"Merry Christmas" by Tina McFarlane

Merry Christmas

by Tina McFarlane

Jonathan heard what sounded like breaking glass under his feet. Looking down, he noticed the shards of ice that were hidden by the night’s still-falling snow. He walked up the front steps of the brightly decorated farmhouse and unplugged the Christmas lights. 

Standing on the wraparound porch, he took a breath before fishing out his spare set of keys and stepping inside.

Despite the cheerful holiday decorations, it felt cold. The house had a lingering smell of the cinnamon candles he knew aggravated his father’s allergies. But they made his mother happy, and that’s what mattered.

The house was, as always, immaculate. Growing up, it looked like it belonged on the cover of one of those home magazines. He even caught himself taking off his shoes as soon as he stepped in, though, this time, it wasn’t necessary.

He lived and worked in Toronto, and his mother insisted on monthly visits. He could never say no, even when the weather was bad. He was just like his father.

His mother was demanding, and his father was always willing to oblige.

Maybe willing wasn’t quite the right word.

His father was a proud man, but his mother’s word was law. Jonathan and his father would never dare disobey her wishes.

Samuel, along with Jonathan’s late Uncle Brian, had built this house as a wedding gift for Samuel’s new bride, Margaret. And she loved it. Made the place her own.

He often wondered if his father knew the truth about her when he first brought home his raven-haired, blue-eyed bride. His mother was a beauty in her younger days. But over the years, her outward appearance reflected what was inside.

That’s why this visit was going to be different.

Jonathan paused outside their bedroom. As he looked at the king-sized bed, he remembered the day his father bought it. His mother had seen it on a TV ad and insisted on having it, even if they couldn’t afford it. Jonathan gave his father the money.

He fought back tears as he looked at the scene. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go.

His mother should have been dead before he arrived. He and his father had made plans weeks ago. His parents would have their evening camomile tea before bed just like they always did. Then, his father would wait until his wife was asleep before slitting her throat. He would then stuff the wound with the herbs Jonathan sent him. The blend would immobilize her until he could cut out her heart. That was the only way to kill her. She was too strong for either of them to take her on directly.

Instead, he walked in to find his blood-soaked father dead, with his still-alive but immobilized mother pinned underneath. Her black, pupilless eyes glared at him. He felt numb as he dropped the lighter and walked away.

As he stood watching the house burn, he remembered the last thing his father said.

“Johnny, this is my gift to you. Now we can be free.”

“Merry Christmas.”