Silent Night

“Silent Night” was not just a song to me; it was the soundtrack of every Christmas Eve of my life. This one started like all the others, with the familiar crackle of the fireplace and the sweet scent of pine in the air, but it ended with a terror I'd never forget.

Christmas Eve was magical as a kid, full of snow, lights, and happiness. Usually, you'd hear laughter and singing, but that year it was oddly quiet, like something special was about to happen.

The family house, old and full of memories, always faced winter strongly. But now, it felt alone, surrounded by woods that seemed to move closer, their shadows touching the house as the light went away.

On previous Christmas Eves, the house would be bustling with noise and warmth. My parents would be in the kitchen, the scents of cinnamon and roast drifting through the halls, mingling with laughter and the crackle of the fireplace. But that year, the silence felt heavy, as if it were a tangible thing.

My parents couldn't be with me to share stories and hot cocoa because a big snowstorm trapped them at the airport. They called, sounding annoyed. I tried to sound cheerful when we talked, but really, I felt very sad and alone without them.

The silence was oppressive, a thick blanket that muffled the world. When the wind rose, it wasn't the usual howl but a low, secretive murmur, as if it carried messages I wasn’t meant to hear. And then came the tap, tap, tap at the window, gentle but insistent.

At first, it was easy to dismiss as the tickle of branches in the wind. But the silhouette that pressed against the glass didn't belong to any tree. It was large and crooked, shifting unnaturally as if uncertain of its own form.

Fear is a powerful thing; it can make you doubt what you know to be true. I knew there was nothing outside my window but the wind and the snow, and yet... As the house plunged into darkness with the flicker and die of the power, my heart raced.

The old tale my grandmother whispered to me as a child, her voice a mix of warning and thrill, seemed suddenly, horrifyingly plausible. A creature that fed on solitude, a shadow that crept from the dark corners of the world to prey on those alone on Christmas Eve.

The cold bit at me, nipping fingers and toes, turning breath to frost. When the warped tune of "Silent Night" slithered through the cracks of the house, it was as if the creature was mocking me, twisting fond memories into something grotesque.

The creak of the door was the sound of nightmares given form. That gust of icy air felt like the breath of the creature itself, filling the space with the scent of snow and something else, something ancient and forgotten.

Time felt super long, like every tick took forever, while I sat with my eyes tight closed, hugging myself, waiting for morning to come and make the dark go away. And when it finally did, the relief was a physical thing, a weight lifted.

Yet the sight of those footprints, so distinctly non-human, so terrifyingly real, etched into the snow leading into the woods, showed me that the world is a lot bigger and weirder than I ever thought.

Christmas was never the same after that. The joy of the season was forever twined with a thread of fear, a reminder that some stories might be more than just tales to tell in the dark. No matter where life took me, I made sure I was never by myself on Christmas Eve.