I've never seen a Christmas tree. Not up close, anyway. All those little bells, twinkling lights, and needles of green? Nope. In my family, we do things a little differently. We don't hang stockings, we hang vials of blood. We don't sing and dance, we run and hide.
Tradition, amirite?
Well, my parents would hate me doing this, but there are no rules against it, so, here ya go! It's gonna be quite the ride, so I suggest you lock your windows and doors.
The game starts at midnight of Christmas every Christmas eve. We put away everything we're doing and hang the vials. They're from my siblings, mostly. Every time the dark takes them away, it leaves us a souvenir. A reminder, my dad calls it. Of what?
Don't ask. You still enjoy sleeping at night, right?
After we hang the vials, we pray to It until the vials shatter and the lights go out. Then we all run away. We can't talk or communicate with each other. That's cheating, and cheating means punishment.
"You ready Sammy?" Dad asked, smiling as he set the bowl of herbs onto the table. It smelled amazing. I nodded, taking my place at the table, and taking a handful for myself. Such was our custom.
My older sister Maria sat on the right side of the table, while my younger brother John sat opposite to her. Facing me was my father, who smiled and held out his hands. Mother stared at us from the corner of the room, her own lips pressed together, as if holding back tears. She wasn't allowed to play.
As was custom, we held each other's hands...and prayed.
Every Christmas, we pray for many things. We pray for my father's good health, so he may continue to serve It. We ask for peace and prosperity to touch my father, so he can take care of us more. To finish it all, we thank It for ensuring our continued survival in this dark world.
I wish I could forget those words. God, I want to forget them, to kick them out of my mind and drive away, into a brighter, better future. But I can't. They were carved into my mind ages ago, like words on unmelting ice. It will never allow me to forget. Never.
The only lightbulb in the room finally died. The game was on.
I ran outside, fumbling with the backdoor. My hands trembled as I swung it open, my heart stopping as the hinges groaned in agony. I heard It coming. It was searching for me. I didn't stop running until I saw town borders.
I stopped at one of the abandoned buildings, turning back to see the dot among the trees. The dot I called home. I clutched at the knot in my chest, willing my frantic heart to recover faster. It wasn't safe. Not yet.
I slumped against the wall, looking out at the night sky. I couldn't see the dot, but I knew it was there. I needed to stay away. The game would end until the sun rose. Why would the monster bother me now? It had plenty of tasty treats back at the house.
I shuddered, sipping my hot water as I looked out into the shadows below. My flashlight was at my feet, ready to turn on at a moment's notice. I knew the batteries were almost dead though. If they weren't, I'd have already switched it on five times to convince myself I wasn't being watched.
The hairs on my back began to rise. Something felt wrong. Very wrong. I got up, grabbed the flashlight and looked around. I realized just how isolated this place was, with its snowstorms and ice-filled roads. In this wintery wasteland, who would hear me scream?
I don't have the courage to describe what I saw in that room. I barely remember it. Fragments of a dream at this point. Or nightmare. Nightmare's probably more accurate. I remember...eyes. And teeth. Lots of gnashing teeth. They were chewing on something.
I didn't stick around to see what it was. I just ran. My heart pounded; I moved faster than I ever thought possible. Faster than my legs had ever carried me before. All around me, the sounds of gnashing teeth and desperate wails melded with one word.
"Jackie!"
"Jackie!"
"Jackie!"
"Come here Jackie!"
Like a predator watching its prey, reveling in its fear. Sharpening its knife while its victim squawked and flew around like a headless chicken. The chicken in question, being me. That was my name...and it was coming from something that I don't think was ever meant to exist.
The sky was as black as the shadows surrounding me. My flashlight quivered in my hand as I ran. Left, right, left. All the way back to my house. I navigated the warped trees, barely avoided the lower branches as I sprinted through the darkness.
The voice continued to follow me, running so fast I feared it would catch up any second. If it caught me, what would happen? Three of my six siblings had already been lost. What'd happened to them?
An axe flew over my head, burying itself in a tree trunk. I knew that axe. Whose axe was that? Why did I remember it? Its handle was tipped with some kind of stone; a gemstone? Rubies, maybe? But why-
I felt It's hands grab my forearm. I screamed, taking my head as far back as I could until I hit It. It roared in rage, letting go of me long enough to mount an escape back to the house. The sun was rising. I was safe!
I ran through the back-door, slamming it shut just as the creature ran into it. Splinters fell onto the ground, but the door stood firm. I collapsed onto the floor, and that was it.
Dad shouted at me for hours, nursing a bloody nose as he sent me to my room. I wasn't supposed to go outside. It was so unfair, but I knew better then to complain about fairness to my father. His word was everything. He was the one who decided what was fair.
So, here I am, finishing up this story. Dad's been going away for a long time. Every time he goes away he brings back more meat. He says he's been asking It for more food, but that It's displeased. Because of me.
Dad's been going on a lot of road-trips to get more meat. Each time is longer than the last. But he says it'll be better. Christmas is coming up soon, and it will be our only chance to please It enough to ask It for food and aid again.
I know that we need to make It happy again if we want to survive this winter.
I'm just not sure I want to know how.
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YOU ARE READING
Stories Written In The Dark
HorrorA collection of original short horror stories guaranteed to keep you up at night. Because who needs sleep anyway? Oh, and maybe just ignore the dolls staring from the corner of the room. I'm not touching those.