‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. It was a strange feeling that overcame me as I awoke. I couldn’t quite explain it, but I knew something was amiss. I slipped out of bed and slid my feet into my slippers. I padded across the carpet to my door, cracking it open. An eerily silent house met me there. I peeked over the banister, checking the tree for presents. The shiny red foil poking through the foliage indicated that Santa had certainly come. I sighed in relief, continuing on to my parents’ room. The door was already propped open, something which I had not expected. I pushed the door open further. “Mom? Dad?” I whispered, “Is anyone awake?” When there was no response, I crept forward. I approached the bed, hovering over the figure of my dad. He was turned away from me, and tucked in tightly under the covers. I nudged him gently. “Dad?” I pushed him harder, trying to wake him up. “Dad, wake up!”

When there was no response, I crept forward. I approached the bed, hovering over the figure of my dad. He was turned away from me, and tucked in tightly under the covers. I nudged him gently. “Dad?” I pushed him harder, trying to wake him up. “Dad, wake up!” I stepped closer to the bed, and pulled him towards me. As his body turned towards me, I gasped. A dark substance covered his face. As I stood in shock next to the bed, something warm began to soak through my slippers and into my sock. I ran to the light switch, flipping it on. I couldn’t believe what I saw when I turned around. Bright red blood had been smeared across the walls. Strokes reminiscent of a festive garland, with little, dripping baubles, ran around the crowning of the room. On the great empty wall across from me, a wreath had been haphazardly painted. In horror, I looked back to my parents’ bed to see the previously pale sheets now dark and wet. I ran from the room, willing it not to be true. As I sprinted into the hall, I ran into something big and tall and holly red.

“Ho, ho ho! What do we have here?” I looked up through my teartts to see the jolly visage of Old St. Nick. “Santa?” His face grew concerned. “What’s wrong child? How could you be crying on Christmas?” “My-my-my-” I stuttered. Santa peeked over my shoulder, his eyes widening at what he saw. “Is someone hurt?” He asked. I nodded, my throat still constricted by sobs. “Oh, dear. Why don’t you come with me, young one? I can take you far, far away from here.” I nodded again, wanting nothing more than to get away. He took my hand and guided me to his sleigh. We rode off into the night, Rudolph’s shiny red nose leading the flight. When we arrived at the North Pole, Santa gave me hot chocolate and some of Mrs. Clause’s famous cookies. Once I was warm and fed, he officially invited me to become one of his elves. I agreed, still being shaken from the scene in my parents’ bedroom. It was years later when I realized that the cuffs of Santa’s suit had been red that night, not frosty, snowy, wintry white.