“You first,” he says to Fiona. He tries to give her a boost up the makeshift stepping stool, but she’s struggling to pull herself up, even with his help.

  “I can’t,” she says, tears of pain in her eyes. “You have to go first and pull me.”

  Austin climbs back up to the window. It’s harder than it looks, pulling himself up through the small rectangle, but he manages to scramble out into the snow. He takes a deep breath of fresh air and turns back to his sister.

  “Pass me the crutches first,” he says. Fiona slides them up through the window one at a time. She manages to climb up high enough for Austin to latch onto her arms. “I’ve got you.”

  The old wooden shelf shakes beneath her wobbling legs. “Austin…”

  He feels her grip slip as the shelf tips over. Fiona falls backward, sprawling out onto the ground amongst the spilled cans and boxes.

  “Are you okay?” Austin asks.

  She pushes up onto her forearms with that familiar refrain. “I’m fine.”

  The basement door creeeaks open above. Austin tenses at the sound.

  “Mom?” he asks with undue hope.

  No answer. Just slow footsteps.

  That’s enough to tell them both that their mother is gone.

  “Austin.” Fiona refocuses his attention, speaking up from the cold ground. “You have to go.”

  “No.” Austin shakes his head. “No, I can’t do that again, I won’t.”

  The footsteps get closer to the bottom.

  “Please.” She’s begging him now, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I don’t want you to die because of me.”

  Those last three words cut Austin deep, echoing the cold thing he said to her before this nightmare began.

  It’ll be because of you.

  Austin wishes he could go back and take those words back, but there’s no time for that. All he can say now is what he should’ve said sooner.

  “I’m sorry.” He lowers the crutches back into the basement.

  Fiona uses them to get back up on her feet. “I’m sorry too. Now, get out of here.”

  Candy Cain descends the final step, bare feet landing on the basement floor. She’s clutching a hastily wrapped present that Austin can only assume is his mother’s head, but he doesn’t wait to find out.

  He pushes away from the window, away from his vulnerable sister.

  But he’s not going to the truck. Not without her.

  Austin hurries to the storm doors to discover his grim suspicions were right. Both halves of Valerie are piled across the doors, along with the heavy skillet and a whole lot of snow.

  “I’m so sorry, Val.” Austin drags his friend’s torso off the doors, then does the same with her legs. He scrambles to clear the red snow before grabbing the skillet.

  It still takes all his strength to pull one of the metal doors open, and he rushes down the steps.

  Fiona’s still standing, using those forearm crutches like swords. She throws alternating swings to keep her opponent at bay until Austin finally leaps between them.

  “Get away from her!” He raises the skillet high.

  Candy Cain cowers, giving Austin pause.

  She holds out that lumpy present, wrapped with discarded paper. Austin stares at it for a moment, seeing it’s too dry to be a head or any other severed body part.

  Candy takes a step forward, pushing it toward him.

  “I think she wants you to take it,” Fiona says over his shoulder.

  He considers slamming that skillet down on her skull, but he’s seen how quick this girl is. She stopped attacking for a reason, so he needs to seize this strange peace offering.

  Austin lowers his weapon to the ground, keeping his eyes on Candy as he takes the present from her gnarled hands.

  Candy just stands there. Waiting.

  Austin peels the wrapping paper away to reveal. . . the camcorder.

  “Thank you,” he says, confused.

  Candy grunts, displeased.

  “We already saw the video,” Austin says. “We know what you did—”

  The feral girl hisses. Austin steps back, shielding Fiona.

  Candy’s chapped lips press forward, parting that stringy black hair as she utters one word:

  “Play.”

  Austin’s hand trembles as he flips the LCD screen open and presses the 'Play' button.

  It’s cued up in the middle of the prank recording. Probably from when his parents watched it, or maybe when his dad showed it to Sheriff Brock.

  Before Brock killed Dad.

  Austin steals a glance up the steps toward the open door. His mother’s body is collapsed there, blood flowing down the steps. Both of his parents are gone. One at the hands of that evil fucking cop, the other at the hands of this wild girl standing in front of him.

  “Merry Christmas, motherfucker!”

  Laughter buzzes from the speakers as Valerie, Ethan and Mateo reveal themselves on the video.

  They’re all dead too.

  Fiona is all Austin has left, and he won’t let Candy take her. He’ll beat her to death with this camcorder if he has to.

  But why is she making him—

  The screen scrambles for a moment before cutting back into the original recording.

  Young Candace sits there, petting her dead sister’s hair as the fire blazes.

  Austin understands now.

  Valerie taped over a small segment of that fateful Christmas morning.

  But the story wasn’t over. . .

  December 25th, 1995

  Candace hums Away in a Manger while the Christmas tree burns bright.

  The flames lick off the branches and catch on Father first, smoke rising from his cooking corpse.

  “Merry Christmas, Father,” Candace says.

  Mother catches next, orange flickers bouncing across her body to burn beside her husband.

  “Merry Christmas, Mother.”

  Abby coughs on the ground. Still alive?

  “. . . Abby?” Candace leans over her sister, who’s choking, gurgling blood that soaks her gorgeous blonde locks.

  Candace just watches, shaking her head. “Go to sleep, Abby.”

  Whispered words bubble from Abby’s lips, too soft to hear over the crackling flames.

  “What was that?” Candace leans closer to her sister.

  “Puh. . . present,” Abby says.

  Candace’s eyes follow Abby’s finger, pointing toward a box tucked far behind the flaming tree. It catches fire just before Candace snatches it up, swatting at the flames. She stamps out the embers with her bare hands and plucks the charred card.

  “To Candace. The Best Sister Ever. Love Abby.”

  Candace peels the wrapping paper off. Slowly, lovingly. The only present she’s gotten today. Maybe ever.

  Her little hand reaches into the box and pulls out a custom snow globe. Inside the glass ball, two tiny figurines stand amidst the flurry of fake snow. A black-haired girl and a yellow-haired girl wearing red and white striped pajamas. Holding hands and smiling.

  Candace starts to cry. Abby reaches up for the snow globe, and Candace lets her hold it.

  “Thank you, Abby.” She strokes her sister’s cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry. . .” Abby’s arm stretches wide, clutching the globe. “. . . Christmas.” She throws all of her energy into one big swing, smashing the glass ball against her sister’s head. The force sends Candace flopping onto the flaming tree, where she screams and flails in the fiery branches.

  Abby crawls toward the couch to pull herself up, grabbing the camera.

  The lens points up at her busted face. Nose broken, eye swollen, teeth missing.

  Over Abby’s shoulder, a flaming Candace rises with a growl. She leaps toward Abby, who dodges her sister and darts toward the basement door, slamming it closed behind her. Abby holds the knob closed as the door shakes against Candace’s fists, pummeling the door with fury.

  Smoke rises beneath the crack of the door.

  The slamming slows and ends with one heavy thump.

  Abby takes a few steps down the stairs and aims the camera beneath the crack.

  Candace’s face melts into the wood like candle wax.

  Abby runs down the wooden staircase and up the stone steps to the storm doors. She tries to push them open, but they’re too heavy for the little girl to lift.

  Sirens are screaming outside now, and Abby sees red lights flashing through the little basement window.

  She scurries back down the steps, pacing in the basement.

  “Naughty, Abby. Naughty.”

  She stops, zooms the camera in on the hatch in the floor.

  Where naughty girls go.

  Abby climbs into the space and pulls the square door into place, boxing herself in like a present. She clutches the bloodstained Bible, her security blanket.

  Footsteps and banging upstairs. Men shout and firehoses blast.

  Abby rocks back and forth in the dark. She stares into the camera and sings a Christmas carol to tune out the scary noises above.

  “Away in a manger, no crib for a bed. . . The little Lord Jesus laid down His sweet head. . .”

  Fiona looks up from the camcorder screen at the girl standing in front of her. She sees now that the dirty black hair has flecks of natural blonde color beneath all that soot and grime.

  “You’re not Candace.”

  The girl lowers her head, suddenly shy under Fiona’s gaze.

  “You’re Abby.”

  “Why did you hide?” Austin asks. “When the firemen came? Why didn’t you let them help you?”

  Abby tilts her head back up, and the hair falls away to reveal her deformed face. It reminds Fiona of a Picasso painting, the nose and eye slightly shifted out of place. Candace may not have killed her sister with that coal, but there’s no way Abby doesn’t have some kind of brain damage beneath her cratered forehead.

  Her chapped lips part to speak. “Abby. . . kill. . . Candace.” A single tear slips out of her sunken eye. “Abby. . . naughty. . . girl.”

  Fiona’s heart breaks for the tortured girl. Even though it was Candace who killed their parents and tried to kill her sister, it’s Abby who considers herself the villain, just for defending herself.

  Because she was supposed to be the good girl.

  Nobody would’ve blamed her, especially with the video evidence; but all that trauma, all that guilt kept Abby locked away in this house for ten years.

  Fiona looks around at the basement, packed with canned goods and water. Abby’s doomsday Christian parents had unwittingly created the perfect home for her. Until Lynette came in, took Abby’s home, and unboxed a monster.

  Abby sees the Bible on the ground and stoops to pick it up. She runs her hand along the bloodstained cover and looks up at the window, where a pink dawn breaks through the trees.

  Abby hands Austin the Bible. “Merry. . . Christmas.”

  He takes it, looking to Fiona with a What’s happening? glance while responding: “Merry Christmas. . .”

  Before Fiona can finish shrugging, Abby is scooping her up into those surprisingly strong arms. Fiona’s crutches fall to the ground as Abby carries her toward the stairs.

  “Hey!” Austin bends down to reach for the skillet.

  Fiona shakes her head, mouthing “Don’t.” She doesn’t know what’s happening, but she knows Abby hasn’t killed them yet, so they just have to play along for now.

  Austin seems to understand as he leaves the skillet, carrying the camcorder and Bible as he follows Abby and Fiona upstairs.

  As they pass into the living room, Fiona catches sight of the knife handle protruding from her mother’s ear. At least she’s been lain next to her father. Fiona tries to focus her attention on Abby, who’s setting her down now beside the fallen tree.

  Abby guides Austin to the couch and sits him there with the camcorder. She opens the Bible to a specific page and places it in his lap. Then she hits 'Rewind' on the camcorder to roll the tape all the way back before pressing the 'Record' button.

  Abby nods to Austin, as if to say, “You know what to do.”

  But he doesn’t seem to understand until Fiona speaks up. “I think she wants to recreate that Christmas morning. To rewrite her history.”

  Fiona understands that impulse. Wishing that you could just erase all the pain and start fresh. A new life.

  She can’t bring her parents back, but maybe if they have a Merry Christmas with Abby, nobody else has to die.

  Fiona gives her brother an encouraging nod. He settles into his role and starts filming.

  Abby reaches into the pocket of her pajama pants and pulls out a lump of coal. Probably that same lump of coal from ten years ago. A gruesome keepsake.

  She places the rock in Fiona’s hand.

  “Thank you,” Fiona says, unsure of what else to say. “This is a very nice Christmas present.”

  Abby shakes her head. She takes Fiona’s hand and guides it toward her own dented skull. Abby motions up and down in a violent gesture.

  “You want me to hit you?” Fiona asks.

  Abby nods, singing softly. “And take us to Heaven. . .”

  “She’s not rewriting the story,” Austin says from behind the camera. “She’s wrapping it up. She wants you to finish what her sister started.” He’s looking down at the open Bible in his lap, reading aloud now. “Cain said to the Lord, ‘My punishment is more than I can bear. Today you are driving me from the land, and I will be hidden from your presence; I will be a restless wanderer on the earth, and whoever finds me. . . will kill me.’”

  Fiona shakes her head at the brutal Bible verse. “No. I won’t do it.”

  Abby sings louder, more commanding. “And take us to Heaven!”

  “Fiona,” Austin calls from the couch. The camcorder shakes in his hands. “You have to finish it.”

  Abby takes Fiona’s hand and uses it to thump the coal against her own head.

  “Take!”

  Thump.

  “Us!”

  Thump.

  “To!”

  Fiona releases her grip, and the coal rolls to the floor as she yanks her hand back.

  “You don’t have to do this, Abby,” Fiona says. “We can get you help.”

  Abby shrieks and grabs the coal. She rears her arm back, aiming for Fiona’s head.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Fiona sees her brother dropping the camera and leaping from the couch to stop what comes next. But she knows he won’t make it in time, won’t save her.

  That’s not how this story ends.

  “Fiona!” Austin screams, arms outstretched as he scrambles from the couch, trying desperately to get between her and that black rock of death.

  He stumbles, falls. When he looks up from the floor, Fiona’s face is red with blood.

  Austin’s whole body shakes with agony, until he realizes. . .

  That’s not her blood.

  The tip of the fireplace poker is jutting out from Abby’s chest. She looks down at it, drops the coal.

  Austin follows the iron rod behind Abby to see Mateo gripping the handle from where he lies among the pine needles. The candy cane ornament is still stuck in his eye as he asks: “Did I get her?”

  Abby collapses sideways onto the tree, and Austin rushes to pull Mateo up to his feet.

  “Holy shit, you’re alive.”

  “Yeah, I guess I kinda blacked out.” Mateo rubs the side of his head. “What’d I miss?”

  Fiona wipes Abby’s blood from her face. “The worst nativity play ever. Will someone grab me my cane?”

  Austin finds it beside the couch and helps his sister to her feet. He drapes Mateo’s arm around his neck and the three of them head for the front door. Austin cuts the bungee cord, freeing them to head down the porch steps and out into the dawn.

  “I’ll pull the car around,” he says, holding up Rick’s keys.

  “Wait,” Fiona says.

  Austin follows his sister’s gaze to the headless sheriff beneath the burnt husk of a station wagon. Brock’s charred arm is extended in the snow, inches from the Zippo lighter.

  Austin bends down and picks up the lighter, reading his sister’s mind. “Are you sure? Mom and Dad are in there.”

  “Mom and Dad are gone,” Fiona says. Austin’s too numb to cry right now, but he knows the grief will come later. “And you were right. We have to finish this.”

  He takes a deep breath, then flicks the flame and tosses the Zippo onto the porch where Brock poured all that gasoline. It lights quickly, the entire front of the house turning into a wall of flames.

  The warmth feels good as he puts a hand on Mateo’s cheek, inspecting the ornament in his eye. “Does it hurt?”

  “Only when I blink.”

  Neither of them can help laughing.

  “You still have a crush on me?” Mateo asks.

  “Captain Morgan is basically our cupid, so I guess I have a thing for pirates.”

  “Argh?” Mateo squints.

  “Argh.” Austin grins.

  Fiona rolls her eyes. “Will you two kiss already?”

  Austin leans forward, carefully navigating around the protruding porcelain to find Mateo’s lips.

  This time, Mateo kisses back, and Austin’s heart blooms.

  A human screech echoes from inside the house, and all three of them turn toward the flaming porch.

  Abby bursts from the open door, through the fire. Her pajamas are melting into her skin, her body in full-on flames as she charges across the snow with the fire poker still skewered through her. Arms outstretched toward Austin and Mateo, running fast, aiming to add them to her human kebab when—

  Crack.

  Fiona’s cane connects with Abby’s neck in a bone-crunching swing that knocks the cooked killer off her feet.

  “Go to Heaven,” Fiona says to Abby’s still body, smoldering in the snow with wide eyes staring endlessly into the heavens above.

  Fiona stumbles, but Austin jumps to her side to hold her up.

  “Sorry, I know,” Austin says. “You’re fine.”

  “No,” his sister responds. “I’m not.”

  Fiona releases her cane to wrap her arms around her brother, and they cry. Deep, guttural. After everything they’ve lost, it feels good to release some sorrow, to embrace what they still have left.

 

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