A Christmas Nightmare (Chapter 2): She Makes Him Angry

A Christmas Nightmare: Join four friends on a snowy escape that turns into a chilling adventure, where every step in the eerie woods leads to a terrifying revelation.

Author’s Note: A Christmas Nightmare

Hey all, please note, this book is a spicy dark novel of a nightmare in a creepy old Villa in Mount Abu

Before you start, I hope you have read Chapter 1 of A Christmas Nightmare.

A Christmas Nightmare (Chapter 1): Welcome to Mount Abu

A Christmas Nightmare – Chapter 2

Abhay

I could kill someone right now. Not literally—probably—but the thought simmered dangerously close as the giggles from next door morphed into full-blown, obnoxious cackles. Each shriek of joy scraped against my nerves like nails on a chalkboard, tearing through the fragile peace I’d carved out for myself.

I glanced at the clock, its neon numbers glaring at me from across the room. 01:35 AM. Prime time for the world to be asleep and for me to work. Except for these people. Apparently, their party didn’t come with an off switch.

I usually slept through the day and painted in the night. I made portraits so I didn’t need nature or sun or anything positive. My paintings were dark like me, always delivering the darker side of human emotions.

My last painting was of a young woman, screaming, her eyes bulging out like a maniac, and mouth open wide. It was charcoal and it got sold instantly. It was raw, visceral, the kind of thing that sold fast because misery, unlike joy, felt real to people.

Another burst of laughter sliced through the quiet night, shattering my concentration. I finally put my brush down, giving this fiery angry woman a break, my next assignment—a vivid angry woman. Grunting, I tore the paper from the canvas, crumpling it with a ferocity that made my hand ache, and tossed it into the overflowing bin. The sound of the paper hitting the pile was unsatisfyingly soft, unlike the way my temper was currently crashing and burning.

Though the neighboring villa was a little distance away, the quiet night made it easy to hear them. And I had already paid the rent for the entire year so I couldn’t just leave.

What was wrong with these people? I rented this crumbling house at the edge of nowhere for a reason. Solitude. Silence. Isolation. It was my sanctuary, my escape from humanity’s relentless noise. When I moved in, the house next door had been blissfully empty—a dead, hollow space, just like I’d wanted.

At least, that’s how it was when I moved in.

And then they came.

It started with one group. I thought it was a fluke, some family stumbling upon the wrong Airbnb listing. But no, it turned out the house next door wasn’t just a house. It was a holiday villa. A revolving door of temporary tenants who made my life a living hell.

Every new group dragged in their noise, their prying eyes, and their complete lack of boundaries. It boiled my blood. Every weekend brought a new invasion. Cars rolled up, spilling out luggage and too many people, all laughing and chattering as if the world existed solely for their amusement. They unpacked their noise, their insufferable cheer, and their complete lack of respect for the fragile peace I clung to.

Some even dared to knock on my door. Knock. Laugh. Wander off. Like I was some sideshow in their carefree little weekend escape.

The audacity.

And yet, what could I do? My house didn’t exactly scream occupied. The overgrown vines crawling up the walls, the chipped paint flaking away, and the cracked windows probably whispered haunted to these idiots.

Not that I cared much. In fact, I liked it that way, the gloominess was my way of life, and I was okay with overgrown bushes, or cracked wood or chapped paint. The more it looked like something out of a ghost story, the fewer people would think to bother me.

But the opposite happened. My house allured these fools.

I walked to the window and pushed aside the heavy curtain. The lights were on, the faint glow of their porch lights illuminating the space. They were certainly having a party. When they came, I saw they were a group of four, probably here for Christmas. But I had expected them to sleep through the night because they had arrived quite late.

I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, a breath fogging up the pane. My peace was supposed to be sacred, untouchable. Instead, it had been reduced to a cruel joke, a fleeting illusion stolen away by these oblivious interlopers.

I could do a fuck right now but I didn’t do relationships so I didn’t get easy access to a woman’s ass. I did have a few numbers, the paid ones, but it took an hour just to reach this remote place, so that wasn’t happening.

I gritted my teeth, my fingers curling into fists as I turned back to my work desk. Opening the drawer, I grabbed a pack of smoke and lit one. Taking a few puffs calmed me, only until another onslaught of laughter came through.

The noise was growing louder, more grating with every passing second. I’d come here for solitude, for the solace of my paints and brushes. My studio was supposed to be my escape—a world where the only sounds were the strokes of a brush on canvas, the occasional creak of the wooden floor, and the quiet hum of my thoughts.

The room reflected the chaos of my mind. Walls splattered with reds, blues, deep blacks. Canvases leaning against each other, some half-finished, others abandoned mid-idea. It wasn’t just a workspace. It was the only place where the world couldn’t reach me.

Or at least, it used to be.

Then came the screams.

Sharp. Jarring. Piercing through the thin walls like a blade, they tore me away from the half-formed shapes on my canvas. My jaw clenched as anger bubbled to the surface, hot and unchecked.

Were they in trouble? Should I go and check? I wasn’t a hero but.. I could reverse the role, once in a while. But before I could decide, the screams stopping and the howling laughter came through and I huffed, rolling my eyes.

For a fleeting second, I imagined storming over there, shoving their stupid door open, and putting an end to the noise with a few well-placed punches. My fists tightened at the thought, the muscles in my forearms flexing instinctively.

Bad idea. I wasn’t just a painter. I was a weightlifter. My punches weren’t just punches; they were wrecking balls. And anger had a way of sharpening my blows into something far more dangerous than I intended. I’d learned that the hard way.

That’s why I stayed upstairs, away from prying eyes and unnecessary temptations. Most people assumed painters were quiet, introspective types. Gentle. Sensitive. I wasn’t. I was a volcano wearing a calm face, simmering beneath the surface.

And I knew it. So I controlled it. I had to.

But control didn’t come easy when the world seemed hell-bent on testing me. Like now.

I exhaled sharply, shutting my eyes and forcing myself to focus. The sharp, familiar scent of turpentine and oil paints filled my lungs, grounding me. This was my space. My world. And I wasn’t about to let their noise or their laughter invade it.

Yet, no matter how much I told myself that, there was no way I could paint now. Grabbing my boxing gloves, I peeled off my t-shirt and put on my black vest, the one I used when used the punching bag to calm my nerves. The jeans would do. I slammed the door on my way out and went to the second floor where I had my own gym.

My gym. My world. It didn’t have much but enough for me.

I kicked open the door, feeling the cold weight of the heavy bag waiting for me in the corner. The quiet hum of my gym washed over me, and for the first time in hours, I felt something close to peace settle in my chest.

I was done letting them invade. Done being a passive spectator. No more distractions. It was time to handle the chaos once and for all.

Yes, something had to be done about this.

The End of Chapter 2 of A Christmas Nightmare.
Continue reading the Next Chapter of A Christmas Nightmare.

Other short stories.

I Confessed (click to read)

A Touch From a Stranger (click to read)

The Trapped Butterfly (click to read)

The What If Romance (click to read)

Do check out other articles on Twin Flames.

Twin Flames: The Core Truth and Why the Journey of Eternal Love is Never Easy

An Open Letter to My Twin Flame: You Were Always the One for Me, my Love, my Life

Twin Flame: It Was Never About Union, but an Acceptance of Love and the Journey

Twin Flame: Her Heart Wrenching Confession of Setting Him Free

Embracing Love: His Heartfelt Acknowledgment In The Realm of Love

A Dream Leaves My Heart Scattered, My Energy Cries

A Dream Makes My Heart Explode, My Energy Wanes

A Twin Flame Journey of Love, Pain, and Loss

Twin Flames: For love, she surrendered. She messaged him.

Twin flame: Her first glimpse of him

Twin Flames: The Birth Of Feminine Energy

Twin Flames: And they never met

Author Payal Dedhia independently publishes books on Amazon Kindle. You can check out her collection by clicking here.

If you like Dark Romance Fiction, do read my Sctintilla Series. Click here to read.

Aayansh Ahluwalia isn’t just a billionaire business tycoon—he’s the kind of man who haunts people’s nightmares. The world may recognize Scintilla Corporations as a legitimate empire, but Aayansh isn’t confined to the light. In the shadows, he commands an empire of fear, power, and blood. He rules over the underdogs, the darkness that terrifies everyone else.
Ruthless and untouchable, they call him a devil for a reason—he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t blink when it comes to taking lives.
His existence is fearless. His power, unmatched. Yet beneath the wealth and carnage lies a void—a darkness so complete it consumes him. There’s no light, no hope. Just emptiness stretching endlessly, leaving him hollow.
Then, one night, everything changed.
He saw her—a woman so radiant, so full of life, she made his chaos stand still. She erupted into his world like a dream, settling in his heart and claiming it as her own.
Tisha Chopra.
Aayansh hadn’t been searching for her, hadn’t asked for her. But the moment he saw her, he knew—she would be his.
She didn’t belong in his world, and that only made him want her more. Her laughter, her light—it wasn’t meant to survive the darkness he thrived in, yet it pulled him in, unrelenting. Like a predator to prey, he followed. He didn’t want her to save him. No. He wanted to ruin her, piece by piece, until she belonged to him completely. He would drag her down, crown her queen in his Devil’s Paradise, and make her sit beside him on the devil’s throne while he ruled the world.

What unfolds is a story steeped in obsession, control, and desire—a dangerous game where love is a battlefield, and submission comes at the cost of a soul.
Scintilla isn’t just the name of Aayansh’s empire; it’s the pulse of this saga—a place where power thrives and morality dies.

The series is divided into four phases:

🔥 The Chase – Where the predator finds his prey. Click here to read.

The Beginning – A collision of worlds. A spark ignited.
Unveiling Paradise – Her light tempts the darkness.
The Masked Guy – Secrets wear masks. So do devils.
Unleashing the Demons – Once awakened, there’s no turning back.
The Winner – Victory tastes sweeter when claimed by force.

🔥 The Possession – Where obsession takes root. Click here to read.

New Beginning – The chase ends. The real game begins.
The Rules – Boundaries are set, only to be broken.
Gilded Cage – Possession doesn’t feel like freedom.
Unleashed Fury – When control falters, chaos reigns.
Ensnared Hearts – Hearts trapped, souls scarred.

🔥 The Submission – Where surrender is demanded, not given. Click here to read.

Her Resistance – Light fights back. Darkness pushes harder.
Her Confession – Truths whispered in the dark.
The Good Times – A fleeting calm before the storm.
The Devil Struck – The predator strikes. The angel shatters.
Angel’s Judgement – When love turns to reckoning.

🔥 The Reward – Where love and darkness collide, leaving nothing unscarred. Click here to read.

The Storm – Chaos erupts, tearing apart the fragile ties of love and power.
The Punishment – Sins are judged, debts are paid, and vengeance claims its due.
The Aftermath – The cost of darkness. Destruction consumes, spreading like wildfire.
The Dawn – Hope flickers, fragile and hesitant, in the ruins of despair.