Two Christmases ago I met a monster.
He slaughtered my friends, he maimed me, and he ended the life of the woman I love. Every night I see that giant, hooded Carol singer. I hear his rich deep voice. I see that matted red beard. I feel the cleaver removing my fingers. I survived that encounter, barely, but the monster in the red coat made it clear that this was not over.
So I posted my story here, to warn others of the danger, bought a gun and lay in wait for him to return, promising myself that either he or I would not live to see New Year.
But when a visitor finally came to my door it was not the Caroller.
‘Chris?’ a familiar voice called. ‘I know you're in there.’
Nick, my older brother.
‘I read what you wrote,’ he said. ‘I saw it online and I can't let you do this. You need to be with family. Come on.’
‘Go away, Nick,’ I called. ‘I need to end this.’
‘And what if he ends you?’ Chris replied. ‘Or worse yet, some innocent guy comes up to your door and you put a bullet in his head because you're so strung out on painkillers and lack of sleep?’ His voice softened as he went on: ‘Chris, please. It's freezing out here. Let me in.’
For a second I considered leaving him out there, but I knew what the weather was like. The snow was still falling, blanketing the quiet street outside, while a cruel and bitter wind howled in the night air.
‘Damn it,’ I muttered and shuffled over to the door. I fumbled with the lock, struggling to use my one good hand, before throwing the door open.
The snow outside was worse than I’d thought, limiting vision to mere feet. Standing on the doorstep was a figure caked in snow. ‘Jesus, let me in,’ my brother cried, pushing past me.
I watched as Nick stripped off his outer layers, blowing on his hands to warm them. Nick has the same dark hair and blue eyes that I do, but he’s much bigger. He’s a former college football player, tall, square-shouldered, thick around the limbs and chest, narrow at the waist. As he wrapped his arms around me, I wished he could have been with me when the Caroller called. Perhaps we would have stood a chance.
‘I’m so sorry about Noelle,’ he whispered into my ear. ‘I can't imagine what you're going through, but I’m here for you, OK?’
Without warning, all the grief I’d been keeping bottled up inside returned, crashing over me. My knees buckled, tears springing to my eyes. I was unable to make a sound except for a quiet choking noise.
Nick stood beside me, his hand on my shoulder and he waited until the worst of it had passed.
‘Chris, Mary wants you to spend the season with us,’ he said, talking about his wife. ‘You’re family. She loves you, man.’
I sniffed, shaking my head, not trusting my ability to speak.
‘I love you, man,’ he added, extending a hand to me, an offer to lift me to my feet, to lead me out of the house and away from the fateful encounter I had planned. ‘Come on, Chris.’
I wanted to tell him to get out, to leave and not come back. I wanted to curse him for spoiling the plans I had, and say I wasn’t interested in anything he had to say.
But when I looked up into my brother’s sincere face, I nodded sadly, a gesture of exhausted resignation and reached for his hand.
Nick smiled, pulled me to my feet, and helped me pack a bag. When he thought I wasn’t watching he scooped up the discarded gun and hurried away to hide it from me.
It took less than 15 minutes to throw some essentials into a holdall, pull on my coat, and step out into the icy cold.
I winced as I pulled my seatbelt across me, jarring my wounded hand as I did so.
‘You, OK?’ Nick asked as he noticed my pained expression.
‘No,’ I replied, honestly. ‘But let’s go…’
As Nick’s car pulled out into the night, I stared through the window, searching for any sign of life.
For any sign of him.
Of course, I didn’t see the Caroller, didn’t see that familiar hulking frame in the dirty red coat, didn’t see that maniacal face grinning back at me. The roads were bare, all the people home, enjoying their Christmas in blissful ignorance.
I envied them, those who still had homes and loved-ones.
The Caroller had taken more from me than just my fingers.
I don’t know how long we drove, but as we left my town behind I succumbed to the exhaustion I had fought so hard to keep at bay.
I dozed for most of the journey, occasionally jerking awake with a cry, only for Nick to reassure me: ‘It was just a dream, you’re OK…’
He was wrong. I wasn’t OK, and the things I saw were not dreams, but memories of that night.
The scene of horror in Kevin and Sarah’s house. What he did to their bodies, and what he did to their daughter, Olivia. I still dream of those things… only now they are joined by the ones that came later.
Finally, we pulled into Nick’s driveway.
Mary came to the door before the engine had stopped running, smiling when she saw me sat beside her husband.
‘I’m so glad you came,’ she said kindly, pulling me into her arms for an embrace as I came through the door.
‘Me too, I replied, and I was surprised to realize that I meant it.
It was late, no longer Christmas Eve but actually the early hours of Christmas morning, and Mary ushered me up the stairs to their spare bedroom. I fell rather than climbed into bed and drifted into a blissfully dreamless sleep within seconds.
The following day was strange, Nick and Mary tried to make it as normal a Christmas as possible, all while trying to remain tactful and sympathetic about my ordeal days earlier.
They presented me with a gift, an expensive forest green coat, and I could only apologize for the lack of gifts I’d bought them. Of course, they just waved my words away, even refusing to let me help clear away the plates after dinner. I barely ate any, my appetite gone, instead drinking too much wine, which combined with my painkillers to leave me fuzzily numb.
I don’t really remember much of Christmas Day, for precisely that reason, but I remember the call that came the next morning.
Nick came into the bedroom, shaking me awake.
‘Chris,’ he hissed, his voice betraying the urgency of the situation. I blinked at him woozily, holding my bandaged hand over my eyes.
‘Chris,’ he hissed, ‘You need to take this.’
Then I saw what was in his hand — my cell phone.
I woke instantly, suddenly alert, taking it from him.
‘H-hello?’ I stammered.
‘Chris?’ a familiar voice intoned, ‘It’s Detective Ryder. I understand you’re at your brother’s residence?’
Ryder, the tall, weary-looking detective who had been assigned my case.
‘Chris, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news…’
The house that Noelle and I had called home had burned to the ground on Christmas Night. With nobody on the street, the fire had raged for some time, completely gutting my house before firefighters had been alerted and arrived on the scene. By the time the inferno had been extinguished, it was little more than soot, charcoal, and rubble.
I nearly laughed when Ryder told me that they were ‘treating the blaze as suspicious’.
Of course, they were. This was no freak accident, it was a message. The man in the red coat had come back for me, ready to finish his game, and when he had found that I had fled, he had vented his fury in the only way he knew how: destruction.
Ryder said that people would be in touch, that the nature of the fire would mean that I would need to be questioned for insurance purposes. I told him I understood and thanked him for letting me know.
No sooner had I ended the call then Nick and Mary rushed to my side. They’d stood by during the call, piecing together what had happened from my end of the conversation. They were both sympathetic about the loss of my home. I told them that I was fine.
I’d stopped looking at that place as my home long before that monster set it alight. It had too many painful memories for me. It had stopped being a house and become a tomb.
What I failed to realize at the time was how huge an impact the fire would have.
Over the weeks, that followed, I received a number of calls from a man called Derek Sinclair at the insurance company. And Derek did not have good news for me.
As the fire appeared to have been started deliberately, the company were not able to pay out on the policy until ‘necessary checks’ had been carried out. Derek didn’t say what exactly those checks might be, but I didn’t need to be a genius to know that the company suspected that I might have been involved.
At first, I didn’t care, compared to the loss of my fiancée, this really didn’t matter. I had been placed on compassionate leave by work, and (following the advice given to me by a reader of my story) I had relocated to a small apartment in the city, far from the site of Christmas’s horrors. The police were in contact regularly at first, but after it became clear that I had a cast-iron alibi for the time at which the fire had broken out — and as they ran out of leads to track down the Caroller — the calls came less and less frequently until they died out altogether.
Yet even though the police were happy that I was not involved in the fire, the insurance company were not. As I continued to argue with them, I was dealt another blow.
The company I worked for went into administration.
Cutbacks needed to be made and more than half of the workforce was made redundant. I was one of them.
So now I was staying in an expensive apartment, with no form of income and no real assets as the insurance company was refusing to release the funds. At first, I coped, doing part-time work wherever I could, but then Summer came. My money had all but run out, Derek was still playing hardball, and the date that would have been my wedding day drew near.
I’d tried to be tough for so long, but I’m not ashamed to admit that it became too much for me. My days were spent trying to find work or arguing with Derek’s team, my sleepless nights thinking about the woman I’d lost.
Finally, I broke down, and after a very public, very noisy outburst that saw the police called to calm me down, I checked myself into a facility run by the Jubilee Group, a mental health organization.
I don’t remember much about the time I spent in the clinic. The doctors were kind and they did their very best to help me. Nick and Mary came to see me, and even when I didn’t really know what was going on, my family were a source of comfort and strength. I made small but steady steps towards recovery, although there were times when I became angry or hysterical. During these times the staff would administer prescription sedatives until I became calm once more.
The clinic was everything I needed… until the day Dan Bing turned up.
Dan, for those of you who are fortunate enough to have never seen his show, was a sleazy tabloid journalist who traded in shocking and heartbreaking tragedies. Bing claimed that he ‘presents viewers with the human faces behind the headlines’. What Dan Bing actually did was to take advantage of people who were already victims to try to build a reputation that his negligible journalistic skills had failed to provide.
Dan Bing had heard about my illness and bribed one of the orderlies to sneak into the clinic with a small camera, where he then attempted to interview me. When Bing entered my room I was heavily medicated. He was only there for a few minutes before a nurse discovered him and security ejected him from the facility, but it was long enough. My slurring, barely coherent responses were then aired on his show, where Dan suggested none-too-subtly that perhaps my breakdown was due to my guilt over the unsolved murders of my fiancée and friends.
Thankfully, as I was still in the clinic, I was isolated from the backlash that came after the show aired. Nick was furious and instigated legal proceedings against the network and Bing personally. The case was expensive, and when it became apparent that the waiver I had signed when Bing pressed it into my hand while I was under the influence of drugs would not stand up in court, the network offered an out of court settlement.
Mary and Nick were torn, they wanted to tear Bing and his employers down for their heinous actions, but they were also well aware that the dwindling funds needed to keep me in the Jubilee Group facility would soon be gone.
In the end, they took the payment along with an official but carefully worded apology from the network. I’m grateful to them for that. The pressure of a high-profile court case would have set my recovery back, instead, I received a five-figure sum to support me while I got my head back into the place where it needed to be.
The lack of financial worries helped, but I still woke screaming every night, the rich, deep voice singing:
‘I saw three ships come sailing in,’ ringing in my ears.
Months later and miles away, I was still living that night over and over.
I still am.
Even so, it was late Fall when I was discharged from the Jubilee Group clinic, still fragile, but well enough to face the world.
The money that the TV network had paid allowed me to appoint a very expensive but very effective attorney to handle my insurance dispute. Within three weeks Derek Sinclair and his team paid out on my policy.
I was a wealthy man, unemployed but under no pressure to find a source of income. Instead, I attended regular counselling and found a new energy within myself. The nightmares came less frequently, but even on my brightest days, the Caroller cast a cold shadow over me.
I would imagine I saw him out of the corner of my eye, stalking me on the streets of the city I now called home.
At least, I thought I imagined it.
Fall became winter, and before I knew it, I was spending Thanksgiving with Nick and Mary. We were joined by Mary’s sister, Holly, and at first, I suspected a heavy-handed attempt at matchmaking. However, Nick explained that it was no such thing after Mary and Holly went to bed. As Nick and I sat by the fire, he explained that Holly had recently split from her boyfriend. It seemed her guy, Andrew, had suffered some health problems recently. Holly had tried to stand by him but his fury and self-pity had changed him into a stranger, and an unkind one at that. Finally, Holly had taken the tough decision to leave him and now, like me, she found herself alone at the one time of year people are meant to spend with their loved ones.
It was the early hours of the morning when Nick finished Holly’s story. Even at my healthiest I still slept poorly, fighting sleep (and the potential nightmares it threatened) until my body could battle it no longer, and I appreciated Nick’s insistence that he stay up with me.
Over the long holiday weekend, I spoke to Holly quite a lot. She was a sweet girl, with the same striking red-hair and big green eyes as Mary, and I think our conversations helped us both. We exchanged numbers that weekend, not with romance in mind, but as friends. I sometimes wonder if we hadn't hit it off so well, could things have turned out differently? Not just for Holly and me, but for Nick and Mary, for Stephen and the others.
It's not healthy to think about these things, but I do.
I think I always will.
It's difficult to pinpoint those small key moments that change your life’s but the time I bumped into a grinning Dan Bing, accompanied with a swarthy, heavy-set cameraman, as I left my local coffeehouse just before last Christmas was one of them.
I wasn't looking where I was going, blowing on my latte to get it cool enough to sip, and then, as I stepped out into the icy air, a microphone was thrust under my nose.
‘Chris, hi! How are you feeling as Christmas draws near?’ Bing rattled off, his voice slick and confident, his smile unwavering.
I was so gobsmacked to see him that I froze, my coffee tumbling from my hand and splattering onto the sidewalk, splashing the legs of my pants (yet somehow Bing avoided every single drop).
‘Oops there,’ Bing grinned, ‘Careful now. Is your wounded hand still giving you problems? Are you taking any medication?’
Bing’s eyes glittered greedily in anticipation of my response.
Credit where it's due, Bing didn't fall when I shoved him, maintaining his balance and even managing to keep the mic close enough to pick up the harsh growl of my response.
‘Fuck you!’ I snarled.
‘Hey now, I’m just doing my job, this is a public place and I have rights,’ he smiled triumphantly.
I made another move for him but a fellow coffee shop patron barred my way, trying to calm me down.
‘How fucking dare you?’ I growled.
‘I know this is a tough time of year for you, Chris,’ Bing continued, the chubby, mustachioed cameraman dashing around us to capture the look of fury on my face from the optimum angle. ‘Especially so close to the anniversary of Noelle’s death. Do you miss her? Do you think about what happened to her often?’
I think I’m lucky that the policeman passing by was familiar with my story with Bing. Any other cop walking by and seeing a screaming man attempting to throw punches and kicks at another would have put me in cuffs.
Instead, he got a firm grip on my arm, swinging me away from Bing, then got in my face telling me to calm down before I ended up in a cell.
‘Officer, this man is dangerous and he assaulted me,’ Bing cried, glancing toward the cameraman to ensure this was all getting caught on film. ‘Arrest him!’
The cop curled his lip derisively. ‘You seem fine to me, buddy. Leave this to me.’
Bing bristled at the dismissal. ‘Hey, I’m a respected broadcast journalist! You need…’.
The cop turned to Bing with a face like thunder. ‘I know exactly who you are,’ he rumbled. ‘And I know exactly what you did to this guy here. So, I’m going to ask you to take a walk and let me do my job without telling me what I need to do. Do you understand me, Mr Bing?’
He said Bing’s name in exactly the sort of tone Clint Eastwood would call somebody ‘Motherfucker’, and the message was received.
‘Come on, Mikey,’ Bing barked to his cameraman, ‘Let’s get that footage back to the studio…’
I stood, panting as I watched them go, before turning my attention to the policeman.
‘I’m so sorry, officer,’ I apologized. ‘I know I shouldn't have done that, but that man…’
‘He’s an asshole,’ the cop interjected. ‘But you're right, you shouldn't have touched him. This is a warning ok, buddy. You keep your head down and hopefully that dick won’t sue your ass. I understand you’ve got some of his dough in your pocket already, so let's try to keep it that way.’
I nodded, shame-faced, and apologized once more.
‘Ok,’ the cop replied. ‘Now beat it, and stay out of the spotlight, you hear?’
Those words rang in my ears as I watched the footage of me straining to get at Dan Bing on the TV that evening.I looked like a madman, my eyes wild, as the policeman leaped in between us.
Bing’s overly dramatic voice-over claimed I was ‘a man on the edge’ while a caption onscreen read:
‘CHRISTMAS MASSACRE ‘VICTIM’ IN SHOCK STREET ATTACK’.
I still had my head in my hands when Nick phoned.
‘That asshole!’ he cried. ‘This is it, man. He’s finished. We are gonna sue that piece of shit so bad his grandkids are gonna be paying us…’
‘No, Nick,’ I interjected. ‘Let it go. Leave him be…’
‘But he…’ Nick protested, however, I didn't let him finish.
‘Leave me be.’
Nick wasn't happy, and he told me as much before we ended the call. He wanted to take Bing down, but I knew he would calm down and that was all I wanted - calm, and a chance to live my life in peace.
The first phone call came less than 20 minutes after I’d finished talking to Nick. A fairly well-known news network asking for a prime-time interview in time for the anniversary of Noelle’s death. The woman on the phone claimed I could receive a five-figure sum for taking part, even as I told her to never call again.
The next one came less than an hour later.
Over the next two days, I fielded no fewer than 18 calls from various chatshows and news agencies. I politely declined each and every one.
The next day they started turning up outside my apartment.
Recognizable faces from an array of networks - and camped in among the middle of them the grinning Dan Bing.
‘Look at that fuckwad,’ Nick spat, peering between the slats of the blind on my window. ‘I’d love to punch that fucking…'
’Nick,’ Mary intoned sternly.
‘Oh, yeah, right,’ he replied sheepishly. ‘Uh, Chris, we had an idea. Maybe we should get away for… the holidays.’
‘You can say Christmas, Nick,’ I frowned. ‘I’m not that fragile.’
‘Well, maybe you aren't, but I don't think being around this circus at this time of year is doing you any favors. Let’s just get out of here. Stevie’s parents still have that cabin in the mountains, we can go away for a few days, eat, drink, be merry, you know? Nobody could find us up…’
I was already shaking my head in protest.
I hated the idea of going into hiding when I had done nothing wrong, but even more, I hated the fact that it would be with Nick’s buddy Stephen.
Every bit as much of a jock as Nick at school, while Nick had matured, Stephen (or Stevie P as he insisted everybody STILL call him) was the sort of guy who thought it was hilarious to whip your ass with a towel in the locker room. He didn't really like me, thought I was a nerd, and I didn't care for him either.
'Uh-uh, no way,’ I started.
‘Chris, please,’ Mary pleaded. ‘If you stay here I’m worried about what might happen.’
‘Don't be,’ I said. ‘I’m ok, and I’m sure… this will all blow over in no time.’
‘Really?’ Nick asked and, with a sudden jerk of his hand, tugged on the cord for the blinds, whipping them up and exposing the window.
A cry went up, and as one, a dozen camera lenses all pointed toward me.
‘Chris, do you have any words you want to share…’
‘Do you have any plans to…’
‘How are you coping with…’
‘Will you be visiting…'
Nick released the cord, allowing the blind to drop back into place without a word.
My argument was lost.
The plan was simple. Stephen would head up to the cabin the day before us to prepare it for our arrival.
On the day of the trip, I would leave my apartment with Nick and take a waiting cab to a car park on the other side of town. There Mary would be waiting in a rental car, with a bag of my stuff.
From there I’d keep my head down until we were out of the city and heading off to gingerbread, eggnog and not even a hint of Dan fucking Bing.
It seemed like a good plan. It seemed like nothing could go wrong.
Just two days later we put the plan into action. I donned a hat, a scarf, sunglasses and that same thick coat that Nick and Mary had given me for Christmas. I pulled up the hood and took a long look at myself in the mirror. I was unrecognizable.
I turned to Nick and said: ‘OK, let's do it.’
It didn't fool anyone.
As soon as I stepped outside my building a jostling crowd of slick suits descended on me.
‘Chris… Chris… Chris…’ they clamored.
Then Nick was there. He squared his broad shoulders, lowered his head and cut through the crowd like a hot knife through butter. I was amazed at how effortlessly he sidestepped and barged the reporters out of his way. It was like he was back on the gridiron, and he hadn't lost a step.
We dashed through the pressing throng, pausing only as Nick had to shove Mikey (the podgy cameraman with Bing) aside, and then, suddenly, we were in the back of the cab.
As the driver pulled away I saw the reporters and cameramen scurrying to their vans.
‘Hey,’ I called to the driver. ‘There's an extra fifty in it for you if they don't find us.’
‘You got it,’ the driver grinned.
He was good to his word, zipping in and out of traffic. By the time we reached the parking lot, there was no sign of any media attention.
Mary was waiting for us on the second floor… and she wasn't alone.
I frowned in surprise when I saw Holly’s smiling face.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘You don't mind if I tag along too, do you?’
‘No, no, not at all,’ I spluttered. ‘I’d love… I mean, it would be great to… uh…’
Holly burst out laughing and saved me from digging myself in any deeper.
‘Thanks for being so gracious,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard how much you've been looking forward to some time with “Stevie P”.’
I smiled back, ‘It's my pleasure.’
With that Holly patted the seat beside her. As I climbed in I couldn't help but notice the look that Nick and Mary exchanged.
Maybe that matchmaking idea hadn't been so far-fetched after all.
We drove, soon leaving the city behind as we made our way to the road that would take us up to the mountains.There was snow on the ground, not that fresh, but the clouds ahead suggested more could be on the way – and soon.
The drive was pleasant enough, Holly and I took the opportunity to catch up, while Mary and Nick argued over whose job it had been to pack towels.
Eventually, we decided to stop at a public restroom by a picnic spot. In the summer it would have been spectacular, a long hiking trail lead to meadows in a valley below the woodland and mountains in the distance. Now though it looked cold and stark, the leafless trees skeletal under the gloomy sky.
The restroom was freezing and Nick and I both got our business there done as soon as possible.
We climbed into the car and pulled out onto the highway under a darkening sky. It was only when the restroom was nearly out of sight that I cast my gaze out of the rear window. For the briefest of moments, I thought I saw a tall figure, dressed in a red coat, watching us go from the shady restroom doorway. I blinked, a sudden chill descending on me. When I looked again the figure was gone.
We drove toward the mountains, finally taking an exit about 30 miles down the road. From there the road narrowed as we drove through dense woodland. Another exit and the road became little more than a track, the trees looming over our car hungrily as we passed.
It was then that the pregnant clouds delivered on their promise of snow. A few flakes at first, getting heavier with alarming rapidity.
In the cozy warm confines of the rental Holly, Mary and Nick chattered away.
In the backseat, I remained silent, instead staring out of the window at the snow, my brow slick with sweat.
The snowfall had transported me back to the night the Caroller came calling. It reawakened the memory of my desperate flight through the blizzard outside as I tried in vain to save Kevin, Sarah, and Olivia, then the futile attempt to get back to Noelle. As I shivered a soft hand slipped into mine. I jolted, shaken by the sudden contact.
It was Holly, her big green eyes turned to mine, one finger held to her lips in a gentle shushing gesture. I swallowed, tried to speak to say thank you, but my heart seemed to be pounding so loud it drowned out the words before they even reached my lips.
She smiled, then turned away, still gripping my hand in hers. Without even thinking I leaned in and rested my head on her shoulder. She didn’t say anything, instead giving my hand a gentle squeeze.
We stayed that way for some time, and with every passing second, a little bit more of the tension inside me ebbed away. Finally, I closed my eyes, and for once I didn’t see the horrors of that night.
For the first time since before Noelle died, I felt at ease. It would also be the last time.
I dozed like that for a while, only opening my eyes for seconds at a time as we drove through the snow.
‘Here it is!’ Mary cried gleefully, stirring me from my slumber.
I sat up, blinking in confusion.
I followed Mary’s gaze through the windshield to the thick snow before us. The woods had opened up into a small clearing and nestled in the center sat a beautiful cabin. It boasted big, wide windows, and through them, I could see the gentle glow of an open fire and the rhythmic twinkle of fairy lights.
‘Looks like Stevie lived up to his end of the bargain,’ Nick beamed as he parked the rental next to a blue pick-up truck outside the cabin. ‘Eggnog here we come!’
Mary and Holly giggled as they grabbed the lightest bags and hurried along the path to the cabin’s wide porch.
‘Looks like us pack mules are stuck with these,’ Nick sighed as he grabbed one of the heavier hold-alls from the trunk and dropped it into my waiting arms. He effortlessly scooped up the last couple of bags and heaved them over his broad shoulder.
‘C’mon, man,’ he grinned. ‘Let’s go get warmed up. With booze.’
I returned his smile and followed him through the snow to the cabin.
As we climbed up onto the porch, I noticed somebody had stacked a pile of firewood there, out of the elements - the ax that had been used to cut it leaned against the wall nearby.
There was no sign of the girls, just an open door leading to the cozy interior. Nick glanced at me, shrugged, then marched inside, and I followed.
It was dimly lit inside, the main source of light came from a fireplace, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows about the room.
I stood in the doorway blinking as my eyes tried to adjust to the gloom.
It was while I stood there that a strong hand gripped my shoulder, and a deep voice sang:
‘I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…’
I cried out, desperately twisting out of the Caroller’s grip, dropping the heavy bag in a blind panic. Somehow it landed under my own feet. I was already off balance as I tried to flee my assailant. Before I even had time to realize I was falling my chin struck the hard floor, causing my teeth to snap together on my tongue, instantly filling my mouth with the coppery taste of blood.
Before I could recover hands grabbed me, heaving me upright as I batted weakly at them.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Nick yelled. ‘What the fuck?’
It was him that had picked me up, heaving me to a sitting position. That last sentence was not aimed at me.
I followed his gaze and saw a tall figure stood in the doorway, a bemused grin on his face.
‘Dude,’ Stephen asked, pulling off his gloves, and pulling down his hood. ‘You ok, bro?’
‘What the hell were you…’ Nick barked and rose to his feet bristling.
Quickly I grabbed his arm, stopping him from going any further.
'I noticed the porch was creaking, you know,’ Stephen explained. ‘I just cleared some snow off. I’m surprised you guys didn’t see me, I was waving and shit. You alright down there, Chris? You took a wicked spill, bro. Been on the brews already?’
‘You…’ Nick growled.
‘Yeah, something like that,’ I interrupted. I pulled myself to my feet, then, when I was sure that he wasn’t going to lunge at Stephen, dabbed a hand at my chin which felt hot and wet. I was bleeding from my tongue.
‘Are you ok?’ Holly asked.
I turned and realized that she and Mary had been stood by the fire when Stephen had grabbed me. They would have seen the whole thing.
‘Uh, I think I’d better go clean up,’ I lisped. ‘Where’s the bathroom?’
‘Down the hall, last door on the left,’ Stephen grinned as he strolled across the room and pulled open the refrigerator, then reached in and pulled out two bottles of Bud. ‘I’ll have this one waiting for you,’ he added, holding one aloft.
I flashed a half-hearted smile back, then winced as the movement caused my whole mouth to throb. I nodded to Nick, then to Mary and Holly who were still watching me with concerned eyes, before following Stephen’s directions.
As I shuffled out of the room I heard an indignant yelp, Stephen defensively asking ‘What?’ in response to some silent gesture from one of my traveling companions.
I didn’t look back.
When I reached the bathroom I flicked on the light, then looked at my face in the mirror. There was more blood than I had expected, it spilled down my chin like a red beard. Like his beard…
Suddenly I was shaking. Stephen hadn’t just startled me with his Bing Crosby impression - for one heart-stopping moment I had thought it was the Caroller, back just like he had promised. The tears came then, with a surprising suddenness. I felt weak, and I slid gently down the wall to a kneeling position right there on the bathroom floor.
I don’t know how long I stayed there, sobbing as silently as I could, embarrassed and ashamed of myself.
Eventually, it passed and I clambered back to my feet, turning on the faucet and washing my face, then cupping water into my hand, sipping it, swilling it around and spitting blood into the basin. It stang but the cold water eased the pain in my stricken tongue. Finally, I toweled off my wet face, then sighed as I looked into my own red-rimmed eyes in the mirror. I’d already been gone for a very long time. I sighed again, then headed back to the den.
If anybody noticed that I had been crying, they at least had the decency to keep the observation to themselves.
They were sat around the room, Mary and Holly side by side on a sofa, Nick in an armchair by the fire, and a sorry looking Stephen sat at the table with the two beers in front of him.
He sprang to his feet as I walked into the room and hurried over, a beer in each hand.
‘Hey, man,’ he mumbled, as he stuffed one of the bottles into my hand. ‘I’m sorry about that, I forgot about… you know…’
I could see he was floundering, so I clapped him on the shoulder, and told him there was no harm done.
I clinked my bottle on his, then took a swig as I caught Stephen cast a quick look Mary’s way. So it was her that had chewed him out.
‘Right,’ I said, trying to lift the tension. ‘Who wants to get their Holiday on?’
It was a good night. We drank more than we should have, each becoming giddy as we celebrated, far from prying eyes.
Later, as we sat around the log fire, listening to the wind howl outside, Holly shuddered.
‘Does nobody else think that sounds like an animal out there? It gives me the creeps,’ she said.
‘Hey, do you get much wildlife up here?’ I asked Stephen, still trying to involve him as much as possible to show there were no hard feelings.
‘We get a lot of deer,’ he said. ‘And every now and then bears come sniffing around.’
‘Bears?’ Holly asked, even more nervous than before.
‘Yeah, but it’s all good,’ Stephen said with a wave of his hand. ‘Some asshole scattered bear traps all around the woods up here. I think it was this survivalist hermit dude up over the ridge. The bears tend to steer clear. So watch where you’re stepping if you go walking in the woods.’
Holly listened to the howling wind and shuddered again. ‘There’s no chance of that,’ she muttered.
Stephen beamed at her, and offered her another drink. He seemed desperate to impress Holly, and was oblivious to the many subtle put-downs she spat his way.
After a while, Nick couldn’t hide his enthusiasm any more and insisted we ‘make Christmas cookies!’
Nick loved to bake, so even though we tried to protest, he wouldn’t let it slide.
‘Honey, you’re drunk,’ Mary told him gently.
‘That’s when I do all my best baking!’ he cried.
He had such an enthusiasm that before we knew it, he’d swept us along for the ride and we were mixing bowls of gingerbread mixture and laughing until our faces ached.
Finally the cookies - each shaped like a little man - went into the oven, and I glanced around at the messy kitchen.
‘Should we tidy up?’ I asked.
‘Screw that!’ Stephen bellowed. ‘Let’s put some music on!’
I even managed to joke: ‘Ok, but let’s skip the carols.'
The only music in the cabin was a number of old vinyl LPs and a record player to listen to them. It soon became obvious that we were in for an evening of golden oldies, but nobody seemed to mind and it wasn’t long before I found myself dancing with Holly and a still undeterred Stephen, while Mary and Nick slow danced and kissed as they swayed in front of the open fire.
Suddenly Nick remembered the cookies and dashed to the oven. The gingerbread men were perhaps a little too dark, and crispy, but they were salvageable.
He grinned broadly as he called us into the kitchen and showed off his handiwork.
‘So do we eat them now?’ Holly asked.
Nick looked affronted. ‘No way! Now we decorate them.’
Five minutes later we were all piping frosting onto the gingerbread men before we placed them on a tray on the kitchen worktop. As we admired our handiwork I noticed that the energy levels had dipped significantly. It was already after 2am.
Sure enough, soon Mary bid us all goodnight, then grabbed a still giddy Nick by the hand and dragged him out of the room. It took Stephen less than a minute to suggest a game of strip poker, and Holly less than 10 seconds to make her excuses and file off to bed.
It was hard not to laugh in his face as Stephen blustered: ‘Think I’m gonna turn in too.’
I waved him off, then sat staring into the log fire. Before long I sank into a deep sleep.
I was dimly aware of the banging noises before I woke, a part of my brain trying to tell me that somebody was popping balloons.
As my still hazy consciousness attempted to claw itself to the surface, I also heard voices, loud and concerned.
Finally, my heavy eyelids responded.
The room was still dark, barely lit by the flickering orange glow of the flames in the fire. It took me a few seconds to realize why that was wrong - the cooling gray ash in the fireplace proving that the log fire had burned out.
I glanced around in confusion and saw a silhouette against the window. It was Mary, and she was peering out into the clearing. The firelight was coming from outside.
With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I climbed to my feet and shuffled to her side. As I reached her she turned to me and gasped: ‘The cars!’
Both the rental car and Stephen’s pick-up were ablaze - bright crackling flames, 15 feet high, licked hungrily at the sky. Two powerfully built figures darted around the gutted vehicles, futilely spraying fire extinguishers onto them.
I turned away from the window and stumbled back toward the kitchen. Before I knew it I was running, reaching the basin just in time to vomit into it, splashes of the hot liquid hitting my face. The basin rattled under my shaking hands.
Deep voices behind me told that Nick and Stephen had put out the flames, but it was too little, too late. Both vehicles were destroyed. Even in my half-asleep state, a part of me knew what was going on.
Then I saw the knife.
It was a large carving knife, the blade buried in the worktop. Curious I walked toward it, frowning. As I drew near, I saw that the blade was not just embedded in the countertop - it also skewered one of the gingerbread men. The impaled Christmas cookie wasn’t the only one to have been tampered with.
One had been snapped in half, while a dirty handful of snow had been slapped onto another. The head had been bitten clean off another, while the last was gone, just crumbs and a smear of dirt remaining on the tray.
I backed away from the tray and as I did I trod on something soft. I yelped as I did, quickly hopping off the unexpected obstacle. It was the tube of frosting we had used earlier. I bent down to pick it up from underfoot, relieved.
As I straightened up and glanced at the wall beside me, my blood turned to ice.
Somebody had used the frosting to write a message on the wall in the spidery scrawl that had taunted me a year earlier.
One that read:
‘iTs beGInnInG To lOok a LoT liKe chRistMaS’...
To Be Continued submitted by Let me preface by saying that I've gotten heavily interested in "western" card games called NHLE/PLO (respectively, No Limit Hold 'Em, Pot-limit Omaha...with basic understanding of PLO8/Pot-Limit Omaha Hi-lo) for the past 8 months or so when my friend (who is non-Asian if that matters) got me comp'd into a charity poker event for his town's community youth organization/center. I've learned Chinese poker from him, but I don't know how to play any Chinese/Asian card games or Mahjong, nor do I really care or have an interest to learn. On the whim, being tired of playing casual heads-up/short-handed home poker games with friends, pub poker tournaments, and online, I decided to make a trek by myself to play 1-2 NLHE down at Foxwoods, the largest casino in the eastern hemisphere located in Connecticut, or a ~two-hour bus ride from Boston for me.
For those who aren't familiar, up in the Northeast there are "Chinatown buses" from Boston and NYC area that shuttle folks to Foxwoods, which was my first choice because of the lower fare cost (~$15 round-trip which includes a meal voucher and $45 match-play coupon) but unfortunately was sold out to a casino in RI, was constricted to a five-hour playing window, and I didn't want to wait two hours for one departing for Mohegan Sun (another adjacent casino to Foxwoods in CT, a 20 minute drive away). I booked a last-minute one-way ticket with Greyhound instead leaving me with an open window for my return trip instead. After I busted two bullets (poker term for or two buy-ins), I had a lot of reflections and introspection about my game-play, but more specifically, I had more the culture of gambling with Asians.
As for family, for which we are of Chinese heritage, and gambling, my father plays Chinese card games and baccarat and my dad's obsession with gambling was a catalyst for my mom's divorce against him; my mother would scold him for taking me to the Chinatown gambling parlors when I was a kid. For my community, I grew up in a large population ethnic immigrant Chinese folks, and it's not uncommon to see grandma's playing Mahjong for pennies, to seeing my neighbor's mom in Chinatown going to the gambling parlor. My grandpa gambles everyday at his family association. My uncle before becoming half-paralyzed played OTB, and his wife's, my aunt by marriage, parents work at one of the aforementioned casinos. My aunt in the PNW is a blackjack dealer.
Now a while back, when I played in a pub poker league tournament, after busting-out, I got into a chat an old lady where we talked about our respective lives and why we played, me playing online, why she didn't, and what stakes we won't play. I talked about how Chinese/Asians love to play big games (Pai Gow poker) against the bankehouse, while contrasting my reasons for liking Hold 'Em. The conversation at one point shifted towards her essentially asking, "why do Asians love to gamble so much?" An innocent but genuinely question out of curiosity that struck and made a lasting impression on me since then.
Being of Chinese heritage, and in an enivornment of relevency, I suppose I was a person to answer such question. My recollected thoughts... I answered with the encounter I had with a Fasten driver (an ride-share underdog to UbeLyft) around that time earlier. In that conversation for which we both spoke Cantonese, we talked about mutual Chinese heritage and what my parent's did for a living, where we both lived, but more specifically, I told him about my parent's divorce and how gambling was a catalyst for divorce. Hearing me out, he address the "issue" with grace by speaking on the collective behalf of blue-collar immigrants who work in restaurants and whatnot, for which he did and my father did, that there wasn't much of an outlet for entertainment/socializing after work, especially working erratic hours and schedules. He made the comparison that they can't go to the local cinema/theater and enjoy an American movie, referencing the cultural differences that confine them into their ethnic enclaves.
During that Fasten ride with the middle-aged Chinese father-driver (about my dad's age), who also tried to recruit my father to drive for the company, opened up my worldview about the possible reasons why a majority Chinese, with our particular interest, why immigrant Chinese in America, like to gamble. I amassed more empathetic and compassion for the plight of Chinese immigrants and their lack of post-work social outlets. I loosened up to having animosity toward my dad for gambling so much when I was younger, which I was influenced by my mother's inappropriate complaints at the dinner-table of just us about my father. And of course, now that I've recently got interested in card games on my initiative, I am less (hypo)critical about my dad's gambling.
With respects Asian gamblers in my observation, for Texas Hold 'Em, I've noticed at my recent trip to Foxwoods and before that the handful of trips to New Hampshire card-rooms (there are no legal card-rooms in the Commonwealth of MA) that I see a lot of Asian players make blatantly "gamble-y" plays. With coach buses departing at various hours of the day from Chinatown and Chinese enclave towns/communities, there's opportunity and demand to from Asians to gamble. My Caucasian friend who re-introduced me to poker made a stereotypical joke about Asians and how they like love to gamble, nonetheless the lady from pub poker who were curious about the why of Chinese and their gambling habits. It is recognized as a fact that there is a disproportionate amount of Asian gamblers relative to their American counterparts with pathological gambling addictions,, but many do not seek help for gambling addictions. And I believe the resources and mental health professionals are far and few for Asian gamblers.
Anyways, I have never seen much, if any at all, discussion or articles about Asians and gambling on this sub but I believe it's an important topic worthy of discussion. I do wonder about the other fathers, mothers, relatives, or even yourself, who has an interest in gambling. Has it been a catalyst for familial dis-harmonies as it did for mine? Did it spur you to get interested in gambling yourself? What are y'alls thoughts on the cultural factors for Asians and gambling? How was your childhood shaped by a family member who was severely addicted to gambling, or was it a casual affair? All and any discussions relevant to Asians and gambling are welcomed. So let's discuss.
submitted by Right now the state’s laws say nothing about online poker. So, you have to turn to and interpret what laws they do have. This statute stands out to us the most: Chapter 271, Section 2 Whoever, in a public conveyance or public place, or in a private place upon which he is trespassing, plays at cards, dice or any other game for money or other property, or bets on the sides or hands of those Is Online Poker Legal in Massachusetts? The Internet poker gambling and real money betting statutes of most states including MA haven’t been updated since before the inception of the Internet, let alone include statues specific to online poker and playing Internet poker. Therefore, many state laws regarding iGaming poker websites are up to interpretation, with Massachusetts gambling and legal betting laws proving no exception. Every Poker player has their own unique playing style, and one professional Poker player who plays very conservatively and one who has won many Poker Tournaments and has picked up a huge amount of winnings recently is Dan Harrington who was born and bred in Cambridge which is of course in Massachusetts!. Should you have studied the way he plays and wish to play online Poker then you are going The short answer is no, online poker is currently illegal in Massachusetts. There have been plenty of attempts to legalize online gambling in MA. However, they weren’t successful, and, as a result,... Under current MA law, while there are no legal poker sites in Massachusetts that are regulated by the state, there is nothing to stop anyone playing poker online for real money. Some laws DO relate to live tournaments, however. Online poker and gaming were never a certainty for Massachusetts, but there have been numerous signs in the past couple years indicating that lawmakers were working toward the legalization of online games. Several members of the state legislature have supported studies and bills, but there was one driving force behind If you are 21 years of age or older, you also have the ability to access land-based casinos and poker rooms. Online gambling sites offering casino games, poker, and sports betting are also legal once a player is over the age of 21. Massachusetts Online Gambling Laws The laws of the land in Massachusetts are fairly friendly for online gamblers. Since Massachusetts has not specifically legalized operating online poker websites within their state, it is deemed illegal but it is federally legal to play at offshore sites. The current interpretation of this act is that individual states can legalize intrastate online gambling, except sports betting, by passing the required legislation. Massachusetts Online Poker Law. When it comes to online poker legalization, states’ statuses fall into several different categories: did it, trying to do it, in the process of looking at it, and probably never will do it.. Thanks to a few elected officials, Massachusetts falls into the “trying to do it” category, and the history of its legislators trying to get online poker done goes Massachusetts has been considered online gambling and online lottery legalization going back as far as 2013. The closest it came to passage was an online lottery bill that cleared the Senate in 2016 before dying in the House.
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