring across the room at Abe and Cleo. "Yeah, that chocolate sucks," Abe lied and sat. He didn't mind Palmer. "I figured you deserved something nice."
Ripping one of the chocolates open, Cleo tossed it into her mouth, her cheek bulging as she replied. "I really do. It's been rough."
"How are you holding up?" Abe asked. He could feel JFK's burning gaze on him, but he did his best to ignore it.
Cleo shrugged one shoulder. "I'm still kind of in shock. I can't believe she's gone."
In the corner of Abe's vision, JFK got up and started walking over. Abe's heart raced and his palms began to sweat. He wasn't much of a fighter but if he had to, he'd punch Kennedy in the crotch no problem. "Hey, baby," JFK said and laid his hand on Cleo's shoulder.
She pulled away from him. "Go away."
"Come on, don't be like that," JFK said. "We need to plan the party."
Every Christmas, JFK held a huge Christmas party at his family's estate on the lake. Abe had never been invited, but he heard wild things happened there.
Too wild.
"I'm not going to your party," Cleo said. "You're a jerk."
JFK chuckled. "But I'm handsome."
Abe swallowed thickly. Here goes nothing. "You heard her. Kick rocks."
The jock shot Abe a withering look. "Back off, nerd. She's mine, not yours."
In a flash, Cleo's elbow rammed back into JFK's groin with such force that Abe winced. JFK's eyes bulged from their sockets and his face turned bright red. He clutched his wounded testicles and dropped to his knees. Cleo stood up. "I don't belong to either of you."
With that, she grabbed her chocolates and stormed off. Abe started to call after her, but stopped himself. She didn't mean anything by what she said - and it was true, she didn't belong to him - but it stung nevertheless. His face blazed and the most crushing sense of failure he had ever known fell over him. JFK lay on his side, still squeezing his junk, and a few kids passing by laughed at him. "IT'S NOT FUNNY!" he cried in a high falsetto.
Now everyone laughed, even his besties.
Abe took a deep breath. His first instinct was to hang his head in defeat, but his father's advice came back to him. If you want something, you have to work hard for it.
He would work, Abe resolved.
And he would get what he wanted.
Lyrics to Happy XMas (War is Over) by John Lennon (1971)
Catherine The Great - Cathy to her friends - got home from school at half past five that afternoon. The last of the sunlight had drained from the sky an hour before and darkness reigned. Usually, she got home even later, but cheer practice had been canceled.
For the millionth time that day, she thought of poor Marie, and fresh tears welled in her eyes.
Her parents were both out when she arrived, so she let herself in and went into the foyer. She shut the door and stripped the red scarf from around her neck. She took off her jacket, hung it up, and removed her fur-lined Uggs. In the living room, a stately fir wrapped in white lights stood in the corner, looking modern and festive.
It depressed her.
An ocean of presents were heaped around the base of the tree. She had been looking forward to opening them but now she didn't give a shit. One of her best friends was dead and all the joy had gone out of the holiday season.
Before sitting on the couch, Cathy built a fire in the hearth and popped a cup of hot cocoa into the in hand, she returned to the living room, sat it on the table, and crossed to the stereo. She turned it on and a choir of children filled the room. She went to the couch, dropped on, and hugged herself.
A very merry Christmas
And a happy new year,
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear
An inexplicable lump of emotion welled in her throat and she swallowed it down. She and Marie had been best friends since they were in kindergarten; they did everything together and shared all of their happiest memories. The idea of her just being…gone…made Cathy want to cry.
She hoped her friend didn't suffer.
Cathy burst into tears. She hugged herself even tighter and hung her head. When the storm finally passed, she wiped her eyes.
And froze.
A gift wrapped in glossy red paper sat on the coffee table.
It hadn't been there before.
Cathy stared at it for a long time, then looked around. Curious, she leaned over and unwrapped it.
A box.
She lifted the lid.
And screamed.
Inside was a bloody severed foot.
Marie's bloody severed foot.
Something moved in Cathy's periphery and she whipped her head up just as a figure stepped from behind the Christmas tree. It was clad in black pants, black boots, and black leather gloves. It wore a black ski mask and a red Santa jacket over a black turtleneck sweater.
It was holding a sledgehammer.
Cathy screamed and jumped to her feet. The killer sprang at her, and in one fluid motion, brought the hammer up and around. It hit a glass candy dish on the table and it exploded. Cathy ran into the kitchen and the killer followed, the heavy tread of their boots thumping on the floor. Cathy went for the back door, but the hammer slammed into her between the shoulder blades. The breath was knocked from her lungs and she fell face first to the floor, rich, red blood oozing from her mouth. The killer stood over her and she flailed frantically like a fish on a dock in an attempt to get up. "No!" she screamed.
The killer brought the hammer up and then down. Cathy's head shattered into a million pieces and spurts of brain mixed with broken skull fragments shot across the floor. Her body jerked and trembled as her dying nerve endings all fired at once, and the killer hit her again and again until she was still.
Throwing the hammer aside, the killer grabbed Cathy by the feet and dragged her into the living room, leaving a trail of blood behind her. The killer went through her pockets, found her phone, and started a group chat. The killer then typed out a message and sent it.
I know what you did last Christmas.
Before leaving, the killer arranged Kathy's body under the tree and stuck a peppy bow on the splintered remains of her head. Reaching into their jacket, the killer pulled out a card, sat it on Cathy's chest, and smoothed it out with one gloved hand.
Then, like a shadow in the night, the killer departed.
The next day, Abe could sense the tension in the air as soon as he walked into the cafeteria for breakfast. Instead of the usual din and clatter of conversation, the place was deathly quiet, everyone whispering and looking afraid. He looked around and spotted Cleo…sitting with JFK and their friends. He noticed at once that Cathy was missing.
Well, he thought, it was good while it lasted.
Joan, George, Nick, and Al were at the table next to Cleo's, so he went over and sat down. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Everyone's acting weird."
"Cathy got killed last night," Joan said.
"What?"
She nodded grimly. "They found her cut up and stuffed into a gift box. Don't you ever watch the news?"
"I don't do mainstream media," Abe said.
"So you do living under a rock. Cool."
Abe rolled his eyes. He glanced over his shoulder and looked at Cleo. While he was marveling over her beauty, he couldn't help catching a little of hers and her friends' conversation.
"...doubt it has anything to do with that," JFK said.
"What about the text?" Cleo asked. "What else could he be talking about?"
JFK shrugged. "I dunno. Bad eggnog?"
Helen rolled her eyes and Ronnie Reagan, the tight end, chuckled.
"Will you please take this seriously?" Cleo asked. "The killer fucking texted us. It's gotta be him."
Abe's jaw dropped. What? The killer texted them? How? And why?
Before he could wonder any further, Joan cleared her throat and he turned to look at her. She darted her eyes to Cleo and then back to him. "Down, boy," she said.
"What?" Abe asked in an innocent tone.
Joan, of course, didn't buy it. She and Abe had been close friends for years and they knew each other like a Uighur knows the inside of a Chinese concentration camp. They played together, shared their feelings, and grew together - they were so close that a lot of people expected them to date one day. Abe loved Joan but not like that.
"I know what you're thinking," Joan said. "And you're better off just leaving her alone. She's a total man eater."
Abe considered telling Joan what he had heard, but decided not to. He wanted to know more before he said anything. If Cleo was in danger…
No, he didn't want to even think of that.
The bell rang, and everyone dispersed to their classes. The halls were eerily quiet even as dozens of teenagers passed through them and Abe spotted a team of uniformed police officers through the partition windows screening the front office. In class, he impatiently tapped his foot and waited for the bell. The teacher, Mr. Symons, passed out yesterday's tests, and paused at Abe's desk. "I'm very disappointed in you, Abe. You usually do so well."
His score was a 90.
He usually got 100s.
"My head was somewhere else," Abe confessed.
"You should do something about that," Mr. Symons said dryly.
Abe forced a smile. "I'll do that."
Class ended shortly thereafter, and Abe went to his next class, where he repeated the process. At lunch, he walked into the cafeteria and looked around for Cleo. She was sitting by herself and texting on her phone. Should he go over or should he give her space? Half of him said to go, half said no. Selfish, maybe, but he went with yes. He went over and sat next to her. "Hey," he said.
Her finger blazed across the screen.
Abe awkwardly waited for her to finish, and when she did, she ran her shaking hand through her hair. "You okay?" he asked.
She turned to him, and he saw something in her eyes.
Fear.
"Not really," she said tensely. "Two of my friends are dead and the killer's probably going to come for me next."
Abe's heart dropped. "What do you mean?" he asked.
Instead of replying, she looked anxiously over her shoulder. A few tables over, JFK was in deep conversation with Helen, Ronnie, and a few others. She bit her lower lip in thought, then got up and went over. Abe found himself going with her. "Look," she said, getting their attention, "we need to go to the police. It's got to be him."
JFK rolled his eyes. "It's not him. He's dead. I think."
"Then who is it?" Cleo asked. "Who is it and why are they killing us?"
For that, JFK had to reply.
"This is your fault," Cleo said. "If you weren't such a fucking asshole to everyone."
JFK's face darkened. "You were there too. Don't pretend you weren't part of it."
Abe had no idea what they were talking about, but a sense of deep disquiet bubbled in the pit of his stomach. Cleo clearly believed that what was happening now was linked to something she and the others had done last Christmas.
Taking a deep breath, Cleo said, "What if it is him? We should at least say something."
For a moment, JFK looked like he was deep in thought (I guess there's a first time for everything). Finally, he sighed. "Maybe. Can we talk about this later? I'm planning my party right now."
Shaking her head, Cleo muttered, "You and your damn party." She spun on her heels and marched off, and though something told him to let her go, Abe followed. The hallways were empty at this hour; a smattering of kids sat in the library, studying or working on the computers. Abe again had to power walk to keep up with her. "I don't mean to pry," he said, "but what's this all about? What happened last Chjristmas?"
"Nothing," she said tightly, "nothing at all."
"Something happened. And who'd it happen to? If you know who the killer is, you need to go to the police. Who cares what Kennedy thinks?"
Cleo sighed. "I don't want to talk about it. I just want to be alone."
They were near the front office now. Cleo broke from him and went down the hallway leading to the auditorium. Abe watched her go, then drew a deep breath. He needed to find out what was happening.
And there was only one person who could tell him.
Back in the cafeteria, Abe storde up to the table and sat across from JFK. JFKglowered at him, but Abe cut him off before he could speak. "What's going on?"
"Don't worry about it," JFK said.
"Yeah, I'm going to worry about it. People are dying."
The jock slammed his hands on the table. "Nothing's fucking happening. It's a fucking sex maniac and that's all. It has nothing to do with me." He got up and stormed off.
He was lying.
But Abe would find out the truth.
Even if it killed him.
Lyrics to Step Into Christmas by Elton John (1973)
After school, Cleo and the other cheerleaders met in the gym for practice. The school was going to cancel it again because of what happened to Cathy but the girls pushed back. All of them wanted to get back to normal…and they needed the distraction. When practice was over, they showered in the locker room. Cleo ducked her head under the spray and willed the terrible thoughts and fears away. When she was finished, she cut the water, grabbed her towel, and wrapped it around herself. The locker room was dim and empty, like a cave, and she hurriedly dried off and got dressed. She knew from past experience that the building wouldn't be completely empty - the janitor would be around somewhere - but she felt alone and vulnerable anyway.
Shoving her things into her bag, she slung it over her shoulder and went out into the hallway. The lights were low and flickering, and eerie silence held sway. Her heart began to knock and an unexplainable sense of danger gripped her. She started toward the main doors, her footfalls echoing through the building. She turned down another hallway and came to a skidding halt.
A wrapped present sat in the middle of the floor.
Did…someone forget something?
She walked cautiously up to it and looked at the name tag.
TO: CLEO.
Uh…okay. That's random.
She stooped down and pickled it up. She shook it but couldn't ascertain what was inside. Who was it from? JFK? Abe? JFK could be romantic sometimes (when he wasn't being a self-absorbed ass) and Abe was really romantic. It would be a lie to say that she didn't have feelings for JFK, and it would be a lie to say that she didn't think Abe was cute and kind of sweet. Who did she hope it came from?
That she couldn't say.
Unwrapping the present, she removed the lid and reached inside.
Her hand came away bloody.
Cleo gasped and dropped the box. A pile of pink brain matter plopped to the floor and her eyes widened in horror. Suddenly, the PA system crackled to life and peppy music began to play, ghostly echoes up and down the deserted halls.
Welcome to my Christmas song
I'd like to thank you for the year
So I'm sending you this Christmas card
To say it's nice to have you here
A dark figure stepped into the junction of halls fifty feet ahead of her. It wore a ski mask and a Santa jacket with white trim and held closed with a big black belt.
It was holding a chainsaw.
The air left Cleo's lungs in a rush. The figure pulled the cord and the chainsaw coughed into life. Cleo screamed and ran. She looked over her shoulder and the killer was gaining on her, the saw revving and smoking.
Take care in all you do next year
And keep smiling through the days
If we can help to entertain you
Oh we will find the ways
Cleo turned down a hall, her feet skidding, and fell/ She pushed herself back to her feet and ran as fast as she could; she was sobbing and panting. She came to a class room and slammed the door behind her, locking it. She backed away, heaving watery breaths, and screamed when the killer's face appeared in the little window. They tried the handle, then attacked the door with the saw. The door seemed strong and heavy, but the blade tore through the wood like a hot knife through butter. Cleo screamed again and ran to another door leading into a second hall. The sound of the saw's motor faded, replaced by the broken whine of her own hysterics.
She reached a side door and pulled at the handle. It came open and someone grabbed her.
A horrified scream burst from her throat and she tried to get away.
"Hey, it's me," Abe said. "What's wrong?"
Crying and babbling, she pointed down the hall and tried to tell him. She realized that the saw had cut out, replaced by silence.
A figure ran out of a side hall and she wailed.
It held an ax.
"What the fuck's going on here?" JFK cried.
Panicking, Abe dragged Cleo out the door and put himself between her and JFK. JFK looked at the ax, then quickly threw it down. "It wasn't me," he said, "I heard the screaming and -"
Abe slammed the door, grabbed Cleo's hand, and pulled her away. They ran and JFK called after them. "Wait!"
Not knowing what else to do, Abe and Cleo went back to Cleo's place and sat on the couch. Her parents weren't home and she was too afraid to be alone. Abe made her a cup of coca and draped a blanket over her shoulders. She sipped the cocoa and told him everything. She broke down crying and he put his arm around her. She buried her face in his chest and sobbed for a long time. "I was so scared," she said. "I thought I was going to die."
"I won't let anything happen to you," Abe swore. "I promise."
The next day after school, she and Abe met with JFK, Ronnie, Helen, and the others in the gym. "I swear to you, it wasn't me," JFK said.
"I know," Cleo said, "but it was somebody. This is serious. We're all in danger."
JFK sighed and raked his fingers through his hair.
"Why?" Abe asked. "What's this all about?"
No one spoke for a minute. "Hentry, alright?" JFK asked.
Henry?
Henry VIII was one of their classmates. Morbidly obese, constantly sweating, and arrogant, he was a nerd whom no one, not even the other nerds, liked. Last year, around Christmas, he dropped out of sight and no one had seen him since.
Seeing Abe's confusion, Cleo broke down and told him what happened.
Last year, JFK invited Henry to his Christmas party as a joke. They got him drunk, then stripped him to his underwear and covered him in grease and lard "like the pig you are." They surrounded him and laughed at him, especially the girls. He was so humiliated that he dropped out of school. There was a rumor that he killed himself, but no one was sure.
"He's taking revenge on us," Helen said, a note of hysteria in her voice. "He's gonna kill us all."
"We need to cancel that party," Abe said."It's gonna be a bloodbath if we don't."
JFK jabbed his finger at him. "Hey, fuck you, buddy. I've been waiting all year for this. We'll be safe there. He can pick us off one by one but not all at once."
His logic made sense, to be honest. Later on, Abe walked Cleo home. "Are you gonna be okay?" he asked.
She nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine." She looked up at him and their eyes met. "Thank you…for everything."
"Any time," he said.
For a moment, they gazed into each other's eyes, then some unseen force drew their lips together. Cleo's tongue softly massaged his and his hand went to her face, cupping her cheek. When the kiss broke, they were both blushing. "Bye," she said.
"Bye."
She went up the walk and then inside. Abe waited until she was gone, then gave in to the big, goofy grin that he felt coming.
All the way home, he was warm.
The day of JFK's party dawned cloudy and cold. It had snowed the night before and an unbroken blanket of white coated the yards, houses, and trees. A blustery blast of wind swept up the street and the icy power lines swayed silently side to side. Abe bundled up and took the bus to school. His parents were due back the day after tomorrow and as much as he loved and respected them, he was sad that his ultimate freedom was coming to an end.
At school, the air was heavy with dread expectation. It had been several days since Cathy was murdered and the killer still hadn't been caught; everyone expected him to strike again, but no one knew when. The paranoia was so thick that Abe could hardly draw breath.
All morning, he looked forward to seeing Cleo, and when the lunch bell rang, he hurried to the cafeteria. He looked around and spotted her smiling and waving to him from JFK's table. Abe rolled his eyes and walked over; he really wished JFK would fuck off somewhere.
Abe walked over and sat next to her. "Hey," she said happily and slipped her hand into his. Across the table, JFK's brow lowered. If looks could kill, Abe would be dead on a theater floor with a musket ball in the back of his head.
The tension deepened, but instead of insulting him as he had done over the past couple days, JFK turned to Helen and started hitting on her, probably to make Cleo jealous.
It didn't work.
Since Cleo was attacked, Abe had been spending most of his time with her, pulling guard duty. It was the safety in numbers principle that inspired them to go through with JFK's party in the first place. Surely, the killer wasn't stupid enough to attack a house full of people.
Right?
After school, Abe walked Cleo home. They held hands as they navigated the icy sidewalk and laughed when both of them began to slip within seconds of each other. Luckily they didn't do it at the same time or they would have fallen.
Her parents were home, so Abe was comfortable leaving her there. She was never really safe, however; the killer had her in his sights and wouldn't stop until he had gotten what he wanted.
Back at home, Abe showered and then dressed. At 6, he walked back to Cleo's house through the dark, and by the time he got there, it was beginning to snow, fat, fluffy flakes falling lazily from the inkwell sky. When she opened the door, she looked stunning in jeans and a red sweater beneath a purple parka. In minutes, her nose turned red as the cold sapped her body heat, and she looked so cute that he had to comment on it. He started calling her Rudolf and she playfully punched his arm. From the twinkle in her eye, she liked it, though.
Unbeknownst to them, a dark figure watched from behind a tree, one gloved hand resting on the bark and the other balled into a hateful fist. Hatred bubbled in the killer's chest and the sound of Cleo's happy laughter was like sandpaper on a sunburn. The killer reached into the pocket of the Santa jacket and took out a stolen Glock. Taking up a perfect shooter's stance, the killer aimed down the sight.
No. Being shot was too good a death for that bitch.
Soon, the killer vowed.
JFK's house was on the rich side of town; it had three levels, two garages, a veranda, and big windows. Inside, dozens of teens danced, ate snacks, and mingled with one another. Abe went to get some punch while Cleo went off to look for Helen. A few minutes later, she came back with JFK instead. The host wore a tux that reminded Abe of that guy who did that Oppa Gangnam Style song or whatever it was called. Cleo looked worried. "She's not here yet. I hope she's okay."
"She's fine," JFK dismissed. "You gotta relax. And I got just the trick." He reached into his jacket, took out a half bottle of liquor, and dumped it into hers and Abe's cups. He shook the empty bottle and tossed it over his shoulder. "Gotta get more."
He went off to find more booze, and Cleo and Abe both grimaced at their cups. "I don't really know if I want to drink right now."
"Me either," Abe said.
"I get really slutty when I drink."
Abe blinked. "Well…actually, you've been through a lot. A little fun wouldn't hurt."
Meanwhile, JFK stumbled down the rickety wooden stairs leading into the dimly lit wine cellar. The floor and walls were stone and racks of wine bottles dominated the space in a Pac-Man like maze. He staggered over to one of the racks but stopped when a cold breeze buffeted him. He frowned to himself. The cellar was old but not drafty. He walked around until he found the problem. The hatch to the outside was standing open.
Sighing, he went up the stairs, pulled it closed, and then went back to the wine rack. He reached into one of the cubbies and pulled something out.
It wasn't a bottle of wine.
It was a present.
Presents ruled.
He ripped it open and frowned again.
Inside was a single lump of coal, likely from the old coal furnace in the corner. "Real funny," he said. He grabbed a bottle of wine and turned around.
Two things happened at once. First, he realized that someone was standing there. Second, and before he had fully registered that he wasn't alone, a knife plunged into his guts. Searing pain enveloped him and his eyes widened. The killer stared at him from behind the ski mask and twisted the knife. Blood burst from JFK's mouth and stained his lips. The killer ripped the knife out and JFK fell to the cold floor, coughing and going numb. The killer put the knife away and pulled out a lump of coal. The killer knelt and JFK tried to squirm away, but the killer roughly grabbed his face and squeezed. JFK's mouth opened and the killer slammed the lump of coal in, breaking teeth. The killer took another lump from the jacket pocket and slammed it in as well. Blood, coal, and bits of broken teeth filled JFK's mouth, blocking his airways. He kicked, twitched, and shuddered as death took him. At the last minute, he realized that the eyes were familiar.
He knew the killer.
It was -
And that was the last thought JFK ever had.
Abe and Cleo both drank and danced for what seemed like all night but couldn't have been more than an hour or so. At some point, Helen of Troy came over, and she and Cleo chatted for a while, Cleo relieved that she hadn't been brutally murdered. When Helen went off to find JFK, Cleo threw her arms around Abe's neck and pressed her body to his; their lips fused and they kissed deeply. Her warmth and the shape of her body excited him and he was just getting up the nerve to ask her if she wanted to go back to his place when someone cried out, "The cops!"
Red and blue lights flashed against the picture window. JFK didn't appear to deal with them, so Ronnie Reagan opened the door and spoke to them. One of JFK's uppity neighbors had called the police complaining about the noise and "kids drinking." The cop wouldn't issue any citations or make any arrests if everyone left immediately.
Grumbling and disappointed, everyone filed out until Abe and Cleo were the only ones left. The living room was a shambles of red solo cups, empty beer cans, and assorted discarded trash. "This place is such a mess," Cleo slurred.
"It's pretty bad," Abe replied. He was warm and spacy from the alcohol and could barely keep his footing.
Cleo grabbed him and he nearly fell. There was a mischievous sparkle in her eyes that made her even more beautiful than she already was. "Let's go fuck in John's bed."
Abe blinked. "Uh, I don't -"
His words cut off as she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him up the stairs. In JFK's room, she shoved him onto the bed and mounted him. Abe's dick stiffened and his mouth dropped open. He couldn't believe this. He and Cleo were about to do it.
This was so awesome that it was worth the risk of JFK walking in on them.
"Do you want me?" she asked.
Abe ran his hands up and down her sides. "I want you so bad."
She leaned in to kiss him and the closet door exploded open with a thunderous sound and a dark figure in a Santa jacket and holding an ax rushed out.
Cleo screamed, and Abe's instincts took over. He threw Cleo off of him and she fell to the floor just as the killer reached the bed. The killer raised the ax and brought it down in one fluid motion. Abe moved at the last second and it grazed his arm. He tried to sit up, but the killer swung the ax around and hit him in the back of the head with the flat end. His eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped over. Cleo, pressed to the door, let out an ear piercing wail. The killer looked at her, and coming alive, Cleo ripped the door open and ran into the hall. The killer jumped onto the bed, then sprang after her. Cleo ran down the stairs, and jumped when the ax crashed down onto the railing next to her, splintering wood. Cleo threw herself down the rest of the stairs and ran for the kitchen. She reached the sliding glass door, but it was locked. Screaming in frustration, she jumped aside just as the ax smashed into the door, shattering it. Cleo ran into the living room and went for the door, mindless in her panic.
The killer threw the ax aside and speared her into the Christmas tree. The breath knocked from Cleo's lungs and ornaments broke beneath her. The killer straddled her and wrapped two gloved hands around her neck. Cleo's heart raced and she knew that if she didn't fight back, she was as good as dead.
Balling her fist, she crashed it into the side of the killer's head once, twice, three times. The killer started to fall, and Cleo inadvertently grabbed the ski mask, ripping it off. The killer slumped to the floor as Cleo struggled to her feet, coughing and sobbing. The killer popped up, grabbed the ax, and turned to her.
Cleo's jaw dropped. "You?" she asked.
Bleeding from the nose and looking crazed, deranged even, Helen of Troy grinned.
This didn't make any sense, and the more Cleo tried to process it, the more her brain refused to accept the information her eyes were sending it. "B-But why?"
"Why?" Helen asked. "Why? Because of what you did to Henry."
Cleo's head spun.
"We were dating in secret. I loved him and you…you and those other pieces of shit…"
Cleo went back to that night. Henry crying and shaking on the floor so hard that his fat rolls jiggled. Everyone stood around him, laughing and calling him names.
Everyone, Cleo realized now, except for Helen.
"We were going to get married," Helen said, "but after that night, he moved away and wouldn't talk to me." Tears filled her eyes. "He said I was just as bad as you because I didn't do anything to stop it. He said I was ashamed of him. He was right, I should have done something, but I wasn't ashamed of him. I was ashamed of you. Because you and your friends would make fun of me. I should have done something then but I didn't." Her eyes hardened. "But I'm going to now."
Raising the ax, Helen let out a mad screech and threw herself at Cleo. Cleo screamed, and right before Helen reached her, Abe tackled the murderer from the side, knocking her to the floor. Dazed and bleeding, perhaps not even knowing where he was or what he was doing (just that he had to save the girl he loved), he rained down a flurry of blows on Helen's face. Her lips split, her nose crunched, and her teeth dislodged. She tried to fight back but the energy went out of her and she lost consciousness.
Abe rolled off of her and got to his hands and knees. Cleo was rooted in place, her mind refusing to work and her body trembling. She sank slowly to her knees and began to cry.
Getting painfully up, Abe came over, knelt, and took her into his arms. "It's okay," he said and kissed her forehead. "It's all over."
Behind them, Helen sat up and turned her head to them.
A gunshot went off and Helen fell over. Abe and Cleo started and turned. A cop stood in the door, his gun shoved out before him and a look of shock on his face. He turned to Cleo and Abe. "I was just gonna ask if I could use the bathroom."
It took a moment, and Abe began to laugh. Cleo joined in, and soon, they were holding each other and crying hysterically.
It was over.
But in their hearts and in their nightmares…
Christmas would never end again.