The nightmare under the.., p.1
The Nightmare Under the Mistletoe, page 1
THE NIGHTMARE UNDER THE MISTLETOE
A CHRISTMAS THRILLER NOVELETTE
NADIJA MUJAGIC
Copyright © 2023 by Nadija Mujagic
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance of actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Thank you!
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About the Author
Also by Nadija Mujagic
CHAPTER 1
“I really hope you can make it,” Seth says, a childlike excitement in his eyes as he places an envelope on my desk. He smiles at me, his perfect white teeth glowing.
I look at the envelope more closely and see my name scribbled on it: EMMA.
My eyes dart between his tall stature standing above me and the envelope. I’m pretty sure this is an invitation to his Christmas party. All of us at the company got the same invitation last year, but I couldn’t make it, because I got violently ill with a stomach bug.
I smile. “Thanks, Seth. I will do my best.”
I sound non-committal. But the truth is, I will most likely show up. My long-term boyfriend and fiancée, Fred, and I have just broken up, and I don’t have any family left to visit for Christmas. My best friend, Melissa, invited me to join her family across the country, but I didn’t want to intrude on her family affairs.
So, what else am I going to do during the holidays? I don’t want to sit at home and pity myself, although that’s exactly what I would do. I’d ruminate over Fred’s words. That he’d “found someone else and our relationship bored him to death.” He’d said it so nonchalantly, his words tore me apart.
But I don’t want to appear too eager in front of Seth. After all, he is my subordinate, and I have been his boss for several years now, so I feel like I need to maintain some authority and distance between us. Stay professional and all that.
He puts a peculiar smile on his face. “I hope you do, Emma.”
As soon as he walks away, I grab the envelope and peek at the content inside.
YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO MY CHRISTMAS CELEBRATION
WHERE: MY HOUSE
WHEN: Saturday, December 17 RSVP BY DECEMBER 2
I hold the envelope against my chest and smile. After the last year’s party at Margaret’s, everyone at the company raved about it. I was jealous about missing out. And I’ve always thought that smaller, intimate parties are the best: the fewer people, the more fun. Our marketing company, Pulse Promotions, doesn’t have too many people. Twenty at the most.
When we hired Seth back then, I remember how hard it was to find a person with good financial skills. We’d had multiple candidates apply for the job, but several would eventually ghost us, and the rest had a salary expectation we couldn’t meet. Seth was our last resort. We rushed through the hiring process, desperate to have someone on board. We’d skipped several steps, including the background check. But no one suspected Seth had a questionable history. He was soft-spoken, and his appearance showed someone with a mild nature. As time went on, he has kept to himself, confirming our belief. At lunchtime, we’d find him at our cafeteria all by himself, reading a book or doing crossword puzzles. He is so studious, almost nerdy, that none of us has any ill feelings toward Seth. Not to mention that he is fantastic at what he does: crunching numbers and staying on the budget to the last penny.
As it turns out, it’s surprised most of us he sent the party invitation this year. But everyone’s excited, because it’s a perfect time for our colleagues to get together outside the workplace and get to know each better.
Now that I’m single, I look forward to getting wild and loose.
CHAPTER 2
December 17
When I arrive at Seth’s house, it was not what I expected to see. I stop in my tracks and whisper to myself, “This can’t be it.”
I pull out my phone and find the note I’d jotted down earlier: 1245 Elm Street. I check out the sign in front of the house one more time and confirm this is it.
Seth’s house.
It sits on the periphery of Manhattan. The size of the house is impressive, with its Greek revival columns extending to the roof. It’s in immaculate condition, like it came from a home and garden magazine. I can see the snow piles covering beautifully shaped arborvitaes and leafless azaleas. I can only picture the house in the spring, when everything blooms and gives color to the curb appeal.
But suspicion gnaws at me. Unless Seth inherited enormous sums of money from his family, I do not see how he can afford to live in and maintain the house this large. I know what he makes, and I’m pretty sure he can’t afford it with his salary alone. Maybe he rents a room in the house or lives with a family. But I don’t want to think too much. I’m here to have a good time and forget Fred for a few hours.
Curiosity reels me in, so I continue to march toward the front door.
I ring the doorbell next to the oversized, heavy looking door painted in red. Given the fancy vibes, I imagine a butler coming out to greet and usher me into the house, but the door’s ajar, and Seth’s head peeks through the opening.
“Hey,” he says. “You made it.”
He opens the door completely and I can see his full body standing in the foyer, which is as impressive as the house’s exterior. My eyes dart around, looking at the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, but Seth’s appearance makes me do a double take. He’s wearing a blazer and a bow tie, and his hair is carefully combed to one side; it’s a Seth I’ve not seen before, and he looks stunningly handsome.
“Hey.” I extend my arm, holding a bottle of wine. “I made it.”
He takes it and stares at the label. We stand there awkwardly for a few seconds until I clear my throat. I’m eager to get in, not least because I’m wearing a skimpy dress and pumps, and I’m cold.
“I’m such an idiot.” He points inside. “Please come in.”
He clears the way so I can come through the door. “Wow,” I say. “Your place is quite impressive.”
The foyer is the size of my apartment, and the walls are decorated with carefully curated artwork that takes my breath away. I don’t know where to look at first, because each angle, each object in the house, is more beautiful than the previous one.
“Thanks. Follow me,” he says.
We make our way through the family room, then the kitchen. As we walk, the music in the distance becomes louder and clearer. I admire the architecture, the furniture, the colors this house embodies, and I wonder if I’m in a fairy tale.
Seth’s steps are quick, and he doesn’t wait for me to walk by his side, so I power-walk to catch up to him. The last thing I want to do is get lost in the place’s enormity.
When we arrive, several of our colleagues are already here, talking to each other, sipping their drinks, and laughing. As I survey the room, I notice all of us who have made it tonight are single—no one to bring to the party or check in with later tonight. And yet, I’m still hopeful love will find us in some shape or form someday.
The Christmas music is playing faintly in the background, drowned out by their voices. Pockets of people are scattered around the room. I count everyone quickly, and seven people are here already.
I’m one of those people who always arrives later than the start time for no other reason than the principle. It’s an old habit of mine I can’t beat.
As if Seth reads my mind, he turns to me and says, “This is it. Everyone’s here.”
I nod and smile at him. Surprised by his handsome appearance and now his acumen for reading my mind, a dust of guilt gnaws at me. I have underestimated Seth all along.
But to my defense, for a few years now, I’m used to seeing him with his shirt untucked, his hair disheveled, or his shoelaces untied as he roams around the office space.
On several occasions, my boss, Rob, has asked me—never Seth—to present the budget projections for the next year, even though Seth is the one who did all the work.
Rob has told me once he didn’t want to look at that bum while standing in front of everybody and presenting. Cruel, yes, but I see his point.
I’m relieved to find him appearing different tonight. It’s even easier to talk to him while he looks more presentable.
In the closest pocket of people, Margaret breaks the conversation and exclaims when she sees me, “Hey everyone, look who’s here!”
Margaret is our PR manager. She has been with the company for about five years, the longest of all of us. Known for her obnoxious voice, people roll her eyes secretly in our company meetings when she speaks up. But Margaret is smart at her job. She’s standing next to John and Peter, our two salespeople, who turn around to say hi and wave.
An enormous Christmas tree, abou
It’s always like this: people form the same small cliques wherever they go.
I approach the round table with the food and notice something unusual. The food strikes me as quite under‐ whelming. Upon closer examination, I realize that all the finger food comes from Trader Joe’s. And there’s not a lot. On one plate are spanakopita triangles, and on the other are mac and cheese bites and mini pizzas. They look cold and unappetizing. It then occurs to me the kitchen looked spotless and was aroma-free as we walked by, which makes me wonder if there is any more food coming to the table.
It’s an odd thing to think about it, but it strikes me as strange the food does not match the house’s luxuries.
But I brush off my thoughts. After all, I’m not here to eat. The party serves as a reprieve to my boring and miserable life as of late. It will be nice to forget Fred and think about something besides our breakup for a while.
As I stand near the table, a voice startles me. “What would you like to drink?”
Seth is standing next to me, his expression glum and dark. His arms are hanging like pendulums, swaying lazily at his sides. His face is completely devoid of color, and he looks as white as a ghost.
“I’ll have a glass of wine,” I say. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be right back,” he says. His voice sounds coarse and quiet, borderline fused with boredom, as if he’s not having a good time. He cracks a small smile before he turns around. As he hurries toward the kitchen, I can’t help but feel something at this party is amiss.
CHAPTER 3
“Hey everyone,” Margaret yells out. Her double chin is making small waves as she speaks and holds her enormous belly. “Let’s do a toast!”
We all gather in a circle so we can all see each other. Everyone is holding an alcoholic drink and carrying a smile.
Except Seth.
He’s standing just outside the circle, his hands hanging by his sides. His face is ghost-like, pale, covered in a serious expression. I wonder what’s going on in his mind.
“We’re here to celebrate this special time of year, Christmas,” Margaret continues. “First, we’d like to thank our host for inviting us to his beautiful home.” Margaret’s eyes dart all over the room, as if admiring its interior all over again.
“Yes, thank you, Seth,” John says.
“We rarely take the time to pause at work and walk up to one’s desk and say, ‘Hey, how’s your day going?’ It’s unfortunate we don’t know each other as well as we should. That’s why celebrations like this one are so special.”
Ava claps to Margaret’s words, but no one else follows suit, so she puts her hands and face down in embarrassment. But the curiosity gets the better of me, and I’m eager to hear the rest of Margaret’s toast.
“It’s occasions like this one where we feel grateful for having such thoughtful and kind colleagues. It’s the spirit of Christmas that makes me appreciate every one of you.” Her gaze sweeps the room, with a slight pause on each of us. Her eyes glaze over Seth and she looks at the person next to him.
“The new year is coming, and I have resolved to change the way we do business at work. I am committed to making the office more fun and approachable so that, when you wake up in the morning, you can’t wait to arrive at work and talk to your colleagues.”
Peter shoves his glass high in the air and yelps, “Yeah, baby!” A small chuckle comes and goes.
“We spend a considerable amount of time at work, so we might as well make it loving and comfortable.” Margaret chokes up on her last words.
I’m certain she is about to cry, but she holds up and casts a wide smile instead.
“And now, cheers, my friends! Merry Christmas.” “Cheers!” everyone says in unison and sips from their glasses.
“How about we go around the circle and tell everyone our New Year’s resolutions?” Peter says. Even in our work meetings, Peter comes up with outside-the-box ideas that get rejected most of the time.
“What a great idea,” Margaret says. “Let’s start with you, Peter.”
“Well, in my personal sphere, I’m hoping to find a girl of my dreams at last …”
“Ooooh,” someone chimes in.
“… but at work, I’m hoping to increase sales by a hundred percent.”
“That sounds great. We wish you the best of luck in pursuit of both.” Margaret beams.
She turns to me and says, “You’ve been quiet all evening. Do you want to share your New Year’s resolution?”
“Ummm, okay.” Until this evening, I haven’t thought of any resolutions. The relationship break-up came unexpectedly and punched me in the face like a boxing glove.
It has consumed my thoughts and feelings, as if nothing else in the world exists besides Fred and my past with him. I appreciate this new distraction. A New Year’s resolution or two will be good for me. “Well, I’d really like to run and train for a half marathon.”
When you lose a man you once loved, you want to get that energy out through a vigorous workout.
And maybe meet someone while doing it.
“Wow,” Ava says. “That sounds great. If you need a running buddy, let me know.” Apparently, she’s an avid runner.
I nod in her direction and smile. “Yes, that sounds good, Ava. I could use a running partner.” But I’m lying. I would never find a man next to Ava, who is younger and prettier than me.
“Kathleen, dear.” Margaret turns to our receptionist. Kathleen does a great job, but she is extremely shy and never speaks up in our work meetings. “Do you want to tell us your resolution?”
She puts her head down, and her face reddens. She’s holding her right hand in her left and clenching at it as if her life depends on it.
“I … I haven’t really thought about it,” she declares.
“Okay, no worries.” Margaret says. “Just don’t surprise us when you quit.”
The room fills with an uproar of laughter. Kathleen smiles and jiggles her head. “No, I won’t.”
Margaret is looking around to see who hasn’t spoken and keeps avoiding Seth, intentionally or not. Seth’s eyes bore into me, and I avoid his gaze by glancing around the room.
Michael, standing next to Seth, turns to him and nudges his arm. “Hey, Seth. How about you, buddy? What’s your resolution?” Michael is slurring his words, and it’s obvious he’s intoxicated.
Seth’s eyes set on the part of the arm Michael hit, and then his menacing look reaches Michael’s face.
My eyes widen. I’m certain Seth will hit him after that gesture. But he doesn’t. Everyone goes quiet, waiting for Seth to say something. His gaze rests back on me as if I’m the only person in the room.
John clears his throat in the anticipation of Seth’s delivery. Kathleen sways her body like a tree in the wind. Ava stands in place, holding her wineglass in both hands, looking at Seth and smiling innocently.
John can’t help but say, “And? Aren’t you gonna tell us?”
But Seth’s eyes don’t move. They’re still boring into me, and I’m growing more uncomfortable by the second.
He opens his mouth and points his index finger at me. “Her. I want her job.” He sounds robotic and serious.
We all look at him, our eyes widened in surprise. It’s Margaret who breaks the silence by laughing so loudly that it’s difficult not to join in.
Seth has got to be joking, right?
Everyone is laughing except for him. He’s standing in the same place and staring at me with his menacing and longing eyes.
