Viscera spills out in front of you, steaming in the snow.
You immediately vomit all over it.
* * *
This is too fucking much, man, you just have to get out of here. Go HERE.
No, fuck that. You’re in way too deep to give up now. FINISH IT. Go HERE.
You raise the crossbow, staring at the deer. It’s so beautiful. So majestic. So…alive.
No, no way. You absolutely cannot shoot this stunning creature. If that means Lindsi’s family never accepts you, fuck ’em. That shit’s barbaric.
You head to the road, walking back in the direction you came from. After about forty-five minutes, a car pulls up. Normally, you wouldn’t hitchhike—only crazies are willing to offer a stranger a ride—but you’re in the middle of nowhere and your phone is dead from searching for a signal. There’s no other option. Besides slowly freezing to death, that is.
The driver drops you at a gas station.
“Can I use your phone?” you ask the teenaged boy behind the counter.
“Yeah, sure, whatever you want,” he says, leaning away dramatically. “Here.” He pushes it across the counter and ducks behind a display of cigarettes. Only when you go to reach for it do you realize you’re still holding a crossbow in one hand and a Bowie knife in the other. Right.
You dial Lindsi’s cell, ridiculously proud of yourself for having memorized it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Lindsi? It’s me. I’m at a gas station.”
“So you have the deer? Already? That was so fast.” She sounds excited.
“No, I don’t. I saw one, but…I mean, I couldn’t do it, you know?”
“You couldn’t do it.” Her voice sounds flat.
“Yeah, it looked so beautiful, outlined against the snow. I couldn’t imagine killing it.” The clerk is peeking out at you, but squeaks and ducks away when you make eye contact.
“Oh.”
“Is something wrong?” Maybe Lars is right next to her, all menacing and tall. It must be hard for Lindsi, with such a strange, aggressively gender-essentialist family. It actually explains a lot. Gives you a lot more perspective on her. And on Lars.
“Honestly?”
“Yes, please be honest. You can always be honest with me.” Maybe you should offer to set her up with a counselor. Think what that kind of upbringing must do to somebody.
“I hadn’t planned to ask you to do a proving for at least another year, and I think Lars should have set expectations better, with more advance warning.”
That sounds very…carefully worded.
“But knowing that you wouldn’t even try is just…”
Appealing? Sexy?
“…disappointing.”
“WHAT?”
“Frankly, it’s hard to be attracted to someone who has proven he’s at best a beta male. Maybe even, like, a zeta.”
“Seriously? You would find me more attractive if I crossbowed a—”
“I don’t think we should see each other anymore. In this family only people who can hunt get to eat.”
“Lindsi, can we at least talk about—”
“I’ll leave your car at the rest stop outside of town with the keys in the ignition.” She sniffs derisively. “Hopefully you get there before someone more…aggressive finds it.”
Click.
The End.
You wake up in a hospital bed attached to all sorts of tubes and wires.
There’s a cast on your wrist, and another on your ankle, but otherwise you seem to have gotten off pretty lightly. Nothing else seems broken. Still, you can’t seem to move your other hand….
…fuck, because it’s handcuffed to the hospital bed!
You look around frantically. The motion makes your entire middle shriek with pain. Jesus, you really need to start seeing a chiropractor. Or at least a masseuse.
Gingerly, you turn your head to the side. There’s another person in the room. Poor thing, she’s got casts on almost every part of her. She must be in pretty rough—
Wait, that’s Mrs. Cranberry Nut Loaf!
Jesus, is she gonna die because of you? Did you murder an old lady on Christmas?
Your sister walks in carrying a massive bouquet. She glances at you, lip curling in disgust, then leaves the flowers on Mrs. CNL’s bedside table and kisses her lightly on the forehead.
She turns and walks out of the room, refusing to even look at you.
The End.
You jump over the bushes and run off into the night.
It’s cold outside, but you’re too scared to go anywhere close to the house, in case that lovely old couple spots you.
Man, it sure would’ve been nice if you’d had the sense to put on a coat. You need shelter soon or else you could be in serious trouble.
You see a shed in a neighbor’s back yard. You walk up to it. Luckily, it’s unlocked.
You crawl inside.
You’re still desperately cold, but at least the wind isn’t ripping through your bones anymore. Before you even have a minute to consider the absurdity of your situation, you fall asleep.
* * *
Click HERE to continue.
You rush toward the old woman.
“Ma’am, please, let me help.”
She looks absolutely terrified. You turn to her husband, hoping to explain yourself.
“I’m so sorry, I thought you two were—”
“ATTACKER!” she screams at the top of her lungs. “ATTACKER!”
She sprays an entire can of Mace straight at your eyes.
The lights inside the house go on.
The last thing you see before you totally lose your vision is Lauren, cupping her hands against the window, staring.
• • •
It’s Christmas morning. Lauren’s still on the phone with the elderly neighbors. It’s been at least an hour now.
“No, of course he won’t bring charges; you had every right to protect yourself.”
Your eyes are still a mask of puffy red pain, and you can’t breathe through your nose.
You take a cautious nibble of the cranberry nut bread Lauren grudgingly set in front of you earlier.
Are you gonna—yup, you’re vomiting. Again.
“BLAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
It splatters all over the island.
You still can’t see, but your nephews’ horrified shrieking and your sister’s yell of rage tell you you’ll be mopping it up yourself.
The End.
9-1-1.
You hit send, then hoist yourself onto the fence.
“Help me!” you scream into your phone. “I’m trapped in a reindeer pen!”
You hang up and look down.
It’s a decent drop, and from what you can tell, there are no real places to grip on the inside. Good thing the cop’s already on the way; you don’t know how you’d get out otherwise.
You jump down, falling forward gracelessly into the muck of the pen. You stand and try to slap away the mud that’s caked on your pants.
Your phone starts to make a whistling sound, which means someone’s texting you. One of the reindeers perks up and starts toward you.
The phone whistles again. Clearly whoever it is has a whole story to tell.
The reindeer is closer now, circling you and sniffing at your clothes. Suddenly it rears onto its hind legs, exposing a massive, erect penis.
Oh, shit.
The reindeer jerks toward you, like a circus dog doing a terrifying, hoofed trick. It’s clearly trying to mount you. You jump to one side, tumbling to the ground and just barely avoiding a hoof as the massive animal settles back to earth.
While the reindeer is regrouping, you grab a rock from the muck at your feet.
The reindeer comes closer. You try to back away, but the fence is hemming you in. You’re trapped between the wall and a ragingly horny reindeer.
It rears up again.
You see a bright flash of light in the distance.
“We’re here live on th
e scene,” someone says.
“Stay back, ma’am, this could be dangerous.” It’s the cop’s voice. Apparently he decided to go full COPS on this “rescue.” How’d he get a news team here so—
No time to think, the deer is coming.
It leans into you, hooves smashed up against the wall, dick long enough to bang your leg. Frantic, you swing out with the rock, hoping to disorient it enough to be able to run to safety.
You connect with its head. No, scratch that, you’ve hit the reindeer squarely in the eye.
The eyeball explodes. Blood and gore bursts out everywhere.
“What the fuck are you doing?” screams the cop.
The reindeer falls to the ground, spasming.
A reporter leans over the pen with a camera. Behind her, you see the cop staring at you like you’ve just fucked his sister. In front of him. Clearly this is not the heroic moment he was hoping for. You stare into the camera, looking crazed and bloody.
“Merry Christmas?”
The End.
You wake up Christmas morning.
It’s lucky you were able to sneak into bed last night without waking anyone. And get away from the reindeer pen without the cop catching you again. You’re totally winning Christmas.
You head downstairs. Lauren’s making breakfast. You flip on the local news.
“And now for a ‘News of the Weird’ story with a Christmas twist!” the anchor says cheerily. “This call came in last night, and the police station let us in on the action. But what happened next no one could predict!”
It cuts to the cop huddling outside the reindeer pen. He’s whispering to the camera.
“This is a very dangerous situation. It seems our victim may have already been attacked; he won’t respond to my voice.”
Wow, looks like he really went full COPS on this one.
He tiptoes over to the pen, hoisting himself over the slats and smiling for the camera.
“Stay back. Don’t want you to get into trou—AHHHHHHHH!!!”
A reindeer has jumped onto the cop’s back. It’s thrashing wildly.
“Help me! Help! It’s trying to rape me!” he screams.
The reindeer starts humping harder.
The scene cuts back to the television studio. Both news anchors are doubled over laughing.
“Don’t worry, the officer was uninjured. And the deer, as we can all see, had a great time.”
You hear a loud knock on the front door.
“I’ll get it.”
You open the door. It’s multiple cops.
“We’re here about an outstanding DUI charge, as well as charges of assaulting an officer and fleeing the scene of a crime.”
You gulp. How can you get out of this?
“Are you sure that was me? I hear there’s a dead guy running around who looks just like me. Fooling officers all over town, apparently.”
The officers laugh appreciatively. Could this work?
“Good one. But we’re definitely still arresting you.”
The End.
The next morning everything is going smoothly. Mom is cordial, not even wincing when she offers coffee. Jimmy and the younger kids are opening presents excitedly. It’s Norman Rockwell around here.
Except when you look at Lindsi. She’s been glaring since the moment you woke up.
Fuck Lars. Why would he tell her that?
“Lindsi,” you pull her aside as everyone troops in for breakfast. “I want to apologize. I can guess what Lars told you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes, and while I’m sure it was hard for you to hear, you have to know there’s no truth to it.”
“You’re calling my brother a liar.”
“No, not a liar, just…I think he’s confused.”
“I don’t. He’s met all my other boyfriends and he’s never said something like this.”
“Well, he probably never came on to them.”
“Came…what?” Lindsi’s frown deepens.
“I’m sure he’s embarrassed, so he probably went a little overboard, but I promise, I had no idea that gas station—”
“Back up. You said…”
“Came on to me. Right. I think he’s probably embarrassed about his sexuality. He’s obviously not out.”
“What are you talking about?” Lindsi looks confused. And pissed.
“Lars? I assume he told you I was cruising, but…”
“He didn’t say that.”
“What did he say?”
“That you’re kind of an asshole.”
“Oh.” That was unexpected.
“Jesus, what are you, homophobic or something? You see everyone as gay and that bothers you, or—”
“No, Lindsi, I swear, in the car, Lars—”
“I don’t want to hear it. Lars is married.”
“But Lindsi—”
“You should go, before I make a scene. I couldn’t be with someone so…backwards.”
“Please, Lindsi, it’s a misunder—”
“Also, everyone knows that gas station is a cruising spot.”
The End.
“MOOOOOOOOOMMM! IT’S! TOO! HOOOOOOOOOOT!”
The child in front of you throws his hot cocoa—hot’s right there in the name, idiot—at the ground, spattering the legs of everyone in a six-foot radius.
Just ten more people between you and Santa. You will endure. You have to; the line behind you is too thick with snot-nosed children and obviously livid parents to brave.
Finally, after what feels like hours, you reach the front.
Lindsi walks up and plops herself on Santa’s lap, crossing her legs exaggeratedly. You look away. It’s fine; it’s just a show. If she had a Santa fetish you’d know by now.
“Santa, there’s some things I want,” she purrs.
“Yeah? Have you been nice?”
“I’ve been naughty.”
“I should’ve known. Va-va-va-VanWhittington always was a bad girl.”
Lindsi frowns, then tugs the beard. “Oh my god, STEVE?”
He laughs, pulling her closer on his lap. You bite your lower lip.
Lindsi turns to you. “You won’t believe this. It’s my ex-boyfriend, Steve.”
“From…high school?” You try to force an isn’t-that-nice smile. It feels like lockjaw.
“Yeah, and college some. Really, off and on for ages.”
You see his hand creeping around Lindsi’s hip, stroking down her thigh.
“Steve, stop it!” She slaps him playfully. “This is my boyfriend.”
“Hey, bro,” the Santa says, putting his hand back.
Lindsi’s cheeks look extra pink, her eyes too sparkly.
“Steve was big man on campus. Senior football star, homecoming king. And I was this little mousy freshman—”
“You were a hot freshman with friggin’ amazing tits.”
“Steeeeeve. Anyway, it was like, love at first sight.” She turns to look in his eyes. How can she be so googly about a guy in a fake beard?
You grit your teeth.
“And now he’s a mall Santa. What a small world. You ready to go, Linds?”
“Aww, don’t go.” Steve grabs her around the waist. “I have to find out what presents to get Va-va.”
* * *
If you just want to let it happen—it will end sooner that way—go HERE.
If you want to body-slam the mall Santa, go HERE.
“I know it’s fun and everything, but can we…not?” You smile ruefully. Lindsi pulls away, frowning.
“But it’s my favorite thing at Christmas.” Her voice is a perfect toddler pout. It doesn’t do anything to change your thoughts on the creepiness of grown women sitting on the laps of grown men, pretending to be children, begging for gifts.
“I know, it’s fun, but that line’s so long, and your mom’s already mad at me; I don’t want to ruin…church, too.” Do they do church? You hope so; it will get you out of this. Though you also hope not—church is the worst.
Lindsi sighs heavily.
“You’re right. Maybe next year.”
“Thanks, sweetie. It’s so nice of you to look out for me with your family.” Lindsi smiles. Literally any compliment seems to work on her.
“I have one more thing to get.” She turns to you, eyebrow raised. “But you can’t be there.” She sticks a finger in your chest playfully.
“Oooooh, do I get a hint?” You hate yourself right now. But it’s working.
“Not unless you want to be on my naughty list.”
Ugh. That’s sorta the same problem you have with the mall Santa thing, but worse, because it’s actually making you kinda horny.
“Okay, I’ll make myself scarce.”
“Meet at the Macy’s entrance in twenty minutes?”
“Sure.”
Lindsi disappears into the mall crowds.
Now what?
You look around. You now have presents for Lindsi’s family, but nothing for Lindsi herself; you guys planned to exchange gifts once you got back from vacation. Hers is sitting in your apartment: a rather lovely Scrabble set, if you do say so yourself. It wasn’t cheap, but she’ll love it. You can just imagine all those nights together, the two of you, wine, something on Netflix, and Scrabble. Perfection.
Of course, it couldn’t hurt to butter Mom up a little more. Maybe with a belated hostess gift? Keeping Lindsi happy is great and all, but if you want to make it through the next few days, she’s not the woman you really need to please.
* * *
If you want to pick up another gift for Lindsi, go HERE.
If you want to look for a hostess gift, go HERE.
You put a hand on Lindsi’s thigh, deliberately lowering your voice a few notches.
“Listen, I know we got interrupted at your house”—you choose not to mention that you then threw her under the bus with her own mother—“but seeing you get so…passionate just made me want you more.”
Choose Your Own Misery Page 22