Chapter 9

9

ALASKA

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

A pit 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 really mine , 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 how we were 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…

A strangled sob escapes me, and I scramble to my feet, my slippers falling off as I run back into the cabin. I lock the door behind me. My mind racing, terror clawing at me. I don’t know what to do, where to go. Someone did that to him. But who? Why? Where are they now? I just need to get out. I need to get away from here. But as I fumble for the door, I hear it—the soft creak of the floorboards behind me.

I freeze.

My heart leaps into my throat, and slowly, I turn around.

A man stands in the shadows of the cabin, his eyes gleaming with an unholy light, flickering like the reflections of a flame. He wears a clown mask, painted in grotesque colors that distort his features, making him look both comical and sinister. The hood of his Santa costume is pulled up, casting a shaded darkness over his mask.

The costume itself is stained with dark, drying blood, an unsettling reminder of what he’s capable of. Of what he’s done. He’s tall—if I had to guess I’d say like 6’5—with a well-defined build that hints at strength and power. The top part of his Santa jacket hangs unbuttoned, fluttering slightly with his heavy breaths, revealing a toned chest that seems almost too perfect for someone dressed like a holiday horror. He stands there, watching me with a predatory gleam in his eyes, savoring my fear.

“Hello, snowflake,” he says, his voice soft and almost tender.

I back away, my mind screaming for me to run, but my body feels frozen in place. Fear courses through my veins, locking me in place.

“You—” My voice cracks. “You did this?”

He steps closer, his gaze piercing mine from behind his mask. “I did it for you,” he says, as if it’s the most natural fucking thing in the world. “Mark was never good enough for you. He didn’t deserve you.”

This man is a goddamn psychopath. I shake my head, backing up until I hit the wall behind me. “No… no… this isn’t happening…”

His eyes gleam beneath the mask, filled with a dark and sinister delight. “Oh, but it is, my little snowflake. You’re finally free. Don’t you see? I did this for us.”

The weight of his words sinks in, and I look down at the necklace around my neck—the crystal pendant glinting in the dim light. It suddenly dawns on me who he is. This man, this shadowy figure haunting my thoughts, has been watching me all along. He’s my stalker, the one I’ve felt lurking just beyond my reach.

The one I’ve been entertaining.

Before I can react, he moves with inhuman speed, grabbing my wrist. I try to pull away, but his grip is like iron, unwavering. His eyes sparkle with a sick kind of excitement as he yanks me closer, pulling my body firm against his.

“I’m going to take care of you now,” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear. “You don’t have to be scared. You’re mine, and I’m never going to let you go.”

Panic surges through me, fueling my fight-or-flight instinct. I shove him, twisting in an attempt to break free, and somehow, I manage to escape his grip. Without a second thought, I dash for the door, my feet slipping on the hardwood floor and my slippers fall off my feet, as I quickly unlocked it and bolt outside and into the snow.

The cold from the snow is agonizing against my bare feet, but I can’t afford to stop. I sprint toward the trees, the snow crunching beneath me as I push forward, my lungs burning with every desperate breath. I can hear his footsteps pounding in the snow behind me, but I dare not look back.

“Run, snowflake! Run as fast as you can!” he calls, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Fuck, I love a good chase. It makes the catch so much fucking better!”

Tears blur my vision as I race through the forest, branches clawing at my skin, the cold seeping deep into my bones. My feet are fucking numb, and yet the icy snow burns like fire with each step, but I keep going. I have to get away.

I have to escape.

“Faster, little snowflake!” he taunts, his laughter echoing off the trees. “When I finally catch you, I’m going to fill you with Christmas cheer, stuffing you so fucking full you won’t be able to think of anything but me. You’ll be my perfect little present, overflowing with all the fucking joy you can handle. Isn’t that what every good little girl wants on Christmas Day? To be Santa Johnny’s own personal come stocking?”

His words slice through the freezing air, sending a fresh wave of panic coursing through me. No, no. I stumble slightly but regain my footing, pushing harder, feeling adrenaline surge through my veins. Then, as if he’s caught up in his own twisted rhythm, he starts to sing:

“Killer clown, killer clown,

Stalking through the snow,

Ribbons tight, silent night,

Nowhere left to go.”

I shake my head, focusing on the trees ahead, the dark shadows of the forest closing in around me. Each breath feels like my lungs are on fire, yet I can’t stop. I must keep moving. I have to escape. But beneath the terror, a flicker of something else ignites within me. He’s putting in a level of effort I’ve never experienced before—more than Mark ever did.

“Killer clown, killer clown,

On his blood-red sleigh,

No escape, his twisted shape,

You’re all his to slay.”

The rhythm of his voice mingles with the cold air, almost hypnotic. It sends a shiver down my spine that’s both thrilling and chilling.

He laughs, the sound dark and teasing. “Come on, my little snowflake. If you keep making me chase you, I’ll have you begging for me to let you come. Just imagine it—the thrill of the chase and the sweet taste of surrender. We’re going to have so much fucking fun. I can’t wait to feel your pretty little pussy quiver around my cock while I give you exactly what your craving.”

He’s playing a twisted game, and I’m the unwilling pawn. But there’s a part of me that’s intrigued by his enthusiasm, his relentless pursuit. As much as I know I should be afraid, especially after seeing what he did to Mark, I can’t help but feel a strange excitement thrumming through me.

“Blood-red bows, icy toes,

Underneath the tree,

With twisted glee, you’ll never be free,

His gift to you is he.”

With each frantic step, I push deeper into the forest, the branches scraping against my exposed skin like icy fingers. I feel my resolve waver, but I fight against it, driven by sheer terror and an unsettling thrill. Suddenly, he catches up to me coming out of nowhere, and tackling me into the snow. I scream, thrashing against him, but he pins me down effortlessly. His breath comes out in ragged puffs, yet his eyes burn behind his mask with a manic energy that terrifies me.

“You can’t run from me, Alaska,” he whispers, his voice low and dangerous. “You belong to me now.”

He leans closer, his lips brushing against my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “You’ve been such a good girl, snowflake. Playing a little game with me. Now, let me show you just how good it feels to be appreciated.” His voice is low and dark, laced with a promise that sends a thrill of excitement through me.

Before I can fully process his words, he tosses me effortlessly over his shoulder, my body going limp against him as he strides back toward the cabin. I gasp, caught off guard by his strength; he carries me like I weigh nothing at all. It’s both terrifying and exhilarating, the way he controls every movement with an effortless grace that makes my heart race.

“Put me down, you lunatic!” I shout, trying to sound defiant, though the tremor in my voice gives me away. I squirm, and beat my fists against the taught muscles of his back.

“Oh, come on, my little snowflake,” he chuckles, his breath warm against my skin. “You know you’re enjoying this.”

As he walks, I breathe in his scent—a heady mix of pine, blood, and musk that wraps around me like a thick fog, intoxicating and primal. There’s something undeniably alluring about the way he possesses me, and I can’t help but feel a rush of arousal at the thought of being so completely at his mercy.

“You’re fucking delusional! You need help, like real fucking help! Let me go! I don’t want this!” I say, attempting to maintain some semblance of control, but he only laughs, a low, rumbling sound that sends heat right to my core.

Fuck. What is wrong with me. He just killed Mark. Left him displayed in front of my cabin like some sick and twisted decoration, and yet, I can’t help but feel like I want him. I want this , despite everything. I want him to give me all the attention, time and orgasms Mark never would.

Never could.

His grip is firm, and I can’t help but imagine him throwing me around the bedroom, his muscles flexing as he takes complete control of me. Being a thicker girl, I’ve always felt self-conscious about it, but right now, it feels liberating. This stranger couldn’t care less about any of it. He wants me, and he’s willing to kill to have me. The heat builds between my thighs, a throbbing pulse in my core that both excites and terrifies me.

“Just wait until I get out of this,” I add, trying to sound fierce, but there’s a hint of anticipation creeping in, and he must sense it. “I’m going to make sure they lock your psycho ass up for the rest of your life.”

“Really? You think you can escape me?” His laugh deepens, resonating in my chest. “I can’t wait to see you try.”

His strength makes me feel safe, even as my mind races with uncertainty about what’s to come. Knowing my attempts to get free are a waste of energy, I give up. Letting him carry me along over his shoulder as he treks back toward the cabin. I should be freaking out, but I find myself intrigued, and shamefully eager to surrender to whatever dark desires he has in store for me.

As we reach the cabin, my heart pounds with a mix of fear and excitement, and I can’t shake the thrill of wondering how far he’s willing to take this. “You’ll be sorry for this,” I tease, hoping to mask my own excitement with bravado. “You’ll be begging for my forgiveness.”

“Sweetheart, I promise, once we get started, you’ll be the only one begging. Begging for more,” he replies with a dark laugh that sends a chill right down my spine.

Shit. Why do I feel like he’s right.