The Christmas Guest

by Peter Swanson

“The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.” In my case the past really is a foreign country. And, yes, they do things very differently there.

Apparently, back at the end of the summer a local girl from Clevemoor, still in high school, or secondary school, whatever you call it, had gone missing and then had been found dead in the nearby woods, murdered. Her name was Joanna Davies and that was her mother who was staring at me because I guess I look like her, like the murdered girl.

I started to get a bad feeling about this week. Chance of romance: nonexistent. Chance of gothic thriller murder mystery: growing by the minute.

it wouldn’t bother me too much if I killed someone, but I would never really do it.” “Why not?” “It would make Father way too pleased if I screwed up my life that badly. Can you imagine? Plus, I don’t think I’d like prison very much.”

“To the victor goes the spoils,”