The Decirber

A Secret Santa Plot Swap by TIF Press

I had no idea what I’d write for this activity. Decirber came to me unexpectedly, inspired by the last name of a co-worker, Decir.

© 2025 Annieguile Bentulan/Through Words Be Guiled. All rights reserved.

---

THE DECIRBER

BY: Annieguile Bentulan

Every year, between November 30 and December 1, there’s a strange, undocumented sliver of time… a thirteenth month that only appears to a few people. It lasts one day but stretches like a dream, dense and elastic.
They call it Decirber.

No calendar marks it. No clock measures it. But everyone who slips into it shares one curse:
In Decirber, you can only speak the truth you’ve been avoiding.

And not the gentle ones.
Not the easy ones.
But the raw, throat-burning ones that sit in your chest.

The chosen few manifest their most feared truth. And in this liminal moment, those who are chosen—and survive—remember nothing. No one quite knows how the being chooses the person who’ll witness this elusive month. Nor does anyone know who or what the being is. He has no name, no origin that’s been printed or passed down through lore. And yet, the Decirber happens to anyone in the world.

On the night of November 30th, 2025, a man in his early twenties was walking the streets of Alaska, Mambaling. The cold air of December rolled in early, and he tightened his blue jacket around himself. It was a strange phenomenon for the cold air of the monsoon to be here so soon. It was also odd that the streets were uncharacteristically empty.

Photo by Patrick Tomasso on Unsplash

His wavy ebony hair was now blond. New kicks hit the silent streets cautiously, each step begrudged by their wearer. The company he worked for had scheduled its Christmas party for the eve of December 1st. December was a busy month for them; they couldn’t afford to have the party in the middle of the holidays.

Nicholas Jermaine had just been promoted, and he’d be damned if he allowed himself not to impress. The theme of the party was “The White Elephant Gift Exchange.”

Nicholas was the youngest gentleman in the company, a fresh graduate lucky enough to be noticed and seen with potential. He didn’t really know, nor did he understand, what the party theme meant, but he supposed it was fun, having seen his colleagues—mostly seniors—were excited about it.

Nicholas, or Nick as most people called him, felt both dreadful and excited. He wasn’t really sure what to bring for the gift exchange. All he had been told was to “bring something fun.” Whatever the hell that meant. If he had any say in it, he’d bring a tub of cookies laced with marijuana. He smiled at the thought and shook his head.

Nicholas Jermaine felt like a different person now, a fresh graduate with potential finally recognized. The adjectives his team lead had used to endorse him echoed in his mind. He was no longer the nobody his father claimed him to be, in all those moments when the man was drunk out of his mind.

Nick could now see his company’s building looming in the distance. Just a couple more blocks and I’ll be there, he thought. Another gust of cold wind swept through the streets, making him fold his shoulders inward to brace against the sudden cold. But the wind carried with it the putrid smell of the slums. Nick knew it well; he had grown up in them, yet his body still revolted at the onslaught of the horrid smell. His left hand instinctively went over his mouth and nose as he quickened his steps, almost to a jog. He was afraid that going any slower might return him to the nightmares he’d fought to escape.

Nick almost fell forward when he neared a darkened corner and, out of nowhere, a man appeared, startling him enough to falter. Thankfully, Nick was quick to react. Years of playing football in high school helped him regain his balance.

The man had lurched toward him at first, but now simply stood nearby. He was dressed in a cloak that looked like it was made of scraps. The hood covered half his face, leaving only his mouth visible. Nicholas felt the corners of his lips want to curl into a sneer of disgust when he noticed the man’s mouth—a vile, thin line of black, as though he’d spent his entire life smoking nonstop. Black foam seemed to form at the corners of his lips.

The man spoke: “Secretis cuiusque, mendaciis cuiusque. Turpis veritas tua aut ad libertatem, aut ad exitium te feret.”

Nick’s brows furrowed as he tilted his head. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t understand. I also don’t have any money with me.”

The man extended his arms toward Nick, pointing at him.
“To each of their secrets. To each of their lies. Your ugly truth will give you freedom or take you to your demise.”

Nick jumped back. You’ve got to be kidding me. Not tonight. Not when I’m wearing my good shoes.
“The fuck! Look, man, I don’t care what you’re on, but I don’t want any trouble… I really don’t have any money on me.”
Nick backed away, both hands raised to his chest, slowly moving backward from the strange man.

He continued retreating, glancing behind him to make sure the man wasn’t following. When he was at least ten meters away, he turned.

His eyes widened, his blood ran cold, and Nicholas had no time to react.

The man placed a hand on Nick’s forehead.
“ It’s time.”

---

Photo by Arkadiusz Radek on Unsplash

Nicholas found himself standing in the middle of their company gallery, a giant Christmas tree towering before him.

In his hand was a glass of martini, and on his shoulder was the slackening hand of his friend, Joshua. He glanced at his friend through his lashes. His mind felt foggy. Joshua was laughing at something the people around them were pointing at. Nick followed his friend’s gaze and saw Samantha at the center of the gallery, holding a box packaged so intricately that no one expected a shovel and rake to be inside.

How did I get here? Nick asked himself. He tried digging for any memory of what happened, but all he saw was the mouth of the strange man and the hand laid on his forehead.
Nicholas touched his forehead, checking for anything amiss, but found nothing.

His friend noticed. “Dude, what’s up with that scrunched-up face?”

“Hmm?” Nicholas looked to his side and saw Joshua eyeing him with the same interest he gave his beer.

“Yeah, your face looks uglier than usual,” Joshua teased.

Nicholas scoffed, laughing softly as he pushed his friend’s hand off his shoulder. “The fuck! That’s rich coming from you!”

Joshua only laughed. “Okay, seriously though… we were having such a good time.”

Nicholas looked at him, wondering how he could explain that he remembered none of the fun. Or how he’d gotten to the workplace after the strange man touched him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before any words could form, the program host called his name.

“Alright! Come up on stage, Nicholas Jermaine. Mr. Nicholas Jermaine? It’s your turn to spin the bottle. Who else is excited about what Nicholas might get?” the host jeered.

Nicholas felt his face redden. For a moment, he forgot his puzzling thoughts as awareness rushed in: How the hell did I get here?

He eyed the presents arranged in a circle and sent a silent prayer that he would get the largest one. He had no idea what might be inside, but the excitement of opening a big present thrilled him.

He neared the center of the circle and chuckled softly at the ridiculousness of using a Château Margaux—unopened, at that—as a mere catalyst for deciding who got which gift.

As Nicholas bent down to spin the expensive bottle, his ears were suddenly filled with a ringing noise. He should be concerned, but the room stilled, and everyone else in the room looked transfixed with excitement in their eyes, as if they knew something he didn’t. All this, happening as his eyes remained on the bottle as it spins and spins, until finally it landed on the largest gift box, the very one that Nicholas was eyeing.

The ringing stopped, Nicholas exhaled a deep breath, one he didn’t think he was holding.

“ Go on and open it, Nick,” urged the host.

He should’ve been unnerved by everyone’s excitement, or the oddity of how the host was eyeing him. But Nick felt as though the large box was for him. It beckoned him in ways he couldn’t explain, much like the missing hours he had of how he got here. Yet none of these bothered him, as he took deliberate steps towards the large gift.

It was carefully covered with a red metallic gift wrap, which’s covered with different forms of snowflakes. And then it was all tied together with a gold sheer ribbon. A card was placed on the heart of the ribbon, saying: Open me quick!

Nicholas smiled. As he pulled on the ends of the gold ribbon to undo it, he held his breath waiting to see what it hid. But all there was was yet another box, and this time it was in a green metallic wrapper. Everyone laughed, including Nick, they all still did when, after unwrapping and it revealed yet another box.

The laughter never ceased as Nick continued to open box after box, only differing in size and style of wrapping. His smile, however, is slightly worn. He found it fun for the first four or maybe five boxes, but his patience wore thin, and he soon wanted to rid himself of the attention that people seemed to have on him.

Finally, Nicholas reached the final box, as it had a note written on it: Final Box, I swear!”

That brought life to his smile. He studied the box for a moment. The wrapping is a glossy, metallic grey foil, smooth as a mirror, catching the light like it wants you to look at something else, rather than fix your focus on it. Nicholas wanted to chuckle at how familiar that feeling is to him, at that moment.

When he unwrapped it, it contained a wooden square box.

It’s the kind of box that doesn’t look valuable, but somehow feels heavier in the hand, like gravity itself knows what’s curled up inside. Curious. Nick went ahead and opened it; the box was sealed with a magnetic latch. Which is uncanny, given how worn the box looked.

The lid creaked as Nick pulled it open.

A gasp came out of Nick’s mouth. He froze. The rest of the world faded before him, and all there was was Nick, the box… and the silver glistening dagger inside it.

It took a while before Nick pulled his attention away from the horror he’d uncovered. As he looked and saw only darkness with no end, only then was Nick able to ask himself. How this dagger found him. After all these years, after all the forgetting he’d done.

The very thing that tethered him to a shameful past glistened before him.

But how? He asked himself, for he remembered throwing it into the river. His hands shook. He wanted to fling the wooden box aside, but it sat heavy on his hands. As if it wants him to pick it out of the box.

Whatever being, placed him in the unending darkness he’s in, grew impatient. For the dagger shot up mid-air, floated as it turned, as if deciding what it ought to do.

Nicholas kept his eyes on it, unable to look away.

His eyes widened when it suddenly flew towards him at full speed, aiming to strike him where his heart is. His hands immediately flew in front of him to catch it. Thanking his sports experience for his fast reflexes, but whatever entity or power is at play, it did not relent in pushing the dagger towards him, making him bend to his knees.

Just then, Nicholas felt warm liquid flowing down from his hands to his arms, and echoes of his scream surrounded him. Nicholas was weakening and was about to let the knife through, when whatever force was pushing the knife towards him let go, and Nicholas tumbled over.

He scrambled to his feet but was surprised to find himself in the place he vowed he would never set foot again.

His old home.

He remained seated on his knees from when he tumbled over. Pain etched on his face as he took in the familiar living room. It looks as though he never left, like the place has never been abandoned.

But his fear did not come from the familiarity of the place, but more from the familiarity of the setting. Similar, stains of beer on the worn red couch. Similar cobwebs that dangle on the ceiling from that night.

His whole body shook, but he immediately straightened when he heard the footsteps he knew so well. The way it dragged on the floor, as if the owner had much better things to do than lift their feet off the ground. The sound of liquid sloshing in a bottle after being swigged. And a sharp exhale of a man that should’ve been dead.

Horror filled Nicholas’s face when he raised his head in the direction of the sound and saw his father. Alive and well.

Nicholas couldn’t move. He wanted to bolt away from this place, away from the man who turned him into a monster for one night. But he couldn’t move; he remained as he was.

“What are you doing, shaking like a wuss!?” the man snapped. “...ehh! No son of mine will shake like a wuss in my presence.”

Nicholas cast down his head, shaking.

The man let out a raspy laugh, “Look at you… unable to meet my eyes. But I remember yours, boy!... I remember it well. The anger that burned in them when you plunged that dagger in my throat.”

Nicholas stilled; his shaking ceased. He almost lifted his head to look at his father, but he couldn’t; he remained staring at the floor. Eyes darting from side to side, thinking of how this came to be.

The man who resembled his father walked towards him, and somehow, without so much as bending, his face came near his. “ What? Cat got your tongue?” the man said, letting out a breathy laugh to his face.

“Look at you, unable to look at the face of the man you killed. Your own father. After all these years, you are still a nobody faggot!”

“ You’re not real.” Nicholas managed to whisper.

“ What is that, boy?”

“ YOU. ARE. NOT. REAL.” Nicholas declared through gritted teeth.

The man’s head twisted to meet his eyes, which he had maintained towards the wooden floor.

“Look your father in the eyes, boy!”

Nicholas stumbled backwards, unable to comprehend how the man’s head could twist like that. Startled, he looked up and saw that the man, indeed, never bent over, as its neck swirled back the head it carried on its shoulders.

The man laughed, bellowed a laugh, sounding like a million voices at once.

“Am I real enough for you, now?” laughing once more.

Nick’s breathing hitched. He tightened his hold on the dagger’s hilt, ignoring the pain of the wound there.

The being’s eyebrows shot up, “Oh… you’re ready to kill me, once again, Nicholas?”

Nicholas did not respond; he only used the time to steady himself enough to stand up.

“Are you thirsting to kill, yet another innocent man?” the thing teased him.

It was Nicholas’s turn to smirk a laugh. “ My father was anything but innocent,” he bravely met the eyes of the being embodying his dead father. “ He’s an abuser who got what he deserved.”

The being scoffed. “No excuse can justify murder. Well, then… let’s see you do it one more time.”

And without anymore warning, the thing that wore Nick’s father’s face lunged towards him with a sneer on its face, so evil it could stop a heart. But Nicholas met the thing head-on with the dagger.

“ Look at you, just like old times,” it said.

But the dagger plunged to nothing but smoke before the smoke curled to return to a form. Nick jumped backwards, determined to put some distance between them.

“What do you want from me!?” Nick, breathing heavily, the sharp pain in his hand threatened to let loose of the dagger he held. His only defense against whatever evil is in front of him.

“Speak the truth.”

“ I-I… I killed my father, b-because he was going to touch me again, and I didn’t want him to.” his voice was merely a whisper.

“ He was gonna touch me again, and I didn’t want him to.” Nich shouted. Then the house shook and enveloped him in the darkness. There was only darkness.

---

Nicholas woke up to the sound of a beeping monitor. The nurse who was checking his vitals gasped. And ran to the door, “ Quick! Call the doctor, the unconscious man from two days ago, finally woke up.”

The nurse went back to his side, “ Sir, can you hear me?” Nicholas nodded. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

Nicholas only stared at her a moment. Nicholas scanned his memories but came up with nothing.

He stared back at the nurse, this time really seeing her, and shook his head.

© 2025 Annieguile Bentulan/Through Words Be Guiled. All rights reserved.

Cover Photo by Adrian Mag on Unsplash