by Cassandra Angler
On the seventh day of Christmas, my father stinks of drink, in and out of consciousness. My mother’s severed head rots in the kitchen sink. Blood once bright and flowing, now clotted clogs the drain. Everything is blurry beneath my swollen eyes, my throat horse from unanswered cries, the sound of buzzing is deafening from the flies. All I asked for was freedom from the pain, Santa failed me again. Underneath the tree is bare, and my stomach rumbles, painful and empty. My final Christmas wish, that father dies in pain, the final words that leave his lips, my name.
Cassandra Angler is a lifelong resident of the buckeye state (Ohio) and a happily married mother of four. When she isn’t corralling her four minions of darkness she is busy conjuring nightmares in literary form, reading and overall trying to better the world. Cassandra has always been a fan of all things horror and macabre. Some of her influences include Eleanor Merry, Stephen King, Paige Dearth, and Brian Keene.