Choose Your Own Misery

by Mike MacDonald

  “Get away from the hens for awhile. They’re so…well, men are just better, you know?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “So, you in?”

  “Yes. I can’t wait.”

  • • •

  You’ve been driving through the woods for so long now, you’re not even certain you’re still in the state. Finally, after miles of nothing but trees, you spot a tiny wooden shack.

  “There it is,” Lars says, smiling widely.

  “There…what is?” Did you drive all this way for an outhouse?

  “The sauna!”

  “Ohhh.” That makes more sense. Plus, he’s not expecting you to do anything athletic, which is nice. You can tell just by looking at his muscled physique that Lars would beat you at any sport invented.

  “Of course, there won’t be any towels. Usually I keep some in the back of the car, but I didn’t think I’d be able to get away today.”

  “That’s all right.”

  “It’s better! Nothing like being naked in the winter, am I right?” Lars hits you on the shoulder, like you’re friends.

  “Totally.”

  * * *

  Click HERE to continue.

  Whatever you did, it’s too late now. Dwelling will only make it worse, right?

  The two of you head out to the car, Lars’s face getting darker with every step.

  About a mile from the hospital he turns to you, frowning. Fuck, here it comes.

  “I didn’t want to see you naked. I just wanted to help.”

  You actually laugh in relief.

  “What? What are you laughing at?”

  You swallow. Lars is incredibly intimidating when he’s yelling.

  “I just…I thought you’d be mad about me saying it wasn’t serious with Lindsi. Which, like I said, it’s just new. It could become…” You trail off. Probably you shouldn’t have reminded him why he should actually be angry.

  “Oh. Well, yeah, that too,” Lars mutters, frowning harder. “That’s what I meant. I just thought you were being…weird.”

  You’d protest, but he’s right. Part of you wanted Lars to want to see you. How is it that less than twenty-four hours with Lindsi’s family has fucked with your head this much?

  “Anyway, because of that, all that, I think you should do something. Something to prove you’re serious about Lindsi.” Lars looks at you fiercely, swerving the car. Luckily you haven’t seen another car in miles. Which makes you wonder…shouldn’t you be home by now?

  “Umm, okay. I mean, no offense, Lars, but I’m not ready to go ring shopping.”

  “I didn’t mean that. I meant the prov—” He stops mid-word, shaking his head. “In my family, all the men complete a sort of…ritual. A passage into manhood thing. We’ve been doing it since 1682, when we first settled here. Anyone who’s serious about marrying a VanWhittington daughter does it, too. It’s like a…test. To prove you’re committed to this family. And that you can provide if things get tough.”

  The lack of buildings is suddenly starting to seem very unnerving.

  “We call it the proving,” Lars says, his face taking on a look of near-awe at the word. “And I want you to do it. To prove you’re not just fucking around with Lindsi.”

  You might in fact be “just fucking around” with her. You’re 74 percent certain of it. But alone in this car, miles from anything, with an angry blond giant, does not seem like the optimal time to mention that.

  “Okay.”

  “Good. I have a crossbow and a Bowie knife in the trunk. The bow has a laser sight, which isn’t regulation, but you didn’t have time to prepare.”

  What the fuck?

  “What am I supposed to do with those?”

  “Kill a large animal, obviously.” Lars rolls his eyes. “And skin it, and bring it back to civilization. You can call me, though, and I’ll come pick you up when you’re finished.” His face softens. “I had three years of orienteering training before my proving; it’s only fair you get a break.”

  “Kill a…with a…”

  “Deer are easiest. They’re slow. Used to backyards.” Lars pulls over, staring at you until you feel you have no choice but to get out. He pops the trunk. You’ve barely gotten hold of the weapons when he whips the car around.

  “GOOD LUCK,” he yells out the window as he drives away.

  You need to walk toward civilization as fast as humanly possible and make sure Lindsi knows Lars has gone off the deep end.

  Though now that you think about it, Lindsi has mentioned her family’s “hunting culture” more times than you’d expect in a four-month relationship. And she has a lot of curved, holstered knives for someone in PR.

  You’re pondering your next move when you see it, about twenty yards away, emerging from a sparse thicket.

  It’s a deer. A huge one, nibbling at the leaves. It clearly hasn’t seen you. And you do have a laser sight…

  * * *

  What else can you do? Shoot it. Go HERE.

  Uhh, anything else. Don’t shoot it. Go HERE.

  You go home, empty-handed and utterly ashamed.

  You’ve barely finished opening presents the next morning when Lauren lays into you.

  “You really are a piece of work, aren’t you?”

  “There was this sick-looking girl. I couldn’t take back my gift with a clean conscience.”

  She shakes her head in utter disbelief.

  “Let me get this straight. You were trying to steal from Toys for Tots?”

  You roll your eyes.

  “Yeah. That’s it. You got me,” you say sarcastically.

  “Don’t talk to me like that,” she spits.

  “Look, I donated the wrong present. I was swapping it out for the present I intended for Harrison, but this little girl and her mom got the wrong impression of what was going on.”

  Harrison walks into the living room. Your sister immediately turns off her bitchy face and beams at him.

  “Why don’t you go into the kitchen and help Daddy cook the käsespätzle?”

  “Okay.” Harrison sprints down the hall, making weird ambulance noises to himself.

  Lauren looks back at you, obviously unimpressed.

  “I can’t believe that you would use the illness of a child as an excuse for your own laziness and selfishness. Wait until Mom hears about this!”

  You start to zone out, allowing her to berate you.

  In truth, some part of you knows you deserve it.

  The End.

  You stay the course and make the swap. You’ve already endured the worst of it, after all.

  That night, you lie awake in bed. The Super Soaker seems kind of paltry now. What kid would even want one in winter?

  The next morning the boys rabidly tear through all their gifts.

  “Those aren’t even edited!” Lauren sputters as soon as she sees the Harry Potter novels.

  Edited? Oh god. She’s even worse than you thought.

  The boys immediately forget the books, though—they have more presents. Dozens more. Each.

  You can’t help but imagine how overjoyed an underprivileged kid would be with those books right about now.

  The toys start piling up in the corner.

  “Give me that!” Harrison screams at his brother.

  “No. It’s mine,” shoots back Otto, trying his best to defend his toy stockpile.

  They’re feral. Will they even read the books?

  You feel worse than you did before.

  Lauren hands you a cup of coffee and sits down beside you.

  “Thanks a lot,” she hisses. “Now I’m going to have to figure out how to print out substitute pages that look enough like the Harry Potter originals to fool the boys.”

  God, you hate this fucking holiday.

  The End.

  You rewrap the mime costume, shittily, and scribble on the tag: From Your Cool Uncle.

  • • •

  Christmas morning.

  Harrison is clearly disappointe
d in the mime costume, maybe because he’s still too young to have been totally ruined by his parents. And Lauren’s fuming, even more than usual.

  “Your cologne is burning the inside of my nostrils,” she snips, glaring at you accusingly.

  You’re not wearing cologne, but you don’t want to argue. You should have known she’d punish you for lifting literally the worst present ever and claiming it as your own.

  You hate your sister.

  You hate this holiday.

  This is exactly why you were supposed to be in a tropical country, basking in the sun, frolicking on a beach, drinking mojitos.

  This was a huge mistake. You’ll definitely never do it again.

  “What a perfekt Christmas it’s been,” says Gregory. “We’ll have to do it again next year at your place.”

  Both you and Lauren force smiles.

  “Great,” you say, gritting your teeth.

  “Can’t wait,” Lauren mutters.

  The End.

  You try another present.

  Oh, come on, a helmet? That’s even worse.

  You’re going to have to rewrap these ones anyway. You might as well find something that doesn’t suck.

  You spend the next thirty minutes tearing through gifts in search of that elusive unicorn.

  “What are you doing?”

  You jump. You didn’t hear Harrison come into the room.

  “Hey, buddy…”

  “Why are you opening all the presents from Santa?” he asks.

  “No, no, you have it all wrong. These aren’t from Santa. They’re from me and your parents.”

  Harrison bends down and looks at the tag.

  “Look, it says, ‘From Santa,’” he says, tapping the label. “This one’s from Santa, too.”

  “Yes, well some of them are, but others…aren’t…”

  Harrison takes a step back. You can almost see the lightbulb going on over his head.

  “I knew it! I knew Santa wasn’t real.”

  “What? NO! Santa is real. Of course he’s real!”

  Harrison starts blubbering. “I knew it.”

  Your sister comes running in.

  “You lied to me, Mom!” Harrison cries. “There’s no such thing as Santa.”

  “What did you say to him? And why are all of these presents unwrapped?” Lauren looks absolutely livid.

  “I can explain…”

  “It’s all lies,” Harrison wails. “All lies…” He trudges up the stairs, sobbing loudly. As he gets to the top, he turns and faces your sister. “I should have known no one would pay you for old teeth! AND WHAT ABOUT EASTER?”

  The End.

  You have to do something. Didn’t one of the guys at the bar mention a Santa serial killer? These two could totally be that. Just thinking of little Otto and Harrison being tied up, gagged, and forced to watch their parents’ brutal murders is enough to make you leap off the roof with reckless abandon.

  “YAAAAAAAA!”

  You throw yourself straight at the intruders. Somehow, you land right on top of one—it’s a Christmas miracle!

  You feel your bones grinding against stabby shoulder blades. Your chin drives into the person’s head, causing your teeth to clatter into each other. You may have bitten off part of your tongue—you can’t tell, your brain is shaking too hard.

  Both you and the intruder scream out in pain.

  “FUUUUUUCKKKKKK!”

  “OOOOOWWWWWWWW!”

  You collapse. You can’t feel your legs. Could you have broken your spine? Blood pours out of your nose and over the sidewalk. You stare straight ahead, unable to move your head.

  Is that a cranberry nut loaf on the doormat? With a big Christmas tree-shaped note attached?

  You black out from the pain.

  * * *

  Click HERE to continue.

  You tiptoe across the roof toward the ladder. You don’t remember the ice until you’re just inches away.

  Phew. Good thing you spotted that. You could have broken your neck on that.

  You go down the ladder and sneak around the side of the house to the hedges near the front walkway.

  What’s going on? Are the burglars retreating? Have they even stolen anything yet? Maybe they’re looking for another way to get in. Whatever—point is, you have to stop them.

  You burst out of the bushes, fueled by pure adrenaline.

  “AHHHHHHH!” you scream as you charge.

  They jump back. One slips on a nearby patch of ice, falling to the ground hard.

  “OWWWW, my HIP!” the fallen person cries.

  Wow, that voice sounded really…old.

  You squint, trying to make out faces in the dark. The one who fell is a woman who must be at least seventy-five. Her much-older husband is standing over her, shaking in terror.

  You look back at the porch where they were standing. You see what looks like a homemade cranberry nut loaf sitting on the mat.

  Fuuuuuuuck…

  * * *

  If you want to run off and hope they haven’t gotten a good look at you, go HERE.

  If you want to offer assistance, go HERE.

  Both Lauren and Gregory come to pick you up.

  “What have you done?!” she asks, her face contorting with anger.

  “Go easy on him. You know, if this were Austria, where the incarceration system—”

  “Not now, Gregory. Just get in the car and let’s go home.”

  • • •

  It’s Christmas morning and the smell of frying bacon fills the air. Lauren can’t be that mad about the late-night-jail thing if she’s making bacon, can she?

  You head downstairs and sidle up behind her.

  “Finally, you’ve repaid the debt from that spring break in Tijuana,” you say. “I’ll cross it off your tab. We’re now equal on jailhouse pickups.”

  Lauren smirks. “You’re still not allowed to tell Gregory about that.”

  “Deal,” you say, “but now you owe me one again.”

  She jabs you with the bacon fork. It hurts, but you let it slide. Who knew she was still capable of being cool? About anything?

  “Can I open a present before we eat?” Harrison whines. “Pleeeeeeeeeease?”

  “Okay,” Lauren says. “One each.”

  Harrison runs for your gift and tears it open.

  “Yes! Harry POTTER!!!”

  Lauren gives you the stink-eye. Seriously? You just made her son’s Christmas.

  “Trust my degenerate brother to give him uncensored versions.”

  “Uncensored? What is there to—”

  “What’s a degenerate?” Harrison asks.

  “Nothing,” Lauren spits, stabbing the bacon furiously.

  “Is that what it means when he calls late at night from the sheriff? That he’s a degenerate?”

  “Yes.”

  The End.

  “How can I make you look like a hero?”

  “Easy. Just jump in your car and follow me.”

  “Shouldn’t I not drive?”

  “Naw, you barely blew over,” the officer says. “You’re fine.”

  You set off down a dark and windy road. You’re feeling uneasy; that sex act scenario still seems pretty likely.

  The officer finally pulls over and steps out into the foggy night.

  You’re hesitant to follow, but you don’t really see another choice.

  “See that reindeer pen?” He points at an enclosure about twenty yards away.

  Oh god, he’s going to suggest something WAY worse than what you’ve been imagining.

  “Get inside,” he says.

  “Listen, I know I said I’d help, but I support PETA and—”

  “Wait three minutes, then call the police and say you’re trapped. I’ll be nearby so I’m sure to get the call,” he says, stamping his feet for warmth. “I’ll pull you out, be a Christmas hero, and the guys at the station will have to stop picking on me for accidentally arresting that dead guy.”

  “How do you
arrest a dead guy?”

  “Shut your mouth and get in the pen. Unless you want a DUI?”

  You shake your head meekly.

  The police officer nods once and heads off into the night.

  * * *

  If you want to get into the pen, go HERE.

  If you want to just call as soon as he’s out of sight and then drive off, go HERE.

  You wake up feeling a thousand times better. Better than you have in weeks! It’s like the axe blow fixed your ongoing back pain. Huh!

  You stumble downstairs. Mom, Dad, and Lindsi are at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and watching the local news.

  “Here, sit.” Mom pulls out a chair. “Let me get you some coffee. Are you okay? Lars said you needed rest.”

  “No, I’m okay.” You try to sound mildly pained. “I’d rather tough it out. I’m not one for wasting away in bed.”

  Mom nods approvingly. Nailed it.

  A blonde reporter standing in front of a hospital flashes onscreen. Wait, isn’t that where you—

  “Dozens of sick children are suffering a lonely Christmas after a local Santa was ejected from the hospital yesterday afternoon. Witnesses say this do-gooder was falsely accused.”

  Oh god, don’t let it be…

  They show a picture of your Santa.

  “Terrible,” Mom mutters.

  “A patient alleged he was threatened, and the volunteer was promptly removed to the county jail. Unfortunately, this Good Samaritan didn’t have enough money for bail, since he’d spent it all on gifts for sick children.”

  “That poor man,” Lindsi whispers.

  “The patient couldn’t be reached for comment, but hospital workers agree the Santa must have been falsely accused.”

  God, let this be over. There has to be a cat dressed like a reindeer somewhere, right?