What Came Down the Chimney this Christmas

Christmas Morning

Gran opened her bedroom door, and walked into the dining room. She avoided the broken glass from the dining room window, and sidestepped the pools of blood which remained from the night before. She remembered hearing the window break last night, it was one of the most distinctive sounds that came from the slaughter.

Putting on her boots and other winter clothing, Gran walked out into the snow. She walked around to the side of the cabin, and looked at the broken window from the outside. A bit of clothing hung on one of the shards of glass. It was soaked in blood, and lightly covered by Christmas morning frost. Gran couldn't tell if it was John's or William's, but she decided it didn't matter and continued walking through the snow.

Gran walked past what was left of Jack, after she had butchered the dog near the remains of the henhouse. The dog's body now rested under a blanket of snow. She knelt down, and patted Jack's head. It was the same morning greeting that William would have given the dog, had he been alive this Christmas morning.

What was left of the henhouse jutted up from the banks of snow that had fallen around it. Gran peeked around the sides of the henhouse, looking to see if any of the burnt chickens remained. She couldn't find any, at least not any parts which were whole enough to carry back to the cabin. However, Gran was able to find what was left of the Christmas tree.

All that remained was the tree's blackened trunk, which had been thinned out from the fire. The trunk's bottom end hadn't been consumed by the flames, and as Gran held the trunk in her hand, she decided it would make a good walking stick for the time being. Gran continued her march through the Christmas morning snow, her feeble balance was stabled by what was left of the Christmas tree.

Gran followed the tracks in the snow, the clawed feet left rather distinctive tracks for her to follow. Of course, there was also a trail of blood which was easy to follow. The crimson blood stood out greatly from the rest of the snow. It was as though Gran was a Christmas morning mouse following a trail of cookie crumbs to the plate of cookies Saint Nick had enjoyed the night before. Only this trail was made of droplets of John and William's blood, and it didn't lead to a plate of cookies. Instead, this trail led Gran to the steep edge of the hill.

Cautiously looking down the edge of the hill, Gran followed the blood as the trail bounced its way through the snow. Some of the boulders which jutted out from the side of the hill were covered in blood, no doubt from the bodies as they tumbled down the hill. Gran's gaze fell onto the largest of the granite boulders at the bottom of the hill. It was on this boulder that she saw John and William.

William's entire skull was caved in. What was left of his eyes dripped down the sides of his cheeks, and froze to cold and lifeless skin. The frozen dribble was like egg yolk, that's what it reminded Gran of. John stared up at the sky above with glazed over blue eyes, blue like the clear sky above.

The boy's bones broke through them, poking out in an assortment of abnormal locations. Their rib cages had broken through their bellies, and poked into the air as though they were the limbs of an evergreen tree waiting to be decorated. As the thought of a Christmas tree ran through Gran's mind, she ran her hand down her walking stick and smiled.

The contorted corpses on the boulder below reminded Gran of ornaments. Christmas ornaments, to be precise. Gran couldn't help herself from making this analogy, it was Christmas morning, after all.