What Came Down the Chimney this Christmas

A Fire in the Night

John and William had taken the wooden skeleton of the Christmas tree outside, earlier in the day. Gran had told them to throw the tree down the hill, but in the face of an unpleasant and chilling wind, John decided he didn't want to walk to the hill's edge. So, after locking the hens away for the evening, he propped the tree up against the side of the henhouse.

Gran ensured that not even a single needle from the tree remained on her wooden floor. Night had fallen, and the boys presently sat near a dying fire. Only the ghost of the Christmas tree kept them company.

"Gran?" William called out to her, breaking the formidable silence in the air.

"Yes William?" she sat forward in her rocking chair, taking a break from knitting.

"Can you tell us a story?" William said, hoping she would be in a good mood and indulge him.

"What story would you like to hear?"

"Tell us about the wolves. The wolves of a Christmas long ago," William pleaded, warming his hands by the fire.

"Are you sure that's the story you want to hear William? It's a rather ... unpleasant story for the holiday season."

"Tell us about the wolves," John added, huddling near his brother at the fire.

"Long ago, on Christmas day, my father, brother, and I were living in a log cabin. The cabin was entirely made of wood, after all, my brother and I had helped to build it -"

"Was it this cabin?" William interrupted her.

"You know it was not this cabin," Gran told William. "Your mother helped me build this cabin before either of you were born. The cabin I'm speaking of was built long before this one, and it was in the middle of the woods. It was a pleasant cabin for the most part, except for some of the animals which shared the forest with us."

"Like the bears?" John asked her.

"Yes, like the bears. There were bears, catamounts, and of course... there were wolves." Gran placed great emphasis on the last animal, making both the boys heart's race with nervousness. "You two remember the wolves don't you? I've told you about the wolves many times, the wolves that forced me to leave the woods and build the house we are in now."

"I remember hearing about the wolves," John replied, looking over at Gran. Gran stared back at him, the fire crackling in her eyes. "The wolves that killed your brother and father?" John hesitantly posed the question.

"Indeed. Those same wolves from the darkest part of the woods. Do you boys remember what my father told me right before he died?" John and William thought about her question for a moment, and then both shook their heads. "Go, get some more wood for the fire, and then I'll tell you." Gran motioned for them to go out the door and fetch the wood.

John and William put on their coats, and opened the door to the cold world outside. Walking through the December snow, which had begun to fall, the boys made their way to the henhouse. They could have gathered some of the wood they had chopped a while ago, the wood which Gran wanted them to get, but they concluded that the Christmas tree would burn just as well. Ripping off a few of the tree's limbs, the boys gathered pieces of the Christmas tree to add to the fire.

Closing the door behind them, John and William put their bundles next to the fire. William sat next to Gran, and John shoved the first few pieces of the tree into the flames. There was a momentary pause, but soon the evergreen's wood began to burn quickly, as the fire roared back to life. John went to grab some more of the wood from the bundle beside him, but paused when he felt an unusual heat coming from the wood pile.

Smoke began to rise from the wood, the prelude before a yellow flame shot out from the bundle of wood. Instinctively, John began to smother the fire that had broken out across the floor. After the last of the fire had been smothered, John looked over to Gran and William who were standing at the window. They didn't even seem to notice the fire that threatened to burn down their house.

"John? "Where did the Christmas tree go?" Gran asked him, her gaze fixed on the henhouse which had burst into flames.

John didn't answer her, but rushed to put his coat on, and then sprinted to the henhouse. Gran also hobbled out into the cold, but William remained, watching as the henhouse turned black amongst the flames.

William could see his brother and Gran, frantically trying to put out the fire. He could hear the chickens screaming as they were roasted alive. There was no point in trying to put out the fire now, all the chickens would be dead in a few moments. It wasn't Gran's yelling, or the chicken's screaming, which unnerved William the most. It was something he heard amongst all of the chaos.

Even with all of the commotion outside, William was able to hear something coming from the fire in their chimney. He looked at the small fire, the fire he and his brother had constructed, as though his mind was playing tricks on him. Then, ensuring it wasn't just his imagination, William listened closely to the sounds coming from the fire. Amongst the screaming outside, and the crackling fire of the henhouse, William could hear wolves howling softly from the flames before him, and it was this sound which truly terrified him.