Six Days of Christmas Clues

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Find support and feel lighter in therapy. Sign up and get 10% off at BetterHelp.com slash DNS. That's better H-E-L-P dot com slash DNS. Talk to Naseley. Day one. Monday. The first present I get for my secret Santa at work is nice. Not what I was expecting, but nice. Damn! Zach is peering over the top of my cubicle wall, his ever-present cup of coffee in hand. That looks old. Yeah, it does. Zach considers himself my best buddy. I'm not sure why. I've told him repeatedly that we're just friendly co-workers, not best buddies. He doesn't listen though. And Zach has something in his head. It's locked in. I lift the gift out of the box, letting the torn wrapping paper flutter to the floor. Heavy too. I look the thing over. It's a candle stick. A very old, very ornate candle stick. Is that gold? Zach slurps his coffee, which, as far as I know, is the only way he knows how to drink coffee. That can't be gold. But Santa's are supposed to keep the total under 100 bucks. Zach leans over the cubicle wall, like it'll make whatever he says more confidential. I stopped telling him that everyone can hear everything in this office a long time ago. I get my spending under 50. I got Linda in HR. After making a sit through six hours of sensitivity training, that woman doesn't deserve the full hundred. I can almost hear the eyes rolling from the other cubicles. Let me see it. Zach holds out his hand. He's not paying attention, like usual. And a big drop of his coffee sloshes up over the side of his mug. Splatting on top of the stack of reports, I just finished copying for this afternoon's end of your meeting. Ah, come on, Zach! Watch it! I grabbed the first copy up before the coffee soaks into the rest of the pile. Now I have to redo this one. Grab! Sorry, Matt. Want me to do it? No. I'll make a new one in a minute. Zach snaps his fingers at me. What? The candle stick! Let me see it! Sure. Whatever. I hand him the candle stick and go to set the box on the floor. Then I pause. There's a folded piece of paper at the bottom. Wow! It is heavy! Dude! This may actually be gold! Hand me that letter opener! I take the paper out of the box and unfold it. Zach bonks me on the top of my head with the candle stick. Earth to Matt! Letter opener! What? I look out at him while I rub my head. And what the hell, Zach? That hurt! Sorry, man. Just hand me that letter opener. Why? I want to see if it's gold! With a letter opener? Yeah. I'll just scratch it a little. If paint flakes off, then it's not gold. And if paint doesn't flake off, what then? That doesn't mean it's made of gold. Just means it's not painted. Just give me the damn letter opener! It's better to go along with Zach than argue with him. I set the piece of paper on my desk and grab the letter opener for my mug of pens. I have no idea why every desk has a letter opener. I can't remember the last time I opened a letter at work. Oh, sure. Lots of bills and crap mail. But it work? It's all email or slack or group texts. Here. I hold out the opener. Zach looks at his left hand, the one holding the candle stick, then looks at his right hand, the one holding his coffee, then looks at me. Give it. I take his coffee mug. Thanks! He snatches the letter opener from me and scratches the candle stick. No paint flakes off. Dude, I think this is real! He stares at me. Eyes open wide, a twinkle in them that I don't like. Hey, I know a guy who can verify this! So can any pawnbrucker in the city, or jeweler, or lots of people? Yeah, well, my guy is really good. Whatever. Take it to your guy. Cool. I'll...crap! Zach drops the candle stick and disappears from view. His voice echoes up from the other side of my cubicle wall. Hand me the box, will you? I don't want to hurt it any more than I have. Sorry! Sure. I hold the box over the wall, and he snags it, then pops up, and hands me the letter opener. Coffee? I give him his mug back, then raise my eyebrows. What? Work. We should both be doing it. Yeah, yeah. He laughs and salutes me with his coffee mug, before walking off, humming some Christmas song mash up. I get back to work, and dive into the myriad of spreadsheets I need to finish before the office closes down for the holidays. It isn't until I get up to go fetch the new copy of the end of year report that I see the folded piece of paper sitting off to the side of my keyboard. Frowning? I pick it up and unfold it. A Christmas countdown. A very fun. Only five more days until you are done. Okay. Weird. I toss the paper into my trash can, then get up to go to the copier, and fetch the redo of the report. Zach smiles at me as I pass his cubicle. It could be real gold! I keep walking. Okay. Great. Day two. Tuesday. The box is waiting on my chair when I get into the office. I hang red and green wrapping paper, no bow or ribbon. I hang up my coat, set my briefcase down by my desk, and pick up the box. It's about the size of a shoe box, and much lighter than I thought it would be. Taring off the paper, I see it is a shoe box. Adidas. Nice ones. But it's not shoes inside. Now, it's a... Rope? Is that a Rope? Zach is suddenly standing at the wall of my cubicle, making me jump. Sorry, man. Didn't mean to scare you. He holds his coffee mug up in apology. What's with the rope? I don't know. I lifted out of the box and blink a few times. I'm sure of what I'm seeing. I turn it this way. I turn it that way. No matter how I look at it, it is what it is. A noose. Um, that's creepy. And I'd be screaming to HR if you weren't white as white can be. What does that matter? Oh, come on. If you were brown or black or any color other than the very shade of pale that you are, I'd take that as a racial threat. You think this is a threat? Why? From who? Isn't it from whom? I stare at him. Right. Sorry. But no. I don't think it's a threat because why would a noose give into a ghost like you be a threat? I get it, Zach. I'm very white. You can say that again. I'm Greek. So I wouldn't really know. Have you seen me tan in the summer? Yes, Zach. I have seen you tan in the summer. Everyone has. You don't stop talking about it. When you become a golden adonis like I do come July, you were talking about it too. But donas might be pushing it. He shrugs and slurps his coffee. So what do you think is up with the noose? I don't know. But I am taking it to HR. And saying what? You've been exposed as the grand wizard of the glue cuck's clan? What? The noose? You being white. Maybe someone has found out your little clan secret. I don't have a clan secret. A few heads turn as some of our co-workers come into the office and walk to their cubicles. I wave, then realize I'm waving with the hand still holding the noose. Those heads turn away quickly. It's some sort of gag gift. Give me that. Zach snatches the noose out of my hands. Before I can protest, he says, hey, what's that in the box? I look down and see another folded piece of paper. I pick it up and set the box on my desk. What's it say? Hold on. I unfold the paper. A Christmas countdown, how very fun. Only four more days until you are done. It's like the last one. Last one. There was a note in the other present. Yeah. It's of the same thing. Just a different day count. Be eared. I know. I shake it off and sit down. What would you guys say about the candlestick? Hmm? What? The candlestick. You said you had a guy who could verify if it was gold or not. Oh, right. Yeah. He wasn't in. I'll try again tonight after work. I shrug. Not really caring about some old candlestick. I highly, highly doubt it's made of real gold anyway. Give me that box too. I'll drop this off to Linda in HR. What? No, I'll drop it off. Don't you have the Crosby report to finish? You know how Linda likes to gab. You'll get stuck in her office for half an hour at least. I think about it. He's not wrong. The only person worse than Zach is Linda. And if Linda gets on a roll, you pray she only wastes 30 minutes of your day. Um, okay, thanks. Tell her to email me with her questions. We'll do, man. We'll do. He salutes me with his coffee mug and walks off humming a new Christmas song mashup. I sit down, start my day, and before I know it, it's lunchtime. Hey, what did Linda say? I ask Zach as I walk past his cubicle on the way to the kitchen to fetch my lunch from the fridge. Linda? Yes, Linda in HR. You took her that news. Oh crap. Totally forgot. I'll do it right now. Give it to me. I'll do it. No, no. You eat your lunch, man. I'll hurry and catch her before she steps out. She always goes to that overpriced cafe down the street for lunch. He rushes out of his cubicle, then rushes back, and snatches the box off his desk. I'm on it, best buddy. Don't you worry. He's gone and hurrying through the maze of cubicles and toward the hallway that leads to the human resources and executive offices before I can say anything. I shake my head. He's a handful and slightly delusional, but at least he's not boring. A thoughtfully built wardrobe really comes down to pieces that mix well, last, and don't make you feel like you overpaid. And that's exactly why I've been loving quince lately. They make up everyday essentials using premium fabrics and thoughtful design without the luxury markup. I picked up one of their linen shirts and immediately noticed the quality, light, comfortable, and not flimsy like cheaper linen. The shoes were the same deal. Clean look, super comfortable, and they feel like something that should cost a lot more. They work directly with top factories, cut out the middlemen, and focus on premium materials that actually last. No flashy branding, just well made apparel that gets the job done. Right now, go to quince.com slash DNS for free shipping and 365 day returns. That's a full year to build your wardrobe and love it. And you will. And now available in Canada too. Don't keep settling for clothes that don't last. Go to quince.com slash DNS for free shipping and 365 day returns. That's quince.com slash DNS. Day three. Wednesday. The box I find on my chair this morning is the opposite of yesterday. It's heavy as hell. I carefully set it on my desk and tear off the wrapping paper. Are you kidding me? I picked the item up and look it over. What the hell? It's a pipe, about a foot long, and easily weighs well over a pound. Looking to change careers? I spin about and almost brain him with the pipe. My arm is raised with the pipe gripped tightly in my hand, and he stares at me wide-eyed. Whoa there, killer! How about we dial it back a notch? He lifts his coffee mug. How much Java have you had this morning? Stop sneaking up on me, Zach. I swear to God you're going to get hurt one day. He frowns and looks at me. Then at the pipe. Then back at me. How about you put that down, Matt? He glances past me to the box. Is there a note with this one too? I slowly lower my arm. Sorry. But seriously, stop sneaking up on me. Oh man, I'm not sneaking. If I was sneaking, you'd never know I was here. His frown turns into a grin, and he slurps his coffee. Is there a note or not? I shrug and look in the box, carefully setting the pipe by my keyboard. There is a note, and I pick it up, unfold it, and read it out loud. A Christmas countdown, how very fun. Only three more days until you are done. I look up at Zach. What does done mean? Do you need a dictionary? Now what does it mean in this context? Done with what? Why in four days? Yeah, that's Saturday. Kind of inconvenient. Your secret sound better deliver the last gift. Yeah. But done with what? That's the part that's got me a little freaked. Ah, don't be. I'm sure it's all part of some joke. You know how secret sandas are? The presents can be funny. This is funny. I pick up the pipe. This? I give it a shake. Damn, it's heavy. Let me see. I give it to Zach. You ain't kidding. What is it made of? Wed? Someone shout from down the hall. On the super, the men's room is flooding. A pipe broke or something. I look at the pipe in Zach's hand. He looks at the pipe in his hand. We look at each other. No way. Can't be. Then he tucks the pipe down his pants. But just in case, what are you doing? Getting rid of evidence. Evidence of what? I don't know. But someone gave you an old ass pipe. And now the men's room is flooding. How much you want to bet that all the pipes in this agent ask building are all lead? Probably been slowly killing us for years. He slurps his coffee and then salutes me with his mug. Can't wait to see what you get tomorrow. Then he's gone as the office starts to fill with people. Most of them huddle at the end of the hallway, jabbering about the water quickly flooding out into the hall. It's a couple of hours before the super arrives. At this point, someone found the water shut off. So the flooding has stopped. But it also means we have no water on the floor at all, not even in the women's room or kitchen. Where the hell did my wrench go? The super storms out of the men's room. Has anyone seen my wrench? No one has. And we all filter out of the office, heading out to have lunch and use the local facilities since the water doesn't look like it's coming back on anytime soon. Day four. Thursday. I stand at the opening of my cubicle and stare at the new box. Same red and green wrapping paper about the same size as the box from yesterday. I hang up my coat, set my briefcase down, and continue to stare at the box. Then I shake my head and ignore the damn thing as I head off to the kitchen to get some coffee. Instead of the pot brewing away like always, there are several large coffee containers set up on the counter with a large note hanging off the cupboard above them. Still no water. Sorry. Coffee is on management. The note is signed. Linda, HR. I sigh and fill a mug. Damn, they didn't skim. This is good coffee. When I return to my cubicle, I can already see Zach standing on my desk, of course. Hey, they splurged for the good stuff since the water is still off until they fix the pipes. This time, I salute him with my mug. You better go get some before it's all gone. I have a feeling it's gonna be popular. He looks at me. Eyes narrowed. What? Anything you want to tell me best, buddy? Zach lifts the present up, which he has opened and is looking inside. Hey, you can't just open someone's present, Zach. Not cool. I hurry into my cubicle and set my coffee down, taking the open box from it. It's pretty heavy. He steps back and crosses his arms over his chest. I look in the box. A wrench. The super's shout yesterday about his missing wrench immediately comes to mind. I glance up at Zach. He's watching me closely. What? He don't think I took the wrench, do you? This is a gift to me, Zach. Not from me. He scrunches his face up, then relaxes and laughs. All right, duh. Zach moves in close and we both look down at the wrench. Do you think it's the same one, though? At this point, I don't know what to think. Zach leans closer. There's a node. Move the wrench, will ya? I pick up the wrench and there is a node at the bottom of the box. Zach grabs it, unfolds it, and reads it to himself. Then he flips it around and shows me as I set the wrench back in the box. A Christmas countdown, how very fun. Only two more days until you are done. Zach hands me the note, then takes the box for my hands. I'll stash the wrench somewhere the super can find it. We don't want him on your ass. I didn't take it, Zach. No one is gonna be on my ass. He shrugs, still taking the box. Better safe than sorry. I don't even know what to say. So I shrug and sit down at my desk. Go get some coffee first. It's damn good. We'll do. Thanks. I try to put it all out of my mind and get to work, but images of the candlestick, the rope, the pipe, and the wrench keep flitting through my mind. I'm about to get up and take a break when a company-wide email from Linda and HR comes through. I am very sorry to inform everyone that Michelle Dunst was found dead last night in her apartment. Due to the circumstances, foul play has been suspected. I know this is hard to hear, and we will all be mourning, but the police will be coming by to ask questions later today. Please cooperate to the best of your ability. Thank you. Linda, HR. Quiles stuff, right? Zach makes me jump yet again. Scaring me is like a hobby to him. Who would do such a thing? Who would do what? I reread the email. Doesn't say what happened, just that she died and foul play is suspected. Yeah, well, I can't say I'm sorry. Not after how she campaigned and got she pushed to the side when the supervisor positioned open to her. She was just as qualified. That's BS, and you know it best, buddy. You should have had that job. I shrugged. Why do under the bridge? I guess. But the position was yours, man. If she and the others hadn't colluded and spread that rumor about you, she wouldn't have gotten the job. I look up quickly. My brown knitted so close together that it almost hurts. Wait, what rumor? The rumor that you have been fudging your numbers so that you can hit quarterly goals. You knew about that? Everyone was talking about it. Not to me. Well, no, they wouldn't. What day? You could have. I thought you knew. I didn't want to bring it up and rub it in your face. I have never fudged a number in my life. My voice is a little high and loud. Zach looks about. And I can tell he's seeing heads turning in our direction. Well, doesn't matter now. The position is open again. Maybe you'll get it this time. I almost feel nauseous and shake my head slowly. I don't want the job now. Not this way. He shrugs and starts walking off. Yeah, well, we'll see. What does that mean? I call after him, but he doesn't respond. The police arrive by lunch and start calling people into the small conference room off the kitchen. I'm the 10th or 11th person. Matthew, gorgeous. I nod at the thin detective when I sit down. He looks at his partner, a plump woman, who was staring hard at me. Borgis? Wasn't that a TV show? Crime family from the Renaissance. The patriarch was a pope at one point. Meet? The thin detective smiles at me. Any relation? Maybe? I shrug. I don't really know. I suppose you wouldn't. The thin detective clasps his hands together. Where were you Monday evening? Say, around 9 p.m. Um, how old? I was watching TV. What were you watching? Netflix. Some true crime show about family annihilators. You like that stuff? Shows about murder? Not specifically, no. I clicked on it and it kept my attention. Anyone else with you? The plump detective asks. Nope. All by myself. How well did you know Michelle Dunst? I shrug. Well, as you can know, anyone would work. What does that mean? The plump detective hooks a thummeter partner. I know the whole family. Even that no good bunch of second cousins. They're the worst. So do you know Michelle Dunst's second cousins? I don't know if she has cousins. I guess I didn't know her at all. But she got the supervisor position you wanted, right? That had to piss you off. It would piss me off. Make me so mad. So mad that I might pay a revisit. Maybe get into an argument. Maybe pick up something in her apartment. Like a bowl or lamp or... The thin detective snaps his fingers over and over. Or a candlestick. Just grab it up and without thinking. Bash her over the head with it a few times. More than a few times. True. Look like whoever killed her didn't stop hitting her until... Well, until there wasn't much left of her head. Not much left of her head. Gorge rises in my throat, but I breathe deep and swallow it down. Um, did you say candlestick? Why? Does that mean something to you? I shake my head. The gorge rises again. I'm... I'm gonna be sick. I jump from my seat, race out of the conference room and down the hallway to the men's bathroom, ignoring the out-of-order sign. I barely make it to the toilet before the really good coffee comes back up. When I'm done, I wipe my mouth with some toilet paper, then curse the fact that there's no running water. When I open the bathroom door, the two detectives are standing there, waiting for me. The thin one holds out his card. We'll be in touch. Call us if you want to get anything off your chest. They both give me cold looks and then walk off, headed back to the conference room. Slowly, I make my way back to my cubicle. But I pause at Zach's first. Where's the candlestick? The what? He slurps his coffee. Damn! This is good! The candlestick, Zach! What did you do with it? He shrugs. I gave it to my guy! I look about to make sure no one is listening. Then move into his cubicle and crouch down. The cops say Michelle was killed with a candlestick. Zach's eyes go wide. Seriously? What are the odds? He puts his hand on my shoulder. I wouldn't worry about it, best buddy. Unless you did it. You didn't do it, did you, Matt? I recoil, and my ass bumps against his cubicle wall. What? No! Of course not! My voice echoes through the office, and faces look up from monitors. They are all turned in my direction. I back out of Zach's cubicle and hurry to mine. Gathering up my stuff, I dash off an email to Linda and HR, telling her I'm not feeling well and taking a half day. Then, without looking at anyone, I walk quickly to the elevators, ready to be gone. I have no idea what is going on. I need to go home and think. Listen up. Huh? That means you. Yes, you. We know you're pointing at yourself. When it comes to party power games, we've got a place made for all sorts. From the experts to the drama queens. It's made the JC. The finance bros. Look at those stalks, lads. We'll stick with slots. It's what we're good at. And not forgetting you. Yes, you, the one listening. Because at party power games, we've got all sorts of games for all sorts of tree calls. That is ability rules in terms of conditions apply. Please count for responsibly. Aating plus, cameraway.au.org. Day five. Friday. Despite still being a little freaked out, I come into work. It's the last day before the office shuts down until after New Year's. And I just have too much to do. Later than usual. And I avoid eye contact as everyone watches me walk to my cubicle. The present is waiting for me. This time, Zach is nowhere around. I look towards his cubicle, and he's not there. I look back at the present. Same red and green wrapping paper. But this time, the note is taped to the outside. A Christmas countdown, how very fun. Only one more day until you are done. I set the note down and slowly pick the present up. It's not as heavy as the last two, but it's not light. I give it a shake, and something solid slides back and forth. Then I tear the paper off and yank the box open. I'm not sure if I scream or not. But when I look around the office and see the stunned faces staring back, I figure I must have. Inside the box is a dagger, a bloody dagger. Someone call the police. I clear my throat. Someone call the police. By the time the police arrive, someone in the office found an article online and shared it with the entire office. I've read it at least a dozen times. Christmas clue killer on the loose is the headline, which makes no sense until I realize that what the reporter is talking about is the game clue. The article goes on to explain how four people have been found murdered, all with items generally found in the game of clue. A candlestick, a rope, a lead pipe, and a wrench. And considering the amount of blood on the dagger I found, they want to add it to the list. Needless to say, I'm the first one the detectives talk to. We're back in the conference room. The box with the dagger on the table between us. Anything you'd like to tell us, Mr. Borges? Um, yeah. And I proceed to tell them everything from the present with the candlestick to finding the dagger this morning. They look at me with blank expressions the entire time. Are we going to find your fingerprints on this dagger, Mr. Borges? Not that your fingerprints are in the database, but a bit your HR department has them on file. Your firm handles a lot of business with important clients. So I'm sure there's a record of a background check. We've come clean now, Mr. Borges. And we may be able to help you out of this situation. What situation? I pointed the box. I haven't heard anyone. I found that on my desk. I found all the items on my desk. The two detectives glance at each other, then smile. The plunk one pulls out a file folder and opens it on the table. Inside are photographs. Photographs of my co-workers. My dead co-workers. Recognize these people, Mr. Borges? You should. They all work with you. Yeah, I know. And from what we've gathered, you had beef with each of them. Beef? I don't have beef with any of them. I don't have beef with anyone. Although, as I think about it, I might have some beef with Zach. Where the hell is he? He could back me up on all of this. I mean, he took each of the presents with him, so... Oh God. Oh, dear. Oh, crap! The detectives glance at each other again. The plump one gathers up the photos, showing my dead co-workers. Each killed with one of the secret Santa items. I'm thinking you just realized something. Care to share with us? And I do. I share it all. I'd left Zach on the periphery of my first telling. But now I go deep into it. Making sure I give them every tiny detail. When I'm done, I lean back in my chair, exhausted. The thin detective takes out his phone and stands up. I hear him calling his precinct, asking for an officer to go to Zach's apartment. The plump detective leans forward, ready to ask me something. But she doesn't get a chance as a commotion out in the rest of the office pulls her attention away. The thin detective's voice changes tone suddenly as he talks on the phone. Seriously? No, it's no coincidence. He looks at the dagger in the box. I think I know where the murder weapon is. Get forensic's down here now. He hangs up and stands there for a minute. What? The thin detective's eyes land on me. The CEO of this company was just found stabbed to death in his apartment. Well, you're right. I don't think it's a coincidence either. The thin detective points a finger at me. We've got enough to take you to the precinct right now and book you. But we're not gonna. You're not? I am genuinely surprised. I've watched enough true crime to know I'm pretty much screwed. Do you believe me? Don't get ahead of yourself there, Mr. Borges. What my partner is saying is that after talking to you and seeing how you handle yourself, we're not convinced that you did this. The commotion out in the office grows, and I can hear people crying and sobbing. I look over my shoulder and see groups of my co-workers huddled together. News travels fast. Probably Linda and HR. I look at the detectives. Outblast. Now what? Now you go home and stay there until we call you. Don't think of leaving town. That would be a bad idea. We'll have at least one squad car sitting outside your apartment building. And maybe one around back, too. It's a state put. I nod up and down as if my life depends on it. Yeah, yeah, of course. I won't go anywhere. I'll stay in an order door, Dash. Good idea. His phone rings and he takes the call. I'll have an officer drive you home. I have my car on the parking garage. She stares at me. I go. Or your officer could take me home. Good idea. The way out of the office is a blur. At the ride home and the back of the squad car is a blur. My elevator ride up to my apartment is a blur. But it's not blurry enough. So the moment I'm inside my apartment, I head for the gym. I mix a picture of martinis and don't bother with the glass. A straw will do just fine. Day six. Saturday. Midnight. Surprise, best buddy. Merry Christmas. The voice jolt me out of my drunken sleep. And I roll off my couch, the empty martini picture clattering and rolling across the floor. What? Who's there? I try to stand up, but the martinis still have me. And my hands go out from under me. Here you go, Matt. Your last present. Through my drunken haze, I see a shape bend down and leave a smaller shape on my coffee table. I finally manage to get my hands under me and push up to a kneeling position. My body waving back and forth. Open it. Sack? What the hell are you doing here? I finally recognize the larger shape standing over my coffee table. Then I recognize the smaller shape on the coffee table. A present wrapped in red and green. Come on, open it. Better hurry too. I already made the call. What call? The call that's going to get you that promotion. He leans down and I shrink back. He frowns as he pushes the present at me. Come on, Matt. Open it. Play this right. And maybe you could be CEO. There's an opening, you know? Sack? What's going on? Just open it. It's the last one. There's a tone in his voice that slices through my drunkenness and helps my muddled brain get a little clearer. You or my secret Santa? Bingo! You said you had Linda from HR? He shrugs. A little misdirection. It worked right? You never knew, right? Uh, right. Open it, Matt. There's a pounding on my door. Mr. Bornear, it's the police. Are you all right? Open up, please. Hurry, Matt. Open it before they get through the door. I have this all planned out and timing is key. I don't move. Open it. We're coming in, Mr. Bornear. The door shakes as something is thrown against it. I have five deadbolts, though. After being robbed a couple of years ago, I wasn't taking any chances. It might take the police a minute to get inside. Fine. I'll do it. Zack picks up the present and rips it open. Terring the paper and box apart in a fury of violence. Then he shows me what is inside by holding it up so that the light from outside my apartment catches it. A revolver. I thought it'd be cool to do all of this using the theme of your favorite movie. My favorite movie? Pulp fiction? He frowns. Looks at the revolver. Then looks at me. No! Clue! You said clue was your favorite movie. He starts ticking off items. The candle stick for Michelle. The rope for that asshole Roger in accounting. The red bite for Dan. You know Dan, right? In marketing? The wrench for Padma. Who might know you know? And the dagger for our CEO, Mr. Irons. They were all complicit and you not getting that promotion. So I took care of them. He scratches his temple with the barrel of the revolver, as the middle of my front door cracks. Oh, crack. Is it Mark who loves Clue? Damn it. I think it was. Oh well. He points the revolver at me. Mr. Borges, stand away from the door. It cracks more. Why, Zach? Why? Because I do anything to help you out, Matt. That's what best buddies are for. But I've told you, Zach, we are the door shatters and police pour through. Merry Christmas, Matt. Maybe you'll make you CEO. He turns the revolver towards the police. And my apartment erupts in gunfire. When it's all done, the air is full of smoke. Cops are shouting at the bullet-ridden body of Zach, and also shouting at me. But I'm not paying attention to anyone. All I see is the folded note amongst the mess of the shredded wrapping paper and torn box. I pick it up and open it. Your Christmas countdown is all done. Now is the time for the real fun. You'll get that promotion I know you will. A little Christmas good news to ward off any winter chill. Love ya, buddy. Your best friend, Zach. Thanks for tuning in. If you enjoyed the story, be sure to follow or subscribe and share the show with a fellow horror fan. I'll see you in the next one.