It was a Dark and Stormy Night… (Horror Story Below)

Hitchcookie Presents: A Christmas Story

By Kat Fury

Dedicated to Denis LaChappelle, Cookie Monster, and Brock Thompson. May you enjoy your dark and stormy night and I hope this is scary enough for you! This story is based on factual events (decorating the tree happened!) and some not so factual events!

She sat in the dark next to her freshly

decorated holiday tree, admiring the way

the white lights contrasted against the

dark foilage, the slight glitter of the

transparent glass. The angelic tree

topper’s wings listed slightly and the

porcelain face held a few cracks. The

pale glass eyes stared sightlessly out

the window. Monica shifted on her couch

and lifted out the last ornament,

hesitating as memories flooded through

her. She closed her eyes as his face

surfaced, the warmth of that first time

they had dated was overshadowed with the

memories of the night she had left him,

the nights that followed where he had

come again. It had been a year.

Glancing out the window she stood up,

the ornament, a silver photograph frame

with the year 2008 emblazoned on it and

his picture slipping back into the box

as she checked her doors and windows

once more, a nightly ritual that brought

her comfort. He was out there. She had

been seeing his face in the crowd, his

car up the street, and now she saw a

shadow as she pulled the blinds down for

the evening.

Taking a breath she checked the locks

and moved towards her bed, pausing to

stare at the wine bottle atop her

fridge. She was always tempted to drink

herself into a stupor. She kept the

bottle to remind herself not to. It

didn’t always work but she had not given

in yet. Someday maybe she would feel

safe being out of control.

She didn’t bother changing for bed, the

idea of cool air on her skin, or the

risk of his eyes finding a crack in her

windows left her too vulnerable. She

pulled the soft quilt back and curled up

under it, wishing for someone else there

now. She always hated being alone but at

night when it was dark and the world was

silent, it was worse. The worst came

always after the nightmares, which she

knew would come. Still, there were no

tears. She had gotten past the point of


After a time she drifted into a sleep,

it was a sleep full of memories. She was

in her wedding dress standing with him

before their friends, the candles in

hand, his eyes so bright and they both

smiled as the ceremony finished, the

flames merging on the unity candle. It

was snowing then, the snow flakes as

white as her dress, a wish for purity

and a hint of hope. There had been so

much hope then.

There was something in her dream then,

that frightened her. It twisted, as it

always did, down into the darkness. It

was that night when he had changed. She

had wished he had been truthful with her

about what he wanted, and still as she

relived the memory in her dream she

wished she knew. “No!” She cried out,

the echo of reality and dream twisting

together as she ran in the stairs of her

mind, her husband coming after her with

a knife. The gleaming blade dripped with

blood, leaving a trail on the white

carpet staining it’s virginal pelt. She

could not run fast enough, far enough.

She would never escape him. He said

nothing and made no sounds as she tried

to get the back door open, he had barred

it. She was cornered. He smiled, the

smile never reaching his eyes, which

held no sign of love but a cold


“Why Rodrick? Why?”

“There is no reason.” He whispered this

as he ran the blade over her cheek, the

skin splitting and pain rippling through

her body. She didn’t even feel the hot

blood that dripped with her tears down

her face as he cut her clothing away.

She did not move, she had no way out. He

stared at her naked body and sneared, “I

never found you attractive, you’re too

heavy.” She looked down at her body with

it’s soft curves, the dimpled flesh on

her thighs with cellulite, and the tan

lines from her work outside in the

summer. She looked up at him as he

smiled wider, enjoying tormenting her.

She woke then, the nightmare revoked by

the sound of tinkling glass. Sitting up

she crept out of bed, wishing she had

fought him then. The scars on her body

betrayed her wish sometimes, when it was

cold and they ached. She withdrew the

mace from her bedside table and crept

towards the living room. Peaking arond

the corner she saw him there, placing

the ornament on the tree.

He ran his finger lovingly over the

shape of the frame and then kissed her

picture before he turned towards the

kitchen. She moved for the cellphone she

had left on her couch by the TV remote,

trying to remain unseen. There was no

creaking floorboard, there was no sound

until she dialed emergency. The soft

beep of the buttons brought him right to


she saw his face only illuminated by the

white lights of the tree and the dial of

her phone. He was tired looking, but was

much the same. He smiled, a cold smile

that was more vicious. “Hello Monica…

She said nothing, they could both hear

the voice on the other end of the phone,

“Nine One One, What is your emergency?

Hello?” She dropped the phone and

stepped backwards, the ornaments on the

tree jangling softly as she said, “You

can’t be here. The restraining order I

have protects me.” The paper was there,

her present to herself under the tree.

She threw it at him even as he laughed.

“This is your weapon? A piece of paper?

Very useful.”

She lunged to run past him screaming as

she felt a stinging pain, she had not

seen the knife in the darkness, but he

had caught her with it. Terror filled

her and adrenaline fueled her motions as

she turned on him, clawing at his body.

She went quiet, no longer caring about

the why. He had hurt her enough. She was

tired of this pain, she was tiref of

being afrad, and he was correct, a

restraining order had not saved the day.

She pulled the tree down on his head,

the glass shattering around them. There

were sparks and the crackle of flames

told her that she would have to put out

a fire soon.

She felt her nails tearing as she tried

to claw his eyes out, her mind entering

a feral space where all she wanted was

his blood. The years of love, their year

of marraige, and the year of her living

alone and in hiding had ended tonight.

She would either die or live free of his

terror. As a nail snapped off in his

flesh and he sank the knife into her

shoulder again she heard him laughing.

“I never knew you had this in you…

such a shame. Maybe I would have loved

you then.”

She ignored his words, she knew better.

If he had not found her attractive even

if it was as some prey he would have

passed her over. If it was meant to be

that she would die at his hands there

was proof and he would die in jail. If

not he would die tonight. She let out a

feral scream even as sirens began to

rise from the darkness outside of her


The bright flames licked up the curtains

that had hidden her from the world, in

the light she could see him clearly. He

knocked her onto her back and knelt on

her chest and held the knife to her

throat once more. Tears streamed down

his face as he forced a kiss upon her,

the taste of his blood mingling with the

sour flavor of his unwashed mouth, she

gagged and kicked trying to get him off

of her. It was hard to breathe between

the chest compression and the smoke.

“Why?” She choked out, finally asking

once more the question.

He smiled and shifted back slightly, she

coughed and gasped for air, staring up

at the first man she had ever loved.

“I can.” That was all he said. He smiled

again, looking as pleased with himself

as he had when he had figured out how to

fix the car one day when it had broken

down. He laughed gleefully, ” No one can

stop me, and so I decided to kill you. I

killed my first wife too, when I

realized the same thing, and I will ki-”

His words cut off with a gurgle, and

even as his blood sprayed across her

face, hot and sticky, she continued to

stab him. While he had been so pleased

with his freedom to kill, she had picked

up a broken ornament, his throat slit

with the grinning face of Santa Claus.
He fell to the side and stared at her

mouthing something. She rolled to her

feet, picked up the restraining order

and the knife he had taken from her

kitchen and stabbed him in the chest

with it, panting softly,

“Justice is served.”

With that she stumbled for the door, out

into the snowy night. Looking up at the

white flakes she watched them fall, the

police arrived piling out of their cars,

too little too late. They had been too

little too late last time. There had

been no why. There was no why. She began

to sob softly, the terror clinging to

the fringes of her mind, she would be

forever left to wonder why the man she

loved had decided to kill. The real

reason could not be so simple as the

idea that he could get away with

anything… could it? Continue reading

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