Author: Matt Shaw
Date: 2012-07-14 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Christmas; Choose Your Own Adventure; Holiday
Description: Despite having taken the children and leaving him - his wife was coming over, with the kids, for Christmas Day. Not because she wanted to but, rather, a vague attempt of keeping things 'normal' for the children. What she doesn't know, though, is that her new boyfriend is there too..... in pieces. Some of him wrapped up, ready for her to open, under the Christmas Tree and another, sizeable, chunk of him slowly cooking in the oven - ready to be dished up with a good portion of roast potatoes. Who knows - she may never discover the shocking truth of what her husband's done either and, more import

TWISTED TALES

BOOK 1

A Christmas to Remember

YOU CHOOSE THE STORY!

© Matt Shaw

The right of Matt Shaw to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any format without written consent from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for insertion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast.

The characters, and story, in this book are purely fictitious. Any likeness to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Cover artwork by Sally Hattrell
http://imamyrose.deviantart.com/

IMPORTANT NOTICE - PLEASE READ

When I was growing up (in the factory) I remember reading “Choose Your Own Adventure” stories; these little books where you got to choose the outcome of each chapter. A set of two or three choices instructing you which page you needed to turn to, to continue your story.

I was crap at those books. I mean really crap. I even used to cheat. You know, kept my finger on the page just to make sure I didn’t choose incorrectly.   Now I’m older, I’ve realised I was only cheating myself.

So I’ve made that pretty tricky to do, in this book - giving you hyperlinks at the end of each chapter instead. You simply click on the decision you wish to take. No way back unless you start again.

Now - there are numerous endings to this book but I’m going to let you know (without any spoilers) the MAIN endings.

Ending 1 - The Ultimate Happy Ending - everyone survives.

Ending 2 - The Ultimate Revenge Ending - only the wife is hurt.

The various other endings have the wife running away or the kids being affected by what they’ve seen or even the husband killing himself. These are all bad endings - some of them a little nicer than the others. You reach one of these... game over. Back to the start you go.

Anyway, I truly hope you enjoy this ‘interactive’ book, I can’t even begin to explain how hard it was to write! And please remember - despite this child-like gimmick to this book...

THIS BOOK IS FOR ADULTS ONLY

Don’t forget to follow Matt Shaw on Facebook (mattshawpublications)

(REMINDER: DON’T FORGET TO READ THE IMPORTANT NOTICE BEFORE YOU START YOUR TWISTED TALE!)

A Christmas to Remember

Sleigh-bells ring.... are you listening..... In the laaaaaaane, snow is glistening.....

.... Should have auditioned for X-Factor last year ...

..... A beautiful siiiight, We’re fucking happy tonight....... Walking in a motherfucking winter Wonderlannnnnnnnd........ Gone away is the..... thing...... Here to stay is..... the other thiiiiiiiing.... He sings a love song, As we go along..... Walking in a.......

Quick Michael Jackson foot-spin.... big ending.....

Winter Wonderlaannnnnnnnd.. Yeaaaaaaaaaah........

Jazz hands. Awesome. Love the lounge’s laminated floorboards - makes doing the funky foot-spin so easy.

I stepped back from the freshly decorated Christmas Tree. Looking good, if I do say so myself. And I do say so myself. No doubt the wife will bitch when she sees it. Not entirely sure why I bothered. A desperate attempt to show her, one final time, that I can be useful around the house. That I can be just as good as.... him. Fuck it. Don’t even know why I bothered. After all, I’m foregoing the Angel on the treetop this year - favouring her head instead. Even bought a new hacksaw for the occasion. An early Christmas present. To me, from me. With love. Shame I didn’t have the patience to wait a few days - could have got it in a sale, I bet.

Speaking of the wife - should be here soon with the kids in tow. That’s what we agreed. Christmas Day together - as though everything between us is still cool. For the sake of the kids. Try and keep things as normal as possible for them - whilst the wife and I sort our shit.

A ping from the kitchen as the timer, I set earlier, went off.

Shit.

Forgot about the food.

Too engrossed with the Christmas Tree.

Shouldn’t have left putting the tree up so late. I blame the wife. Had she told me she was happy to bring the kids to our home, for Christmas Day, I would have put it up much sooner. Until late last night, I thought I was spending Christmas alone. Well, not quite alone. I still had The Queen’s speech - the wife couldn’t take that away from me.

Have to say, actually looking forward to watching it. She never used to let me. I think that’s why I always wanted to watch it. Because I wasn’t allowed normally. Had I been permitted to turn the television on, at Christmas, would I have bothered with The Queen or simply tuned into James Bond? Not sure. Find out today when I watch Her Majesty for the first time.

Shit - the food.

Stop panicking, I thought to myself as I walked through to the kitchen. Can’t help worrying, I just want everything to be perfect for the kids. My wife and I have managed to ruin a lot of the things we did together - be a shame to include the children in that long, long list.

I opened the oven door and glanced at the meat, through the transparent lid on top of the cooking pot I bought myself a few months ago - after she took what we already had for her new flat. Looks good. Sure smells good too. Been cooking for a number of hours now. Even had to set my alarm, specially during the night, to ensure I came down and flicked the oven on.

Never been good at cooking meats. Mind you, never really been good at cooking full stop. Chicken is always dry. Beef always tough. Turkey always gives me an upset stomach. Please let this be a more successful year. Please let it be a nice meal. Please. Can’t help but think it would have been better to eat around her flat. I know it’s a little cramped but.... least, with her cooking, the food would have been better. Not that I’d admit that to her. She doesn’t get ‘compliments’ now. She chose to leave so she loses out on them. She made her choice...

Actually - maybe I best turn the meat.... I mean, it looks okay but.... wouldn’t kill to give it a turn. I turned back to the oven and opened it once more, after sliding the oven gloves on.

“You want to stop opening the oven, son, you’ll let all the heat out,” I heard my dad’s voice in my head. Always there, when I used to help in the kitchen - growing up - telling me what to do. Weird thing was - it was never him who cooked anyway. Always my mum. Dad would just occasionally come into the kitchen and chip in his two cents worth. Used to bug the shit out of me.

I pulled the tray from the oven and placed it on the side before removing the lid. Definitely looks good. Strange, you wouldn’t even recognise this as one of... his.... thighs. No chance of the wife noticing. She may have done if I used the other thigh - large, ghastly tattoo on the skin. Looked as though a child had etched it into his skin. I won’t tell her what it is until after she’s eaten it either. Will wait until the kids are in bed before breaking the news to her as to what I’ve done. The kids don’t need to hear what they’re eating.

Just noticed - the hairs seem to have singed off in the oven. To think, I contemplated shaving them off before I bunged it in - gas mark eight - glad I didn’t waste my time. Especially considering how much stuff I’ve had to do this morning.

I turned the thigh over, put the lid in place, and slid the tray back into the oven. Check it again in another half hour. Has to be nearly done now. Tried to look up cooking times required, online, but couldn’t find anything of use. Not that I really expected to. Just kind of hoped.

Okay, that’s done - for now. I walked back through to the lounge. Tree is up... just needs her head on the top. Will sort that after the kids are in bed - give them a nice surprise in the morning. I wonder - will it be possible to dig her eyes from the sockets? Replace them with fairy lights? Kids might like switching it on in the morning? A Boxing Day Treat... For them at least - it won’t be the Boxing Day she’s expecting... Bitch, making out she’s doing me a favour by letting the kids stay this Christmas. Fuck that, she just wants a Boxing Day with her new man. Just the two of them. Probably wants to spend the day fucking. Slag. We’re not even divorced yet and she’s already seeing someone else. So much for making a go of it again. That’s what she said. A little break and then we’d make a go of it. Still, fuck her. The only time she’ll be spending with him, in the morning, is when he’s passing through her digestive system.

Might even give her the shits. That’d be a double win, for sure.

I sat on the settee and looked at the time, on the clock hanging from the wall above the fireplace. Seriously, where the fuck is she? Nearly ten o’clock now. Half the morning is gone. So much for a whole day with the kids. This is typical of her - always playing by her rules.

I can’t wait to see the kids, it feels as though it’s been months. Mind you, it probably has been. I haven’t been keeping track of when I do, or don’t, see them and - in all honesty - I haven’t been feeling myself since she walked out all those months ago. I thought I was dealing with it ‘okay’ but then I heard she was seeing... him. Leon Tope. My old boss.

Still, is she in for a surprise. Part of him in the oven, the rest of him wrapped as little packages underneath the Christmas Tree. For the first year, ever, I’m one hundred percent sure she’ll love what’s under the tree. She’ll love her presents. She’ll love her meal. And then she’ll die. I should have done this months ago - no expensive divorce, no having to be a ‘weekend dad’, no having to hear about how happy ‘mummy’ is with their new ‘daddy’. Just me and the kids. Might even take them to Butlins in the New Year. I can’t remember the last time we had a holiday. A fun holiday anyway. Their mother likes them to experience ‘culture’ when she organises anything for them. They’re six and eight years old. They’ve got their whole lives to experience that shit. At the moment, they should be more concerned about having fun! That’s why I’m thinking, more and more, that hollowing the eyes from her pretty little head, and replacing them with the lights, would be a neat idea.

See, I’m all about the fun.

“Hey, kids! Look what mummy can do!”

Ah, I can see their delighted faces now. To think, I was dreading this year but.... this is going to be the best Christmas ever. If they ever show up.

What happens next is up to you!

The wife shows up, with the kids

If you don’t want the kids to show up, with the wife

Want a helping hand with your first decision

She is still coming, isn’t she?

She wouldn’t have changed her mind at the last minute and just not bothered telling me? I wouldn’t put it past her. It’s the sort of selfish thing she does. And, when she does do it, half the time I reckon it’s just to get a reaction from me. Probably hoping I’m going to go around her flat and start mouthing off. I expect the whore is keeping some sort of diary of times I’ve mouthed off - ready to use it against me when the divorce starts. Ha! Little does she know... they’ll be no divorce.

“He shouldn’t get custody of the children,” she’d say before handing over a file compiled of the times I’ve gotten aggressive with her and there’d be nothing I could do but suck it up and pray the Judge still, at least, lets me see the kids from time to time.

Good job it won’t come down to that. Although, thinking about it, it could still come to that if she doesn’t show up today. A quick call won’t hurt. I’ll keep it friendly, just wish her a Merry Christmas and ask what time she thinks she’ll be coming over. Can’t hurt.

I stood up and walked over to the table, against the far wall, where the telephone sat. Can’t believe I still haven’t replaced this antique piece of shit. The old-style kind of telephone where you dial the digits using a large spinning wheel, instead of simply pressing a button like you do with phones of today. Hell sometimes, with newer phones, you don’t even need to do that - you simply say the name of the person you want to call up. The telephone dials the number automatically for you. As I put my fingers in the various numbered-holes, dialing her telephone number - I couldn’t help but remember when she actually took the telephone which used to sit on this table.

“You’re taking the phone?”

“My mum bought it for us so - yes....”

“It’s a fucking telephone, woman! Are you really that pathetic?”

I remember the look she gave me. She didn’t need to say the words. The eyes did. ‘Fuck you’. She simply carried on winding the base-unit’s cable around itself, before throwing it all in the last of her bags.

Considering it was supposed to just be a trial separation - she really didn’t leave much behind and yet, at the time, it didn’t feel strange. I wasn’t even upset at the thought of her walking out, despite being married for seven years. I just remember feeling angry. A feeling amplified when she had the audacity to take the fucking telephone. I mean, really, who does that?

The last number dialed and there was a slight delay before I heard a ringing down the line. Okay, this is it. Just stay cool. Keep calm. Stay civil! It’s Christmas, after all.

A few more rings and the telephone went dead. Either it rung off or she had simply hung up on me. Knowing her - it was probably the latter. I pressed the telephone’s receiver down and replaced the handset. Could be that she’s driving. It doesn’t mean she isn’t coming. Doesn’t mean she’s stood me up. Either way, maybe I should turn the oven down? Don’t want to overcook the meat. Although, if I did, at least it wouldn’t be a surprise to her. Just another example of how I wouldn’t be able to look after the children...

“How can he look after children if he can’t even cook a simple meal?” she’d point out to anyone who’d listen.

Just as I walked into the kitchen, there was a knock at the door. I guess she didn’t answer the phone because she was close. Whatever, least she’s here now.

I stepped out of the kitchen and turned to the hallway.

‘This is it,’ I thought.

No turning back now. Mind you, I don’t have to open the door immediately... it won’t hurt to leave her stood out there for a while longer, that’s what she does to me on the rare occasions I’m allowed to pick the kids up from the flat!

What happens next is up to you!

He leaves them standing at the door a bit longer

Don’t answer the door - keep reading

Wait...

What am I doing?

What has she turned me into? A confused mess.

I never used to be like this. When we were happy - I’d never do any of this. I’d never put someone through what I’m about to put her through. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. It’s only since the marriage broke down. Only since she moved on and found someone else. I felt as though something inside of me snapped. All sense of logic went out of the window and I turned into.... I don’t know what. A murderer? Am I murderer?

Yes.

I killed her lover. He didn’t even know who I was but that didn’t stop me. Neither did his tears. His pathetic tears - begging for mercy - as I stood above him with a hammer in my hand. No emotion flowing through my body as I raised it high in the air and slammed it down into his cranium.

I’m a killer.

The kids loved him. And, now, I’m about to feed a piece of him to them. My own children turned into cannibals because they trusted me to cook them a proper Christmas meal.

She’s turned me into a Monster.

This isn’t right.

I can’t go through with it.

Even if I did manage it, I’m not fit to raise the kids. I can’t be. I was up for them seeing their mother’s head impaled on top of the Christmas Tree with fairy lights in the sockets. I was keen for them to eat her new man - along with roast potatoes and vegetables. Vegetables which, until this split second, I had even forgotten to prepare - since I, myself, am not a fan of them.

What the fuck?

I can’t do this. I can’t. I need help.

No.

Not help.

I don’t.

It’s too late for me. I know that now. I’ve come all this way, done all what I’ve done... to finally realise what needs to be done. I should have done it sooner. I should have done it when she first left. At least I would have been remembered as a decent human being... instead... Jesus - what the hell am I going to be remembered for? I cooked her lover and wrapped what was left of him - stuck him under the Christmas Tree for her to open.

I stumbled into the kitchen, my head pounding with all these different thoughts about what I’ve become and what I’d done. Without needing to think any further, I grabbed the serrated knife from the knife-block and pressed it against my neck.

I have to do it. It’s the only way I can save the children. Hopefully, they’ll never see the horrors of what I’ve done. Hopefully, to save them, my wife won’t ever tell them. I can’t have them knowing what I am. I can’t.

I shut my eyes and ripped the knife across my jugular - the warmth in my body spraying out across the length of the small kitchen as coldness took over. I dropped to my knees and then to my side.... sight fading....

After his death, at his own hand, his wife and children discovered his body in a thick, red pool of blood. His eyes lifeless and his neck wide open. Despite hoping his children would be protected from his actions, they learnt every detail whilst growing up in a Foster Home after their mother had a complete mental breakdown and failed to care for them properly. Their childhood innocence destroyed forever.

~ FIN

Knock! Knock!

A knock on the front door quickly followed by another series of knocks. I’d nearly forgotten how impatient she was. I walked through to the kitchen and peeped out of the window. The streets full of cars - even a police car parked up the road, a little further away from the house. Guess my neighbour got to bring a work car home with him again - perk of the job, I suppose. If I were him, I’d have left it back at the station. Ever since getting onto the force, just over a year ago, he’s been keen to tell everyone and anyone who’ll stand around long enough to listen. Stupid really, given the sort of people who live around here. And he wonders why he sometimes gets eggs thrown at his house.

Can’t see the wife’s car. She must have parked it around the corner in one of my designated parking spaces. Cheeky bitch. She lost that privilege when she moved out. Those spaces belong to the household and she isn’t part of this household anymore...

I’m surprised she didn’t throw the car up, on the curb, outside the front door. Less distance to walk.

Knock! Knock!

Does she really believe I didn’t hear her knocking the first time?

It’s not as though my house is so big I’d fail to hear someone banging on the front door. Especially with how hard she’s knocking it. I’m surprised the door doesn’t fall down leaving her stood there, with the kids - a look of surprise on all of their faces.

I’ll let her in soon enough. Just, it’s cheering me up a little.... leaving her out there. It’s bad enough that it is so cold out there but... yeah.... it’s pissing down too. She’ll be soaked through.

A little laugh escaped my mouth. I’m such a bad man. Probably going straight to Hell. It’s just the thought of her having to stand around, drenched, for the rest of the day... well, that in itself is a nice Christmas present. And it’s not like it’s my fault. I’m not the one who insisted she packed all of her clothes. She left some extra clothes here for the children, she could have done the same for herself too.

She probably thought I’d have dumped them in the local charity shop. What kind of man does she think I am? I mean, other than the kind of man who cuts his partners new lover into tiny pieces?

Mind you, the pieces aren’t that tiny. I purposefully kept the pieces on the larger side of things so as to keep the amount of wrapping required down to a minimum.

I hate wrapping as it is! Let alone when I’m wrapping really small fiddly bits and pieces. Fuck that.

Knock! Knock!

Okay, I guess she’s waited out there long enough now.

I walked through to the front door and reached out for the handle.

Here we go! Let the fun and games begin!

What happens next is up to you!

He opens the door and the police are there

He opens the door and his wife and kids are there

He suddenly panics

There was another knock on the door as I reached out and undid the safety chain. The more I heard the knocking, the more I felt as though I wasn’t about to open the door to my wife and the kids. I don’t know why I felt that - just.... something about the sound of the knocking.... Hard to explain.... Not feminine.... That make sense? And the kids certainly couldn’t knock that hard! If it were down to them, they normally knock once - quietly - and then start shouting through the letter box.

“Coming!” I called through the door as I unlocked the top lock.

My heart dropped when I finally pulled the door open. Two police officers stood there, their hats tucked under their arms.

“Mr Burrows?” asked the officer to my left.

How did they find me? How did they know what I had done? No one saw me fight with... him. No one. I was so careful not to be seen. Maybe the neighbours reported the screaming? He certainly did scream when I went at him with the hacksaw.... no.... they couldn’t have.... impossible. His mouth was glued shut. Used the extra strength glue to be sure he couldn’t rip through it. And I clearly remember, as I hacked at him... up until the point he passed out - which was pretty quick anyway - he was just making loud ‘mumble’ type noises. The neighbours couldn’t have heard that through the walls. Not a chance. Besides, if they had - surely the police would have come by straight away.... flashing their blue lights.

I casually looked over their shoulders - no flashing lights on the car. No back-up either.

“Mr Burrows?” the first officer repeated.

“Yes?” I answered.

I tried to stay calm but half expected one of them to suddenly lunge forward and throw me to the floor before placing the cuffs upon my wrists and hauling me off to jail for what I’d done. Guess I’ve seen too many movies.

“May we come in?” asked the first officer - giving nothing away.

“Sure,” I said, my heart pounding so hard I thought it was going to explode right there and then. I desperately tried to think if I had anything incriminating left out. The thigh is in the oven, not that it looks like a thigh anymore. The rest of the body is wrapped, neatly, under the tree and I doubt they’re about to start unwrapping anything.... Can they even do that?

No.

They need a search warrant. Ask if they have one?

No.

They haven’t asked to search anything yet.

I led the two men through to the lounge and offered them a seat. With them sat down, I sat in the chair opposite.

“Mr Burrows, I’m sorry to say we have some bad news....”

“What is it?”

He sat and listened to the officer explain about the fatal car crash. No survivors they had said. The two children died on the scene and the wife - she passed in the ambulance, on the way to the hospital. He sat, blank-faced, as he listened to how it looked as though a tyre had blown and sent the car into a spin, on the motorway, before it slammed into the central reservation. Other cars swerved out of the way but the truck hit hard, straight into the side of the wife’s car.

The one silver lining to the cloud was - he had gotten away with murder.

~ FIN

Knock Knock!

I walked through to the front door and opened it. Excited at the prospect of seeing my children again but a little bit nervous at the same time. I want them to have the best Christmas ever and, yet, I want their mother to have the worst Christmas of her whole miserable life. Well, what’s left of it.

Okay, the security chain pulled off and the top lock undone, I’m ready. A few deep breaths. You can do this. I put the fake smile on my face - for the benefit of the wife and pulled the door open.

“DADDY!” shouted my two children, Ryan (8) and Sarah (6), in unison.

I crouched down to their level and held my arms open - ready for their warm embrace. Neither of them hesitated in running through the front door and into my arms. It felt so good to hold them again. For me, this was already the best of Christmas presents. My wife’s head on the Christmas Tree will be a close second.

A couple of seconds passed before the kids let go of me and ran through to the lounge. I couldn’t help but laugh as I heard them scream for joy at how many presents were under the tree. I’d never get tired of hearing their little screams of joy. I expect I’ll never tire of hearing my wife’s screams of pain later, either. Can’t wait.

“You going to invite me in?” she asked - soaked through to her skin.

I held the door a little wider and stepped to one side.

“Merry Christmas,” I wished her, as she walked past me - kicking her shoes off - taking her coat off.

“Is it?”

She seems grumpy. I’m not sure if that’s because of me or because she hasn’t heard from lover boy today. Hard for him to send her a Christmas message when his head is under the Christmas Tree... Perhaps I should have used the mobile I found, in his trouser pocket, to send her a message this morning.

Yeah. Should have done that. Might have made for a more pleasant afternoon with her.

“Well, I’ll admit it...” she said as I followed her into the lounge, “... dinner smells good.”

I smiled.

If only she knew.

“Daddy! Can we open a present!”

“After dinner,” I said. The wife prefers them to eat their dinner before allowing them to open their presents.

“Please - just one.... one before dinner....” shouted Ryan - the excitement in his voice making me wish I were young again. Christmas loses some of the magic when you get older.

“It wouldn’t hurt,” my wife said.

I shot her a look. Typical. She wants me to be the bad guy. Normally she is the first to say ‘no’ to them. Not even five minutes and she’s already trying to win the kids over. Bitch.

“Please, daddy... just one present?”

What happens next is up to you!

He lets the kids open a single present each

He doesn’t let the kids open a present each

He ignores them to talk to the wife

“Okay, as your mother said it’s fine... you can each open one present,” I said to them. She might have said it was ‘fine’ but I knew, deep down, she’d have wanted them to wait until after dinner. It might have looked as though I were being mean but.... I still felt as though it were a little victory for me. And that was better than nothing... I turned to my wife, “Dinner’s not quite ready yet anyway.” A smug grin on my face, I felt, was enough to show her I knew what she was playing at.

Both the kids screamed a little scream of happiness and ran towards the Christmas Tree.

“Never were any good at that, were you?” said the wife - looking at the Christmas Tree. I knew it wouldn’t have been up to her standards.

“Maybe you should have left me the pre-decorated  tree,” I replied. I’m still shocked, when she got her belongings out of the loft, she took it in the first place.

“I bought it,” she pushed.

“With my credit card,” I stepped past her and walked into the kitchen. The potatoes needed to go in the oven.

“Fuck you!” she hissed quietly when she walked into the kitchen, behind me. “We both made payments towards that credit card!”

I didn’t say anything, as I slid the potatoes into the oven on the shelf above the meat. There was little point. She was obviously in the mood for an argument. To think, here was me believing she could put aside our differences for day. For the sake of the kids, at least. And she honestly thinks she’d make the better guardian, between us? I don’t think so - constantly putting herself before the kids...

She carried on arguing with me but I ignored her words. I just stood there, smiling at her - pretending to listen. Instead, I focused on the sounds of presents being ripped open in the other room. The sound of laughter...  the sound of... screaming.

Screaming? What the fuck?

My wife stopped talking and walked into the lounge to see what was wrong.

I just froze to the spot.

I knew what is was.

He was so busy bickering with his wife, he didn’t think to check which presents the kids were opening. In their excitement, they chose to open one of the bigger of the presents they pulled from under the Christmas Tree. The severed, unblinking head of Leon Tope. The police were on the scene within fifteen minutes to make their arrest. The kids never got over what they saw. Their innocence destroyed forever. The wife went on to remarry, a young man named Arnold.

~ FIN

I turned away from my wife, out of disgust. Even on Christmas Day she couldn’t let us get on. She had to make herself out to be the better person.

“Well?” she carried. “You didn’t answer them... can they open a present each? Just one.”

‘Just ignore her,’ I thought.

“Can we?” Ryan, the eldest, asked.

It was no good, it got to me. I turned to my wife, “Why do you have to do it?”

“Do what?”

“You know what?”

“No, I don’t... your children just want to open a present - it is Christmas after all.”

She had a grin on her face that made me want to hit her. Punch her square in the fucking face. Don’t do it. Don’t sink to that level. At least, not with the kids in the room. Is it too early to send them to bed?

“You never let them open their presents. Not until they’ve eaten all of their dinner...”

She uses the idea of presents as a bargaining chip. Neither of them have massive appetites and they’re always quick to say they’re full. With the presents at stake - she always manages to force them to eat more than what they’d normally eat. I swear, she’d pile the plates so high... as though trying  to get them to eat what they may have missed out on, in their meals, earlier in the year.

I carried on, “The only reason you’re saying ‘yes’ now is so it makes you look like the nice parent....”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about...”

Fucking liar! “Yes you do!” I yelled.

I barely noticed the kids were getting upset by my raised voice.

“You couldn’t manage one fucking day, could you? One fucking day for the sake.....”

“Don’t swear in front of the children!” she yelled back.

Sarah was crying. Ryan was visibly upset too.

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do!”

“We shouldn’t have come - this was a mistake!” she hissed.

“STOP IT!” shouted Ryan.

I froze and turned to him. The sound of his young voice temporarily broke my escalating mood within seconds. I was so keen for this to be a good Christmas for the two of them and yet here I was screaming at their mother. It didn’t matter what the reasons were, behind the argument. They didn’t need to see it. We should keep it behind locked doors. Out of their sight. As much as I thought, and believed that, though - it was hard. And some things needed to be said...

You decide what happens next!

He lets the children open A present each

He lets them open all of the presents

He tells the kids off for whining, his wife needs to be told

I looked at the wife. She was just stood there with a self-satisfied grin on her face - as though she had won that round because she was the ‘kind’ parent and I was the ‘meanie’.

“No, kids. You can’t open one present....” I said.

Their faces dropped with disappointment.

“You can open ALL of the presents!” I finished.

They cheered with joy and rushed towards the settee, where they sat - ready to receive the presents from under the tree.

I turned to my wife and gave her a ‘fuck you’ look. I win that round. I’m the kind parent. She’s the meanie... Ha! Only let them open one present? Daddy let them open everything!

“If you want to sit on the settee, I’ll hand the presents out,” I said to her.

My wife ignored my ‘fuck you’ look and walked to the settee, choosing to sit between the kids. Bitch. I was going to sit there. Ah well, enjoy it - it’ll be the last time you get to sit between them. The last time you get to enjoy their company. Might as well let her make the most of it.

I walked over to the Christmas Tree and pulled the presents from underneath - careful to leave her gifts where they were.

“I thought we’d let the kids open their presents,” I said. “Figured you and I could exchange gifts after they’re in bed.” I don’t need them watching mummy’s face as she unwraps the body-parts of Leon, her lover. Not entirely sure they’d ever recover from that. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again - of all the things I’ve ruined in this relationship... my kids is one of the only things I’m desperate to save from breaking.

“You got me a present? I don’t suppose it’s divorce papers?” she said.

“No... thought I’d save them for your birthday,” I spat back.

I pushed two piles of presents across the floor. One pile towards Ryan and the other pile towards Sarah. They both jumped up from the settee and reached for their piles.

“Thank you!” they shouted.

I smiled. Love the sound of them happy. Makes all the trouble, of being a parent, worthwhile. Surprisingly my wife was smiling too. Pretty sure that’s the first time I’ve seen her smile since she walked in through the front door. Forget about it. Not important. Enjoy the children. The children who had already started ripping into their gifts.

I stood up, quickly, and ran through to the kitchen. Nearly forgot to put the potatoes in. At least, by the time they’re done with opening their gifts - dinner should nearly be ready!

By the time I came back into the room - the kids had almost finished unwrapping their presents. Same every year; it never takes them long to get the paper off the parcels. Half the time, I think they’re more excited about the ripping the paper off than what’s actually hidden within!

“So what did you get from mummy?” I asked.

“You know!” said Ryan - a cheeky, happy grin on his face.

“I said it was from both of us,” said my wife. “I got them a bike each...”

She said it was from both of us? I’m surprised. Pleasantly so. I would have thought she would have used Christmas as a time to try and score points in the oncoming games of ‘who’s the best parent’ we’re undoubtedly about to play.

I didn’t know what else to say other than, “Thank you.”

I smiled at her and she smiled back.

Maybe she isn’t that bad.

You decide what happens next!

Offer her something dry to wear

Tell the kids the presents are also from their mother

Go to the kitchen to check on dinner

“Mummy and daddy have some things they need to sort out. You two just sit there and be quiet! Not everything is about you!” I said. I tried to say it in a calm tone of voice. I didn’t mean it to come across so nasty and cold but, judging from their reactions, I presume that’s exactly how it came across.

Fuck.

My wife just stood there, the same self-satisfied smile on her face.

She won.

“It’s okay, kids, remember what I told you in the car....” she said - comforting them.

What she said in the car? What?

“What have you been telling them?” I demanded.

“What? Nothing.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, what the fuck have you been saying to them about me?” I walked up to my wife until we were mere inches apart.

“I said that - no matter what - I still love them.”

“You poisonous little bitch,” I hissed.

Sarah was crying behind me but I didn’t care. Ryan was just sat on the settee, looking down at his feet - scared.

“Come on, kids - we’re leaving...”

Sarah and Ryan moved behind me as they got up to their feet. I span around to them, “Don’t you fucking move! Mummy and daddy are just going to have a little conversation and then we’re all going to enjoy our Christmas together.... okay?!” The ‘okay’ part of the sentence wasn’t a question. More of a demand.

“No! We’re not staying here! You’re scaring the kids and you’re scaring me!” she pushed past me and took Sarah and Ryan by their hands. “I suggest you take a good long look at yourself in the mirror. You’re not well...”

I blocked her path to the door, “You’re not leaving with my kids.”

“Get out of my way or I’ll phone the police.”

Good luck with that. I only have the old-style telephone - after she took the decent one we had - the kind of phone you have to spin the dial on the base unit to input the numbers you want for the number. By the time she gets to the second ‘9’ she’d be dead.

“MOVE!” she screamed.

I reacted by shoving her backwards, making her fall to the floor.... making her drag the kids down with her. Shit. Sarah screamed out in pain - her arm bending the wrong way. Even Ryan started to cry now whereas before he was trying to be so brave. Sarah’s scream and the tears of Ryan brought me crashing back down to reality with a bump.

“Shit! I’m sorry!” I helped the children up but, when she got up herself, my wife just snatched them away from me. Her face.... so much anger in her eyes. So much hatred.

“Get the fuck out of the way!” she hissed.

I stepped to one side. I wanted to give the kids the best Christmas they’ve ever had and, instead, I’ve given them one of the worst. I desperately tried to think of something to say to make it all better but it was too late. The wife had put her coat on and dragged the children from the house. The front door slammed behind her.

The rest of his Christmas was spent alone. He frequently called to see the children but they were too scared to visit him. From the other end of the phone-line, his wife taunted him - telling him it wouldn’t be worth pursuing custody now. He had lost them forever.

Every cloud has a silver-lining. His wife’s lover stopped returning all of her calls. When she went around his house, he never answered the door to her. She never knew what she had done to upset him so much that he wouldn’t even speak to her... She never knew, no one did, he was wrapped up - in her husband’s attic - ready for next year.

~ FIN

I turned to the kids, “Don’t forget to thank your mother for these presents too.... she helped choose them!” I lied.

She didn’t help choose them. She didn’t even put any money towards them but, considering I didn’t help with the bikes, it felt as though it was the right thing to say. Both the kids thanked her in unison and my wife smiled wider than she had before.

Given the rocky start to the day, and how she was when she first walked through the door - it honestly looks as though we’re going to pull this off and give them a good Christmas.

I reached over to the coffee table and grabbed a camera I had dug out from the bottom of the drawers, the evening before. Turning it on I looked at my wife and the children, through the view-finder, and snapped a picture. Hopefully the first of many pictures for the day.

We might not be a couple anymore but - at least I can keep some happy memories and the pictures will be a good reminder for the kids, in years to come, that despite their mum and dad’s differences - we tried our best for them.

A quick check of the picture - looks good.

“How is it?” asked my wife. I showed her and she smiled. “Cute. Can you email me a copy?”

“I’d need to buy a new computer,” I laughed. Not sure why I laughed - when she took the computer, I was fuming. More angry about that than anything else she took from the house.

Look at us, playing happy families. I’d almost forgotten what was in the oven. Almost forgotten my plan to put an end to our bickering once and for all. Teach her I’m not one to be messed around with - not when it comes to potentially stopping me from seeing my kids. Stopping me from seeing them or giving them a new dad. Fuck that. They’re mine and always will be. I won’t allow her to change that.

I felt myself get angry again but did my best to hide it. I’m so close to giving the kids a good Christmas, it would be a shame to ruin it now.

“Can I get you a drink?” I asked.

“Tea would be lovely,” said my wife.

“You kids want some juice?”

“Yeaaaaaaah....” they shouted in unison as they fought with various boxes - desperate to get in so they could play with their favoured presents. Ryan’s was an Action Man and Sarah’s was a doll.

“Yes, please!” my wife corrected them.

“Yes, please!” their little voices in unison once more.

I smiled at them and stood up, before I walked through to the kitchen. Two juices and a cup of tea. I’ll make the first one and then she can just help herself. I’m here for the kids and not to be her slave for the day. I want their Christmas to be the best. Couldn’t give a toss about hers. To think, I nearly got suckered in by her - again - just because she said I helped choose the kids’ bikes for them. I’m such a fucking mug.

This whole damned position is because I’m a mug. I honestly believed we were going to get back together. Just a little time out - a break to do us some good... and then she ruined it and found him. Whore.

“Want to help mummy open her presents?” I heard my wife whisper to the kids, in the other room.

NO!

By the time he managed to get back to the lounge - the screams of his wife and children were already echoing through the room. Within seconds the kids had excitedly torn the wrapping paper from one of the longer parcels, labelled to his wife. A severed arm belonging to Leon Tope - gold watch still on his grey wrist.

The police were on the scene within fifteen minutes to make their arrest. Despite the best efforts of the numerous therapists, the children never got over what they saw - their innocence was forever destroyed. His wife, meanwhile, went onto marry a younger man named Harry. The children, they went on to have, were perfect.

~ FIN

“Did you want me to see if I have a spare top or something?” I asked her. She’d done something nice for me and now I was feeling a little guilty about her having to sit there soaked through to the skin. “I mean, I might have a tee shirt, or something, you can borrow - I know my style isn’t the best but... has to be better than sitting there shivering.”

“Yes, please,” said my wife.

“Gimme a second, I’ll see what I can find.”

I stood up and walked up the stairs, towards what used to be our bedroom. I have to say - this whole situation was weird. Before she got here I felt sure of how the day was going to end. I was even excited about it. Now.... now... I’m not sure. Everything feels confusing - being in the same room with them all... Especially given the fact she’s being nice. It feels as though it did before she walked out. It feels.... nice.

In the bedroom, I went through the various drawers and cupboards - trying to find anything that was clean. Since she left... laundry wasn’t done as much as it should have been. To be honest, hardly anything was done - other than watching her, from a distance and pining for what was lost.

Come on, pull yourself together. One act of kindness, on her part, doesn’t make up for the hurt she’s caused me. It means nothing. She didn’t do it for me, she did it for the kids. She wants them to have a good Christmas as much as I do even if that meant they believed mummy and daddy chose their bikes for them.... Nothing has changed. Stick with the plan. She’s caused me too much pain, over the months, to get off that lightly.

I found a red jumper in the last drawer I looked in. She certainly won’t be winning any fashion prizes but at least she’ll be dry.

“Did you find anything?” she asked.

I jumped at the sound of her voice.

“Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to make you jump....”

“Here,” I threw her the red top.

“Nice,” she said. “Didn’t my mum buy this for you one year?”

“Proof she hated me,” I laughed.

“She didn’t hate you...”

“But she does now...”

My wife didn’t say anything. She just lifted her top up and dropped it to the floor. Stood there in her bra - I forgot, in my hatred, how pretty she actually was. Even standing there, like a drowned rat, she looked like the woman I fell in love with all those years ago. A pang of regret, at how we’ve ended up, shot through me.

She went to remove her soaking black bra and stopped, “Do you mind?”

You decide what happens next!

He kisses his wife passionately

He doesn’t move and just watches her

He panics at what he’s done

I got up and walked through to the kitchen. My mind is racing in so many directions, I just had to get out of the room. A little space just to get my head around what’s happening and where the day is heading.

“Are you okay?”

I turned around, my wife had followed me.

“I’m good, this is just harder than what I thought it was going to be,” I said.

“You thought it was going to be easy?”

I shook my head.

Truth be told, I had hoped it was going to be easy. Well - easy for the kids and I anyway. I wasn’t very concerned about how she was going to cope.

She changed the subject, “Do you need a hand with anything?”

I looked to the oven, “No, I think everything’s good. I’ll check the potatoes in a bit and then we’re almost ready... Yorkshire puddings won’t take long in the oven as they’re ready-made ones...”

“Cheat!” she teased. “I thought you’d at least try and make them from scratch!”

“No point,” I said. I reached over to the cupboard and pulled some juice down from the top shelf. “I take it the kids still like juice...”

“It hasn’t been that long since you last made them a drink!” she said. The humour gone from her tone.

“Feels like it,” I mumbled as I prepared two drinks. I turned the subject away from anything which may cause conflict between the two of us - those sorts of conversations can wait until the kids are in bed. “Did you want a drink?”

“Tea, please...”

“Milk, one sugar?”

“Yes, please...”

“Coming up.”

I flicked the switch on the kettle.

“Be nice to get something warm inside of me - I’m freezing,” she said.

She perched herself on the kitchen side and patiently waited for the kettle to boil. She even put her dripping sleeve over the kettle’s steam in the vague hope of helping it to dry off.

You decide what happens next!

He offers her some dry clothes to put on

He ignores her and checks the potatoes

Stood there in just her black bra... water dripping off her skin.... her wet hair.... she looked so sexy. I remember that’s what I loved about her - how she used to always look so fucking sexy with the minimum of effort.

“Do you mind?” she repeated.

I know she wanted me to leave the room so she could change but.... I couldn’t. Seeing her, stood there like this... it brought back so many happy memories. Clouding my judgement and making me forget where we were today. I crossed the room to her and grabbed her. Before she could resist, if she’d even try, I pulled her close and kissed her passionately. One hand on her arse cheek, the other gently on the back of her head and I kept her pulled in close to me. It wasn’t long before her tongue was exploring mine and I felt myself harden in anticipation.

“I’ve missed you,” I said after a few more seconds of kissing.

I didn’t care what I had done, before today. I still had a chance to put everything right between us. Still had a chance to bring the family together.... This morning... before this morning, even, I thought I hated her. They say you only ‘hate’ someone because you ‘love’ them so much. Until now, I never understood that. I didn’t hate her. I’ve never hated her. I was just bitter. Bitter at what she’d done.

“Please come home,” I pulled her in for another kiss but she pulled away. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” she said as she wiped her mouth. “I’m sorry.... we can’t do this...”

“What do you mean?”

She slid the red top over her wet hair, covering herself up.

“It’s wrong!” she said.

“How’s it wrong? You’re my fucking wife!”

“I’m seeing someone! We can’t do this! I’m sorry!”

She turned and ran from the room. I was close to follow.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

“I’m sorry!” she said once more - as though stuck repeating the same damning sentence.

Down in the lounge she rushed over to the children and crouched down to their level, “Children - mummy has to go but I’ll see you tomorrow evening...”

The children were upset their mother ran off like that, given they were expecting to have the whole day together, but were soon distracted by their presents and, half an hour later, they were sat enjoying their dinner - roast leg of Leon with potatoes and yorkshire puddings. After the actions of their dad, their Christmas wasn’t ruined and they never even learnt of what they had actually eaten. Their mother, on the other hand, had a lousy Boxing Day when she realised she had been dumped by her lover, Leon, who couldn’t even be bothered to return her calls or answer her text messages. A few more months of playing the field, she returned to her husband only to find he had settled down with someone else.

~ FIN

I didn’t move. I just stood there, transfixed by how sexy she looked - the way her skin glistened from the wetness of the clothes. She realised I wasn’t moving and proceeded to remove her bra - keeping her eyes fixed firmly on mine.... my own gaze.... moving, when she dropped the bra on the floor, to her pert breasts and hard nipples.

Hard?

Cold or excited?

Happy with the outcome of the morning?

I didn’t dare move so she took the initiative and stepped towards me. She seemed in no hurry to put the red top on. I desperately wanted to hold her again but I didn’t dare reach out for her for fear of scaring her off.

She took another step towards me, still looking me dead in the eye.

“You look nervous,” she said.

She isn’t joking. I have no idea what the fuck is happening. When the day started - I knew where it was going. Knew. I never once thought it would go in this direction.

She reached her hand out and took hold of mine before placing it on her breast. I forgot how good they felt. Forgot how good they looked.... felt.... How could I have forgotten this? So busy hating her for what she’d done.

I pulled her close and kissed her on the lips.

A deep, slow, passionate kiss.

I felt myself harden as I pulled her closer.

Meanwhile, she undid the buttons on her trousers and awkwardly stepped out of them with my body pressed hard against hers.

My hands, roaming down to her buttocks.

I bit her neck and she sighed.

Moved my head further south and kissed her breasts as she moaned in pleasure...

“Wait a minute,” she said as she took a step away from me. “What about the kids?”

“What about them?” I asked - pulling her close to me once more.

“They might come up.”

I stopped and listened; the sound of playing coming from the lounge.

“We’ll be quiet,” I said.

You decide what happens next!

The husband and wife continue their steamy encounter

He agrees it’s a good idea to stop there and checks on dinner

He suddenly panics

Regardless of the mixed feelings and confusion running through my body, I turned my attention back to the dinner.  I need to put aside all the thoughts of what’s happening between my wife and I - they aren’t important. I’ve come this far, I need to concentrate on the game plan for the day. The original plan.

A quick look in the oven and the potatoes have crisped up nicely. All I need to do now is mix up some gravy granules and carve the meat before I dish up. Can’t be that tricky. Have to say, though, I’m not entirely looking forward to the carving of the meat. Maybe it’s because I know what it is.

“Want a hand?” asked my wife as she stepped up, behind me.

A kind offer but one I had to decline, “No, thank you. You might as well go and sit with the kids,” I told her. “Not as though there’s a lot of room in here...”

“Okay.” She took hold of some drinks, for the kids, and walked through to the lounge - leaving me to carve the meat.

I figured it would be safer to have her out of the room. Didn’t want her questioning the meat as I cut it from the bone. Not entirely sure I’m not going to be able to gag when I cut it. After all, it’s not every day your carve up human meat.

I don’t think I’ll be putting a lot on my plate. I’m a little annoyed I have to put any one, to be honest. Much sooner eat a plate of roast potatoes for dinner. Have to, though. Can’t get away with not eating it if I expect them to eat it too.

Just trying to remember how my life ended up at this point.

I took the lid off the pot and took a hold of the meat, by the top, before placing it onto the cutting mat. Despite what it is - it does smell good. Looks good too. All things considered. Probably helped by the fact, when I put it into the oven, I sprinkled herbs onto it.

I reached into the drawer, on my left hand side, and pulled out my carving knife set - a fork to stick into the top of the meat, to keep it in place, and a large, extra sharp knife.

“Smells good,” my wife called through, “are you sure you don’t need a hand with anything?”

“I’m good, thank you...”

I stuck the fork into the top of the thigh and ran the carving knife down the entire length - so as not to hit any bone. As the first piece of succulent meat flapped away from the bone, I couldn’t help but gag a little. It’s a little bit pink inside... perhaps I should have left it in the oven that little bit longer...

A few more cuts and I started to get more used to it.

Okay, I can handle this.

It helps that it smells so good and looks so.... well... doesn’t look much like a thigh anymore. Least - not a human one.

I stopped and stepped back - leaving the fork sticking from the top of the meat and the carving knife on the cutting board. What am I doing? I’m about to feed a human thigh to my kids. Can I get away with it? Can I really make them do this? I know it won’t kill them and they’ll never know but... even so... I’ll know...

I have to do it, don’t I? Surely I’ve come to far now? I can’t turn back.

I turned to the lounge and approached my wife and children...

You decide what happens next!

He tells them dinner is about to be served

He tells them dinner is ruined

He panics

“It’ll be okay,” I reassured her as we both listened to the kids happily playing downstairs. She walked over to the bedroom door and pushed it to.

“We’ll have to be quick...”

‘I don’t think that will be a problem,’ I thought.

I undid my belt and dropped my trousers, and boxers, to the floor where I stepped out of them - freeing my erection in the process. Seconds later and my top was on top of the growing pile of clothes too. My wife walked back over to me and placed her hands on my erection before she leant in for another long, passionate kiss. All the anger and hostility I felt towards her - dissipating with every passing second. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed her.

Whilst kissing her, I pushed her back onto the bed and froze.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as she moved her way up the bed, until her head was on the pillow.

I smiled, “Nothing.”

To think, at the start of the day, I was adamant cutting her head off was the smart move. Now I’m not so sure. I climbed onto the bed and softly kissed my way up her legs... gentle kisses on her inner thigh... I moved to her pussy.... the sweet scent that I’d missed so much... a flick of my tongue on her clitoris... the taste... she sighed in pleasure as I teasingly kissed her again before continuing to kiss my way up her body until we were, once again, face to face.

“I’ve missed you,” I said.

She raised her finger and pressed it against my lips - shushing me up in the process. Why didn’t she say it back? With her other hand, she took a hold of my hard penis and guided it between her legs - a heavy sigh, from both of us, as I thrust forward, pushing myself in as deep as I could go.

I closed my eyes in ecstasy. It had been so long since I felt the warmth of a woman... the slippery wetness...

“That feels so good,” I moaned.

“Don’t talk...” she whispered.

I started to gently slide in and out - the delightful feeling taking away my breath with each stroke... gradually getting faster and faster.... the pair of us trying to keep our moans of pleasure to a minimum despite the creaking bed-springs threatening to give the game away.

Her nails clawed at my back causing me to wince a little, as I nibbled her neck before moving to meet with her lips for another deep, passionate kiss.

It had been too long, “I can’t take much more,” I warned.

No sooner had I said the words did I feel the once-familiar feeling of the orgasm building. Starting with a tingling sensation in the tops of the legs before a hard shuddering sensation as I ejaculated deep inside of her.

“SHIT!” I shouted as the power of the orgasm caught me off guard. I couldn’t be blamed - it had been stored for a while now. Can’t remember the last time I had sex.

“Ssh!” my wife hissed again, trying hard not to laugh.

I pulled out of her and rolled onto my side in a crumpled heap of mess.

“I’m sorry,” I laughed. “It’s been a while.”

My wife climbed from the bed and reached for her underwear and trousers.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“We can’t stay in bed, the kids are downstairs...”

“A few minutes longer, they’re fine!”

She shot me a look. Clearly she wasn’t going to be swayed on this.

You decide what happens next!

He talks about a future together

He takes his wife’s lead and checks on dinner

My wife turned to me - a look of concern on her face, no doubt caused by my own concerned expression.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I’ve ruined dinner. Left the meat in the oven too long. It’s inedible.”

I can’t bring myself to let my children eat it. Even my wife... I feel strange about where we’re headed. I can’t help but think - maybe it’s not over between us. Maybe there is a chance everything could go back to normal.... If  I let her carry on and eat the dinner... open her presents... there’s no turning back from that. I certainly couldn’t let her leave the house. Not after seeing the presents.

In the long-run - we may well end up back here, in this position but I’m not ready to give up on everything just yet. It doesn’t feel as though it’s definitely the end for us. It feels as though there’s a chance. A small chance that everything may just work out for us.

We could be a family again.

“So after the big song and dance of having us over... not wanting to ruin Christmas for the children... you couldn’t even get the dinner sorted for them? For us?”

I didn’t say anything. Part of me felt as though it would have been better to tell her the truth but - the sensible part of me - already told me that meant it would have been over for us. Especially for me.

“I’m sorry, I could put some nuggets in the oven?”

“You know what - forget it - this whole idea was stupid... Come on, kids...”

“What?”

She grabbed the kids, who were confused as to what was going on, and dragged them towards the front door.

“Come on,” I said, “we’re having a nice day - you don’t need to go... I can find something else in the oven.”

“Just don’t bother,” she hissed.

Once again he had proven to his wife how useless he was. Unable to even a cook a meal for them on Christmas Day - his wife knew he would never change and she really had fallen out of love with him. The rest of Christmas, for him, was spent with nothing but The Queen’s speech and left-over Leon.

Every cloud has a silver-lining, though. He got to see his children every weekend, and a couple of times during the week after his wife found a new lover, in another city, after she thought she was dumped by Leon - who never returned her calls or saw her again.

~ FIN

I watched as she checked herself out in the mirror - a flushed face but, other than that, nothing to give the game away of what she’d just done. Not that the children would understand such a thing.

Not at their age.

At least, I hope not.

She caught me looking at her in the mirror and turned to look at me, still lying on the bed - my hands behind my head for support.

“What?” she asked.

“Just confused,” I said honestly.

“Confused?”

“Us. What just happened?” I asked.

She didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at herself in the mirror.

“I thought you were seeing someone now,” I said, softly.

“I am. At least, I think I am.”

“You think?”

“He hasn’t even wished me a Merry Christmas today,” she said. “Not a phone call... not a text.... nothing.”

And I know why. Hard to text a message when your body is in several pieces.

“I still love you,” I said.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. It would have been nice to hear her say it back to me too. Especially given how I started the day feeling about her. Gone from wanting her dead, as revenge, to desperately wishing I were back with her.

“You feel nothing for me?” I asked - almost scared of the answer.

“It’s not that,” she said, finally. “A lot has been said.”

A lot has been said since she left. Many stupid arguments.  Most of which were completely unnecessary - just said out of anger and venom.

“Nothing that we can’t move on from,” I insisted. “Surely we deserve to give it another go... I always thought that’s what was going to happen - a few months apart to reassess things and then, you know, get back together.”

She sat on the edge of the bed - facing away from me.

Well, this is awkward.

“I best go and check on dinner,” I said, climbing off the bed.

You decide what happens next!

His wife wants to give things another go

His wife doesn’t answer him straight away

He realises the best way of fixing things

“If you want to go through to the dining room,” I said, “I’m just about to dish up the food.”

“Can I take a toy with me?” Ryan asked his mother.

“No, you can play with them after dinner....” she said - clearly not the answer Ryan, or Sarah, wanted to hear as they stomped through to the dining room. That reaction was another reason she preferred them to open their presents after dinner. As soon as they had gifts to play with - neither of them were interested in eating.

“And don’t forget to wash your hands!” she called after them.

“You sure you don’t need a hand?” she asked.

“I’m good, thank you.... has everyone got enough drinks?”

She looked to the drinks, she’d given the kids earlier, which were still on the floor and nodded, “I’ll take them through.”

“Okay,” I turned back to the kitchen.

“And thank you for this,” she called out after me. “It’s nice.”

I flashed her a smile before turning my attention back to the dinner. A quick boil of the kettle, ready for the gravy granules, and the yorkshire puddings placed on the top shelf of the oven for the final couple of minutes.

‘I think it’s fair to say I have everything under control,’ I thought as I went back to carving the meat - still trying hard to pretend it was something other than what it actually was.

I wonder if anyone would notice if I was eating fish fingers.

Best not risk it. Don’t want them asking any awkward questions or saying they’d rather have what I was eating. Although, thinking about it, I could always say there wasn’t enough meat to go around so I did the decent thing. No, hardly seems fair. To be honest, I’m still in two minds about dishing this up to anyone.

The kettle finished boiling, behind me, as I divided the meat between all of the plates - most of it going on the plate of my wife. The kids and I can have more potatoes instead. That’s fair. I span around and grabbed the kettle before pouring the boiling water into the waiting jug of gravy granules. I expect she’ll have something to say about the gravy... she normally makes it.... well.... properly.... but I never did learn how to do that. This is good enough. She should just be grateful I’m even trying.

A few quick whisks of a fork and I set the jug of gravy to one side, I’ll give it another stir after I’ve dished the potatoes up. I pulled the tray of roasts from the oven and spread them among the plates. Three on her plate and six on my plate and the plates of the kids. She probably won’t even batter an eye-lid... she rarely eats more than three spuds anyway. Reckons they’re fattening  - not that she needed to worry about that.

The last item of food, to be put onto the plates, was the yorkshire puddings. Nicely browned off in the oven. Lovely.

Shit.

I’ve just realised I’ve forgotten any vegetables. I hate the bastard things myself but I’m pretty sure she’d be expecting me to cook some for the kids at least. Part of healthy diet and all that. Fuck. Perhaps I’d get away with just cutting up a raw carrot and bunging the pieces on the plates?

Fuck it. Not worth it. She’s only going to complain either way.

I stopped.

Really - can I really do this?! I’m not sure what’s happening today and I’m still not entirely sure this is the best course of action...

You decide what happens next!

He decides what’s done is done and takes the food through

He decides it’s not worth it and tells her dinner is ruined

She blocked me from leaving the room, “Wait.”

“What is it?”

“What about Leon?” she asked.

He’s dead.

I couldn’t tell her that.

Might ruin whatever it is that’s happening between us.

“You said yourself he hasn’t even wished you a Merry Christmas today. It doesn’t sound as though he should be the one stopping us from getting back together...”

“The things we’ve said...”

“We’ve both said things out of anger... out of anger. There’s nothing we can’t move on from,” I said. I moved close to her. “I love you and whatever I said - it was because I was hurting...”

And the things I’ve done - especially Leon - because I cared for her.

She didn’t say anything, just stood there with her pretty blue eyes welling up.

I smiled at her and wiped her right cheek when a tear finally rolled down it. “I love you,” I repeated.

Another long pause before she finally spoke, “So what happens now? Do I move back in? Do we just start dating again and see where it goes from there?”

“If you want to move back.... I’d like it....” I said. “Best Christmas present ever...”

She wiped her own the tears from her own face, “I’m so scared.”

“Come on, it’ll be great,” I insisted. “I love you. You love me. And the kids - imagine how happy they’d be....”

“I need to do what’s right for me,” she said.

She stepped away from me.

“I don’t know what to do.... what’s best...” she continued.

I felt her slipping from my grasp. If she changes her mind, I’m not sure what I’d do. I’m not sure where I’d go from here. If I can’t have her....

I don’t want anyone to have her.

Jealousy is a powerful emotion.

One I clearly can’t handle.

Leon can testify to that.

“I need to know....” I pushed her.

She went to say something but hesitated.

“Well, look, I really have to check the dinner....”

You decide what happens next!

She decides she definitely wants to give it another go

She can’t give an answer straight away

She says ‘no’

I walked into the bathroom and locked the door behind me. I know, now, what needs to be done to make things easier for everyone - myself included. Having started the morning off hating her. I realised, now, that I still loved her.  They say love and hate are one and the same. I don’t want to see her with someone else.... and I’m sure, when she realises Leon isn’t coming back, there will be someone else. She’s a good woman, despite what she’s putting me through. She’ll find someone.

She’ll always find someone.

The more the day has gone on, the more I’ve come to realise I can’t hurt her. Not like I originally planned anyway. I couldn’t put her through any real pain. Don’t even know why I thought I could in the first place. Should have known I wouldn’t have been able to follow through with it. Should have known. Stupid.

She obviously has mixed feelings for me. That much is obvious. She just realises we wouldn’t work out as a couple. I wish she’d give us one more shot but it looks as though her mind is made.

I turned to the sink where my razor was.

I know what needs to be done.

If I’m dead, there’ll be nothing stopping her from moving forward with her life. The kids will be better without me too. No more arguments between their mother and I - upsetting them. Their fuck-up father disappointing them again. How I even thought I’d make a good parent, with her dead, I’ll never know... what kind of father am I? Prepared to feed my kids human flesh and kill their own mother. I’m not a father. I’m a monster.

A fuck-up.

This is definitely for the best. I just hope my children are protected from what I’ve done to their mother’s new friend...

I placed the razor against my right wrist first and pressed it into the skin. A little wince of pain as the skin shredded open and the first few droplets of blood spilled out.

Okay, a quick downward motion. Always down. Never across. Across is just a pussy’s cry for help. This isn’t a cry for help.

I shut my eyes tight and pulled the razor down.....

After his death, at his own hand, his wife and children discovered his body in a thick, red pool of blood. His eyes lifeless and his wrists slit wide open. Despite hoping his children would be protected from his actions, they learnt every detail whilst growing up in a Foster Home after their mother had a complete mental breakdown and failed to care for them properly. Their childhood innocence destroyed forever.

~ FIN

I walked through to the dining room carrying the wife’s dinner first. I figured, I’d let her start her meal before the kids had their plates in front of them. That way, as long as she started with the meat, I could always take the kids’ food away again if she says it tastes foul. That’s the plan at least.

“No vegetables?” she asked. Her tone dripping in disappointment.

“It’s Christmas, kids shouldn’t have to eat vegetables on Christmas!” I said. Quick thinking. I impressed myself. Impressed the kids too as they both gave a joyous cheer.

“Meat and potatoes,” the wife continued, “a nice healthy, balanced meal.”

I left the room to fetch the kids their food. As I walked to the kitchen I called back to the wife, “Did you want me to get you a carrot stick?”

I heard her grumble but chose to ignore whatever she said. I refuse to argue over something as stupid as vegetables. I put my plate, and the kids’ plates, onto a tray and walked back to the dining room.

One for Sarah.

One for Ryan...

And - I put the final plate in front of my place setting at the opposite end of the table from my wife - one for me.

“Well, this is nice,” I said as I looked at everyone. It didn’t matter how we got here, it was just nice to see the whole family sitting together at a table again. Felt like old times again.

My wife was the last person I looked at... chewing her food with her mouth open, “Everyone okay?” I asked.

She picked up Ryan’s drink and took a swig from it. Swallowing hard she said, “The meat is a bit chewy....”

“Overcooked?” I asked.

Or just disgusting?

“Yes,” she said.

“I apologise,” at least she hasn’t cottoned on to the fact it’s actually her new lover.

I looked down to the meat on my own plate. It does look quite tough. Maybe if everyone just leaves it soaking in the gravy for a while longer it will be easier to chew. Easier to swallow?

I tried cutting a small piece out with my knife. Certainly harder to cut it compared to when I used the large kitchen knife, that’s for sure. Jesus - what have I done?

You decide what happens next!

He is filled with guilt

He suggests they let it soak in the gravy for a while

He tells them dinner is ruined

“Okay...” she said.

“Okay?”

“Yes... okay. Okay, I’ll give it another go.”

“We’ll....”

“What?”

“We’ll give it another go,” I said. “You said ‘I’...”

“Oh, right... yes, we’ll give it another go,” she said.

I smiled - the best Christmas present I could have expected. I nearly regret killing Leon. Nearly. Shit.... Leon...

“So what did you get me?” she asked.

“What?”

“You mentioned earlier - Christmas presents....”

I froze.

Need to think fast.

I can’t have her open the presents, under the tree... undo all the good work I’ve done. I want us to work out.

“Yeah,” I said, thinking on my feet, “I don’t think I want you to have them.”

“What?”

“You know, I bought them when.... I was angry at you....”

“Oh...”

She looked hurt. Already I’m starting to blow my second chance.

“They say it’s the thought that counts and, at the time.... the thoughts.... they weren’t the nicest. I was angry. I’m sorry... Let me take you away.”

“What?”

“A break for the New Year... you, me and the kids.” I was planning on taking the kids to Butlins but I guess, if it’s a holiday for all four of us - we can do better than that shit-hole. “What do you think?”

She smiled, “Sounds nice.”

I smiled too, “Anywhere you want...”

I just hope her idea of ‘anywhere’ is reasonably priced. As much as I want us to work out - not entirely sure I can afford to take the family to somewhere like Bermuda right now!

“The kids are going to be so happy,” she said. She walked over to me and gave me a huge hug.

“Happy enough to forget dinner’s probably ruined by now?” I laughed.

“I don’t care,” she said.

Even if dinner isn’t ruined. I don’t want her eating it. I don’t want anyone eating it. I’ll figure out what to do with the different pieces of Leon later. Might even dig myself a new pond in the back garden. We’ve always wanted one. He can be the foundation. Take some time off work - do it when she’s out of the house... no one will ever know.

“Should we tell the kids now that mummy and daddy are getting back together?” she asked.

Over a nice Christmas meal of Turkey Drumsticks and chips - the husband and wife told the kids they’d all be moving back in with daddy on the Boxing Day.

The wife never attempted to contact Leon again.

A year later - the husband and wife agreed to separate amicably.

Years later, when talking about their best ever Christmas - Ryan and Sarah would always remember the year when Santa gave them their mum and dad back.

~ FIN

Congratulations - you’ve found the best possible outcome for all concerned and the closest thing you’ll find to a ‘happy ending’ in any of Matt Shaw’s books.

I mopped some of the thick gravy up with the small piece of meat. A few seconds later, along with a few hopefully-unnoticed deep breaths, I fed it into my mouth and slowly started to chew - trying hard not to gag.

Actually... take away what it is. It’s not that bad.

I’d say - if a chicken and a pig got it on... and managed to have off-spring, this is what it would taste like. Maybe a little more salty than entirely necessary but, as far as meat goes, it isn’t actually as bad as my wife was making out.

“It’s okay,” I said, “if you leave it in the gravy for a while longer... soak it up. It’s quite good...” I swallowed.

My wife was just looking at me, as though I’d lost the plot and the kids didn’t know what to make of their meal. I stood up and walked around to their side of the table.

“Here,” I said, reaching over Sarah with my knife, “let daddy help...”

I started cutting the meat into smaller, more manageable pieces and gestured for the wife to do the same with Ryan’s.

“I don’t like it, daddy,” Sarah whimpered.

“Don’t be so silly,” I said, “you haven’t even tried it yet.” I shot my wife a stern look - this was her fault, all because she made a song and dance when she was chewing it. Had she just eaten it - the kids would have been none the wiser that there was potentially anything wrong with it.

With the cutting done, my wife and I sat back down - opposite ends of the table. “You should have let me cook,” she said, scooping some of the gravy across the plate so it covered the meat.

“You should have offered,” I replied.

A free meal - you’d think she’d be grateful. I hope for Leon’s sake, she loved him more when he was alive otherwise their whole relationship was a fucking sham.

I coated the meat on my plate with extra gravy too and turned my attention back to the kids. Bless Ryan, he was giving it a good go - chewing like an over-zealous cow chewing on grass. Sarah, on the other hand, was simply looking at the meat - a look of horror on her face.

“Honey,” I said, “if you don’t want to eat the meat, you don’t have to but you can eat the potatoes. You like roast potatoes.”

“I like mummy’s roast potatoes,” she whimpered.

I looked at the wife. She just sat there, pushing the food around her plate with that very same self-satisfied grin on her face, which she had earlier. If it weren’t for the kids, I could slap it straight off her face too. Smug bitch. To think... I’ve been having confused feelings about her during the day so far... nothing’s changed. She doesn’t deserve my love. She truly is poison.

This day will only end one way.

You decide what happens next!

Confused - he does still love her

He tells them all to skip dinner

“What say we dump this in the bin and find something else to eat?” I offered.

The wife looked up from her plate, “I think that’s probably the best thing you’ve said all day.” She stood up and took the plates away from the children before taking them through to the kitchen. I followed with her plate and my own after telling the kids to go and play in the lounge.

In the kitchen, my wife was scraping the food into the bin, “This is fucking typical of you....” she said.

“What?” I asked - internally laughing at the thought of her binning her ex.

“You couldn’t even get this right...”

“Well, at least I tried.”

I reached into the freezer and started sifting through the various frozen meals contained within. “Here you go,” I said as I pulled out a packet of Turkey Drumsticks, “a nice bit of turkey for Christmas lunch.” I reached back in and pulled out an open bag of chips. Should be just about enough here for everyone.

“Can’t be any worse than this shit,” she said as she scraped the last of the plates clean.

“Look, just go through to the lounge... play with the kids... I’ll get this ready.”

“No, I don’t think so - you go through to the lounge and I’ll get this ready. You’ve already ruined one meal - don’t need you ruining another...”

She started opening various cupboards up - obviously looking for something.

“Where the hell have you moved everything to?” she barked.

I couldn’t help but laugh. One of the first things I did, when she moved out, was to change the kitchen around. I always disagreed with the way she had it laid out. Food in the cupboards near the oven and stove and the pots and pans on the other side of the kitchen. Always told her it made more sense to have the pots and pans near to the oven but.... you think she’d listen?

“I’ve moved things....”

“No shit!”

“Look, I’ve got this. It’s less complicated than the other meal...”

I’d like to see her cook a human being perfectly the first time around.

“Go in the other room,” I continued, “and I’ll sort it. Spend some time with the kids!”

You decide what happens next!

His wife cooks the meal

He cooks the meal

“Fine but try not to fuck it up! I’m sure the kids would like to eat something other than chocolate for their Christmas Dinner!” she hissed. She pushed past me and stormed off into the lounge.

Not matter what I do - I can’t win with her. One minute she seems to be happy with me. The next - I’m back to being public enemy number one. If I go through with what I’ve planned; decide to stick her annoying head on the Christmas Tree...

I’ll be doing the world a favour.

I’d certainly be doing the kids a favour.

Growing up with her as a mother won’t be easy for them!

I turned my attention back to the task at hand. Turkey Drumsticks and chips. There’s no way I can mess this up. If I do, she deserves to be mad! I reached into the cupboard and pulled down a fresh oven tray. Will probably only need the one tray.... Eight drumsticks on the tray and a pile of chips around them. Simple.

I started counting out the drumsticks when suddenly I heard the kids scream from the other room.

He dropped everything and ran into the room only to find his wife sitting next to the tree with a parcel in her hands. The kids, next to her, with a look of sheer terror on their faces.

Curious as to what he’d got her for Christmas - she had opened what appeared to be a human foot. Grey skin, long nails and a stump coated in dried blood....

The police arrived on the scene within fifteen minutes to make the arrest. The children never got over what they saw, growing up in the Foster home after their mother had a complete breakdown. Their innocence lost forever.

~ FIN

“Just get out,” she said. She pushed me from the room and closed the door.

A moment of panic, for a split second, as I frantically tried to remember whether I had removed all traces of human flesh from the kitchen. Pretty sure I had. If not, I guess I’ll hear a scream. I can’t exactly go racing in there and start looking - she’ll only get suspicious as to what I’m doing.

“What you up to, kids?” I walked over to the kids. No sense worrying about how she’s doing in the kitchen. Worry about that as and when I need to.

“Nothing,” said Ryan.

Ryan and Sarah were playing quietly in the corner of the room with their new toys.

They seem subdued.

Both of them have been quiet from the moment they walked through the front door. Not like either of them. I’m not good at this. The ‘father’ thing. Yet another reason I didn’t measure up in the eyes of my wife. My own dad wasn’t very good with me. He was always too busy to spend time with me. Always going away on important business trips.

“You having a good Christmas?” I asked. I didn’t aim it at either of them in particular, just hoped that one of them would answer. Sarah nodded enthusiastically, as she combed the hair of her doll, whereas Ryan simply shrugged.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly.

I frowned. I wanted this to be the best Christmas. If not the best Christmas - at least one that measured up to previous years.

“What’s up?” I asked - almost afraid of the answer. “You don’t like your toys?”

“They’re good...”

“So what is it?” I knew what it was. Didn’t need the question answering. Whenever his mother and I were in the same room he’d go quiet. The way we were behaving clearly upsetting him. Sarah didn’t seem to take it to heart quite as badly as him although I’m sure she felt it too.

“When are we moving home?” he asked.

The kitchen door opened and my wife walked into the lounge, “There - it’ll be about twenty minutes,” she said. She noticed the quiet atmosphere in the room. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Ryan wants to know when he’s coming home,” I told her.

Her face dropped. Obviously a question she didn’t want to have to answer either. If only they could have gone a few more days without needing to know the answer - could have avoided the question altogether. Could have made them think their mum had left them, during the night. Or could have told them the truth.... Daddy killed her so she wouldn’t upset them anymore.

“Mummy and Daddy just need a little space at the moment,” she said - handling the situation better than I. At least she didn’t freeze. “We just need you two to be big and strong whilst we work it out... you think you can do that for us?”

Ryan nodded.

“And you can look out for your sister?” she continued.

Again, Ryan nodded.

I have to admit it - she handled it better. She managed to avoid having to tell the children they’re never coming back to their home.

Ryan went back to playing with his toy, as did Sarah. My wife turned to me and raised her eyebrows as if to say, ‘well, that’s that’.

That is that.

You decide what happens next!

He tries to talk to his wife about giving their relationship another go

He realises the relationship is definitely over

He thinks about what he is doing and what he has done

“Can I have a word with you in the other room?” I asked my wife.

She nodded and followed me through to the kitchen, “What is it?”

“What do you think?”

She looked lost.

“About what?” she asked.

“You know - us.”

“Us?”

“Yeah... it would make the kids....”

She interrupted me, “There is no us...”

“But there could be,” I continued. “You know, for the sake of the kids.”

“No.”

“No? You don’t even want to think about it?”

She shook her head, “I need to do what’s right for me. Occasionally I still see the man I loved but... loved. I don’t feel the same anymore. You know I’ve met someone...”

“But it would make the kids happy...”

“I need to live my life, they’ll understand as they get older. In the meantime, we just need to keep the arguments, in front of them, to a minimum.”

“But -”

“It’s over. I’m sorry... and I’m sorry if I’ve been giving you mixed signals...”

“I just thought...”

“Maybe this wasn’t the best of idea...”

“What wasn’t?” I asked.

“I shouldn’t have come... should have just dropped the kids off with you...”

She walked through to the lounge and I followed her, “Wait a minute...”

“Kids, mummy has to go....”

She kissed the children goodbye and left, despite her husband’s pleas for her to stay. He even promised not to discuss the possibility of them getting back together again but it was too late. He had scared her off.

Every cloud has a silver-lining though. He got to see the kids every weekend and even, on some occasions, during the week when his wife needed an evening out for one of her many dates - having joined an online dating website after Leon stopped returning her calls and texts.

~ FIN

“That’s that,” I said.

It was over.

No point having mixed feelings now.

She had made her choice.

The rest of the afternoon went by in a blurry haze. Part of me was disappointed there was no chance of my wife and I getting back together, like some kind of demented Christmas Miracle.... the other part of me.... the other part of me excited about what I had in store for her.

No need to feel guilty anymore. She brought this upon herself.

She brought, what was coming, onto herself and there was no way back. Certainly no choice. Her actions, leaving me, would cause the kids to continue being hurt and confused as to what was happening. If they woke up tomorrow and mummy had simply vanished with her new man - they’d be upset for a bit but... ultimately, they’d get over it. They’d be happy they still had me too.

And if I do put her head on top of the Christmas Tree, like I originally planned... well, they might see the funny side of it. They might even like the fact I’ve kept mummy around - kept her part of our family Christmas.

Maybe.

Who knows what the minds of kids would think.

* * * * *

The meal she cooked wasn’t perfect but, at least, it was edible.

The kids didn’t complain about it either, which is always a plus. Truth be told, it was the most I’d seen Sarah eat for a while now. Although, having said that, it was the first time I’d been around to watch her eat. Still, that will change tonight. Tonight it’s me and the kids from here on in.

Exciting!

* * * * *

The rest of the afternoon was spent trying to be civil with my wife. Wasting our breath on pointless conversations, keeping clear of anything which may have been perceived as nasty or provocative. Trying, desperately, not to start an argument in front of each other - for the sake of the kids. The kids who were happily playing with their toys whilst half watching James Bond on the television.

My television. My house. My rules.

The wife didn’t get a say in it.

Had things been less awkward between the two of us, I might have suggested we all sat around a board game but, as it was, I couldn’t be bothered.

Soon enough, the time came to put the kids to bed and the rest of my plan to come to fruition.

“Come on, kids, time for bed!” I said. I walked over to the bottom of the stairs - ready to chase the pair of them up to the top.

I had put some inflatable mattresses in their old rooms for them. No choice, really, as she took the beds when she moved out and I hadn’t had the money to go out and buy proper beds yet.

“Can I put them down for the night?” asked my wife.

You decide what happens next!

He puts the kids down for the night

She puts the kids down for the night

“Please,” she begged, “let me say good-night to them. I won’t be seeing them again until tomorrow evening.”

‘Not quite correct,’ I thought. ‘You won’t be seeing them again, period!’

“Okay,” I said. “In their old room - I’ve set up some air beds...”

“Air beds?”

“Don’t start....”

She didn’t push it. Probably feared I’d suddenly turn around and stop her from putting the kids to bed and saying a proper goodnight and, tonight, I think I am cruel enough to stop her from putting them to bed if she annoys me enough!

The kids raced up the stairs after giving me a quick kiss goodnight.

“Thank you,” said my wife as she rushed up after them.

‘Not a problem,’ I thought.

Besides, gives me time to get her presents ready!

I walked over to the Christmas Tree and reached under, before pulling the presents out from underneath it. Several nicely wrapped - for me - parcels. If memory serves correctly there’s a couple of feet, one of his thighs, couple of arm stumps, couple of hands and a head. I’m desperate to leave the head until last but... you know... make her wait for her main present. I’m worried, though, that she won’t get to see it if the first few parcels freak her out. Can’t have her screaming the house down - not with the kids, upstairs, trying to sleep. Don’t want them disturbed and coming down to see what the fuss is. Especially don’t want them seeing me hacking their mother’s head off!

Not entirely sure they’d get over something like that?

At least, not without thousands of pounds worth of therapy and... I can’t afford to pay the bills for them, as much as I’d want to. Shame, murdering their mum like this, I won’t be able to claim on any life insurance she may have.

Actually - what am I going to tell people when she does just suddenly disappear? People might start getting suspicious. Might ask questions. Could catch me out and then what?!

Jail I guess.

Need to get a cover story.

Think of something believable to tell people. Throw them off the scent that foul play may have occurred. Have to get my thinking cap on. I finished setting my wife’s presents on the sofa, next to where she could sit. Wait a minute, that’s it... it’s staring me right in the face.

I could tell people she ran off with her lover - Leon. Left me with the kids.

“No, I don’t know where she’s gone,” I’d tell people - a look of sorrow in my eyes. Hurt at being abandoned by the woman I loved. Sorrow for my kids. “Well, I had to tell them their mother ran off.... they took it quite badly.” I’d tell anyone who’d listen. That would work.

I’d look like the victim.

I can live with that.

Better than being in prison.

It’ll do as a cover story unless I think of anything else, at least. No rush. Haven’t even offed her yet. Need to make sure that goes to plan first. Still not entirely sure the best way of handling it. Perhaps let her unwrap the head.... wait for the look of terror in her eyes and then lean forward, with a kitchen knife, and slit her throat wide open.

Hard to scream with a hole across the throat, I’d imagine. Best she could probably manage is a little gargling noise.

Yeah. That’s probably the best course of action. Can’t afford to have her scream. Okay. Decision made. Start with the head. Let her see. Let her register. Slit her throat before she has a chance to properly react. I’ll have to be quick. The whole thing will probably be over in seconds.

I listened to her moving around upstairs. Sounds like she’ll be down soon. Best get the knife from the kitchen and stash it close to where I’ll sit.

This is it.

Have to say - I’m pretty excited.

Less than five minutes later, my wife came back down the stairs.

“Okay?” I asked. I knew everything was ‘okay’. Guess I only asked out of politeness.

She nodded, “They went to sleep pretty fast! Exhausted!”

“That’s good, wasn’t sure about the inflatable beds....”

“If you want to see them more often, and have them stay over, you really need to get some proper beds. The inflatable ones will do for tonight but... moving forward - we need something with proper back supports. Those flimsy things, upstairs, aren’t acceptable...”

All the money I give her, each month, to help support the kids - you’d think she would cut me some slack.

“Did you want a drink before you open your presents?” I said desperately trying to keep all of the menace from my tone.

She looked at the pile of presents on the sofa, “I feel guilty, I didn’t think we were getting anything for each other... you know, given the circumstances.”

I did my best ‘shocked’ expression, “Why wouldn’t I get you anything? It’s Christmas! Drink?”

“I could murder a cup of tea, thank you...”

Funny... I could murder you.

Actually, no ‘could’ about it.

“Take a seat - don’t start without me...” I left her next to her presents and ventured into the kitchen to grab her a cuppa. One last drink. Funny, had she known it was going to be her last meal - I bet she wouldn’t have been keen to settle on Turkey Drumsticks earlier. I flicked the kettle on.

“Thank you for today,” she called through. “I know it’s been a little weird but, I’m grateful - even if I do come across as a bitch from time to time...”

Is that an apology? Too little, too late.

Milk, tea-bag... one sugar.... just wait for the kettle.

“And, apart from the occasional blip, I don’t think it’s been that bad a day.”

Oh, glad you think so.

“Kids certainly seemed to enjoy it...”

Kids seemed to enjoy their presents. Big difference.

The kettle clicked, signifying it had finished boiling. I took it from it’s plate and poured the boiling water into the waiting cup. Job done, I walked the hot drink through to the lounge where my wife was patiently waiting.

“Thank you,” she said as she took the cup off me.

“My pleasure.”

“So,” a quick sip and she put the cup down, “where do I start?”

I pointed to what was Leon’s head, “There would be a good a place as any.”

My wife reached over and grabbed the parcel, “It’s heavy,” she said.

‘Was that excitement in her voice?’ I wondered as I reached, subtly, for the knife.

She wasted no time in ripping the paper off until there was nothing but Leon’s severed head resting in her lap. Her eyes went wide with fear. This is it. That’s what I wanted. I reached across with the knife....

She screams with fear...

“I’ll put them to bed,” I said.

Another act of cruelty before I finish the job permanently.

Nothing less than what she deserves.

“Come give mummy a hug,” she turned to the children. I thought she’d have put up more of a fight. Obviously learnt, earlier, that they don’t like it when we argue.

Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.

I watched as the kids gave their mother a hug - part of me quite thankful it looked as though it was a nice, big squeeze... Nice that their final cuddle was a good one. Another part of me, the darker side, wondering whether I’d have said something if the cuddle wasn’t as good. After all, they won’t be doing it again.

Probably not.

I just want them in bed now.

My wife handed me their overnight bag.

I want to finish what needs to be done.

With the hugs out of the way, I chased Ryan and Sarah up the stairs having told them ‘the last one to bed is a rotten egg’. Not quite sure where that came from.

I waited, in the bedroom, for them to finish brushing their teeth after I fished their toothbrushes out of the overnight bag.

“Don’t forget the ones at the back,” I called through knowing, full well, that they’d probably ignore it. Seconds later, when they both came charging into the bedroom, I knew they’d not done the job properly.

I don’t care, though.

Not tonight.

I have the rest of their childhood to learn how to be a good father.

I just want them to go to sleep now.

“Read us a story....” begged Sarah.

“Tomorrow. We’ll go out and buy some books... some new story books, we don’t have any here,” I lied. I’m pretty sure there’s one knocking around at least. Pretty sure. “Whatever you want,” I told her. I turned to Ryan, “And you can choose your own story too. Don’t need me reading it for you now you’re a big boy!” He smiled as I gave them both a kiss on the forehead. “No matter what happens,” I said, “daddy loves you both. Lots and lots.”

“And Jelly-tots?” asked Sarah.

What the fuck. Must be something new their fucking mother has introduced.

“And Jelly-tots,” I smiled.

I stood up and walked over to the light-switch, ready to flick it off.

“No!” shouted Sarah. “Leave it on!”

“Okay,” I said. “Night night. don’t let the bed bugs bite,” I said as I stepped out onto the landing, pulling the door closed behind me.

They both look knackered, hopefully they’ll fall asleep promptly. Not that it really matters - neither of them are ones for getting up after they’ve been put to bed. They know their mother never stands for it and, all the time they think she’s here, they won’t try anything.

I listened at the door, for only a second. Can’t hear any major movement. Only the sounds of them trying to get comfortable on the inflatable beds. Really must sort that. I’m sure there’ll be sales on tomorrow. There normally is. Might be able to pick them up a couple of beds. I wonder if they’d want bunk beds...

I turned away and walked down the stairs, back into the loun....

What the fuck.

In the middle of the lounge was a severed hand - cut off at the wrist... where the watch was still ticking along quite nicely. My wife was nowhere to be seen. Shit.

“Honey?” I called out.

Honey? Like she’d really answer to that now.

I looked around and noticed the front door was wide open.

SHIT!

I ran over to the door and looked into the street. She was nowhere to be seen. Next door neighbour is a police-officer - did she go around there?

Shit! Shit! Shit!

I stepped back into the house and closed the door.

That’s it.

I’ll have to just pack the kids up and get the hell out of here.... I can’t go to prison. I’ll never see the kids again...

As he stepped back into the hallway - towards the lounge again - his wife suddenly came around the corner and stuck a large kitchen knife into his chest, piercing his heart. She screamed loudly as he dropped to the floor - dead in a matter of seconds.

The kids, disturbed the screaming, came down the stairs to see what the commotion was. They never got over the sight of their mummy killing their daddy. Their innocence ruined forever.

~ FIN

My wife screamed loudly as I approached her with the kitchen knife. She tried to get up, from the sofa, but slipped and ended up on the lounge floor where she raised her hands up to protect herself from the oncoming stabbing frenzy she was to endure.

I fell on top of her and she screamed again as I plunged the knife into her stomach. I loved the look of terror in her eyes and I felt myself harden... This was my time now. I pulled the knife out and stuck it in again. Penetrating her as though fucking her with my cock. Each stab causing her to cry out a little more.

“Mummy?”

I froze.

Crying from the top of the stairs.

I turned around and saw Ryan and Sarah standing, on the top step, watching me....

I turned back to my wife who was desperately trying to pull herself away from underneath me...

You decide what happens next!

He runs out of the front door

He has to kill everyone

Having been seen butchering their mother, the husband panics and runs from the house - still clutching the knife. Realising his children won’t ever forgive him, he ends up taking his own life in a nearby wooded area. His body is found by a dog-walker who ends up needing therapy.

Having lost both their father and their mother, the children ended up in a Foster home. They never got over what they say and grew to be damaged individuals.

A note from the author

You sick fuck! Yes, I put the option in the book, for him to kill everyone, but that’s only because I could see someone complaining the option wasn’t there IF I left it out! You just chose to butcher a six year old girl and an eight year old boy. And yes, you could use the excuse he HAD to kill them because he realised they’d never get over what they saw but, that’s not the point. They’re children!!!!

I suggest you put this book down and seek immediate therapy.

Either that or start again and try and let the children leave the story unharmed from the horrors within these twisted pages!

Consider yourself told off!

- FIN

and swiped across, catching my wife in the throat. The blade went through her skin as if it were butter and tears open a large, gaping wound. I stepped back, a look of pleasure on my face, as she aimlessly grabbed at her throat  -blood spraying from it. A funny gargling noise from her mouth.

“You won’t take my kids off me, you cunt!” I hissed as she rolled off the sofa and onto the floor. The blood less of a spray now but still pooling, on the floor, around where she lay.

That’s going to be a bitch to clean up but I don’t care. Don’t give a fuck.

I dropped to my knees, in front of her, and stared her hard in the eyes as the last of her life faded from them.

Good Night, whore.

You decide what happens next!

He goes the whole hog and cut her head off for the Christmas Tree

He realises there are kids upstairs and cleans the mess up.

I reached under the Christmas Tree for the hacksaw and pulled it out from beneath the pine branches. I’ve been looking forward to this all day. This is my Christmas present. My real one.

I lined the blade up with the hole I’d just slit, on her neck, and started to saw. Slowly. Wanted to savour this. The feeling as it goes through. The sound of the teeth cutting through the bone. The sound of the stringy bits of tissue snapping as the blade makes short work of them. My hand feeling the slight vibrations through the handle. My only regret is I couldn’t keep her alive as I did this. Let her feel it. Every little saw.

Regrettably it didn’t take long before her head rolled away from her body. Wish I could have made it last longer. I suppose I could have, if I bought myself the cheaper hacksaw I was looking at. At the time, though, I worried it wouldn’t have been up to the job.

Couldn’t really ask someone if it would cut through ‘person’.

I put the blade down and lifted my wife’s head up, the mouth dropped open. Is it wrong I want to give myself a little head? She makes for such a pretty corpse.

You decide what happens next!

His mind completely snaps

He puts his Angel on top of the Tree

He thinks she needs fairy lights in her eye-sockets

Whoa!

In all the excitement I nearly forgot about the fairy-lights. Can’t forget those. Right in the eye-sockets. She’d look awesome on top of the tree with her ‘eyes’ flashing on and off.

I need to do it.

Only regret it if I don’t.

I put her head down, on the sofa, so that her face was pointing upwards and then, using my thumbs, I gouged her pretty blue eyes from their sockets. A horrible squelchy feeling made worthwhile at the thought of how pretty her eyes will be when I’ve finished.

No longer will she have blue eyes.

Well... sometimes she will have.

But other times they’ll be green... or red.... or yellow....

I dropped the eye-balls onto the floor. One rolled under the sofa. Dammit. Mustn’t forget that’s down there. Don’t want the kids finding it tomorrow.... I stood up... where are they.... ah yes.... I peeked behind the sofa and found the left-over box of Christmas lights from when I had finished decorating the tree. Here we go.

He spent the next hour wrapping the lights around his wife’s head so that a large cluster of bulbs were positioned in her eye-sockets. Flicking the on switch, she did indeed have green... and red.... and yellow.... and even blue eyes. It was beautiful...

His final act was to stick the head upon the top of the Tree - by ramming downwards, the top of the tree went up her neck and into her brain. A wobble test confirmed she wasn’t going anywhere.

He stepped back and admired his handiwork. Beautiful.

That night, after he had gone to bed, an electrical fire sparked from his bodge-job. His wife’s hair was the first thing to go up, then the Tree.... then the sofa...

Had he known his wife had also taken the Fire Alarms, he may have replaced them and survived the inferno. Unfortunately, he - and his children - perished that very night.

~ FIN

I sat back down upon the sofa, clutching her head lovingly, before undoing my trousers and lowering them to below my knees. A quick re-adjustment to free my cock from my shorts - made hard from the pleasurable act of killing my wife - and I sat there stroking it in my right hand.

The bad part of me wonders whether I could get away with keeping her head for this very purpose... I positioned it over my throbbing penis and pushed down. Still warm... still wet.... It’s nice. The way her mouth dribbled a little saliva down my shaft... it was like she was still alive. This was better, though. No moaning. No telling me not to cum in her mouth.

I gathered pace as I moved her head up and down. Loving the feeling of her tongue slapping against my shaft.... it wasn’t long before I started to feel that familiar build-up of an orgasm. As it hit, I couldn’t help but moan out loud... all these years together, it was the first time I had ejaculated in her mou.... what the fuck?

I felt a splatter against my leg and looked down.

Shit!

Didn’t think it through properly.

My sperm had shot out of her neck stump.

Well, that’s a passion killer.

Ah well, already have quite a bit of cleaning up to do before the morning. What’s a little semen thrown into the mix? I pulled her head off my penis and sat there, for a moment, looking her in the eyes whilst getting my breath back.

Her eyes.

Even I can’t stoop to sticking my penis in her mouth. No matter how excited I am. Some lines just can’t be crossed and I’m sure that’s one of the lines at the very top of the ‘not-to-cross’ list.

I should just stick to the original plan.

I looked to the Christmas Tree.

She’ll look great at the top.

I wonder what the kids will think when they see it.

Sure they’ll love it.

Holding my wife’s head by a clump of hair I walked over to the tree and raised her above the top of it. Just slam it down I guess.... can’t be that hard.

Without thinking any further, I brought the head down hard so that the top of the tree penetrated her head, via the neck stump. Letting go of the head, I held my hands either side ready to catch it should she fall but she didn’t.... simply wobbled from side to side a little. If anything leaning to the left ever so slightly, I’d say but... guess that was to be expected given the weight.

Sometimes trees struggle with Angels... let alone heads.

Happy it wasn’t going anywhere, I stepped back and admired my handiwork.

She looks good.

Better up there than on her own body!

Very festive.

I have to say, I’m not sure if I can wait until the morning for the kids to see this....

Despite his mind obviously breaking, he did manage to wait until the morning to show his children what he had done. No one believed them when they said ‘mummy was on top of the Christmas Tree’ - their dad simply correcting them, in front of the people who were told, that it wasn’t mummy... it was an Angel. He then went onto say, quietly, that their mum had actually run off with another man.

The children were never the same again.

~ FIN

I fetched the hacksaw from underneath the Christmas Tree, where I stashed it earlier and walked over to her body. Now this... this I’ve really been looking forward to!

I dropped to my knees, in front of her head, and raised the blade to the fresh neck wound.

What am I doing...

I can’t do this....

.... as much as I want to do it.

There’s already enough mess to clean up without causing more.

And if I put her on top of the Tree... one thing thinking it - it’s quite another doing it.

The kids.

They wouldn’t get over that.

And I certainly wouldn’t get away with telling people she’s run off with her lover.

I looked around the lounge.

Blood on the wooden floor - thank fuck for wooden flooring, easier to clean up than carpets... bits of Leon scattered around the place in various parcels.... my wife.... I can’t waste time cutting her head off. I need to get everything cleaned up. Hidden away... prepare my cover story.

If I take my wife through to the shed, at the bottom of the garden, and lock the door... could ask mum and dad to babysit tomorrow evening. Come back and cut her up, like I did with Leon... start digging that pond. All the pieces adding to the foundations.

Yes.

That’s my best bet.

It’d be a shame to go to all this effort just to blow it now. Especially with my kids. I don’t want to lose them. I can’t lose them.

Okay, decision made.

Using the dead of night, as cover, he took his wife to the shed - along with the different packages containing Leon - and hid them there until he was home alone. Once home alone, he used his brand new hacksaw to create the foundations of his new pond.

His children were upset that their mother ran off with Leon but, ultimately, got over it with the love and support of their father - and his new ladyfriend, Fiona.

~ FIN

Congratulations! Although opting for a ‘bad’ ending - you at least managed to let the children off from becoming damaged by their father’s actions. It was unfortunate his wife had to die but - sometimes - happy endings just don’t have the same appeal as a good revenge story.