12.25.26

“Don’t venture out unless necessary. Strong winds are a threat to life.”

A red warning had been issued on all the news stations. The gale was soon to turn into a storm and everyone better stay locked in their homes. This was the worst December weather the town had experienced in thirty years. I prayed that the storm would subside in time for Christmas Day in a week’s time. My parents would be counting on me to go home.

Late evening. I’d had dinner, washed up and looked out of the window, peering through the curtains. My driveway was lost by the swirling winds. I could barely see the rose bushes on my path, now huddled together for comfort. I was lucky to be inside with the warm fire, coffee mug in hand and about to lounge on the sofa. Time to flick through a dozen and one channels until I settled on one.

It was faint, I could barely hear over the gale force winds, but there was a knock at the door. What idiot would be wandering about the neighbourhood after a day of non-stop warnings. I would curse them if they were kids and their bikes playing knock and run, thinking they’re funny.

I grumbled. Got to my feet and ambled over. I peeked my head around the blinds but couldn’t see a single thing. Everywhere was in darkness and swirling howls. As soon as I’d gotten home early that day, I’d bolted the door shut. My boss had told the department to leave the city before evening.

The moment my hand let go of the lock, the front door flung open, my breath taken away. I had to scrunch my eyes up. I couldn’t see the gravel on my driveway and where Id parked my car. If I didn’t know already, I’d have no idea it was bright red. I gritted my teeth. I grumbled. I shook my fists in the air. They’d get what’s coming to them when the storm passed.

As I began to slam the door shut, I noticed something taped heavily to my door camera.

Standing in the entrance hall, dressing gown and slippers keeping me warm from the cold winds, I tugged and tugged at the thick tape holding this mysterious object in place.

I toppled, falling on the step. The wind had pushed the front door closed with a bang and the object bounced two times before landing on the hall floor. It was black, smallish and when I got back to my feet, I edged forward, tried to gingerly turn it over with the tips of my fingers.

A phone lay there with its screen a black mirror. An older model from the mid 2000’s, this was one of the first smartphones. Again, I nudged it. The light blue screen flashed the time and date. 7.50 - December 18. With a black wallpaper. In the middle a code: 25.12.26 Exactly six digits. The exact number a passcode needed.

I grabbed the phone, wandered back to the sofa, then proceeded to type in the date. ENTER PASSCODE. 251226. The phone nudged itself and opened straight onto Photo library. There were no photos but one video in the left-hand corner ready to play. My finger hovered over the button. If this was a jump scare or practical joke recorded by one of the neighbours’ children, I would have lost my mind I was so angry.

I pressed play, forcing myself to watch. The thirty second video started in darkness. I recognised those cheap, tacky Christmas lights anywhere. The video lit up with bright colours. The Christmas tree I’d grown up with, the garish fairy lights decorating it, at my childhood home. Above, was the information banner in white, which read, 33 Cleveland Close -

25 December 2026.

“Exactly a week from today.” I muttered.

I continued to watch, though I felt my hands shake. A dancing Santa Claus decoration we’d had for a few decades, started to dance on its own. His hips swayed from side to side singing festive songs chuckling “Ho, Ho, Ho”. The bright Christmas lights flashed vibrantly casting light below the tree, the phone panned down.

Despite the footage being from the future, the video was grainy, fuzzy and glitched several times. Even so, I knew my parents terrified faces well. Half lit by fairy lights, I could see their cheeks were red and puffy. They’d been screaming, crying and now they were exhausted.

They sat, legs out in front of them. Tied with unlit fairy lights, like rope, arms tied together, with their backs to each other.

I leapt to my feet, threw the phone on the sofa by the cushions. My heart could have almost of burst out of my rib cage. Letting out a screech, the video paused. The faint play button on my parent’s faces.

My own phone vibrated on the coffee table. I leant forward, grabbed it as if it were dangerous and read the text that had just come through.

Mom: “Hope you’re keeping yourself safe in this storm. I’m just about to start baking the apple pie for next week. Got any other requests you want me to bake? I know you love the sugar cookies.”

She was oblivious, living her life at home as if nothing was wrong. The branches of the trees banged on the windows repeatedly. Every howl of the wind made me more nervous.

“Sugar cookies will be great.” I managed to type back before sliding my phone away in my pocket.

I watched the paused video lying on the sofa, ready for me to press play again, calling me and taunting me. I grabbed it, pressed play and kept watching. The Santa continued to sing and dance as the videographer, whoever it was, zoomed in on their faces.

Up close, I could see how much Mom had been crying, her lip trembling. Dad looked much the same, like a wounded soldier. I couldn’t watch anymore. I opened messages.

Like the photo album, there was only one contact in the phone. My number. Checking once more, I muttered the numbers out loud. No matter how much I said or looked over it, this was my phone number.

I called myself, hoping the automated voice would tell me that the number wasn’t in use, that there had been a big mistake. I wasn’t that lucky. My jean’s pocket vibrated. Pulling my phone out, the number on screen read, UNKNOWN. I felt myself collapse onto the sofa. My own lights, strung up upon the fireplace, twinkled.

I wasn’t about to be bullied and trapped in my own home, and so I gathered myself together, stormed to the front door and pulled the door open. The full force of the wind nearly blew me off my feet, but I held tightly hold to the knocker, shouting out into the storm.

“You think this is funny? You can’t scare me!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

The wind howled back like packs of wolves.

“You think you’re so tough? Come and show me your face!”

Nothing but the storm swirling on. From what I could see in front of me, several trees had taken a battering, a tree trunk lay marooned in the middle of the traffic circle, nobody could get past. Hand on the door about to shut, a presence stopped me from closing. Not the wind this time, something more solid pushing me right into my house and onto the stairs.

I looked straight at them, hair swept to one side with madness in their eyes, half of my face crispy and carrying a tin watering can. It was me.

A very storm scorned, ruthless version of myself, hovered over me. She stormed into the lounge, taking the phone from the sofa and shoved it into my hand.

“WATCH!” She demanded, her voice raspy and broken. “WATCH!”

Pressurised, my finger pressed and continued to watch the video. My thoughts darted occasionally, glancing at this version of myself, decaying and in pain. The left side of my face was burnt to a crisp, my cheeks peeling.

I watched my parents finally pleaded. “Don’t do this! I beg of you!”

The camera flipped. This other version of myself faced the screen. Fearful and full of emotion. I saw what I’d become. My face sagged, I looked drained and crazed.

“Take it in, take all of it in.”

In a split second, the Christmas decorations Id loved as a child burst into flames. The entire screen lit up with fire, as I helplessly watched my parents burn.

“Your turn now.” The version of me croaked, dousing me with the watering can. I could smell this wasn’t water as I witnessed a lighted matchstick by my feet.

All I smelt was burning.