Averages four and a half minutes to read
I dropped my keys when a whisper accompanied by a sudden cool breeze kissed the back of my neck. I turned around with a jerk on the front step of my new rental home. Its small front yard and steel fencing kept pedestrians and traffic ten feet away.
Nobody was there.
It must have been the neighbors whose homes loomed on either side. Our living spaces separated by an alley wide enough for a compact car to struggle through.
A satisfying click greeted my second attempt at the door. Inside I took off my coat and picked up the mail. There was one official-looking letter from my new parole officer. I’d open that after a drink or two. There was something from the condo association, a Christmas card. Two silver bells taped to the front of it made a festive jingling sound when I dropped them on my coffee table. A simple folded piece of paper rounded out the correspondence. It announced that carolers would be making the rounds this evening. Residents were welcome to join in the merry festivities if they liked.
I did not like.
It was only my second day out on parole, and all I wanted was the peace and quiet of my new home. No doubt that, in time, someone would find out who I was and where I lived. Some ignorant asshole out to make a point. Or for vigilante justice for the supposed ‘victims.’ It wasn’t my fault the state couldn’t hold me anymore. And I can’t bring back the dead. Wouldn’t if I could.
I microwaved a frozen turkey dinner and brought it and two cans of light beer to the living room. I flopped down on a sofa that almost had enough springs to hold me upright while watching television. I clicked on the remote, and the large screen sizzled to life. Mariah Carey romped through the snow. She sang, ‘All I want for Christmas is you.’ I cracked open a brew and drained half before tiring of the stupid song. I changed channels. I mean, I tried to. Each channel played the same thing. Her face, her song, on each station. Did she die or something? I clicked through the channels slower. I pressed the buttons of the remote with increasing and unnecessary force.
Click ‘All I’
Click ‘Want for’
Click ‘Christmas’
Click ‘Is–’
I dropped the remote and spilled my beer on the rug. The growing stain spelled out ‘You!’ in the cheap shag. I staggered to my feet in a daze, feeling drugged.
Outside I heard the sound of carolers approaching–singing the same awful song.
I shut my eyes and twisted handfuls of my thinning grey hair.
Icy fingertips laced around my throat, cutting off my wind. A familiar voice spoke.
“All I want.”
Twisty indeed!