House Trap

Prologue

                                                                December 23, 1978

The houses on Hamington Street kindled like a winter parade. Every house on the block had Christmas decorations. On their snow-covered lawns, everything from Jolly Old Saint Nick with his reindeers to oversized twirling red and white candy canes adorned their front yard. Pearlescent Christmas lights shimmered at the edges of their roof; some went as far as to spell "Merry Christmas". The snow fell gently, salting the earth as night approached. The neighborhood children were done building their snowmen, wrapping on a red scarf around few of them before they left. A Silver 1972 Cadillac Sedan passed by, viewing the rambunctious children crossing the road from the rearview mirror. It finally parked at the far end of Hamington Street; with a jerk from the driver's door, a lady stepped out of the vehicle looking rather tired.

Underneath her snow hat, she had long, hazel hair that almost reached her shoulders. She's in her early thirties but the look on her face made her appear much older as she hauled out four heavy shopping-mall bags from the backseat of her car. She trudged on the icy path that led to her two-story home. As she finally reached the oak door, she dropped the bags, and fished out the keys from the pocket of her Speckled Tweed Coat. She opened the door slightly, but before she reached for the burdensome bags, she stuck her head inside the opened door, scanning the living room and beyond. She heard creaking noises and her head turned to the stairs that's opposite to the door. A man with jeans and white undershirt leisurely came down the stairs—the handrail, banister, and newel post festooned with pine garland. His brown hair was neck length with side burns and a clipped moustache.

"Where is Nicolas?" she whispered to the man.

"What?" he asked loudly.

"Shh! Is he around?" she hissed at him. He grinned at the way she acted as she scanned the premise once again.

"Don't worry. He's in his room, sleeping," he said in a matter of fact tone, taking the last step and went toward her.

As soon as she heard that, she seized two of the bags, bringing them into the house. The man saw the mistletoe that he deliberately placed earlier at the header of the door. He gazed at his wife with intensity. Then he closed his eyes and was about to kiss her.

"Hon, would you please get the other two bags from outside?" she asked as she quickly bypassed him and headed to the stairs. Her mind was somewhere else and she was too weary to figure out why her husband acted so strange.

"Sure." he said unhappily and grabbed the other bags from outside. He felt how heavy they were as he veered at his wife and said, "My goodness, what do you have in these bags, Charlie Chaplin's coffin?"

They both strode to the master bedroom and his wife quickly shut the door.

"Okay, now we have to hide the presents so that he won't find them," she said glancing around the room, "but where?"

"Hon, you need to calm down," he said, getting closer to her then massaging her tense shoulders.

"I know, it's just that I have a lot to do—did you shop for the Purtis' gifts?" she asked her husband, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the massage.

"Uh, not yet." he replied.

Her eyes instantly popped open; she spun around, flustered. His hands let go of her shoulders."You're supposed to do that today!"

"I know. I was busy with work; I'll do it tomorrow." he replied.

"You got only two days till—" she said, but he interrupted her, reassuring her again and again that he would do it.