Chapter 8

8

JOHNNY

Merry Axe-Mas - Ice Nine Kills

I ’ve been watching.

I’m always fucking watching.

From the moment that pathetic waste of flesh, Mark , touched her, I knew it was only a matter of time before I stepped in. He’s a cancer in her life, poisoning the purity that is Alaska , my little snowflake. Finally she’s seeing just how fucking toxic he is. How undeserving of her he really is. I will free her from him, and when I do, she’ll see that she was always meant to belong to someone better than him. Someone like me.

Me, and no one else.

The wind howls through the trees, the bare branches creaking like bones in the bitter night. Snowflakes swirl in the air, drifting lazily down to the earth like an addict coming down from a high. Coating the forest in a clean, white blanket. Its untouched.

Like her. But not for long.

Not after tonight.

`My Santa suit rustles as I move, the thick fabric clinging to me, heavy with the weight of that stupid fucks dried blood. It’s been a day since I took that scumbag’s life, but seeing as I’ve barely left the woods, it’s not like I have anywhere to clean up. Now, it’s just a symbol of what I am—her protector, but also, her fucking reaper.

Mark trudges through the snow ahead of me, completely oblivious to the shadow stalking him through the woods. The cocky fuck doesn’t even look back. In his childish mind, he thinks he’s the king of this pathetic little world, untouchable. But what is a king without his crown?

Lucky for him, Santa Johnny is here to fix that. I’ll make sure he gets the crown his uptight ass is so desperately craving—something sharp, something fucking bloody with a little festive cheer. A special gift from me, tailored just for him.

He stumbles over a fallen branch, cursing under his breath. “Stupid bitch,” he mutters, his voice muffled by the snow beneath his feet. “Always making a big deal out of nothing.”

Oh, I’ll make sure this isn’t nothing , Mark.

I trail him silently, my boots barely making a sound in the snow. The clown mask around my neck swings lightly with each step, its grinning face watching just as eagerly as I am. My hand tightens around the handle of the knife in my pocket. It’s almost time. Fuck this place stinks, the scent of pine is so strong my nostrils are burning, the tension thick enough to choke on.

The echoes of their argument reverberate in my skull, a cacophony of rage that fuels my desire for retribution. Each shrill word from Alaska’s lips, each dismissive sneer from Mark, stabs at my insides, igniting a fury that refuses to be quenched.

Alaska’s voice, so sweet, cracking with pain and frustration. I had a feeling that piece of shit was fucking around on her. I could practically smell the skank stench of his side bitch in the fucking air. She deserves better. She deserves me . And he— Mark —deserves nothing but the cold kiss of steel.

I can see him up ahead as I pull my mask up over my face. His breath coming out in angry puffs, his shoulders hunched against the cold. He’s muttering to himself, cursing her, cursing everything. Fucking guy is pathetic.

He can’t even see how much of a joke he is.

But I see. I see fucking everything.

“You shouldn’t have touched her.” My voice cuts through the wind, sharp and sudden.

Mark freezes mid-step. His body stiffening as he whips around. He looks around, confusion flickering across his face. “Who’s there?” he shouts, his voice shaking, but he tries to hide it, puffing his chest out like the cocky motherfucker he is.

I step out from the shadows, grinning beneath the edge of my mask. The snow crunches under my boots, the wind carrying the sound of the jingling bell from the tip of my Santa hat.

“Ho, ho, ho,” I chuckle darkly, the sound barely above a whisper. “Merry fucking Christmas.”

Mark’s eyes narrow as he stares at me, confusion quickly morphing into a cocky sneer. “What the hell is this? Who the fuck are you?” His voice drips with arrogance as he takes a step closer. “You lost or something? This some kind of prank?”

I tilt my head, my grin widening beneath the mask. “You really don’t know, do you?”

Mark lets out a mocking laugh, glancing around the empty woods before returning his gaze to me. “Oh, I get it. You’re one of those freaks from town, huh? What’s with the mask? You high on something? Tripping balls?” He scoffs, dismissively waving a hand. “Whatever, man. Fuck off before I kick your ass. You’re messing with the wrong guy.”

I stay silent, stepping closer. The tension hangs in the air, thick and electric. “Seriously,” he says, his voice dripping with condescension, “you’re gonna regret this. You don’t even know who you’re messing with.” He rolls his shoulders back, trying to appear bigger, tougher. “Take the mask off, freak, and walk away before this gets ugly.”

I take another step, the snow crunching beneath my boots, and Mark’s eyes flash with something—hesitation, maybe. But then he quickly covers it with a sneer. “What, you think you’re scaring me? What are you even doing out here, huh? Playing dress-up in the middle of the woods like a goddamn psycho?” His eyes flick to the knife in my hand, but his bravado doesn’t falter. “You really think that’s gonna help you? Go home, man. Sober up, and quit whatever weird shit you’re on.”

The sound of my breathing fills the space between us, slow and deliberate. I tilt my head, letting him soak in the moment, letting him think he’s still in control. “You really don’t know who I am?”

Mark rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Should I? Nah, man, I don’t have time for your little games. Get lost, or you’re gonna be the one regretting it.” He smirks, crossing his arms over his chest like he’s already won. “Last chance, freak. Go home before I make you.”

His words send a rush of excitement through me, the rage inside me bubbling over. He still thinks he’s in control. He thinks he can talk his way out of this. But he has no idea what’s coming. Come on, Marky boy, I’d kill to see you ‘make me’, literally.

I step closer, my grin widening beneath the mask. “You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as me, let alone my little snowflake,” I hiss, voice thick with venom. Mark’s eyes widen, his cocky facade cracking as his body begins to tremble, the cold creeping into his bones as he realizes something’s horribly wrong. In one swift, brutal motion, I drive the knife deep into his side, twisting it as I feel his muscles tense under the pressure. A strangled gasp escapes him, and his legs buckle, making him collapse to his knees in the snow. He clutches his side in a futile attempt to stop the blood from pouring out, but it’s no use. A low groan escapes his lips, and blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, staining the pristine white beneath him.

I kneel beside him, watching with twisted fascination as his breath comes in ragged, frantic gasps. The life in his eyes flickers, but there’s still enough awareness left for him to understand what’s happening.

He’s not as broken as I thought—not yet.

His hands fly to the knife wound in his side, and he gasps, eyes darting wildly around as he scrambles for some kind of escape. Stupid fuck. Still thinks there’s a way he’s getting out of this. As if . His trembling fingers brush against the snow, trying to push himself up, but I grab a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back so hard he cries out in pain.

“And where the fuck do you think you’re going?” I hiss, forcing him to look up at me. His face contorts in agony, the gurgling sound of blood bubbling in his throat only adding to my excitement, and arousal. I’ve been fucking waiting for this. He thrashes, trying to pull away, his hands clawing at my arm, nails digging into the velvet fabric of my Santa suit.

His defiance makes this so much goddamn sweeter.

“Shh, it’s okay Marky boy. You thought you were tough, but there’s a lesson to be learned here,” I whisper, my voice low and dripping with madness. His eyes narrow, and he tries to fight back, swinging wildly with one hand. The punch lands weakly against my chest, but the effort brings a twisted grin to my face. “There is always someone bigger. Someone tougher. You thought you could lip me off and walk away like none of this mattered? Guess your mom was as worthless as mine if you never learned that words come with a price.”

Mark’s eyes flare with desperation. “You—psycho,” he chokes out, his voice raspy and slurred with pain. With a surge of energy, he manages to throw a punch that lands harder this time, catching me in the ribs. Fuck . I grunt, momentarily startled, but my grip on his hair only tightens. He flails, kicking his legs out, trying to buck me off as if he still stands a chance.

But it’s too fucking late.

I slam him back into the snow, pinning him down as I lean in close, feeling the heat of his dying breaths against my chilled skin. “You were nothing,” I sneer, my lips brushing his ear.

With a snarl, I yank his head to the side, exposing the vulnerable stretch of his throat. He thrashes harder, his hands weakly pushing against me, but the fight is leaving him fast. The knife moves with precision, glinting in the dim light as I drag it across his throat. His body jerks violently, his scream cut off by the sickening sound of blood gushing from the deep, deliberate wound. Steaming blood splatters across the fresh snow, sizzling as the heat melts through the delicate surface. He gurgles, choking on the thick liquid flooding his throat, while the once-white ground darkens, the snow dissolving under the relentless warmth of his life draining away.

Still, he tries to claw at me, his weak hands trembling as he reaches up in one last, pitiful attempt to save himself. But his strength is gone. His body convulses, twitching helplessly as the life drains from him.

I watch with twisted satisfaction, my laughter bubbling up, wild and unhinged, as I savor every last moment of his struggle. Each desperate twitch, each gasp for breath, makes my cock throb, straining against the fabric of my Santa suit. His life slipping through my fingers is the ultimate thrill, the kind of rush that nothing else compares to.

Fuck, I love this shit. Nothing gets me harder than feeling the life drain out of someone at my hands—their last breath, their final, pathetic fight against the inevitable.

I laugh again, the sound manic and echoing through the cold, silent night. Leaning in close, I whisper, “Merry fucking Christmas,” right into his ear as the last flicker of life fades from his eyes. Blood pools around him, staining the ground like some dark, twisted holiday decoration—a gift for my little snowflake.

My heart races, every pulse sending a surge of pleasure through me. There’s nothing like it.

But I’m not done with this little, gift. No, I have plans. Bigger and better plans for the perfect Christmas gift, one she’ll never forget.

Standing over his body, I twirl the knife in my hand, humming softly to myself. The tune of “Jingle Bells” fills the cold air as I glance down at his head. A wicked idea creeps into my mind, and I can’t help the grin that stretches across my face. His head—oh yes, we’re going to need that to complete my little gift. A perfect and most thoughtful little tribute for my snowflake.

Something to show her that I’m here, that I’ve always been here.

Kneeling back down, I hum louder, savoring each slice as the knife works its way through flesh and bone. With each cut, the excitement inside me grows, knowing this is just the beginning. Soon, Alaska will know she doesn’t have to worry about Mark anymore. She’ll understand that he never cared, but I did.

She’ll be mine. Forever.

I glance around and spot an axe leaning against a tree near a stack of firewood. A wicked grin spreads across my face as I grab it, the cold metal heavy in my hand. This is going to be even more fun.

I return to Mark’s lifeless form, and with a sharp swing, I bury the axe deep into his arm. The crack of bone and the wet sound of tearing flesh sends a shiver of excitement through me. It’s messy, blood splattering onto my Santa suit, soaking through the fabric, but fuck, I don’t give a single fuck. With a few more satisfying hacks, his arm is free from his torso, and I move to the next, repeating the process with a gleeful goddamn chuckle.

The axe makes quick work of the body. Blood pools in the snow, melting it in jagged, red-streaked patches. His dismembered limbs lie scattered around me, nothing more than gruesome props now. Grabbing his head by the hair, I drag the parts toward a clearing in front of the cabin where the snow glistens under the pale moonlight.

It’s beautiful—a perfect, untouched canvas for the masterpiece I’m about to create.

I chuckle softly, the sound bubbling up from deep inside as I begin shaping the snow, patting it down, rolling it into balls. It’s almost childish, the way I work, the thrill of what I’m doing intoxicating.

His head goes on top of the snowman, twisted and bloody, with his lifeless eyes staring blankly into the void. I press his arms into the sides of the snowman, their grotesque angles giving it a mangled, sinister appearance. Blood stains the snow around me, painting the scene in red and white like some twisted holiday tableau.

“ Killer clown, killer clown ,” I hum to myself as I work, my breath puffing in the cold air. “ Stalking through the snow... ribbons tight, silent night... nowhere left to go .”

I step back, admiring my work. The snowman stands tall, gruesome and towering, Mark’s head leering down at me from its perch atop the misshapen body. His eyes are wide open, frozen in that final moment of terror, and blood drips down the snow-packed figure like garland on a twisted Christmas tree.

It’s perfect—a morbid monument to my devotion, a message Alaska will understand soon enough. She’ll see what I’ve done for her, see that Mark was nothing but a piece of shit. He never deserved her. But me? I’m the one who’ll give her everything—my protection, my love. She’s mine now.

But as perfect as my little gift is, it’s missing something.

I rummage through the pile of wood and find a string of Christmas lights tangled in the mess. Perfect. I drape them around the snowman, carefully wrapping the lights around Mark’s severed arms and neck before plugging them in. The red and green bulbs flicker to life, casting an eerie glow over his lifeless head perched at the top.

I step back to admire my work, bloodstained hands trembling with excitement. It’s unnatural, twisted—and absolutely fucking beautiful.

The cold night air bites at my skin, but I barely fucking notice. My heart is still pounding, my body thrumming with adrenaline. My Santa suit sticks to me in places, heavy with dried blood from days of wear, and fresh sweat now mixes with it after all the effort. I brush a damp strand of hair from my face with a gloved hand, still gripping the handle of the axe. It was hard work, man—hacking up Mark’s body and packing it into the snow—but worth every goddamn second.

I wipe my brow, admiring the snowman again, feeling something I haven’t felt in a long time: satisfaction.

Funny thing is, I always hated making snowmen. My parents, though, they were obsessed. Every year, dragging me out to the stupid winter festival, forcing me to take part in those ridiculous snowman-building competitions. They’d parade me in front of all their rich friends, acting like we were the perfect fucking family. But really, they didn’t give a shit about me unless I was making them look good.

It was never about the fun or the holidays, no. It was about status, appearances. I’d be out there, freezing my ass off, building a stupid fucking snowman, while my parents flashed their fake smiles for the cameras.

Ugh, the fake praise, the forced smiles—they made me sick.

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… this is 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 have definitely won 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, the art of 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. They mean nothing. Just like Mark, they were all dead weight. Now, he is, 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.