It's finally here: the Justice and Wilbanks Board group Christmas story. Every couple of days we'll post a new section of the story. The final product will be offered as an audio story on Pod of Horror #41. Enjoy, and if you have any comments, please post them in the PoH Xmas Story Comments thread.


O Come All Ye Unfaithful

By Mark Justice, David T. Wilbanks, Matt Cowan, Gregory Montague, Rich Ristow and Cesar Puch

It was two in the morning when Greg Lundy slipped his key into the lock of the front door. He didn’t even try to be quiet. After all, he’d been doing this a long time. The fact it was Christmas Eve just made it all the more exciting. Mona wouldn’t say anything even if she were awake.

They had an understanding.

Women had always been drawn to Greg. He’d lost his virginity to a 30-year-old neighbor when he was twelve. She was a good teacher, showing him how pleasure could be given and received. Especially received. Their affair had continued for nearly a year, until her husband had been transferred to another state. Since then, Greg had never gone long without female companionship. In his younger days he had given serious consideration to his gift.

Did he emit some kind of pheromone that alerted women to his availability? Did he have an invisible aura that triggered a need deep on the brain – or some other part – of the women he met? Or was he just so damn good looking any creature with ovaries couldn’t resist him?

He ultimately decided it didn’t matter. Women loved him. He loved that they loved him. That would never change.

Mona knew that when they married. Of course they hadn’t openly discussed it. That wasn’t done in a blue blood, country club family like the Madisons. All that mattered was that Greg would look good on Mona’s arm in those ubiquitous Society Page photos. And he would be in a perfect position to one day inherit her father’s law firm. If Greg enjoyed a little extracurricular tail – okay, a lot of tail – no one would say a thing.

_________________
http://www.markjustice.blogspot.com

Here's part two:

Greg pushed the door open. The house was dark. Which was a bit strange because Mona usually left the entryway light on when he was “working” late or out with his friends on boys’ night. He had left Mona at her parent’s Christmas Eve party earlier this evening—to take care of some last-minute business at the office, of course—so why hadn’t she left the light on for him when she came home?

Well, at least it wasn’t completely dark. Christmas lights lined the fireplace and encircled the tree in the nearby living room--green and red fireflies blinking in mindless patterns.

The warmth and baked-cookie-smell of the house gave Greg a nice Christmas-y feeling as he snapped shut the door. With the decorations and freshly baked cookies, you’d think this family had kids snug in their beds, dreaming of dancing sugar plums and ready to celebrate the holiday season. But in fact, they had none. Not because they couldn’t. It was just that Greg hated children and considered them a nuisance and a waste of his hard-earned money. Of course, he had lied about this to Mona until they were well into their marriage. Back then, he had let her think he wanted children as much as she did. But in the beginning, he had asked her to stay on her birth control pills until they were sure their marriage was stable enough to accommodate kiddies. Of course, by the time she wanted to bear some children, Greg had already gotten a vasectomy. Man, there had been a blow-out when she found out about that bit of surgery, but with Greg’s considerable wit and charm pushed to the fore, Mona was soon seeing things his way. Even if she was still a little pissed about it these days, she knew to keep her mouth shut.

_________________
http://www.markjustice.blogspot.com

Here's part three:

The click of a switch ignited the chandelier above Greg, flooding the room with sterile, white incandescence, muting the brilliance of the flashing bulbs. Mona stood in the dining room archway.

“Have a fun time, did you?” she asked.

“Wha… Oh Mona, I didn’t realize you were up,” Greg said after whirling around to face her. “A good time? Yeah sure, having to work on Christmas Eve is always a blast,” he added with the grin he knew would melt her.

Mona glared at him with red-rimmed eyes. She still wore her short, red velvet dress, with the fluffy white cuffs and V-neck. Gone now, was the matching Santa hat and glowing smile that adorned her during the party. She crossed her arms beneath her chest.

Greg ran a hand through his hair and cocked his head to one side. “Something’s wrong, I can tell,” he said taking a couple steps toward her, arms outstretched.

Mona strode past him, before turning to eye him again. “Do you think I don’t know where you went tonight?”

“I went to work on the Anderson case, like I said.” Greg used his well-practiced wounded voice. “It’s getting down to the wire, and if I don’t have everything ready to go by the first of the year, your Dad will kill me.”

“Save it!” Mona yelled, untangling her arms, which she thrust out to her sides. “I know where you were! You were out with that whore from the newspaper!”

Greg placed his hands on his hips and looked up at the ceiling while shaking his head. “So what, you’re following me now? Is that it? I mean, yeah, what if I did go see Liz for a drink? I’m back, aren’t I? It isn’t like we were…”

“Don’t lie to me, Greg,” Mona interrupted. “I know full well what you and, ‘Liz’, were doing together. You must have been with this one for quite a while to be on a nickname basis. Or perhaps that happens with all your conquests over the years, is that it? How stupid you must think I am that I wouldn’t be aware of each and every woman you have broken our vows with?”

Greg stared at her a moment before storming towards the stairs that lead up to their bedroom. With one foot on the ascending staircase, he turned back to look at his frazzled wife. “If you’ve known about this for so long, why are you making such a big fuss tonight?” He asked in a quiet tone.

“Because, I can’t take it anymore,” she said tears welling in her eyes. “Because, I thought if we got it all out tonight… if you could swear to me that you’d stop… maybe we could start all over,” she stammered out as best she could between sobs.

When she finished, Greg noticed a glimmer of hope hiding behind her tears. He held her gaze for a brief second before beginning to climb the stairs.

_________________
http://www.markjustice.blogspot.com

And now, part four:

In the bedroom closet he got undressed, tossing his casual trousers and shirt on top of a full laundry basket. His boxers and one sock were AWOL, somewhere in the detritus of Liz’s messy apartment. He had been too tired to care when it had been time to go home.

Getting ready for bed, Greg stood naked before a mirror, brushing his teeth, and admired himself. He was a damn fine man. Mona was a lucky woman to have him. Tonight’s hissy fit wasn’t very becoming of her: she was normally so sensible about the way things were. Okay, okay, it was Christmas Eve and she was his wife, so maybe he could’ve planned a little better and been there, however briefly, for both Mona and Liz. That would’ve been fair. If Mona remained truly upset he’d take her to a B&B for a long weekend.

Once he was finished in the bathroom, he went straight to bed. He never wore anything when he slept. At first it was odd, being alone his bed without Mona, or being in any bed for that matter without a warm woman beside him, and he tired to get comfy by thinking about Liz in a bubble bath, her glasses askew. When that wasn’t enough his mind turned to the raven-haired beauty who cleaned the law firm after hours. Czech or Romanian, she barely understood English, but Greg marveled at their union, unfettered by the interference of language.

When Greg slept, he slept hard. Mona would often make jokes with friends and family that Greg could sleep through four-alarm fire. Not the literal truth, of course, but once asleep Greg was as notoriously difficult to waken as a passed out drunk.

Dawn came and went on Christmas Day while Greg stayed dead to the world, snoring. It was nearly ten before he stirred slightly, his morning glory stabbing at the blankets. Ah, what a feeling, he thought, I should probably bone Mona once or twice.

Eyelids half closed, keeping still, he heard an ethereal voice from below singing “White Christmas.” That was a bit of surprise, both eerie and soothing. Who was doing that?

Greg’s arms were uncomfortably stretched behind him and he attempted to pull them back, only they were held fast. That snapped him into a full state of wakefulness. His legs wouldn’t move either. He couldn’t get off the bed. He tried again to free his arms and legs from whatever held them, but he could feel tight binding and it wasn’t coming loose. The space next to him, Mona’s side, was empty.

“What the hell!” he shouted. “Mona! Hey, Mona! Something’s wrong here. Where the fuck are you?”

Downstairs, the singer began “O Come All Ye Faithful.” It was Mona, singing clear and beautiful, unlike anything he’d heard from her before.

This was too weird for Greg. He thrashed on the bed, screaming for Mona to release him, but he was firmly held in place. His jerky, flopping movements dislodged the blanket that had been throw over him, and he saw his ankles had been bound with rope, the knots wrapped in and green and red duct tape to resemble little bows. His wrists, he assumed, were similarly tied and secured to the metal frame under the headboard.

He bellowed and struggled. Mona sang. After half an hour or so, Greg felt exhausted, his throat hoarse, his limbs score and chaffed. He quieted down, to rest. Mona stopped singing, but he heard her thumping about, gathering things together. Then, after four or five minutes, she started on “Here Comes Santa Claus” and he could tell from voice that she was ascending the stairs, slowly, as if mindful of each step, allowing herself time to finish the song.

Greg was shocked to see her. Mona was still wearing the dress from last night, but it seemed largely stained, and the right sleeve had been completely torn off. The Santa hat was back on, but the hair underneath looked like it was stuck to the side of her face. Much of her exposed skin was darkly speckled and smeared.

“Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas,” Mona said, dragging a red sack behind her. “Look what Santa’s little helper has brought you. Ho, ho, ho.”

_________________
http://www.markjustice.blogspot.com

Part five:

Greg tried peering over his hairy chest, at Mona’s bag, but the edge of the bed kept it out of his line of vision. Trying to sit up didn’t improve anything – the rope only gave about an inch. He slumped back, closed his eyes, and tried to think of Liz again, as a way of comfort. That didn’t work.

Mona didn’t just look strange; an odor of blood, dirt, sweat, and about a gallon of bourbon drifted off her. He tried, again, to sit up, this time, swinging his arms, but the rope hurt his wrists. He opened his eyes, and looked away, towards the nightstand with the picture of their wedding day. Even now, he didn’t really look at his wife in her wedding dress, but her bridesmaid in a pink gown.

“Darling, look at me.”

He didn’t want to. Her hair hung in clumps, most of it was stuck to dried blood all over her face. She rounded the bed’s corner, approaching the end table with the wedding picture, and that’s when he saw the red Christmas bag. It had left a faint red trail on the white shag carpet. She stopped and crouched, so they were eye level with each other. She grinned wide, just like she’d done for all those stupid Society Page photos he’d made her pose for. But those newspaper grins had never been this macabre. Little bits of red were stuck between her teeth.

“I didn’t know what to get you for Christmas.” She paused and picked her teeth with a broken, but manicured, fingernail. “Then, I knew. It would be perfect. You’d like it. I knew you’d love it, Greg.”

Greg remained still “Love what?”

She straightened up, again, and then bent over, into her Santa bag. She pulled out four white hat boxes, tied up with a red velvet ribbon and bow. Their bottoms were wet and dripping dark crimson. Mona placed each on the edge of the bed. Slowly, she tugged the end of each velvet bow, undoing the ribbon. Then, she removed the lids.

“You were always too much of a man for just ‘lil ole me.”

“Mona, please, I …”

“Shut your goddamn mouth.” She sneered. “I’m talking.”

Greg trembled.

Mona batted her eyelashes. “Where was I?” Her glare returned. “Yes. I remember. I’ve shared you, but never once did the other gals and me ever get together.” She reached into two of the hat boxes. “Until, now, that is.”

She pulled out two severed heads by their long hair. One was Liz, and the other, the bridesmaid from the wedding photo. Their mouths had stretched wide, and their bulging eyes were wide and white.

_________________
http://www.markjustice.blogspot.com

And now...the conclusion.

He didn’t register his scream for what it was until much after it had left his mouth. By then, Mona had tossed the heads on the bed. One bounced off his knee and rolled onto the carpet. The second one lay beside his hip, Liz’s blind stare accusing.

“Now, now,” Mona said as she rummaged in the bag. “Never look a gift horse in the mouth, darling. That’s not nice.”

She stood up, tilted her head, lips pursed, eyes batting, then brushed the top of her left index finger with her right index. It was that sole gesture, not the blood on her hair and teeth, nor the bag, nor the torn dress and the Santa suit, not even the heads, but his wife giving him the Forefinger Rub with that demented perky look on her face what made him realize he was not getting out of this one alive.

“Jesus Christ!” he cried and it was no surprise to him that he was sobbing.

“You never liked my gifts, Gregory. I put so much thought into them, the least you could do was pretend.”

She bent down and took a third box out of the bag. At some point it had been blue, now most of one side was a soggy purple shade.

“C’mon darling,” Mona said with a pout. “Nobody likes a grouch. Maybe this one will cheer you up.”

She pulled on the ribbon gracefully then proceeded to extract a third head, holding it firmly by its once-blonde long hair. The face was badly bruised and frozen in a grimace of pain.

“I thought you’d like her to join us,” Mona said, coming closer, dangling the head before his eyes.

When Greg recognized the face, he whimpered. His bladder let go.

“Remember Candice, Greg? You should. I mean, you’ve been fucking her twice a week for the last two months. She told me everything about how you needed counseling because your wife wouldn’t give you a child.”

She propped the head right below his armpit. It felt so cold he almost gagged.

“That was certainly creative, Greg.”

“I’m sorry!” he shrieked. “I’m sorry!!”

“How many fucks did “our son” land you, Greg?”

“You don’t understand!” Greg cried.

Before him, Mona glared, her hands balled into tight fists.
“I’m sick! Mona I can’t help it. So many times I’ve come home knowing how I cheated on you and I felt sick. I was disgusted with myself and I kept saying ‘This time’s the last’. But I couldn’t stop, as much as I tried. And I hated myself for that! You gotta believe me, baby. Mona, I do love you.”

For a moment the glare was gone and she was left with a blank stare, as if trying to make sense of his words. If only he could make her untie him, just one arm was all he needed.

“Oh, Greg…”

She bent down toward him, the stupid bitch. She was falling for the bull.

“I love you, Mona. Believe me I do. Believe—”

The pain hit him like a lightning bolt, pain like he’d never experienced before. He looked down and saw the knife Mona held next to his groin, saw the blade dripping blood and felt the warmth on his crotch. When the pain was too much to bear he shut his eyes tight and screamed in agony. Even after his vocal chords surrendered, the blood continued to gush from where his manhood had once been.

He opened his eyes determined not look. Instead, he saw the knife falling on him. He tried to scream again but then his chords were severed and he screamed no more.

* * *

It was short past eleven when Mona finished decorating the room. She drank some more eggnog, not the best she’d had but pretty decent, and took a minute to take in the product of her work.

“See how it all turns out for the better when you lend a hand, Greg?”

The doorbell rang. She put her glass on the mantle beside Candice’s head.

“Friends are here. I took the liberty of inviting your buddy Richard, Greg. I thought that he deserves it after all those--what do you call them?--boy’s-night-outs he fixes for you.”

She picked up the knife and took one last look at the room. Greg’s insides along the walls combined gorgeously with the Christmas lights. She had outdone herself.

She looked at the remains of her husband, then at the all-mighty Lundy jewels hanging above him. Mona giggled and kissed Greg on the lips.

“Merry Christmas, love,” she said, then went downstairs to tend to her guest.

_________________
http://www.markjustice.blogspot.com