I Should Have Read The Reviews

My girlfriend moved out three weeks ago. My cat, Ruk, was really close to her and now that she's gone, I can tell he's a bit lonely. Especially when I'm at work. I came home a few times to my curtains ripped up, or all the toilet paper in shreds.

 The last straw was when I came home after working late to find he had clawed a hole the size of a dinner plate into the side of the sofa.

I decided I had to do something. I tried different toys, even catnip, but nothing worked. One night while browsing Amazon, I saw a pet camera. It's a tiny camera that records your pet on a live feed so you can monitor their behavior while you're away. It even has an audio function so you can talk to them. 

Sounded silly but hey, I love my furry dude so I bought it. I got overnight shipping and installed it immediately. I decided to set it up in my bedroom, as that was where Ruk dwelled most. 

My first day at work I think I checked that camera thirty times. When I spoke into the microphone, Ruk seemed to be happier, and I noticed there was no destruction around the house either. 

By day four I figured I'd solved the problem with Ruk. 

That leads me to right now. About thirty minutes ago I climbed in bed with Ruk, ready to close my eyes, when my phone buzzed. A notification from the pet cam. I almost ignored it, sure I'd just triggered the thing. But I opened it anyway. What I saw made my grip tighten on the phone. 

Instead of a video of myself in bed I saw a man, tall, gangly, with pale skin, and large eyes. He was moving into my room with exaggerated steps, like a sneaking cartoon character.

He got right up to the lens, so close I could almost smell his rotten breath, and he smiled. 

I immediately paused the video, terrified. I looked at the spot where the man should have been standing, but there was no one there.

I went onto Amazon and found the pet cam, and read the reviews, hoping for some weird glitch. It had to be a joke, right? 

The first dozen reviews were pretty standard, but it was the last that caused me to bolt upright. 

The customer complained that the camera was on a time delay, sometimes as much as fifteen minutes. 

I went back to the video and pressed play with shaky fingers. I watched in horror as the man slithered under my bed, giving the camera a wink before disappearing in the darkness. Then I saw myself enter the room and climb in bed before the video ended. 

Now I'm sitting in my bed, knowing he's under it. I could call the police, but I doubt I'd have time….

So please, do yourselves a favor and read the reviews. 

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Credits

The Knocking

 

The knocking continues, the same sharp rhythmic pace. 

The lock is the only thing keeping them out. 

The cabin belonged to Sam's great-grandfather, and hadn't been used in years. We were miles from civilization, and anyone that could help. 

It started the moment we pulled up. I felt a sense of dread filling my chest as I stared at the cabin bathed in shadows from the trees that surrounded it. 

I pushed the feeling aside, chalking it up to being so far from everything and everyone. But the feeling didn't disappear. If anything, it got stronger. 

It was Sam who found it. He'd been looking for fishing gear in the cellar. Instead he found the jar, stuffed with a folded piece of paper, and what looked like a twig. 

He dumped the contents onto the floor, holding the twig in between his fingers. 

"It's… a bone." He'd said, dropping it into the jar with a clink. 

"A bone?" Cora asked, crinkling her nose.

"A small animal bone maybe." Sam said. He'd shook the dust from the paper, silently reading .

"What's it say?" Matt asked. 

"Just gibberish" he said, attempting to shove it back in the jar. 

Cora snatched it, staring at the shaky print. Matt read it out loud over her shoulder. 

"My wife is not my wife. She ate our dog, crunching his bones in her jaws. She's out there now, still knocking to be let in." 

There were brown streaks on the paper. 

• 
  

Sam put the jar back in the cellar, but the damage, whatever that was, had been done. We'd all felt it, some sort of ominous countdown.

Matt was the first to go. At midnight he jumped up, mumbling something about his dog, and ran out into the woods. We tried to explain that he didn't have a dog. But he ran and ran until the darkness swallowed him up.

Cora chased after him screaming his name.

Sam left an hour later, swearing he'd heard his little brother calling him. Seth's been dead six years. 

Sam pushed me when I tried to stop him. I called after him, but he kept running. So I locked the door, sitting on the floor with my back against it. I'd get help in the morning, I reasoned

Then the knocking started. 

"Kay, let me in." Matt said. but his voice was wrong, like he had a mouthful of gravel. I ignored the knocking, and after a while he left.

But the knocking continued.

"Kaaaaay." Cora said. I could almost hear her smiling.  I stayed quiet, and like Matt, she left, eventually. 

Sam began knocking a few moments ago. 

"I'm coming in." He said, his voice like water bubbling in a drain, broken fingernails scratching at the wood.

I have a few hours until morning but I know I won't make it, because I can hear whatever that thing is behind the door chuckling, and an unmistakable jingling sound. 

That's when I remember that Sam has the keys.

---

Credits

Red Right Hand

I've grown accustomed to the feeling; the loss of authority over my own body, the fear that I would never experience normalcy.  But the worst was the ever present fear of ending up in some lab, being referred to by a number rather than my name.  I longed for life away from people. A place where I could live alone, and not worry about the next horrible thing I'd be forced to do.  "It" had been with me for as long as I could remember. "It" being the evil that's rooted in my right hand. This wasn't simply an impulse to do bad things on my part.  My right hand lay dormant until it chose to spring forward, causing whatever awful act it sought-after in that moment, before giving me full control once again. 

When I was younger it was easier to ignore. I never could control it, but sometimes I was able to suppress it, and most times I succeeded. By my teens I was considered a problem child. I'd stolen from my mother's purse, vandalized the school's gymnasium, and wrote profanity on my grandmother's grave in permanent marker. All bad things but nothing too terrible.  But somehow, the day I turned 23 my ability to ignore the evil impulses of my right hand suddenly became a lot harder. I found myself struggling to suppress it. Even worse, whenever I tried, the more terrible its deed. I learned quickly not to fight it.  By the time I turned 26 I'd stolen everything from money to a child's wheelchair. I flipped off more elderly ladies than I care to count, and damaged quite a bit of property. I'd even been arrested several times. As you can imagine, I try to stay far away from other people. I work from home most days and do the majority of my shopping online. 

Unfortunately there are times when I have to go out, and my right hand is usually itching by then. At this point I let it have its fun. I know attempts to avoid it only aggravates it more. Though it's not normally violent, the last time I tried fighting it, resulted in a teenage barista receiving a scalding cup of coffee to her face. 

So now I simply allow my right hand to satisfy its cravings whenever it needs. That might make me weak or even just as guilty, but I don't have a choice. I need to save all my energy, all my strength for resisting the homicidal urges of my left hand. Because while my right hand has caused a lot of damage, judging by the bodies piling up in the crawlspace my left hand is capable of much much worse.

---

Credits

Some Days Are Better Than Others

 

Some days are better than others. 

On this particular day I was late. Mr. Flaherty had asked me to stay after, again. I had wanted to say no, especially since overtime pay was not in Mr. Flaherty’s vocabulary. But I needed this job. I can only imagine how it would look if I lost it. But still, two hours of overtime I wouldn't get paid for. Two hours worth of listening to complaints, and completely redoing the schedule of appointments. I had checked my phone in the elevator after locking up my office. Battery was dead, just as well. I knew there would be messages from Kelly. And I knew that I would have to hear her complaining when I got in. She was always on me about “working for free” and standing up to Mr. Flaherty. "Oliver, you have to learn to say no. How hard can it be!?" I could almost hear her now….

I didn't like having to work late. And I sure didn't want to have to pick up all the pieces at the office when Mr. Flaherty decided to call it a day at 1pm so he could “rest his back”. Which I knew just meant playing golf for three hours. Yeah, I thought my boss was a class A jerk. But I sure as hell wasn't going to say it. Not to Mr. Flaherty anyway. I needed this job. The rent was too high, and Kelly didn't want to move. Not when it was so close to the gym she rarely went to, even though $40 bucks still came off of the credit card every month. And of course the private elementary school was just a mile away, despite not having any kids yet. 

I would have to tell her I stayed late again, and wasn't paid. Part of me would almost rather tell her I had an affair. What it would be like to not worry about money. I had been thinking this same thought for the past three years. More so in the last couple of weeks. We could finally take that long overdo trip to Paris Kelly had always talked about, but we never could afford. I would still keep the job of course. Quitting wasn't an option.  

I was thinking this when the train pulled in. I hopped on, and noticed it was nearly empty. I almost smiled. It had been a while since I actually got to sit on the subway. I wasn't the type who could walk onto a packed subway car and take one of the last seats next to some stranger. Instead I would stand by the door, and pretend not to notice when someone stood too close, or stepped on my shoe, or smelled like they just had a bath in shit. My phone came in handy for these situations. I would stare at the screen, pretending to be busy texting someone, when in reality I was only busy playing 8 pool ball, or Angry birds. 

I rarely got a chance to sit on the ride home, and so rare was it a window seat. One perk of working late, I suppose. I chose a seat in the middle of the car, and sat, putting my briefcase between my feet. I wasn't completely alone. There was an old man sleeping in the back of the car, a big green trash bag on the seat beside him. I guessed he was homeless by his disheveled appearance. There was a middle age lady a few seats away from him, reading a book, and eating something that smelled like raw onion. It could be worse, I knew. And I'd seen it many times. Small blessings I thought, with a smile. When the subway car pulled to a stop, the lady and her foul smelling meal departed. It was at least 5 minutes before I realized someone else was in the car with me.

Just across the aisle, a few seats away, sat a man that looked to be about my age, certainly no older than 30. The man was dressed in a suit, but no tie, and his hair looked a bit sweaty and uncombed. Maybe he had a lazy boss too, I thought. The man was staring straight ahead, a black duffle on his lap. I pulled out my phone, forgetting it was dead. I stared at it anyway, pretending to text. I found myself stealing looks at the man. The duffle bag on the man's lap seemed to be of some importance to him, as he kept looking down at it, as if it might somehow grow legs and run away. The man held it tightly to him, and would glance down at it occasionally, a peculiar look in his eyes. 

When the man turned his eyes on me, I quickly averted my gaze to my phone again, wishing I hadn't forgotten to charge it. I spotted a newspaper lying on the floor across the aisle, and stretched out my foot to slide it over. I shook it free of dirt, then smoothed it out. I read the sports section, even though I didn't care too much for it. After I'd grown bored of that, I started reading an article about crime watch in the neighborhood and how to get involved.

Our neighborhood had been a pretty ideal place to live, but in the last year or so crime had found its way in our little suburb, trickling in from the more dangerous areas. Earlier in the week Kelly had seen a news report about a murder of a young woman who was killed just blocks from where she worked. Kelly had refused to go out alone at night, which meant I had to meet her at the bus stop after she got off work. Another reason she'd be furious about my coming home late.  I flipped the pages until I got to the comic section, trying to push away the image of Kelly's angry expression standing in the doorway, arms folded over her chest. But she had a right to worry, I guess. Just last month the apartment two doors down from us was robbed. Crime was everywhere, no matter the cost of the rent. 

I tried to keep my focus on the paper, but found myself sneaking looks at the man. I watched him stroke the black leather duffle bag with his finger, still holding it tight. I could see his lips twitch just slightly, every time he looked down at the bag. At first, I almost laughed. But I suppressed that impulse. Laughing at a man these days could get you killed. I'd heard of people losing their lives for less. I turned the page, ignoring the man and his bag. 

A small article caught my eye. It was a few paragraphs at the bottom left hand corner of the paper. There had been a robbery at a local bank. More than seven hundred-thousand dollars stolen. No suspects. The article claimed a man walked into a bank and slipped the teller a note. That simple. I laughed out loud. 

“What's so funny?” The man with the black duffle asked. His voice was neither angry or friendly. It just was. I stiffened, and looked at the man, whose eyes were now watching me carefully. 

“Uh… Nothing. I mean, just an article I was reading." I said, hoping the man would be content with leaving my explanation at that. The man glanced down at the newspaper in my hands. Then smiled. I looked away. I didn't like that smile. His teeth were crooked and stained with tobacco and the smile was almost knowing. 

“What's in the article?” The man asked, his voice soft and inquisitive. 

For some reason I didn't want to tell him. We both stared at one another for a long, uncomfortable moment, until I caved under the man's intent scrutiny. 

“Just something about a murder.” I lied, looking back down at the paper, but reading nothing. I could feel him still watching me, and though I couldn't be sure, I thought he was smiling. 

“A murder?” The man said, somewhat theatrically. He paused for a second, and I was hoping he would just leave me alone. “You find murder funny then?” the man asked. I felt my cheeks burn. 

“No… of course not. I just remembered something funny my wife said.” I fumbled, hoping the man wouldn't press me further. 

“Ah, I see. Whatcha reading now?” The man asked, and I could hear the man shift in his seat closer toward the aisle. 

“Nothing really.” I said, my stomach tightening. Why did I have to sit so close to this idiot? I thought. Why couldn't I have sat in the front? 

I didn't want to tell the man anything about the robbery. 

“Nothing?” The man asked, and without looking over, I knew the man was smiling. I could hear it. 

“Well, there was a robbery.” I relented. My eyes met the man's, almost involuntarily. His eyebrows rose just a bit, and I could see his fingers tighten on his duffle bag. 

The man swallowed, “A robbery, huh?” he asked, again he sounded phony. 

“Yeah. Seems a lot of money was stolen.” I said, immediately regretting it. He shook his head, hand gripping his bag so tightly, his knuckles turned white. 

“That's awful.” He said, mockingly. “Never can trust a thief.” he winked at me, trailing a finger along the duffle bags zipper, but not opening it. 

“Is that so?” I said, plastering a smile on my face. I was wondering how long I'd have to walk if I got off at the next stop. Or what I'd do if he followed...

“Sure is. My father used to say that” he said. “He was a very wise man.” I nodded. The lights flickered in the car, and I could see the station up ahead. I would get off, and walk the rest of the way home, I decided. I was about to stand up, when the man spoke.

“Well, this is my stop. It was nice chattin with you.” He said, and gave a little two finger salute. I nodded, and pretended to read once more, relief swelling in my chest. I heard the man shuffle down the aisle, and when the car pulled to a stop and the doors opened, he hopped off. I only looked up when I heard the doors close, and the car lurch forward. I looked out the window, hoping to see him walking off to creep someone else out. 

The man was standing on the platform, casually waving goodbye, a sly smile on his face. I relaxed against the seat a little.I hadn't realized just how tense I was. Now that we were moving, putting distance between that man and myself, I felt better. 

“That guy was trouble” a voice, slurred and groggy called out from the back of the car. I turned around. I had forgotten about the homeless old man. 

“Gotta watch who you talk to…You just never know….” he added, pulling a wool cap down over his eyes, and rolling onto his side. I had to admit, the old man was right. 

I normally don't converse with strangers, and after that experience, I didn't plan on doing it again. I crumpled the newspaper into a ball and tossed it onto one of the seats across from me, my eyes widening. Across the aisle, lying on the seat, was the man's black duffle bag. I stared at it, the thought that maybe the man had left a bomb behind crossed my mind for a moment. The man had held that bag so protectively, it was hard to imagine he'd have just forgotten it… 

I casually glanced up and down the car, despite knowing me and the old man were the only ones inside. The bag rocked gently on the seat. My curiosity was tugging at me. I needed to know what was so important in the man's bag. But not important enough to take with him. I slid over, reaching my arm across the aisle, wrapping my fingers around the handle, and pulling it over. 

I set it on my lap, and looked down at it. It was lighter than I'd expected. My heart was pounding. I pictured sliding back the zipper, revealing wads and wads of cash. The car was pulling into the station. I had to be quick. I could just take it and go, no one would know. But part of me had to see what was inside. I quickly pulled the zipper, and opened it, and gasped. I inhaled a mouthful of rotting flesh. I stared down at the severed head, her blue eyes staring back. Her mouth was open, exposing two broken teeth, and a swollen tongue. Dark purple bruises marked her pale face. Her blond hair was caked in dried blood and what looked like dirt. A rather large maggot fell out of her nostril. I gagged, and fumbled for the zipper with trembling fingers, finally getting it on the third try. I grabbed my briefcase, tossed the duffle bag onto the seat across the aisle, and hurried for the door. A young couple were getting on, and I had to step aside to let them pass. I lowered my head, and kept moving, my body humming with nerves at what I just saw. I could hear a young male voice behind me, complaining about the stench of the car. When my feet hit the platform I finally breathed. 

I didn't get two steps before I jumped at the sound of pounding on the window of the subway car. A young girl was waving her hand at me from inside the car. She had blond hair, like the head in the bag... She was pointing at something that I couldn't see but knew what it was all the same. I turned to go, wanting to get as far away from there as possible. I made it a few steps before the pounding continued, harder and more insistent. I could hear her muffled voice calling to me. I didn't want to look, but I did. I looked back at the girl, my  heart sinking at the sight of her holding the black duffle bag up to the window, her brow knitted. She was saying something. I shook my head quickly, waving my hand. She seemed to understand, and as the car sped past I saw a blur of her, walking to her seat beside her young male friend, bag still in her hand. 

My steps quickened. I pictured her sitting beside her friend, holding the bag on her lap as I had done, excited fingers unzipping…. I pictured their terrified faces, their screams. 

“I saw him officer. He was walking very fast, carrying a briefcase” 

My stomach churned. Why had i opened the damn thing? I stepped out into the chilly November night, and started for home. I passed strangers on the street, some carrying grocery bags, book bags, there was even a man holding a duffle bag over his shoulder. I wondered how many of them carried severed heads… i laughed aloud, a laugh that had a sound of being almost manic, and gripped my briefcase tighter. 

The old man's words replayed in my head, he was right. You never knew about some people… You could be sitting right across from a serial killer. I looked down at my briefcase, a smile creeping to my lips. Or a bank robber…I chuckled to myself, and breathed in the autumn air. Seven hundred thousand dollars.  ‘Tomorrow, I just may call in sick.’ I thought.

Some days are better than others….. 

---

Credits

Carol's Christmas Cookies

Today was the annual holiday potluck. My office doesn’t really do parties, but every occasion gets a potluck; it’s business as usual except everyone brings food. We work while stuffing ourselves silly. Nothing like working through a stomach ache, right? It’s always a game of food poisoning roulette.

Since I was the first one in, I was expected to do the basic set-up. Dutifully, I cleared off the sorting table and got the coffee going. I expected to spend the first thirty minutes of my shift in peace, but it wasn’t to be. The phone started to ring.

It’s too early for this, I thought. I answered anyway, putting on my best customer-service voice. At this hour most customers hadn’t had their coffee yet so answering the phone was a crap shoot. Fortunately, it was only Carol.

“Thank god you answered. Can you let me in? My arms are full!” She always brought enough baked goods for everyone to have seconds and thirds, it was one of the few things I looked forward to.

“I’ll be right over! Hold on.” I hung up and hurried over to the employee entrance. I yanked open the door and found Carol standing there with a heaping stack of Tupperware in her arms. The scent of gingerbread hung around her like a warm Christmas perfume, sweet and inviting.

“Let me help you with that. You tried to get it all in one trip, huh?” I carefully grabbed a few of the containers, making sure not to tip them over and walking with her inside. Carol smiled appreciatively, relieved she could finally set everything down.

I took a peek at the goodies; as expected, gingerbread cookies! Gingerbread office workers, each one bigger than my hand and intricately detailed.

“What do you think?” she asked, puffing out her chest with pride. “I made one for everyone in the office! After I pass these out, I’m out of here though. I’m not working today but I wanted to make sure everyone got theirs.”

“Wow!” I admired her handiwork. It only took me a moment to realize that the gingerbread cookies were modeled after our co-workers. I looked eagerly for the one she’d made of me, but I didn’t see one. “These must have taken you forever to make, the details are perfect. No one can top these.” suddenly my crock pot of meatballs seemed a lot less exciting. Oh well, it wasn’t a competition. As if I could beat Carol’s Christmas cookies!

By then, my phone started to ring so I hurried back to my desk. I watched Carol pass out her cookies with care, placing them on desks atop pretty poinsettia plates.

“Are you going to be open on Christmas?” the customer asked the second I picked up. No hello, only a shrill inquiry.

“No, but we will be open as usual on the 26th.” I answered.

“What do you mean you won’t be open on Christmas? What if I need help right away? I’ll have to wait?” I gave my scripted answer to the angry customer, distracted and deadpan. By the time the call was done, Carol came over with a smile, bringing the very last cookie over to me.

“I’d say it’s too pretty to eat, except he was never really a looker was he?” she said. I looked down at the gingerbread man. It wasn’t me, it was our boss, Dale.

“This one’s mine?” I asked tentatively, definitely confused. Maybe there was a mistake?

“Of course! How many opportunities do you get to bite your boss’s head off? I wanted to give you the honor.” if Carol sensed my disappointment, she didn’t let on. I looked down at the cookie again, a dense gingerbread man in a cheap suit. Even though the suit had been made with glaze and frosting , I had that impression; cheap, ill-fitting, and grey. A perfect replica of one of his two suits with a garish Christmas tie.

“As long as it doesn’t taste like Dale.” I laughed. To be honest, as perfectly made as the cookie was, I didn’t find it appetizing. Well, I did. It smelled amazing! But there was something off-putting about eating a cookie shaped like someone else, especially Dale. Then again, it would be just as weird to eat one that looked like me. Cookie cannibalism.

“You didn’t give him one that looks like me, right?” I shuddered. Now that would be creepy. Dale was a real piece of work, but I had to tolerate him if I wanted to keep my job.

“Of course not.” Carol assured me. “Could you do me a favor? Wait until everyone else gets in before you eat it. I want everyone to see. I wish I could see the looks on their faces. You’ll tell me, won’t you?”

“Sure.” I slid the gingerbread away from me. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I was going to eat it or not, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Maybe if I scraped off the decorations first? That seemed equally rude, though.

“When you eat gingerbread cookies, are you the kind of person to go for the head… or the arms and legs first? Or maybe you pull off the decorations one-by-one?” she asked suddenly; Carol wasn’t looking at me when she asked, she was looking towards Dale’s office.

What a weird question! Especially coming from her. When she saw the look on my face, Carol laughed and patted my shoulder. “Sorry, I was just having a funny thought. There’s a little sadist in everyone, isn’t there?”

“Excuse me?”

Grabbing her empty Tupperware, Carol gave me a wink and wished me a Merry Christmas. She left, leaving me alone in the office. I kept eyeing the Gingerbread Dale, still feeling a bit weird about it. Weird, but also… hungry. The cookies smelled divine, which was odd considering I’d never been a huge fan of gingerbread.

About ten minutes later, the rest of my co-workers trickled in. They complained about how tired they were, morning traffic, and the holidays. Of course, the bellyaching became exclamations of delight when they discovered the cookies set neatly on their desks.

Everyone started showing one another their cookies and taking pictures, marveling at the perfect detail. Patti’s cookie had her trademark beehive up-do and pearls, Marc’s cookie was bearded with squared glasses, Bette’s had electric blue eye shadow and dimples… though the outfits weren’t an exact match, the resemblances were uncanny. Eventually, the clamor died down and everyone sat at their desks. All except Patti, who scurried over to my desk with a wide smile.

“I didn’t see yours.” she said, showing me hers for the second time. She carried her plate proudly in both hands, like she was presenting a piece of art. To be fair, Carol’s work really was exquisite… I just didn’t like Patti.

Patti’s eyes moved to the plate I’d set away from me. My cookie wasn’t like everyone else’s, which suddenly seemed like a problem. “Oh. It looks like Dale... Is it yours?” she scrunched her face at me, somehow managing to keep the smile. I didn’t like her insinuation.

“Yes, it’s mine.”

Did she really think I’d scarfed down my cookie and stole another one off my boss’s desk? Really?

“Why doesn’t it look like you, then?” Oh yes, the insinuation was still there. A bitter anger spread across my tongue, but I fought to keep my voice level and my face flat. It was weird that I was the only one with a cookie that looked like someone else, but I didn’t make them. It wasn’t up to me.

“Carol thought it would be funny, that’s all.”

“Carol? But… wasn’t she fired yesterday?” Patti’s expression scrunched up even more. Her hands moved up to her pearls, fidgeting with the long strand. Sometimes I wondered if she wore pearls just so she could clutch them.

“Uh, no? Wouldn’t a memo have gone out if she was?” I turned my attention back to my work. I hoped Patti would get the hint and go away but she just stood there for a long moment. Sucking in a deep, dramatic breath… she picked her plate off my desk, staring hard at the Gingerbread Patti.

“Didn’t you make these?” she asked slowly.

“No, I brought the meatballs. Why would you think I made them?” I answered, not looking up. I pretended to read an email. Patti was being nosy, as usual; I’d never liked that about her. She didn’t have anything better to do, I guess. Except for the work she let pile up, but if I said that she’d complain to Dale. Patti was his favorite for some reason, so I’d probably get written up for ‘not being a team player’. Like a lot of offices around the world, this one was toxic.

“I’m not sure if this is okay. I’ll be right back.” Patti said, unaware of my rude thoughts. I looked up when she said that, unable to help myself. She didn’t explain, pivoting towards Dale’s office. To tell on me? Or Carol? I honestly wasn’t sure. Either way, it was a headache for me.

She reappeared in the doorway with Dale a moment later. They both made a bee-line straight for my desk, their expressions a lot more serious than a cookie called for. Great. I pretended not to notice, busying myself with a stack of fresh paperwork.

Before they reached me, there was a loud cracking sound and a scream. Every head in the room whipped in the direction of the sound to find Robert tears running down his face. All I could see was his eyes poking up from his workstation, expression twisted and red. “My arm!” he screamed. “Oh my god! It won’t move!”

A couple co-workers ran over to see what happened. I reached for my phone instead, ready to call 911 if an ambulance was needed. Patti and Dale changed course, but everyone looked confused. How on earth had Robert hurt his arm while sitting at his desk? Carpal tunnel?

Now’s your chance, came an errant thought.

My eyes slid towards the Gingerbread Dale. It looked perfectly palatable on that pretty poinsettia plate.

Hurry! Before they confiscate it.

Now wasn’t the time to worry about cookies, but… my tongue tingled with anticipation and my teeth itched with the urge.

Just one small bite. The thought was strange, almost like it wasn’t mine… but very compelling. The gingerbread man was heavier than I expected. I lifted it to my lips and bit off one of the feet. It crunched in stereo, unusually loud as the foot snapped off and began to melt on my tongue. Delicious.

A rush of delight washed over me, brought on by a flood of flavor that drowned out Dale’s cursing screams. He’d fallen, rocking back and forth on the floor. He must have twisted his ankle in his haste to check on Robert. How unlucky. Two injuries in one day?

A chorus of oh-my-gods rang through the office, but I set down my phone so I could hold the Gingerbread Dale with both hands. Without even thinking, I took another bite-- nibbling up the leg before switching to the other foot. The screaming kept getting louder, filling the room.

The gingerbread had such a rich and complex flavor; ginger, cinnamon, allspice, cloves… and something else. Was it earthy? Or maybe it was the texture? Soft and velvety, yet dense and crunchy. Wow, so much screaming. All over carpal tunnel and a sprained ankle?

Annoyed, I glanced around the room to find that almost everyone was screaming. The ones who weren’t screaming were chewing with blissed out looks on their bloody faces or slumped over their desks.

Confused, I touched my own wet mouth and looked down at my red fingers. I wasn’t in any pain. Had Carol put glass in the batter or something? Where was the blood coming from? Why was everyone still eating?

Because they can’t help themselves.

I couldn’t help myself either. Without realizing it, I’d eaten half of the Dale cookie and found myself going in for another bite. Horrified, I dropped the cookie-- the gingerbread snapping in half as it hit the floor.

Dale, curled up on the carpet, was suddenly still and quiet. Patti was right next to him on the floor, but she didn’t seem to notice-- chewing frantically with glazed eyes, gingerbread crumbs and blood running down her chin. Only when her mouth was empty did she resume screaming again. She rolled, and started eating her cookie off the carpet.

The spell the cookie cast on me had broken with my Boss’s spine. He was dead, and with each quieted scream… a co-worker joined him in death. I was the last one standing, the last one screaming. Soon, I was standing in perfect silence. No more screams. No more chewing.

Only then was I able to move. I grabbed my keys and ran out of the office. Maybe I should have called the police, but I didn’t know what I was going to tell them. That Carol’s Christmas cookies had killed everyone but me? That I’d chewed my boss to death with a voodoo gingerbread man? I couldn’t come up with a logical explanation in my state of pure panic. Even though my voice had broken, my thoughts kept screaming.

I ran through the snowy parking lot and found my car. I’m not sure why I ran, no one was chasing me. There was no one who could. Before I could jump into my car and drive away... I noticed the little red gift bag sitting on the hood of my car. Across the front, written in glitter, were the words ‘Merry Christmas from Carol!’

I was terrified but looked inside the bag anyway. As I feared, there was a cookie. My heart thudded in terror, but I felt compelled to examine it. In spite of my dread, I started to salivate, clenching my teeth together. Even after what I witnessed, I wanted to eat it.

The cookie wasn’t me. It was Carol. Carol, down to the outfit she’d worn that very morning-- except for the ‘Sorry’ piped across her sweater in red. I swallowed the bloody spit in my mouth, reaching back into the gift bag. There was a Christmas card inside.

Still holding the Gingerbread Carol, I opened it up. A key was taped inside, along with a simple message:

Merry Christmas!

There’s a Gingerbread Office in my apartment. If you smash it, everyone will think the roof collapsed. That should explain all the broken bones. Don’t worry, no one will find me.

P.S.

You were always kind to me, that’s why I spared you. I hope you’ll do me one more kindness, and make it quick.

Love,

Carol

I closed the card, tucking it back in it’s envelope and sitting in my car. I looked down at the cookie still in my hand. My tongue tingled; my teeth itched. I didn’t want to do it, but I had to. I bit off Carol’s gingerbread head.

It tasted like gingerbread and death.

---
Credits

Elf on the Shelf

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

The “Elf on the Shelf” game is pretty simple: you lie to your kids, convince them that they’re being watched, undo years of “stranger danger” instincts, undermine their basic trust of science, use fear as a weapon, and keep the charade up for a month. The goal is behavior manipulation designed to make life a little easier on us.

And if you’re judging me right now, you’ve never had kids.

**

“Do you know when the elf gets back and forth between here and the North Pole?” Madison asked me in wide-eyed wonder.

“Of course,” I answered seriously. “The Elf on the Shelf is a tradition that’s lasted thousands of years. That’s how Santa knows you like to wake up before you’re supposed to and open up your presents even though we tell you it isn’t time yet. When I was a little boy, I broke a lamp and thought about lying to my parents to stay out of trouble. Right when the thought left my head, I heard a woooosh from the other room, and the elf was gone. You can never see them move, but if you do something really bad, you can hear them.”

She stared up at me in wonder as I marveled at how easy it is to convince five-year-olds of anything.

**

“Iblis, you sack of manatee spunk! Get your fucking ass out of that house and into my driveway!” My hands were shaking. I’ll be the first to admit that I have a temper, but a man can only be pushed so far.

He slammed his front door open and slowly plodded into the front yard. “Do you kiss that pretty wife and daughter with that dirty mouth?” He drawled slowly.

I was looking for a reason not to punch his teeth out, and that reason strolled down the road in the form of elderly Mrs. Sehen. She was staring at every neighbor, as she was wont to do on her daily ogle-walks, and I couldn’t have her witnessing me beating the horns off the biggest dickhole I’d ever met.

With effort, I lowered my heart rate.

“Besides, it looks like your car is in my driveway, Apati.”

And the heart rate went right back up again. “It’s a shared driveway, asshole, and my tires might go two inches into shared space!”

He looked down at my car and shot a glob of mucus onto the ground through his left nostril. “Well, it looks like there are only two inches of slashed tires, which should be a relief if you think it’s such a small distance.” He grinned, showing crooked, yellow teeth. “Does your wife think that two inches is a lot?”

I closed the distance on him in less than a second.

“CAREFUL, Apati, don’t you dare lay a finger on me!”

Breath heaving, I swiveled around to look at Mrs. Sehen.

Yep, she was staring.

I turned back to face Mr. Iblis. “Or what? You’ll slash me like you slashed my tires, old man?”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “No one saw who slashed those tires. Could have been anybody. But if you lay a finger on me, I’ll make sure you spend Christmas in a jail cell, learning how big two inches really is.”

I weighed my options.

Iblis was one of those turd stains who had spent a life getting good at being horrible. I could either take the bait, or turn and walk away as though he’d gotten the best of me.

I slowly looked up at my house. Madison was in the living room window, gawking at the scene, with that damn elf peeking over her shoulder in the spot we’d left it the night before. Rage swelled up inside me again, and I couldn’t let him have the victory. I pivoted back and smiled.

Then I lifted my index finger and wiped it across his nose.

I instantly regretted it; his schnoz was covered in oil and soft hair. But I wouldn’t back down.

“The finger’s been laid. I’ve got a tire to fix, and you have to spend the holidays masturbating alone, so we’ll finish this some other time.”

Mrs. Sehen gawked as I kicked over his rotting lawn ornament before returning to my property.

**

Vanessa shut off the alarm and reached over to kiss me awake. “You got the coffee, Hun? Go make me that perfect cup that gets me going, sexy.”

I opened my bleary eyes.

The damn elf was on the foot of the bed.

“Shitfuck,” I gasped, trying to stand but getting caught in the blankets. “Vanessa, did you bring that thing into bed with us?”

“Sure, Hun,” she responded sleepily.

I reached out and slowly picked it up. “And weren’t its eyes pointing the other direction? They’re painted, on it’s impossible to move them.”

“He knows when I’m sleeping, he knows that you’re awake, and he knows that you should get that coffee going soon,” she droned.

I dropped it to the floor, and it rolled under the bed.

I didn’t pick it up.

“How did it get there?” I whispered. “You know, I never liked it. Let’s toss the damn thing.”

Reluctantly, Vanessa sat up and took my hand. “Hun, it’s working wonders with Madison. I haven’t heard her complain about bedtime in three weeks-”

“-because I’ve been putting her to bed every night for a month-”

“-and she’s picking up the messes she makes nearly half the time.” She smiled sleepily. “Sometimes, lies are good. They get the job done, and people usually prefer to avoid hearing the truth. Like when I say that you make coffee better than everyone, even though it’s just pushing a button that pours hot water.” She kissed me. “It lets me sleep a few extra minutes, and you like being manipulated.”

With that, she flopped back down onto the bed.

That irritated me. But as I made Vanessa’s coffee, I decided to forgive the fact that she was mistaken about being able to manipulate me, and resolved not to bring it up again.

**

The breathing woke me up.

I was about to kick the dog out from under the bed when my sleep-addled brain remembered that we didn’t have one.

Heart racing, I glanced at the clock. It was 12:19, thirteen minutes after I’d crawled into bed behind Vanessa.

Slowly, I sat up, gently placing one foot softly on the floor.

Then I got tangled in the sheets and fell to the ground.

Pain shot through my shoulder as it collided with the wood, but I was too busy fighting the blanket to care. I came to a stop facing directly underneath the bed.

Nothing was there.

Except the elf.

I didn’t realize how badly my hands were shaking until I reached out to lift it.

“You little shit,” I whispered. “I know your eyes were facing the other way this morning.”

**

“I want to get rid that damn elf,” I said authoritatively as I gently handed Vanessa her coffee.

She took it from me without looking up. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” she responded in a voice that told me she was pretending not to be irritated. “I did not enjoy waking up with its face on my lips.”

I decided not to tell her that I’d put it in the trash the night before.

The last of the warm, soapy water swirled around the sink and poured into the drain. I shook my hand dry, reached out my finger, and flipped on the garbage grinder.

It screamed.

It sounded human.

I quickly flipped it off. For a moment, I hesitated. I hate hunting for things in the garbage grinder. It’s a completely blind search through half-chewed, soapy food and sharp blades that are designed to shred flesh into pulp. The warmth of the spit-covered food contrasts with the chill of metal blades to form the most unsettling kind of sensation.

Finding the mass didn’t feel good.

What was that thing? It felt warm, nearly hot, and was distinctly fleshy. I wrapped my hands around the object, then slowly pulled it out of the sink.

It was the damn elf, covered in soggy bread and chicken skin.

Right as my hand emerged from the drain, the garbage grinder spun to life.

No one had touched the switch.

**

“But Daddy, you can’t throw it out!” Madison screamed as I told her that Santa would have to find another way to fulfill his need of watching little children.

“It’s fine, Madison, I talked to Santa-”

“You can’t talk to Santa, you just write letters-”

“I wrote him, and he told me-”

“Santa can’t write back on the same day-”

“He wrote to me last year and said that I could trash the damn thing if it annoyed me and that you shouldn’t tell your mom-”

“Daddy, DON’T TOUCH IT! I heard it move, IT’S DANGEROUS!”

I stared at her, exasperated.

Then I snatched the elf off his shelf.

Madison screamed.

**

“It took forty minutes for Madison to stop crying and go to sleep,” Vanessa said as she flopped into bed. “Even with promises that Santa wouldn’t come tonight if she’s awake. She’s terrified because you touched her elf.” Vanessa rolled away from me and clicked off her lamp. “You know what this means, right? You have to take all of my turns putting her to bed for a month.”

**

6:00 a. m. on Christmas morning is not a nice time to bang on someone’s front door.

Banging louder is not a nice way to react when a sleeping person refuses to answer said door.

So I had left behind all of my holiday cheer once I’d stumbled through the dark house to find out who I was going to punch on Christmas. Fortunately, Vanessa and Madison were undisturbed by the racket, and the presents remained untouched.

The knob was bizarrely slippery as I turned it, but I didn’t have time to ponder the situation.

I was too distracted by Mr. Iblis’s mangled corpse.

His neck had been pulled back far enough to shred his vertebrae; bone splinters had ripped his throat wide open in an oozing, gaping maw. His legs had been pulled around in a curve, leaving his feet to dangle over his head like the zested peel of a curly lemon. All of this was presented in a standing pool of blood that covered my front porch, my shoes, my doorknob, and – comprehension dawning on me – all over my hands.

A bright white bow, radiant despite tiny splotches of blood, sat atop his head.

And sitting right in the center of his shattered back was the damn elf.

I looked up to see a horrified Mrs. Sehen attempting to make a phone call with shaking hands.

“Don’t call 911!” I screamed before realizing there’s nothing I could have done to sound more guilty.

This was quite bad.

My world froze from the inside, the chill radiating outward and paralyzing my limbs, as I realized what I hadn’t seen.

Nothing could keep Madison from tearing open the presents too early. The tree should have been torn apart.

Upstairs, Vanessa screamed.

---
Credits