The house stirred, the whispers of dormice, the splintering glow of the embers laying dormant in the living room hearth, and the creaking of the house, braving the fierce blizzard and yet; something else, something far darker swells and churns within the warm walls of the family home, a dark shadow looming over the sleeping few.
A boy, no older than eight twists and turns in his bed, the rattling of harsh winds against the windows keeping him from his rest. Opening his eyes, he rises from the soft quilts, slipping out from the safety of his bed. Sliding into his slippers, he lifts himself to his feet, the floorboards betraying his restlessness as he finds his way through the dark room, his hands searching across the wall for the lightswitch.
A brief click resonates through his room, the shadows retreating from his form.
And yet, as the boy basks in the comfort of his own room, his gaze resting upon the gilding and garnishing, reminding him of the morning festivities to come, to those that lie in wake in the dark, he remains exposed.
A set of steps can be heard as the boy trails out of his sanctuary, his unsated curiosity leading him to the landing beyond his bedroom, a fear roots him as he watches the darkness rising from the lower floor, yet the logical, more grounded part of his mind tells him it’s a trick of the light. After all, he’s within his own home, safeguarded by the presence of his family, is he not?
Against his better judgement, he sinks down into the darkness below, one step at a time, each creak of the staircase beneath him sends shivers up his spine, despite this, the subtle glow of the christmas tree seeping from his living room fills him with a sense of security, one that belies the imminent danger the boy may soon find himself in.
One, Two, One, Two. He finds his way to the door, a hint of a smile creeping across his features as his eyes fall onto the the myriad of colours before him, it’s a heartwarming sight, one that fills him with nostalgic memories of the years before, warm eves spent by the fireplace, surrounded by family and festive cheer before the best day of the year…
And surely this year would be no different?
Without so much as a peep, the boy finds his way across the room, carefully navigating the barely illuminated remnants of festive treats and trinkets from their family celebration the evening prior, gradually inching closer and closer to the festive spire of green and gold, the star from the tree vividly outlined by the array of magical lights lining the leaves.
Alas what captured the boy’s attention, was not the lights, nor was it the star or the the shift in the rooms temperature, it was a small box, larger than any other present sitting under the tree. He traces a thumb along the seams of the paper, a crude job, but it gets the job done, surely he’d remember such a magnificent gift from all those days of anticipation, gazing upon the christmas tree and all its spoils, counting down the days. And yet, as he may wrack his brain for answers, the present bears no semblance of any he’d seen before, the box dwarfing him in height, yet no wider than his shoulders.
Beckoned by insatiable curiosity, the boy peels at the wrapping paper, what could it possibly be?
He tells himself that nobody will know, not if he’s careful, not if he’s quiet.
But despite his best efforts, it already knows, it already watches, an unreadable expression adorning its spider-like features.
From the corner of the room, it watches as a boy, no older than 10, peels away the paper of a large box, his small fingers finding their way to the seams, pulling away to reveal the hard texture of the cardboard underneath.
The embers of the fireplace fade away as it approaches, without so much as a peep, it finds its way across the room, easily traversing through the clutter of the evening before. An evening it remembers well, the cheers of man and woman alike from beyond its fragile prison, but alas that is of no concern; for it is christmas, the one night of the year where it may truly feast.
The boy, emboldened by the adrenaline running through him, tears away at the cardboard, peering into the box.
Nothing.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Confused and disappointed, the boy sets the box as it was, patting down the paper in a feeble attempt to hide his transgression, before making his slow retreat out of the vacant living room, gently closing the door behind him a padding his way across the hallway, finding his way to the stairs.
It watches from the landing as the child makes its way back up, clambering up the old staircase, unceremonious and loud, yet it remains still, molding into the darkness as its eyes remain fixed on the tiny form, full of excitement and anticipation, unaware of what lurks just out of sight.
As the young boy slips back into the warmth of his bedroom, the creature moves, without a sound, without a trace. It finds its way into the room as the boy trails back into bed, the shadows seeping back into the room as he turns off the light before quietly ambling back to bed, his feet slithering out of his warm slippers.
Pulling the duvet back over himself, the boy seeks respite from the cold that threatens to overwhelm him, an unnatural cold, sending sharp shivers up his spine, the safety of his christmas has vanished, and he has not a clue why.
He buries his face in his pillow, trying to cast away his restlessness, yet something stops him, perhaps it’s just his mind playing tricks, but regardless something is not right.
The present, the unnatural cold, the way the shadows feel like they’re swallowing him whole.
Something is not right.
It stands curiously over the small boy, examining as he hides his face with freakish intrigue, why does he shiver and whimper so?
It paces around the room, once full of festive warmth and cheer, now full of unease and fear, a stocking lies empty hung loosely around the bedpost, cookies now cold and milk gone sour resting untouched on the floor beneath the bed.
After all, Santa won’t be coming; they’re already dead.
The boy crawls under the covers, shielding himself from the eerie presence within his room, a rational part of him tells him that there’s nothing to be afraid of, the blizzard continues to rage outside, it’s only natural for the cold to take hold even within the warmth of his home, and surely the present can be explained.
And yet despite himself, he cowers in fear under the woven veil from a beast he does not know, a beast that belies reason, he’s a smart young boy, and he knows in his head that there’s nothing there, that he’s as safe as he can be. And yet fear does not loosen its grip on his young heart as he cowers away from the shadows of his room.
The creature regards the child with a warped grimace, its curiosity bordering on frustration, tracing its shadowy limbs, impossibly long and skeletal over the shivering boy, threatening to dig into him. Yet still it seeks entertainment above all, to carve away at the festive cheer that would have enveloped him only hours before, its lips pulled back, revealing a maw of jagged teeth, dripping with malevolent glee as a brilliant idea tugged at its mind.
The boy felt it, for the first time that night, he was sure that there was someone else, something else in the room with him, a rugged claw grazed over him through the thick duvet, fear continued to grip him, but this time there’s something else, adrenaline.
The creature watches with sick amusement as the boy desperately launches himself from the gilded safety of his bed towards the door, his bare feet pounded against the wooden floorboards, each frantic step threatening to splinter the sturdy planks beneath him. Forcing the door wide open, his eyes settle on the open door to the room where his parents once slept.
Following slowly, remaining just out of sight, it glides across the landing, grinning maniacally as the young boy attempts to elude him.
Throwing the door shut behind him, the boy scrambles for the light switch, desperate to find respite in the safety of his parents, but as the light floods into the room, the sight before him is nothing short of soul-shattering, when the bulb flickered to life, it painted the scene in harsh, unforgiving clarity. His mother and father lay unnaturally still in their bed, their faces frozen in expressions of wide-eyed terror, mouths agape as if their last breaths had been stolen mid-scream. Crimson streaks painted the sheets, dark and glossy in the light, pooling beneath them like grotesque halos. His mother’s hand, limp on the edge of the bed, still reached outward, as if she had tried to claw her way to safety—or to him.
The creature stalks the boy from a distance, it’s visage the very image of satisfaction as it watches the boy, who’s refuge he’d sought was gone, replaced by a waking nightmare more horrifying than anything he could have imagined.
But alas, the night was drawing to a close, the sun threatened to flood the room with the radiance of the morn, and the show must come to a close; the creature would allow no curtain call. From the shadows, it emerged with unnatural grace, its spindly limbs unfolding like a grotesque marionette freed from its strings. The boy barely had time to scream before it was upon him, its jagged grin stretching impossibly wide. There was no struggle, only the sickening sound of flesh meeting claw, a wet, visceral finality that echoed through the room. The boy’s world dissolved into darkness, his last desperate thought clinging to the memory of his parents’ embrace—a comfort he would never know again. And then, silence.
The house lay dormant, the silence of the night, the sooty smell of the fireplace laying cold in the living room hearth, and the eerie silence of the house, once a home to a family, now a home to none.
Written By: Temenos (no link)
Writing Prompt: “The gift was wrapped with great care before he gave it to the man he'd once called his friend. Nothing gave away its terrible nature, even after it was placed beneath the tree. It wasn't until it started to move later that night after everyone had gone to bed, that the terrible truth was revealed.”
Themes: Horror, Supernatural