do you think?"
Alan shrugged. "How should I know? You're an elementary school teacher. Maybe this is the kind of excitement you've been searching for all your life. Maybe this is feeding your incessant craving for adventure."
"I don't need any adventure."
"Oh, now, everybody needs adventure. It's human nature." He bobbed his knees up and down. "Don't you want to know what I got you?"
She reached for the present, but Alan slapped her hand away. "That was a question, not an invitation. First I want to know how you think the game is going. Any helpful suggestions? Anything you think we could be doing better? Was the handwriting on the notes neat enough?"
Rebecca just stared at him. Was he serious?
Suddenly Alan grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head down, making her wince with pain. "Listen, sweetie, I'm making the best of this situation, so you can at least meet me halfway," he said, with absolutely no trace of his previous levity. "I don't even wanna be doing this. I'd much rather just gut you right here. As far as I'm concerned, this whole thing is a waste of time."
Then she felt cold steel on the back of her neck. Sharp steel. Alan put some more pressure on it, and she winced again. "So, do me a favor and show a little more spunk, okay? Get in the spirit of things. I'm not asking you to dance around and giggle, but for God's sake at least don't act like a mannequin. Do you understand?"
"Yes!"
"Make me believe it."
" Yes !" she screamed.
Alan held the blade there for a few more moments, then took it away and released his grip on her hair. "Good. That's all I wanted to hear."
Rebecca raised her head and brushed her hair out of her eyes. Alan had a thin sheen of perspiration on his forehead. She hadn't been struggling; had he really worked up a sweat from that little action?
"I...I think you're running the game fine," said Rebecca.
"Ah, I don't give a shit what you think. I was just messing with you. So, do you want to open your present now?"
Rebecca nodded.
"What's the magic word?"
"Please."
"Try, please, oh stud muffin, who I would gladly screw for hours and hours on end if I weren't so happily married."
"Fuck you," Rebecca said.
She gasped. Where had that come from? She hadn't meant to say that. She clenched her jaws together tightly, ready for him to grab her hair again, or maybe slam the knife into her throat.
Instead, Alan laughed. "Very good. Now that's spunk. Here you go." He handed her the present.
It felt heavy. Too heavy to be a head. Unless a head wasn't the only thing in the box...
No, this was supposed to be proof that he was still alive. There was no point to any of this if his head was in the box. It couldn't possibly be his head.
She pulled off the bow. "Try to be careful with the paper," Alan suggested. "Maybe we can reuse it for the next one."
Unsure whether or not he was kidding this time, she very slowly, cautiously began to remove the wrapping, revealing a cardboard box. The contents shifted a bit when she turned the box on its side, but there was still no indication of exactly what was inside.
She folded the wrapping paper and set it aside, then ran her finger along the lid, which was taped shut. "Mind if I borrow your knife?"
Alan snorted a laugh. "Yeah, right."
She dug her fingernail under the end of the tape and pulled it off in one strip. Then she got ready to open the box, but hesitated.
"It's not a bomb or anything," Alan assured her. "I wouldn't be sitting here if it was anything dangerous."
Rebecca lifted the flaps.
Inside were hundreds, no, thousands of spiders.
Fake ones. Tiny plastic toys. She looked over at Alan in confusion.
"I guess you have to dig for your present," he said.
Rebecca knew that she had an excessive, even ridiculous number of phobias, but spiders weren't on the list, much less plastic ones. She dug her hand in the box, not considering until she'd reached almost to her elbow that there might be a mousetrap or something inside.
No. A
Alan shrugged. "How should I know? You're an elementary school teacher. Maybe this is the kind of excitement you've been searching for all your life. Maybe this is feeding your incessant craving for adventure."
"I don't need any adventure."
"Oh, now, everybody needs adventure. It's human nature." He bobbed his knees up and down. "Don't you want to know what I got you?"
She reached for the present, but Alan slapped her hand away. "That was a question, not an invitation. First I want to know how you think the game is going. Any helpful suggestions? Anything you think we could be doing better? Was the handwriting on the notes neat enough?"
Rebecca just stared at him. Was he serious?
Suddenly Alan grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head down, making her wince with pain. "Listen, sweetie, I'm making the best of this situation, so you can at least meet me halfway," he said, with absolutely no trace of his previous levity. "I don't even wanna be doing this. I'd much rather just gut you right here. As far as I'm concerned, this whole thing is a waste of time."
Then she felt cold steel on the back of her neck. Sharp steel. Alan put some more pressure on it, and she winced again. "So, do me a favor and show a little more spunk, okay? Get in the spirit of things. I'm not asking you to dance around and giggle, but for God's sake at least don't act like a mannequin. Do you understand?"
"Yes!"
"Make me believe it."
" Yes !" she screamed.
Alan held the blade there for a few more moments, then took it away and released his grip on her hair. "Good. That's all I wanted to hear."
Rebecca raised her head and brushed her hair out of her eyes. Alan had a thin sheen of perspiration on his forehead. She hadn't been struggling; had he really worked up a sweat from that little action?
"I...I think you're running the game fine," said Rebecca.
"Ah, I don't give a shit what you think. I was just messing with you. So, do you want to open your present now?"
Rebecca nodded.
"What's the magic word?"
"Please."
"Try, please, oh stud muffin, who I would gladly screw for hours and hours on end if I weren't so happily married."
"Fuck you," Rebecca said.
She gasped. Where had that come from? She hadn't meant to say that. She clenched her jaws together tightly, ready for him to grab her hair again, or maybe slam the knife into her throat.
Instead, Alan laughed. "Very good. Now that's spunk. Here you go." He handed her the present.
It felt heavy. Too heavy to be a head. Unless a head wasn't the only thing in the box...
No, this was supposed to be proof that he was still alive. There was no point to any of this if his head was in the box. It couldn't possibly be his head.
She pulled off the bow. "Try to be careful with the paper," Alan suggested. "Maybe we can reuse it for the next one."
Unsure whether or not he was kidding this time, she very slowly, cautiously began to remove the wrapping, revealing a cardboard box. The contents shifted a bit when she turned the box on its side, but there was still no indication of exactly what was inside.
She folded the wrapping paper and set it aside, then ran her finger along the lid, which was taped shut. "Mind if I borrow your knife?"
Alan snorted a laugh. "Yeah, right."
She dug her fingernail under the end of the tape and pulled it off in one strip. Then she got ready to open the box, but hesitated.
"It's not a bomb or anything," Alan assured her. "I wouldn't be sitting here if it was anything dangerous."
Rebecca lifted the flaps.
Inside were hundreds, no, thousands of spiders.
Fake ones. Tiny plastic toys. She looked over at Alan in confusion.
"I guess you have to dig for your present," he said.
Rebecca knew that she had an excessive, even ridiculous number of phobias, but spiders weren't on the list, much less plastic ones. She dug her hand in the box, not considering until she'd reached almost to her elbow that there might be a mousetrap or something inside.
No. A
Similar Books
