Page 17 of Slay All The Way

Don’t get me wrong, I was a fucking kid. In the beginning I used to look forward to the holiday bullshit, but they ruined it for me. Those pieces of shit ruined fucking everything for me. My mom would stand behind me, telling me how to place the scarf, how to make the eyes symmetrical, always harping on me like I was some trophy to polish. I wasn’t a son to them. I was just another thing to show off.

“Make it perfect, Johnny, or else we won’t win,” she’d say in that shrill voice. “Don’t embarrass us.”

Fucking hypocrites. I was just a goddamn accessory, nothing more. They didn’t give a shit if I was happy or cold, as long as we got that blue ribbon and their friends clapped at their perfect little family.

I shake my head, the bitter memories making my jaw clench.

But this…thisis the first snowman I’ve been excited to make. The first one that means something.

I grip the axe tighter, the handle slick in my palm, and chuckle under my breath. If only my mom could see me now. I’d havedefinitelywon the competition with this fucking snowman.

“First place for sure,” I say aloud, laughing to myself as I look up at Mark’s severed head, still dripping. “I can just hear her now. ‘Oh, Johnny, you’ve really outdone yourself this year!’” My laugh deepens, turning into something darker, more manic.

I imagine her face—pale and horrified—as she sees what I’ve built, the head, the gore, theartof it. My masterpiece. The ultimate prize, just not the one they ever wanted.

But who cares about them anymore? I sure as hell don’t. They’re nothing. Theymeannothing. Just like Mark, they were all dead weight. Now,heis, too.

With one last glance at my creation, I turn toward the cabin. Alaska’s waiting inside. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s about to wake up to the most beautiful gift she’s ever received. A gift unlike any other.

The snow crunches under my boots as I make my way back, the axe swinging loosely in my hand. The cabin looms ahead, dark and quiet, but I slip inside like a shadow, quiet and unseen.

I make my way to the attic, where I’ll wait. Wait for her to wake up and discover the snowman outside. The gift I’ve left for her. The storm is coming, but it doesn’t matter. Soon, it’ll just be the two of us. Alaska and me.Forever.

And no one—not my parents, not Mark, not anyone—will ever take her from me.

9

ALASKA

Run Rudolph Run - Lemmy, Billy F Gibbons, Dave Grohl

Apit of unease forms in my stomach, gnawing at me like a festering wound. I roll over in bed, the sheets cold beside me where Mark should be. It’s been hours since we had that explosive fight after I caught him texting another woman. I try to convince myself he just needs some space. I mean even I needed to get away from him. Needed time to clear my head, but I can’t shake the creeping dread that something isn’t right. I mean, we’re in the middle of no where, and it’s freezing outside, where could he have gone?

I glance at my phone—7:00 a.m.—Christmas morning. This is supposed to be a day filled with joy, laughter, and togetherness. We should be unwrapping presents in our matching holiday jammies, making breakfast, doing all the normal things couples do on Christmas morning. Instead, I’m alone, in bed with the silence pressing in around me, thick and suffocating.

It’s hard not to replay the confrontation in my mind. The way his face twisted into a mask of anger and defiance when I confronted him. “You’re being ridiculous,” he’d sneered, dismissing my feelings as if they were nothing. I don’t know why I’m even surprised. My feelings haven’t mattered to him for months. The memory stings, hot and raw and part of me can’t shake the feeling that he was never reallymine, that I’ve been a fool to actually believe a guy like him, would settle for a girl like me.

With a sigh, I swing my legs out of bed, the cold floorboards sending a shiver up my spine. I dress quickly, pulling on a sweater and leggings, my movements mechanical. I try to ignore the tightness building in my chest, but every second that passes without him here feels like confirmation of what I already know: he’s not coming back.

In the kitchen, I switch on the Nespresso machine, waiting for the familiar hum to fill the room. My hands tremble as I grind the beans, my mind racing with thoughts I can’t silence. I can still see the anger in his eyes, hear his dismissive tone. Did he really think I wouldn’t notice? Was he with her last night?

The Nespresso machine hisses as the coffee pours into my cup, but the warm aroma does little to soothe the icy dread clawing at my insides. I wrap my hands around the mug, hoping the heat will calm me, but it’s no use. The pit in my stomach only deepens, each breath feeling heavier than the last.

This isn’t how Christmas is supposed to feel. This isn’t howwewere supposed to be.

I push open the cabin door and step out onto the deck, hoping to see Mark trudging back from wherever he spent the night. The cold air hits me like a slap to the face, and I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself. My breath fogs in the crisp air, and the freshly fallen snow crunches beneath my slippers.

And that’s when I see it.

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. In the middle of the clearing, not far from the cabin, stands a snowman. But it’s not just any snowman—it’s something straight out of a nightmare. My stomach turns, and for a moment, I’m paralyzed, unable to look away.

It takes a few seconds for my mind to fully register what I’m seeing. Mark’s head. His arms. His blood staining the large white snowballs, dripping down the mangled figure’s body. My coffee mug slips from my hand, shattering on the deck as I stumble back, my heart pounding in my chest.

Oh my God. Oh my God.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. My legs give out, and I collapse onto the deck, my hands trembling as I try to process the horror in front of me. I want to scream, but no sound comes out. I feel like I’m drowning in panic.

Mark is dead. His head… his arms…

---