The Christmas Cabin Captive (M/F)

[TamatoaShiny123]

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, I know this story's about five days late to be posted on this site. In my defense, I posted this on time on my DeviantArt page. Are you following me on Dev? You should. It's linked right here. Anyway, enjoy the story!]


The recently-escaped prisoner had expected a lot of things when he shouldered the door open. He expected an empty cabin, maybe a vicious dog, perhaps a shotgun pointing at his face, or even a lumberjack with ripped abs and a flowing, bushy beard that could keep a family of squirrels warm as they hibernated over the winter.

What he did not expect was a young black woman in red-and-white festive flannel pajamas and her hair done up in a matching silk bonnet. She sat in a velvet chair by the fireplace with a fashion magazine in her lap and stared at the snow dripping off his stolen black parka with bugged-out eyes. “Umm…you’re l-letting the heat out. C-can you close the door?”

He blinked, then closed it with a thud. He stood there for a second, then leveled a finger at her. “Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt,” he growled. “I’m desperate, lady.”

She nodded with her mouth agape. “Um…hi. I’m Kelsie, by the way. My brother gets here with his kids in the morning. I had a whole quiet evening planned for myself before they got here. So if you’re going to do a criminal thing, do it quick…”

He stared at her and then tightened his grip on the crowbar he carried from the last house he raided. “Listen. I’m not here to…I’m not here for your life story. I just need a place to wait out the storm.”

“You picked a nice place to do so,” Kelsie offered, trying to fill in the silence and the awkwardness of the situation itself.

He took a breath, long and annoyed, and forced his brain back into survival mode. The blizzard still roared outside. The roads were buried under a foot of snow. He couldn’t risk Kelsie calling anyone, but he also couldn’t afford to hurt her. He was already facing extra time for pulling this stunt.

So he did the only thing he could do. He stepped to the coat rack and grabbed the first thing his eyes landed on: a red-and-green hand-knitted scarf. Kelsie watched him with open curiosity. “That’s a good scarf. It’s my favorite.”

“That’s nice.” He pointed to a wooden chair. “Sit down here. Now.”

“Alright, okay.” Kelsie sat, crossing her legs with a sigh. “This is so weird.”

“Don’t remind me,” he sighed. “Hands.”

Kelsie lifted her hands. “Front or back?”

He paused. “Back.”

“Okay.”

He moved behind the chair and gathered her wrists. He wrapped the scarf around them twice, snug enough to keep them together. He hesitated before he finished. “Too tight?” he asked, more gruff than he meant to.

Kelsie rolled her shoulders. “It’s fine. Thanks for using this scarf. Nice and festive. The red and green. That’s why I like wearing it at this time.”

He stared at her for a beat, then grabbed a second scarf and looped it around her elbows to pin her arms more securely behind the chair back. He anchored the extra length around a wooden crossbar near the chair’s frame.

Kelsie shifted and tested the bonds. “I guess I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay,” he said, then glanced down at her feet. She wore thick socks and slippers with little snowmen on them. He pointed. “Those.”

“My slippers?”

“Take them off.”

“No.”

“I said take them off.”

Kelsie frowned. “Why?”

“So you can’t run.”

“I can’t run. You kinda tied me to a chair, remember? And even if you hadn’t, I really can’t run in these things. There’s no traction. I tried running in them once and almost broke my ankle.”

He huffed and crouched, then gently tugged at one slipper. Kelsie immediately jerked her foot back. “No! I’m ticklish!”

He froze mid-crouch. “You’re kidding.”

Kelsie shook her head fast. “I’m not. If you touch my feet, I will absolutely kick you on instinct.”

He looked up at her with exhausted sincerity. “I am begging you: don’t make this harder.”

“I’m not making it harder. My nervous system is making this harder.”

He tried again, slowly this time. He slid the slipper off without touching skin. Kelsie still squealed. He jerked back, startled. “Jesus!”

“Sorry,” she replied sincerely, “that’s just how I’m built.”

He removed the other slipper with the same cautious method. He grabbed a black wool scarf and looped it twice around her ankles before cinching it. He stood and grabbed something else from the entryway basket: a green wool mitten. He folded it once, then looked at Kelsie’s mouth.

Kelsie’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare.”

“I need you quiet,” he said. “I can’t have you screaming.”

“I’m not going to scream.”

“You already squealed like a tea kettle.”

“That was a tickle squeal, not a ‘please come rescue me from this escaped convict’ squeal. Totally different.”

He approached with the folded mitten, placing it to her lips. The two proceeded to engage in a staring contest for fifteen seconds before Kelsie blinked. She opened her mouth, and he stuffed it inside. He then took a white silk headscarf, folded it into a triangle, and wrapped it around her mouth with the triangle point drooping down her chin.

“Can you breathe?” he asked.

Kelsie rolled her eyes and inhaled exaggeratedly through her nose.

“Good,” he said, standing. “Don’t try anything. I’m just waiting for the storm to pass, and then I’m gone.”

He turned to the window to scan the tree line for any approaching figures, whether the brother or kids arriving way ahead of schedule, or the police with their search dogs.

Thirty seconds later, he heard it. Kelsie made a muffled noise, low and sharp. He ignored it and continued to stare out at the storm.

Then, the chair thumped.

He spun around. “What?!”

Kelsie rocked the chair harder, eyes wide, chin jerking toward the fireplace.

He stomped over, yanked the scarf down, and let her spit out the mitten. Kelsie tried to shake the taste of wool from her mouth. “The fire! It’s dying down. If you let it go out, it takes forever to get it going again. Put another log on.”

He stared at her. “I’m not your butler.”

Kelsie lifted her eyebrows. “Do you want me to freeze to death while I’m sitting here?”

He clenched his jaw, grabbed a log from the stack, and tossed it into the grate. He poked it with the iron poker until the flames flared back up, then stepped away. “Happy?” he snapped.

“Ecstatic,” Kelsie said in a tone more sarcastic than most women being held hostage would dare to muster. “You’ve got a natural touch.”

“Thanks.” He rolled his eyes, put the mitten and scarf back up, then returned to the window to watch the storm. Two minutes went by. The wind howled. And then…

“Mmph.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I already tended the fire.”

“Mmmph. MMMM-mmmph!”

These muffled sounds were more desperate-sounding, as if she were finally taking this manner seriously. He marched over and ripped the scarf down. “Speak.”

“It’s eight o’clock,” Kelsie said seriously once she spat out the mitten.

He stared. “So?”

“It’s Christmas Eve, and I have this tradition…The Muppet Christmas Carol on Blu-ray. The remote’s on the side table.”

“Lady,” he said, exhausted, “This is a home-er, cabin invasion. I’m not watching singing puppets.”

“It’s Michael Caine,” Kelsie replied, genuinely offended. “He plays Scrooge perfectly straight. It’s a masterpiece. You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to. It’s too quiet with you breathing heavily.”

“I do not breathe heavily.”

“Tell that to your whistling nose.”

He looked away, muttered a non-jolly swear, and grabbed the remote. He jammed the Blu-ray disc into the machine, navigated the menu, and hit play. Jolly trumpet music filled the cabin.

Kelsie nodded once, satisfied. “Turn the volume up. You really do breathe loud, I swear.”

He looked at the mitten in his hand, looked at Kelsie, and sighed. He gagged her again, then sat on the sofa, crowbar across his lap, and tried to plan his next move. His eyes drifted to the screen anyway. The blue alien guy and the rat were pretty funny, he hated to admit it.

Then, from the kitchen, a sharp mechanical chirp cut through the cabin like a gunshot. He jolted upright. “The hell was that?!”

Kelsie’s chair thumped as she started thrashing with genuine urgency. “MMPH! MMPH-MMPH! MMM-MMM!”

He rushed over and dropped the gag. “Is that the police?” he asked, panicking in his voice.

“Worse,” Kelsie gasped. “The oven timer! I completely forgot about the gingerbread men! If they stay in another minute, the bottoms will scorch, and they’ll be ruined.”

He stared at her, mouth slightly open.

“Move,” Kelsie snapped. “Oven mitts are hanging on the fridge. And turn the oven off, too!”

“I…I’m on the run from the police,” he half-whispered.

“And you’re about to murder innocent cookies,” Kelsie shot back. “Go!”

He stumbled into the kitchen, found the mitts, and discovered they were candy cane-striped. He put them on anyway, pulled the tray out, and got hit with the scent of warm ginger and cinnamon. He set the tray on the cooling rack, turned the oven off, and then walked back into the living room like a man returning from battle. “The cookies are safe,” he announced flatly.

Kelsie sagged against the chair back. “Thank God.”

He stood there with the mitten and scarf in his hand, unsure what to do next. He watched the movie for half a second, then looked back at her.

Kelsie looked up at him. “You can have some.”

He hesitated. “The cookies?”

“Bring me one first,” she added. “You’ll have to feed it to me. Obviously.”

“I am not feeding you a cookie,” he said, deciding to draw the line at acting like a mother bird feeding its chicks.

“I haven’t eaten since lunch,” Kelsie whined. “And I’m tied to a chair in my own home on Christmas Eve. Please? I promise I won’t scream. I just want a gingerbread man to go with the movie.”

He looked at the storm outside, then at her, and then finally at Kermit in his Bob Cratchit hat and coat. “Fine,” he grumbled. He broke off a gingerbread man’s arm, held it to her lips, and watched her take a neat bite.

Kelsie chewed, swallowed, then smiled. “Perfect,” she said. “You can have the other arm.”

He took a bite. It was warm and comforting, something he hadn’t felt in over a year since being locked up. He slumped onto the sofa, the fight draining out of him. “Good, right?” Kelsie asked with a smile.

“Yeah. It’s good,” he reluctantly admitted.

Kelsie nodded at the mitten in his hand. “You don’t have to put that back. I promise I won’t scream, cross my heart. Besides, the best songs are coming up, and I want to sing along.”

He stared at her. “If you scream, I will tie you up tighter. I saw you have a lot more scarves.”

“Deal,” Kelsie agreed instantly.

Halfway through the movie, he glanced over. Kelsie hummed along to the song about having a thankful heart, toes wiggling inside her socks in time with the music. She caught him looking and winked. He looked away fast.

“You know,” Kelsie mentioned casually, “I’ve got an espresso machine in the kitchen. You could probably figure it out if you want something warm to drink, too.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Not much of a coffee guy. But I might take you up on that offer.”

He grabbed a throw blanket and tossed it over her legs, tucking it around the chair so they didn’t get cold.

“Thank you,” Kelsie smiled.

He had no idea what he would do next. The woman’s family would be coming in the morning, and the police were still on his trail. But for right now, he was warm, he had cookies, and the movie wasn't half bad.

[Beaumains]

Wow, thanks for sharing. This is beautifully stupid, and I mean that in the most positive way possible. Kelsie is completely unhinged. She does not know fear, kinda wa ts to be tied up (but not too much), and is just genuinely a weirdo. Meanwhile, the criminal is playing the straight man. If you had told me Kelsie was an actress, and thag there were secret cameras recording for a prank show, I would believe you. Only, there is no way to plan that in the wilderness, so Kelsie is just weird...

[TamatoaShiny123]

Wow, thanks for sharing. This is beautifully stupid, and I mean that in the most positive way possible. Kelsie is completely unhinged. She does not know fear, kinda wants to be tied up (but not too much), and is just genuinely a weirdo. Meanwhile, the criminal is playing the straight man. If you had told me Kelsie was an actress, and that there were secret cameras recording for a prank show, I would believe you. Only, there is no way to plan that in the wilderness, so Kelsie is just weird...

Thank you for the kind words! The prank show twist would’ve been so good, I almost wish I ended it that way, with John Quiñones from What Would You Do? coming out with a camera crew…