Jingled
By Evan J. Corbin
Publication date: November 7th 2025
Genres: LGBTQ+, Satire, Speculative Fiction
Matt Daughtry has always felt like he and his parents live in separate worlds—his shaped by the urbane, Northeastern liberal elite, theirs by Southern conservatism, homespun “common sense,” and talk show-fueled conspiracies. His homosexuality remains an open secret, something they sidestep rather than confront, much less accept. When he and his sister return for Christmas, the wrong sibling brings home a boyfriend for the first time.
What starts as a tense but routine holiday gathering takes a surreal turn the next morning. Flights are canceled, pilots and flight attendants mysteriously take time off, and by the following day, an estimated seventy-eight million Americans fail to return to work. Their explanation? They just want to spend more time with their families. Christmas can be every day when you’re with family.
His parents—and millions of Americans—are suffering from a bizarre condition, trapped in an endless holiday loop, determined to celebrate Christmas every day. They make choices that go against their self-interests. Blissfully unbothered by their accumulating debts, economic collapse, or even basic responsibilities, they live in a festive delusion seemingly fueled by an addictive algorithm used by an evangelical shopping app called MerryNet.
At first, Matt sees no reason to get involved. He’s never been able to reach his parents before—why would this be any different? But as the syndrome spreads, paralyzing the country, he stumbles upon evidence linking the outbreak to corporate actors intent on silencing their perceived right-wing enemies. Faced with a choice between complicity and action, Matt realizes that exposing the truth may come at the cost of his career, safety, and sanity. But the country may slide further into a dystopian nightmare if he doesn’t act.
With the help of his boyfriend and sister, Matt must not only uncover the syndrome’s cause and cure but also confront the deeper divisions tearing his family—and the nation—apart.
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Enjoy this peek inside:
His father stood at the head of the table, clearing his throat in a way that demanded reverence. “Let’s join hands and pray over the meal,” he said.
Matt hesitated, his fingers brushing Grant’s as they linked. He glanced at his boyfriend, who exuded detached curiosity, like Jane Goodall observing chimpanzees in a mealtime ritual. The faintest twitch of Grant’s lips hinted at a private joke, but he said nothing, playing the part of the respectful outsider with disarming ease.
“Thank you, dear Lord, for delivering this family together tonight,” his father said, his eyes closed. “Even though my children forsake you, please forgive them so that they may join their mother and me in heaven.”
Matt bit down on his lip and squeezed Grant’s hand tighter.
“Amen,” his mother said. “Matt, does your friend eat ham?”
“I do,” Grant said. “Even if I didn’t, I’d make an exception for this. It’s a honey ham?”
“Yes, it’s Matt’s favorite,” she said. “Isn’t it, Matt?”
Matt scowled at his empty plate. “I’m not as hungry as I thought.”
His father’s cheeks flushed. “Your mother spent all day making this meal. Don’t sulk. Eat.”
“I’m not hungry either,” Elise said as she twirled her origami-like napkin on the table.
Matt’s mother sucked in a choppy breath of air and turned her head, blotting her nose with her napkin.
“Kids,” his father said, “this is Christmas. Christmas is for family.”
“I just don’t understand,” his mother said, giving another sniffle.
A hush fell over the table. Silent night, indeed, Matt thought. A music box chimed in the distance under the tree. Matt could feel his pulse thudding in his neck.
Aunt Cathy refolded her napkin and tucked it under her plate. “Welcome to the family, Grant. Matt tells me you’re a psychologist. I suspect you already know we’re crazy.”
“Still a resident, technically,” Grant said. “I’m just happy to be here. It isn’t my place to say.”
“Maybe we do need professional help,” Matt’s mother said behind a smile Matt didn’t trust. “Do you know why my son and his sister hate his parents so much that they’d come here just to starve themselves at our table?”
Matt’s father didn’t look up from his plate. “Judy, let’s leave Matt’s guest alone.”
“No, I want to know,” she said, forgetting to hold her smile.
Grant took a sip of his wine. “It’s really quite simple, Mrs. Daughtry,” he said as if observing an early impressionist work at the art gallery. “Your children love you but feel the transaction is one-sided. Your love for them is perceived as conditional on their support for your values.”
“Excuse me,” Matt’s mother said as indignation dried her tears.
“You’re excused,” Grant said. “I’m a professional. And you did ask.”
“Grant,” Matt said, reaching for Grant’s knee and immediately regretting how his tone sounded like his father’s. His stomach churned as he saw his mother’s hand tremble over her napkin.
“Is this how you speak to your own family?” she shot back.
“Yes. They’ve come to appreciate my honesty.”
“Elise, do you hear this?”
“I don’t know, Mom,” Elise said. “He’s not wrong.”
“Elise!”
“What? We’re all thinking it.”
Matt’s father dropped his fork with a clatter. “If we didn’t love you, why would we invite you here? Wrap all these gifts?”
Elise rose from her chair. “I don’t think it’s faith or love when it just pushes people away while you cling to a piety that makes you think you’re better than anyone who doesn’t watch your news shows, read your websites, vote for your favorite fascists, wear your stupid dresses, or donate to your megachurch!”
His father huffed and stormed out. His mother turned toward the window, biting down on her knuckles. “This isn’t how Christmas should be,” she sobbed. “Christmas is for family.”
“I wouldn’t mind having one of those nutty brownies now,” Grant said.
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About Author Evan J. Corbin:
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Evan resides in Philadelphia, PA. When he’s not working or spending time with his friends, he writes a little.
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