A Christmas That Won't Be Remembered...

The Christmas felt different; it was colder and mistier than usual. The couple; Bill and Sarah, stayed at home just waiting for the gloomy day to reach its end. They were never said to be a boring pair of people but it seemed as if an evil presence enshrouded the manor. The atmosphere was depressing. Suddenly the metallic rattle of the letterbox sounded, a letter dropped from within; hand delivered. Inside the pristine envelope, an invite; an invite to a Christmas banquet. It was a saviour; an excuse to get out of the creaking shroud of isolation they found themselves in. It was from a man Bill knew, one he remembered from years ago. Paul, the friend’s name had passed down generations of his family. The matter striking at the very core of Bill’s mind was why the invite came. They had not spoken in over seven years, why would a man he had not even remembered to this day send him an invitation to a social event when they hadn’t socialised in such a long time? Bill was reluctant at first, until the quiet and sarcastic sighs of his wife began to fill the room. He put his shoes on and an enthusiastic breath left the lips of his wife in her excited state.

They got themselves organised and left for Paul’s residence, the address had been written on the back of the envelope and Bill still had a faint idea of where the man had lived from a work party in the neighbourhood near to the house. The walk changed them, an uplifting mood shift after being able to leave the glum, four-walled prison they inhabited. A sense of freedom set them into a slow stroll. The house was normal; nothing special. It reflected the same characteristics as the other homes in the road. It shared the same architecture and blended well with its orange brick and PVC window sills. Normal, except for one thing: the door-bell. It looked as if it had been untouched for at least a year; no fingerprints and dusty. Compared to the house it looked like a relic. They rang it. A tall man opened the door, but even in Bill’s little knowledge of Paul he knew it could not be him. The man did not talk, he merely stepped to the side and let the couple through; jutting out an arm to show them the way to the heart of the house. They made their way into the dining room, they saw a feast. It was glistening and smelled fantastic. Everything about the room seemed glorious; a complete juxtaposition to the state of the door-bell. Bill asked the tall man’s name but had no reply, slightly unnerving the two but nothing that could taunt them out of the euphoric state they were in. Then a small, crooked man came out from the kitchen. He looked like a creature lurking from the shadows due to his hunched back from the deterioration of his body. He looked terrible, but he spoke. Bill knew instantly the man was Paul, even though the matters of the deformed nature of the being and his eerie entrance had to first be overcome to do the identification of the man through the long drooping hair and baggy shirt which seemed to have slits. Paul spoke in a harsh, heavy-smoker-like tone and greeted himself and his helper, without mentioning if the man had a name or not.

They sat down and started to consume the meal, it tasted beautiful and not a word was said for fear it would taint the bliss their taste-buds were experiencing. A large turkey, carved to perfection lay in the middle as a simplistic centrepiece with soft carrots, crispy roast potatoes and gravy mad from the succulent juices from the bird. The meal was eaten easily, with all plates empty; such a meal could not have gone uneaten with both Bill and Sarah stating it was probably the best meal they had ever had in their lives. Once they had all finished the tall man and Paul left the table with the excuse of urgent work that needed to be done used casually but with the floating statement that they will only be a few minutes. A few minutes turned to an hour and the couple were ready to leave. They put on their coats, situated on a stand in the same room and shouted goodbye to their hosts.

 They walked through the dining room towards in the direction of the hallway to get to the front door, only to find the tall man asking them nicely if they would join Paul in the cellar for a ‘little surprise’. Bill was yet again reluctant but he could hardly deny the offer after the hosts had done so much for them. The three people walked towards the cellar with the tall man encouraging them: “it’s just down there” he said. The cellar was dark, unnaturally dark but the meal and the chance to get out of the house had lead them into a state of happiness; they were expecting the lights to go on any time soon and for Paul and his helper to come out with a cake or gift, like at a birthday party. The lights turned on and a smile was portrayed on both of their lips; the helper had not come in and shut the door behind them. Nobody came, the couples’ smiles turned to open mouths, not knowing what to expect. The pair looked around the room, it was huge...at least twice the size of the downstairs of the house which was above them. The couple stopped; stopped walking, breathing, moving. In the room there was a pile, a mound of heads...dead heads, those of cattle and mixed in with a few human heads. Sarah screamed and Bill’s face churned; a tear ripping its way down his face. They turned towards the door and ran, they struck it and pushed it but no one came. The ecstasy had turned into a nightmare.

Bill stopped and turned around to realise there was another letter. It was soaked in the black blood which accumulated from the corpse pieces. He picked it up and opened it. Inside there was a piece of paper, new in its condition it read ‘pull the cord’. He looked around for such cord with no luck...until he looked back at the mound. Above it was the cord. Bill called to his wife and she ran over in a mental breakdown, Bill could not tell if was crying, screaming or shouting for help if not all of those things. There were no signs of ventilation in the room; the worries of suffocation breached the couple’s thoughts. An hour passed, restlessness and disorder broke their way into the minds until the two had had enough. They both climbed the hill of gore, with Bill helping his wife trudge the soft fleshy tissue each head added to the pile. They decided to pull the hanging cord together, for chance something may happen. They saw no other option. They anxiously tugged the thin wire protruding from the ceiling. The sound of gears churning filled the room. In a flash a sharpened blade was projected from the wall behind them. Bill and Sarah’s heads joined the mound of gore and their bodies flopped in unison to the thud of their heads landing on others. They had had the best meal in their lives; the last...the last sound they heard was the snickering of their killers.