The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S12E03 - Christmas 2018

Episode Date: December 23, 2018

The NoSleep Podcast presents the Christmas 2018 episode. A feast of festive frights and fruitcake. "It’s Tradition"‡ written by S.H. Cooper and performed by Addison Peacock & Erika Sanderson & Nikolle Doolin. (Story starts around 00:04:40) "The Ginger Dread Man"† written by Manen Lyset and performed by Elie Hirschman & Erika Sanderson & Matthew Bradford & Nichole Goodnight. (Story starts around 00:23:00) "A Christmas Wish"† written by David Ault & Manen Lyset and performed by Mary Murphy & Jessica McEvoy & Nikolle Doolin & Mike DelGaudio. (Story starts around 00:38:30) "The Dangers of Mistletoe"† written by J.P. Carver and performed by Nichole Goodnight & Kyle Akers & Nikolle Doolin & Dan Zappulla. (Story starts around 01:00:30) "The Bell Tower Children"¤ written by Marcus Damanda and performed by Mike DelGaudio & Addison Peacock & Elie Hirschman & Jessica McEvoy & Erika Sanderson. (Story starts around 01:20:00) "Pub Trivia"† written by Troy H. Gardner and performed by Jessica McEvoy & Kyle Akers & Dan Harmon & Cody Heller & David Ault & Erika Sanderson. (Story starts around 01:53:00) Episode script† written by C.K. Walker and performed by The North Pole Community Theatre Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast   Click here to learn more about S.H. Cooper   Click here to learn more about Manen Lyset   Click here to learn more about David Ault   Click here to learn more about J.P. Carver   Click here to learn more about Marcus Damanda   Click here to learn more about Troy H. Gardner   Click here to learn more about C.K. Walker   Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone Audio adaptations produced by: Phil Michalski† & Jeff Clement‡ & Jesse Cornett¤ "Roasting on an Open Fire" illustration courtesy of Abby Howard Audio program ©2018-2019 - Creative Reason Media Inc. - All Rights Reserved - No reproduction or use of this content is permitted without the express written consent of Creative Reason Media Inc. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors.   Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Settle down, settle down, my lovelies. Come on, everyone. Come on, my sweets, let's calm down. Mrs. Claus, Mrs. Claus. Is it time to make the fruit cake? Fruit cake, fruit cake, fruit cake. Oh, now, now, Jessica Reynolds. Look what you've started.

Oh, hohoho. Merry Christmas, Mrs. Claus. Santa! Happy Christmas, dear. And a Merry Christmas to you as well, my hard-working little elves. Santa, we're about to make fruit cake. Fruit cake, fruit cake, fruit cake, fruit cake. Well, now, you know fruit cake is my favourite.

Yay, fruit cake! Now quiet down, everyone. Before we make fruit cake, it's a tradition in the Claus household to read Christmas stories to all of Santa's elves. Oh, that's me. That's us. That's us. That's right. So everyone come round. Here you go. Right on the floor in front of me. Here's a place for you, Addison.

And Mike, scoot over there just a bit. That's it. Room for you right here, Kyle. Peter, will you please bring the hot chocolate in from the kitchen? Santa, will you stay for Christmas stories and hot chocolate? Oh, I'm afraid not, Mike. As much as I love my Sandra's sweet voice And her even sweeter hot chocolate

Oh, I can't stay Yes, Mr. Claus is very busy Why, it's Christmas Eve and he's still loading up the sleigh It's getting quite late, my dear Oh yes, I know We're just loading up the last of the Nintendo switches Oh, be careful with those, Olivia. Santa did not get this.

extended warranties It's your favourite Christmas song, Santa. Why, so it is. I think I'll go and join in. Enjoy the stories, my sweet little elves. We will, we will, we will. I expect lots of fruitcake to fill my belly

when I return, my dear. Of course, Santa. I know how much you like your fruit cake. All right la la la la la la la la la Straight up and join the chorus Ha la la la la la la la la la la la All right Now who's ready for the first story of Christmas

I am Me Is it time for fruit kick yet? Not yet, I disson Mrs Claus Can I go down the candy cane slide The striped one You may go down the slide

After stories Jessica Now, take that hot chocolate from Peter, but be careful. Blow on it first, Miss sweets. All right now, our first Christmas story is called It's Tradition. Are you ready? Yes, yes! Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year. Unless you're hundreds of miles from home with no nearby friends or family.

Then it's just kind of depressing. I hadn't even been thinking about the holidays when I'd accepted my new job in early December. I was too caught up in the stress and excitement of moving to think an hour ahead, much less three weeks. It wasn't until my mom called to make sure I was settling in that I realized my predicament. Expect you back for Christmas? I paused from pulling plates out of the box I'd been unpacking and glanced at the calendar I'd hung on the kitchen wall. Sorry, Mom. I can't. I've got work the day after.

That's all right. We'll miss you, but we understand. It would be the first Christmas I'd ever spend apart from my family. No big reunion at my grandparents. No turkey feast. No opening presents with my siblings and cousins. Just me, alone, in my apartment. Determined not to let my favorite day of the year go by without any fanfare.

I went out and bought a fake tree, some ornaments, and a few small decorations to put up around my place. I didn't quite feel like home, but it was better than nothing. I sent some photos to my parents. They sent some of their house, all done up in red and green cheer, and I said I'd video chat with them on Christmas. Christmas Eve found me snuggled up on my couch with an eggnog in hand and Ebenezer Scrooge surrounded by Muppets on TV. I had worked a full shift and was starting to doze before the ghost of Christmas past had even made its appearance.

There was just something so soothing about the colorful glow of the lights from the tree and a familiar childhood film playing in the background. I jumped almost sloshing my egg-nog down my front and sat up to peer at the door. It was close to nine at night. I couldn't imagine who might be stopping by. A friendly neighbor dropping off cookies? A delivery guy making his... last stop for the evening. Neither seemed very likely considering I had yet to say so much as

hello to anyone in the building, and the gifts from my family had already arrived. I set my glass aside and got up to pad softly to the door. My face was only inches from the peephole when whoever was on the other side knocked again. I could just hear that they were muttering to themselves, but it was too quiet for me to make out any words. I rolled my eyes. I rolled my eyes. that they're impatience and peeked out to see who my unexpected visitor was. The hallway outside of my apartment was empty. I remained in place, pressed up against the door with my breath held, trying to see as much of the hall as possible.

Someone had just been there. It didn't seem possible that they'd have been able to run off before I looked through the peephole. Increasingly nervous thoughts began to pop up in my head. What if they were crouched out of view? What if they were waiting for me to open the door? Mom had been very worried about me living in a new city all by myself and had warned me repeatedly about what could happen to a lone woman who wasn't careful. I double-checked the deadbolt was locked,

and then, as an added precaution, slid the security chain into place as quietly as I could. After another minute, with no sign of anyone lurking in the shadows, I stepped back and shook off the chill that had crept over me. There was no point in getting myself freaked out over what had probably been someone knocking on the wrong door. I left the movie running on the television and grabbed my phone to head to the bathroom. There was nothing a hot bath couldn't fix. I settled into the water with a sigh and rested my elbows on either side of the tub to help hold my phone up.

Mom picked up on the first ring. I could hear loud conversation and laughter in the background. You got grandmas? Yeah. We got here a few hours ago. Uncle Sam and Aunt Maria are here with their kids, too. Steve and Gail arrived tomorrow. What about you?

How are you doing? Okay. Wish I could be there, though. You sound a little off, sweetie. You sure you're okay? Nothing ever got by a mom. I hesitated, tapping the fingers of my free hand against the tub. Yeah, just got a little spook.

Someone knocked on my door. Don't worry, I didn't answer it. No one was even there when I... It occurred to me mid-sentence that the line had gone quiet, and I frowned. Mom? You there? She didn't respond. I pulled the phone away from my ear and saw that the call had disconnected.

In the top left corner of the screen, instead of bars, it read, no signal. I stretched over the edge of the tub and set my phone. phone on the pile of clothes on the floor before sinking back into the water, where I stayed until it cooled too much to be comfortable. Once it had drained and I had towel dried, I went into my room to change into my pajamas. At first, I thought the distant clinking of pots and pans I heard as I tugged my shirt on was coming from the TV. Tiny Tim's family was finally getting their turkey feast, But the soft singing that followed was certainly not from the movie. It was an older woman's voice,

gently warbling a tuneless version of some carol. And it was coming from my kitchen. My first thought was to call the police. My second was that my phone was still in the bathroom where I'd left it on the clothes. Walking back to it would put me in clear sight of the kitchen. How had I not seen a person in my face? apartment when I'd first come out. Had she seen me? More confusing and unnerving? How had she gotten inside to begin with? I had double-locked the front door, the only door. It wasn't like she could have gotten in

through a window either. I was on the second floor. I tiptoed to my bedroom and poked my head out just enough to look down the hall. The overhead light that I definitely had not left on illuminated the kitchen and the short, stout woman who was standing in the middle of it, staring back at me. She looked like I imagined Mrs. Clausewood. Her round, grandmotherly face lit with a warm smile the moment our eyes met. There you are. Come out. It's time to eat. I remained in the doorway, one on the door, ready to slam it shut. Who are you? What are you doing here? What am I doing here? Oh, I be. I always come round to you for Christmas. It's tradition. I side-eyed the bathroom across the hall.

Surely I could make it before she got to me. She was only an old woman after all. An old woman who had somehow gotten herself through a dead bolt and security chain without me hearing. Come along, dear. I've made your favorites. Turkey with stuffing, green beans, even those sugar cookies you love so much. She started to move about the kitchen again, grabbing a pair of oven mitts I didn't recognize

and tugging open the oven. Who are you? The old woman glanced at me over her shoulder. Stop being silly. It's grand. While her back was turned, I took my chance, springing from my room toward the bathroom. I'd barely made it into the hall when the door slammed shut in front of me.

Behind me, the bedroom door did the same. I grabbed the knobs and tried to turn them, but they refused to budge, and I was left stranded between them with no place to go. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, and I stood there like a rabbit, facing down a fox. Except my fox was a geriatric home invader who could apparently close doors with her mind. She had turned back to me and was holding up a covered turkey pan. Her cheeks had taken on a pinky hue. She was smiling cheerfully, as if nothing were amiss.

Supper's ready. I've already set the table, so just have a seat. I didn't move. I could barely remember to breathe. Her smile flickered just slightly, allowing a second's worth of darkness to cross her features. But then she was clucking her tongue in good-natured reproach. She set the pan down and busts.

toward me, ignoring my desperate attempts to shoulder open my bathroom door and get to my phone. Her plump fingers closed over my wrist and she tugged me toward the kitchen. You're feeling spirited today, aren't you? Someone had to have heard me, I thought wildly. They'd come knock or call the cops or do something. But no one came to check on me as the woman who called herself Grand pushed me into a chair at the dinner table. I glanced toward the front door, still locked and chained. But then Gran was standing between me and it with her turkey pan clutched in both hands.

Here we are. Tuck in, dear. She placed it in the middle of the table and removed the lid. The smell hit me first, strong and putrid, rotten. The meat that still clung to the carcass sitting in the pan was gray and had a slimy, Sheen. In its cavity, tiny maggots wriggled about in the mush that might have been stuffing at one point. It was surrounded by potatoes, carrots, and green beans, all withered into husks. I shoved myself back from the table in horror and disgust, a hand over my mouth. What's wrong, dear? Grand's face was pinched with concern. A flush had started to rise up her neck. It's your favorite.

Why are you doing this? It's Christmas. It's tradition. I started to stand, but she pushed me forcefully back into my seat. Maybe some sweets will get that appetite of yours going. Don't you worry, old grand's got just what you like. I stayed in my chair, trembling and whimpering in a way I didn't know I could. while she fetched another plate from the kitchen.

She held it out toward me with an encouraging shake. Go on, dear. Cookies were lined up in two neat rows. Green, fuzzy mold sprouted thickly on every one of them. I leaned away, retching. The flush had spread to Grand's face now. She was still smiling, but it was through clenched teeth. I worked very hard to prepare all this for you, dear.

Take one. No! Grand's grip on the plate had tightened so much that her hands were shaking. With a frustrated howl, she hurled it to the floor at my feet. The plate shattered, scattering bits of ceramic and cookies in every direction. I was too terrified to make a sound and could only stare up at her. painfully wide eyes. She inhaled deeply and smoothed her skirt in quick, jerky strokes.

Her face had gone from a warm pink to a rosy red. You know you really don't deserve this. But it is Christmas, and maybe this will improve your sour little mood. I've put you present under the tree. Why don't you open it? Hmm? When I didn't move, she took me roughly by the upper arm and dragged me across the room to where my Christmas tree was set up. A large oblong package wrapped in wreath-covered paper had been placed beneath it.

Please no. I just want to go. Please. I pulled at her arm, but she held on tightly. We always open one gift on Christmas Eve, dear. It's tradition. The redness in her face was deepening into crimson. I could actually feel heat radiating from her skin.

She pushed me to my knees and stood over me. Her arms crossed over her chest. Any semblance of holiday merriment was gone from her features. Go on! I looked from her to the gift and slowly reached for it. A name card dangled from the top beside the green bow. Marriest of Christmases, dear, love always, gran. I could feel her eyes boring into me as she waited for me to open the gift.

Reluctantly, I pulled back one corner of paper, revealing the top of an old-fashioned birdcage. Immediately my stomach sank. I swallowed hard and ignored everything in me that said not to open it any further. but Gran had started to tap her foot impatiently. I tore the wrapping back further, lying at the bottom of the cage in a mass of feathers where the skeletal remains of two birds. Turtle doves, dear, just like in the song. You always said you wanted some.

I shrieked and knocked the cage away from me. It fell onto its side and rolled a few times, leaving a tree. trail of bone and feather behind it. Grand skin had started to blister and crack, and the more she bellowed, the worse it became. I scrambled backwards as the blisters darkened and cracked and peeled back, their edges crinkling like thin paper. Whips of smoke were curling upwards from her hair while she clawed and tugged at it. The apartment filled with the stench of burning flesh and our combined screams, mine terrified,

hers enraged. I bumped into the couch and used it to pull myself to my feet. Grand flailed wildly, the fire that burned from within, growing and consuming and catching around her. My tree ignited with a loud crackle. I threw myself at my front door, but the deadbolt wouldn't turn.

Smoke burned my eyes. Her endless screaming rang in my ears. It was getting harder to breathe. Gran, engulfed in white-hot flames, was coming toward me, arms outstretched, snarling. You are grateful, child! Sobbing and choking, I launched myself over my couch. The smoke had become so thick I could barely see. Every part of me prickled and stung from heat.

I had to get away from Gran. I had to get out. And there was only one way. I don't remember jumping through the window or getting cut up by its broken glass. I don't remember landing in the snow two stories down or being found by neighbors. I don't even remember going to the hospital. All I remember was thinking amidst the hysteria in my head was, I never want to celebrate Christmas again.

Another story. Another story! Do I have a grandma, Mrs. Claus? Oh no, my dear Nicole, I'm afraid not. Elves are born from the winter berries of Holly. That's what makes you so sweet. Will you read us another story, Mrs. Claus? Yes, please. Can we hear another? Just one more, please.

Oh, my dear elves, of course. Now, drink up. Drink up your hot chocolate. Now, this one is called the Ginger Dreadman. Ooh. Every time I hear someone refer to the holidays as being magical, I feel a little pang in my chest. Those words remind me of my grandma Ethel, who loved to tell stories to my brother and me. They weren't the traditional, cheerful tales, though.

More crampus than Santa, I'm afraid. And even though my grandma's long gone now, I can still hear her voice in the back of my mind whenever I put a batch of gingerbread men in the oven. Of all her stories, the one about the ginger dread man is the one I could never shake off. I still remember the year she told my brother and me about the ginger dread man. Our parents had dropped us off at her place for the weekend. It was snowing lightly outside, and we were in the kitchen baking.

This particular year, we were making a huge gingerbread house and like a million gingerbread men cookies. We'd made a lot more than usual, and Grandma said it was for the church, my dears. A bake sale, I figured. Anyways, we put the first batch of cookies in the oven, and as my brother and I prepared the icing, Grandma turned to us and spoke. You know, my dears, Christmas is a magical time of year, a time where miracles happen. But for every blessing, there is a curse.

Balance must be maintained. First law of thermodynamics for dummies, I guess. I didn't really understand what she meant, but I did understand she was about to tell us one of her stories. I braced myself and mixed a bit of red dye into my bowl while my brother sorted through the candy for the gingerbread house. Have I ever told you, kids, what happens if you break a gingerbread man straight off the pan? You get to eat them?

She shook her head. No, dear. The universe doesn't reward bad behavior. Let me tell you what my grandmother used to tell me. If you break a gingerbread man, the ginger dread man will come for you at night and inflict onto you the same pain as you inflicted onto the cookie. The ginger dread man.

Grandma, you're making that up. Grandmother laid down the foundation of her gingerbread house, lathering on thick, sticky icing to keep the walls upright. You don't believe me. I've seen him with my own two eyes, you know. Really? Yes. I was a young girl back then.

About your age, actually. My sisters and I make cookies with our grandmother, just like we're doing here today. Ginny, that was my younger sister, was an excitable little glutton. She didn't wait for my grandmother's go-ahead to unsheat the cookies. She took her fork and lifted one of the jennymed. gingerbread men off the sheet before it had time to cool. The body peeled off, but the left

leg stayed behind. Later, that very same night, the ginger dread man broke Jenny's left leg. My brother looked skeptical. He had sorted the gum drops by color. It's just a coincidence. Tobias broke his arm last week climbing a tree, and he didn't make no cookies. Any cookies. She kept her calm and checked on the men in the oven. They still had a ways to go, so she continued building the gingerbread house. Never looking away from her work, she spoke again. It wasn't a coincidence. I saw him, the ginger dread man, that is. I saw him with my very own peepers. She pointed to her eyes. Tell us. Very well. I think you two were old enough

to hear this story. It was a dark and cold december. And the power had gone out, so we were all curled up by the fireplace in the living room. We were laying on under grandmother's quilts. The glow of the embers are only source of light. I was just about to fall asleep when I felt someone shaking my shoulder. I have to pee. Then go. It's dark. I'm scared. I opened my eyes and saw. the concern on Ginny's darkened face.

I sighed and got up reluctantly to escort her. She would have done the same if the tables were turned. The bathroom was all the way up the stairs and down the hall, far from the warmth and light of the fireplace. It was truly pitch black, but as I stood there waiting for Ginny to be done, my eyes began to adjust to the darkness. The meager light from the starless night sky coming in from the window at the far end

slowly helped me to see the outlines of the doors, shape of the clock on the wall in front of me, and the stairs handrails. I felt a breeze as I heard Ginny flush, and when I looked up, I saw something shuffling towards the end of the hall. For a brief moment, I thought it was Ginny herself, But then the bathroom door swung open and Ginny ran past me. I suppose she was eager to get back to the warmth of the heart. But it was rather rude of her to go ahead without me.

I made to follow her, but I felt something grainy under my bare feet, as though I'd stepped in sand someone had tracked in. Odd, singers there had been none coming down the hall minutes before. I knelt down and scraped my fingers over it, and as I did, I spotted the shadow again in my periphery. It was eclipsing part of the window down in the hall nearest to my sister. This time, I was sure it wasn't my imagination. She couldn't see it. Or rather, she wasn't looking at it.

It was coming towards her, as though. to meet her at the stairs. Like I said, it was dark, and I could barely see it, but I was still able to make out the shape of a man. Not someone I knew. He was too tall to be human, so tall that he had to hunch his head to avoid hitting the ceiling.

His arms were frozen at his sides, and there was something unsettling in the way he moved, like a doll being walked under the control of a child, child. Instead of bending his knees, his legs remained stiff, and his whole body pivoted for every advancing footfall. I wanted to warn Ginny, but it happened so fast, and I didn't have any time to do or say anything. I could feel his gaze on me as he slowly stretched out of foot in front of Ginny's, just as she was going down. I don't remember the crunch of her leg breaking. but I do remember her screams as she tumbled down the stairs.

They filled me with dread and horror, and I was sure the figure was going to come for me next. His body swung one step closer to me, but then it seemed to crumble like the walls of a sandcastle and melted into the shadows of the house. I clasped my hands to my mouth and gasped in shock, and as I did so, I recall the subtle scent of gingerbread on my fingers, a scent which also lingered in the air.

I was horrified to hear Grand Myethyl's story. There was something in the way she told it, a kind of peaceful melancholy that rung true, like it was making her nostalgic just to talk about it. It was the tone of sharing a memory, not that of weaving a tale. What happened to Jim? Hey, was she okay?

Grandma Ethel piped a circular, multicolored window on the front of the gingerbread house. It almost looked like stained glass. Oh, yes, my dear. Broke her leg and it was never quite the same. But she was all right in the end. Had a limp until the day she died, though. What about the ginger dread man? What about him?

I furrowed my brows as I carefully placed a gumdrop on the lawn. Well, did he ever come? back? My brother seemed lost and thought. Grandma Ethel put a cross on the roof, which was still on the counter beside the house, and then took out the first batch of cookies from the oven, placing them on a cooling rack. She put the second batch in its place. Oh, no, dear. We were very careful after that day, careful not to break another gingerbread man. She smiled, and her crow's feet thinned and stretched. Ginny out of superstition.

Me out of knowledge. I was the only one who actually saw him, you know? Although we'd always been warned about his existence. A silly little story, I thought, until that night. Just another bogeyman from the books. What about the sand? Grandma Ethel turned the gingerbread house around and added details to the back.

She put little gingerbread slab that looked like tombstones in a lawn she'd piped earlier while telling her story. Oh, the sand in the hallway. Yeah. Well, aren't you a little detective, my dear? It was gone by the morning, but I was curious, just like you are. I scoured the hallway with a fine tooth comb. Did you find anything? There was a look of malicious glee in Grandma's expression.

She leaned over the kitchen island and looked my brother dead in the eyes. I did. Crumbs. Gingerbread crumbs. Even knowing Grandma's stories were akin to fables, vessels to pass along immoral, and that her lesson was a clear and obvious one, something about it still gave me an unshakable twinge of fear. She'd wanted us to be careful on sheeting the cookies,

but instead of soliciting extra attention, she made me afraid of doing it at all. When she told us the first batch of gingerbread men were ready to be scooped, I found myself passing up the opportunity to handle the important task, and I continued to pass it up year after year after that. My brother wasn't phased, or if he was, he was better at hiding it. He took the first batch of cookies, began lifting them from the sheet using a spatula, while Grandma Ethel watched from the corner of her eyes. Just be careful not to break anything Or else the ginger dread man will come after you

Sure thing, Grandma She took the cookies from him one by one as he freed them And then began placing them inside the gingerbread house She lined them all up facing the front Using icing to hold them in place It was only after the second batch After there were at least three, maybe four dozen cookies in the house That she finally glued the roof on

My brother was the one to notice it first. In hindsight, I feel dumb for not having seen it myself. Grandma, that looks just like our church. And, yeah, suddenly those tombstone-like slabs in the back made sense. I know, dear. She put on the final touches with a flourish. There's even a whole congregation inside. She looked at him, smiled, and nodded.

Yes, dear. There is. I leaned down and looked through the door. It was funny to see everyone facing the front, giving the little gingerbread pastor their full attention. Behind me, I could hear Grandma Ethel digging through her drawers. I imagined her presenting the house at a bake sale, imagined everyone wanting a parishioner of their own to take home.

What a fantastic idea. Then I saw the meat hammer in Grandma Ethel's hand. She never really explained why she did it, and I think my brother and I were too shocked at, I just remember the hammer coming down on the mini-churches roof, crushing it and the congregation inside. And intellectually, I know, I know what happened a few weeks later was probably just a coincidence. I know there's no such thing as curses. I know grandma probably had nothing to do with it.

She couldn't. But still, that year was the year the old church roof finally decided to collapse. unavoidable they said storm damage they said it was bound to happen any day they said it was a real tragedy if it had happened ten minutes later the church would have been empty all those people would have been spared and i know i shouldn't be worried about silly childhood stories and about the stupid ginger dread man i really honest to goodness get it it was just a way for my grandma to keep us from breaking cookies and our enthusiasm But even though I understand all this, even though it's ridiculous to be afraid, I'm still sitting here, alone, shaking, terrified. Because today I'm made gingerbread men. And as I was unsheeding one of them, the head came off. Mrs. Claus, that's silly.

Yeah, cookies can't really hurt you. Unless Alt makes them. Hey, that's not nice. That was indeed not nice, Nicole. Where's your Christmas spirit? Apologise to Alt. I'm sorry, David. Mrs. Claus, is it time for fruitcake yet?

I want to go down the candy cane slide. Me too, me too. Yes, you'll all get to help make fruitcake and go down the slide. Now hush, there's a few more stories. What's the next one called, Mrs. Claus? Our next story is called A Christmas Wish. Have you ever wondered what it's like to live in a haunted apartment? One with a guaranteed scheduled apparition.

I was able to pick this place up super cheap when the bank foreclosed on it. All because of the disappearance of Lucy Chamberlain, a 19-year-old YouTube star in the making on Christmas Day. And because of the ghost that comes with. It. The official investigation lasted two months. They interviewed her parents, her neighbors either side, poured through CCTV records, and ran massive campaigns on social media.

Lucy Chamberlain simply vanished. Things warmed up again when there were sightings nearby during the summer, but nothing concrete. And they only served to drain the Chamberlain's bank balance further. It was a long year for the family. It's best if I play you the audio from the video, so you can hear the circumstances and why it was so puzzling at the time. Hey, welcome back to my channel, Chambermates. It's the last day of vlogmas and oh my God I'm going to miss talking to you guys every day.

If you're new here, I'm Lucy Luce. And over there are my co-hosts, Shazam, Dash, Mr. Wigglebutt, and Ziggy. Before we begin, make sure you subscribe. bash that like button and hit the notification bell. You should also follow me on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook. Links in the description. Also, shout out to my Patreon's Ryan Sammy, Jessica, Jessica 2, Jessica 3, and everyone else. I love you so, so much.

Oh my God. Thank you for your support. It literally means the world to me. Link to my Patreon also in the description. Today, I'm streaming the countdown to my... favorite day of the year. It's now 11.55 p.m., which means there's only five minutes to Christmas. Oh my God, I am total excited! Remember to comment and subscribe. I'm going to be doing a drawing for a special Christmas package as soon as it's midnight, so the more you comment, the higher your chances

of winning. Okay, so while we're waiting, I've got a bit of a story time for you, Chambermates. I'll probably make a full video about this later, but like, I literally will literally. nearly, nearly got abducted yesterday at the mall. I was going to Sephora for some last-minute Christmas shopping, yeah? And as I was leaving the... Okay, okay, back on the bed, buddy. Anyways... Right, where was I?

Oh, yeah. So, I was at the mall, and I was leaving. And as I was leaving, this weirdo comes up to me and asks to check my bags. Can you believe it? So I'm like, hell no. I know my rights. You can't fucking come. come up to me and start looking through my stuff?

And you know what he did? He tried to grab me. I pushed him away and ran as fast as I could. Oh my God, I'm literally shaking, just thinking about it. It was so scary, guys. Wow, you guys are showing me so much love in the comment section. Hi, Susie 97. Thanks, I hope you have a Merry Christmas, too.

And hey, Aussie Boy, X. What time is it over there? Is it already Christmas morning? Okay, there's only a couple minutes left until midnight. So hurry up and make sure to like, comment, and subscribe to be eligible for my special Christmas gift draw. I'm doing two gift packages this year. One's full of my favorite beauty products. And the other is Christmas snacks and goodies.

I'll be doing the drawing in a few moments. But in the meantime, let me tell you what I want most for Christmas. Hi, James from Ohio. Hope you're doing well. And shout out to my girl's syntax. Hope we can collab again soon. Oh my God. Okay, so what do I wish for Christmas? Oh my God, I'd wish it'd be Christmas all year round.

I've really enjoyed doing vlogness and talking with all of you, Chambermates, all month long. I've gotten so many new subscribers this year. It's insane. Thank you all so much. I want to keep doing this forever. Come this time next year, I literally want to double, no, triple my subscribers. subscriber count. Let's freaking hit the million mark, guys. Remember to share and like my videos to contribute to my goal. And remember to comment below and I'll pick the winners for my two special gift packs. It's looking like we've only got a few seconds left. Are you excited? I'm excited. Let's

count down together, okay? Ten. Hi, Sammy, thanks for coming. Nine. Shout out to my boy Malik. Eight. And Ravencaw, 69, 69, 69. Seven. Happy holidays, X, X, L'Lat, XX. Six. Five. Love you too, Booberry for life.

And Tony. Four. Three. Oh, my God, it's almost time. Two. One. Merry Christmas. There you have it.

The countdown to Christmas Day. Then the feeds suddenly end. ends. No one knew what to make of it. According to the family, when they woke up later that morning, Lucy was nowhere to be seen. The bedroom empty. Strangers still, the animals were also missing. Not even the cats, the dog, or her hamsters were there. Everything living in that room just vanished. The official line is that she ran away, taking her pets with her because of the pressures of social media. and for a time she was used as something of a cautionary tale for young people wanting to be famous. But you know how quickly the internet moves these days? You probably have that nagging thought at the back of your head that you've heard of Lucy,

but you can't put your finger on it. That happens. So then Christmas came round again. The family used a week beforehand to keep Lucy's memory alive, issuing pleas for her to return home, posting on her YouTube channel to get people around the world's thinking of her again. She didn't have that many subscribers left, mind you.

When she disappeared, the internet moved on. They gathered together on the landing on Christmas Eve. The door to Lucy's bedroom opened, candles lit and vigil, hoping that their little girl would come home for her favorite day of the year. Here's what her mother said on the news, on Christmas Day. I was praying for a Christmas miracle.

We all were. Lucy loved the holidays, you know? If there was ever a time she'd come back to us, I know it'd be that night. I'd kept her presents from the year before and put them under the Christmas tree, leaving a single one on her desk in case she looked through the window. I wanted her to be.

to know she was welcomed home. I just wanted her back, you know. I suppose I should be thankful. My wish came true, just not in the way I expected it to. Can you tell us what happened, Mrs. Chamberlain? My husband and son had fallen asleep on the couch. I think we'd all lost track of time by then.

We'd spent a lot of sleepless nights searching for our dear Lucy. The clock struck midnight, and as it did, I heard a strange whimper coming from in the bedroom. My heart leapt out of my chest. It had to be Lucy. The candles near her door had died. But for a single moment, I could see well enough to see her, sitting there at her computer desk.

Head in her hands, rocking, screaming silently and sobbing. Her head turned towards me. Our eyes met, and then she was gone. My husband says I imagined her. I wanted to see her so bad that I imagined she was there even though she wasn't. But that doesn't explain why the gift I left on her desk was gone by morning, the wrapping paper in her trash bin, along with the other things. The strangest thing of all, her two cats,

were found under the window. Their heads smashed in. Not just that, but the room stank. Really, really stank. They had to open the windows and air it out overnight on one of the coldest Christmases ever. After the holidays, they brought in professional cleaners

to disinfect and sanitize the place. The police said it was the act of a deranged creep who dropped two look-alike care. hats in at the window, along with an amount of nervous exhaustion on the part of the parents. There was no other explanation for it. The family brought in mediums, private detectives, anyone they thought could help them get in contact with Lucy. Of course, they all drew a blank. No one could really help. Every single one of them was preying on a family's hopelessness and grief, however well-meaning they were.

The Chamberlains were declared bankrupt the following spring, and their apartment went up for sale soon after. A well-timed inheritance from a grandmother meant that I was able to buy it. If the police had been interested in taking the case any further, they might have taken a look at the one-second video that was uploaded to her YouTube channel. I can play it to you, but it won't mean much at all.

Let me play that again. I have a friend that does a lot of audio work. When I sent him the audio, he had a look at it. Hmm, that's the weirdest fucking thing I've ever heard. There's almost nothing I can do with it. It's so distorted. What happens when you slow it down? Anything?

No, that's the problem. It's not sped up or compressed in any way. Then what does it look like? I don't know. It's almost as if there's multiple recordings on here. I'll need some more time to look into it. Of course, there's more to the story than that. Once the Chamberlains were declared bankrupt, there was divorce,

then descent into alcoholism or lunacy. Lucy's brother Damien entered the church to find God. They tried to get the word out about what they'd found, but to no avail. You see, when the apparition happened at midnight on Christmas morning, it wasn't just the dead cats and the smell that was left in the room. There were several things left scrawled on the walls. They won't stop talking. I hate them, hate them, hate them.

Please, God, let me out. Save me, Mommy. Make them stop talking. I have my theories about the talking phenomenon. There's an old tradition that is midnight strikes on Christmas morning. Animals are given the gift of speech. This is because they were gifted it by God. to be able to spread the message of the birth of Jesus far and wide.

Well, Lucy was such a believer in the joy of Christmas. Perhaps she believed that may happen. Knowing her and knowing her love of animals, she probably found they were finally able to talk back to her. And considering what she used to put them through, it's probably no surprise that they had a few things to say to her. As an example. Hi, Chambermates.

Lucy Lou here today, and we're doing the YouTube Kitty Cuddle Challenge. Subscribe and smash that like button for more videos like this one. The challenge is easy. Just cuddle your cats as long as you can and try to beat the time of your challenger. I was challenged by my friend Syntax, who managed to hold on for a whopping two minutes and 23 seconds. Wow. Hopefully I don't get as scratched up. So let's begin.

Oh, yeah, you like this, don't you? Stop wiggling around, Shazam? You can't see their faces, but you can certainly hear them. In another video, as she's tying the little bows around their necks, their faces are pictures of thunder personified. So what if they're the ones doing the talking, along with the dog, and any other animals that were in there? Can you imagine a chorus of spiders,

shattering away in the walls and behind things. The smell came from the fact that a year's worth of feces could be found under the other window. Perhaps in the hope that the stench would waft out, evidently it didn't. And when the professional cleaning crew had finished dealing with it, they discovered the body of the dog buried far beneath. It seems that she had had enough of him as well. That covers the first anniversary. I bought the house.

and waited to see if the ghost of Lucy Chamberlain would visit again. I had everything together at 11.50 p.m. on Christmas Eve last year. And I sat in the middle of the room itself, watching my phone clock and waiting for midnight to strike. As 1159 struck, I could begin to feel a buzz in the air. The kind of static you get before a thunderstorm. There was an eerie stillness in the room. a pregnant tension, waiting to birth a second's terror. In those last 30 seconds, I could feel the building rush of something moving around me,

as if I was in a hurricane without wind, a roaring, deafening silence. It's hard to describe, but hopefully you get the idea. The intensity rose until there was a feeling of all the air being removed from my lungs. And there she was, standing before me. There was Lucy Chamberlain, the beautiful ingenue. Her clothing was rags on a pony frame. Her hair was patchy and looked as if it had been ripped out. Her now-gant face was blotchy.

Her eyes ringed with dark bags. It was a sight to behold, but it was there. for only a second. Then the air returned to the room. I gasped and found myself retching at the smell coming from beneath the window. I turned and left the room. Lucy Chamberlain was still there,

still alive, and still trapped in her room. I opened the window to banish the smell from her year's worth of waste and went to bed. Another one-second clip had been uploaded to YouTube. But to be honest, I didn't think that it would contain anything useful. Going back in there a few hours later, I started work on cleaning and disinfecting. I looked up at the walls and noticed the crazed scrawls of it's there pointing at a spider's web and a little hole in the wall,

around which were plastered several squashed bodies. Let me out! was implacent across every wall and the door had a dent in it around her head height. It was obvious what she'd been doing for the last year. I'd say it's a shame

what has happened to someone so innocent. But in reality, she was just another vapid little bitch born with a silver spoon in her potty mouth. Her only talent consisted of being a face for Instagram as fake as they come.

If I felt sorry for anyone, it'd be for Dash, Shazam, Mr. Wigglebutt, and Ziggy, not just for the fact that they were saddled with names like that, but because of how they ended up, collateral damage. Unfortunately, the curse covered all living things in the room, not just humans. But I think they got their revenge anyway. You see, the accumulated,

belief about Christmas over the centuries has given the day a lot of power that can be used, if you know how that is. And for all her faults and falsities, Lucy Chamberlain did love Christmas. She believed in it, believed in the magic. Bless her, she probably wanted her precious little animals to talk to her to tell her how amazing she was. What a shock she got from that. You see, she made a midnight wish for it to always be Christmas. I made sure that her wish was granted, so that she was parceled up in that very first second of Christmas day. Safe and sound, immortal and immobile. She couldn't leave the room in all those repeated seconds.

Couldn't it harm herself and had to put up with the animals talking to her, telling her everything that they wanted to say to her. She, after all, never shied away from telling everyone else what she thought of them. She probably thought that I, a toxic lesbo half-breed, as she was so fond of calling me in high school, wouldn't be able to hurt her. You should always be careful about breeding, and the inheritances of all sorts that can be passed down. One enabled me to get the house, the other to keep her in it.

I won't go into detail about what I did to grant Lucy's wish. But it was a very ancient incantation and intention. What we want in the world, we manifest. After all, she wanted to be famous. She was. For a short while. Now she's just another footnote in the story of the internet for the year. She wanted it to be Christmas all the time.

Wish fulfilled. She wanted to live forever. Well, that could easily be the case if she still wants it. You see, just before last year's apparition, I dobed an outline on the wall. It should have been transferred into Lucy's festive jail cell that midnight. Above it, I wrote, Stand here next time When this year's celebration rolls round

I'll be ready with a sharpened stake Made of you wood That should give the right punch to jolter out of the room And life All together To remove the magics After all I only have a small window through which to get her

And if either of us misses There's always next year Or the year after I just hope she's looking into my eyes When I drive the steak home That's my Christmas wish That one was my favorite story I wish I could talk to animals

Yeah I want a snow leopard to be my best friend Me too, me too My best friend is an animal No it isn't Yes it is Blitzin is my very best friend That's right

Of course he is Peter Now Who wants to hear another story? Me, me, me, I do. Very good. Mrs. Claus, I'm getting sleepy. Is it time for fruitcake yet? Oh, not yet, my sweet little Nicole.

First, let's listen to this next story called The dangers of mistletoe. I never considered a plant to be dangerous. Oh, no more than the possibility of getting sick if I ate the wrong berry or a rash if I touched the wrong leaf. The idea that plants could be more dangerous, more deadly than that, never really entered my mind until after a Christmas party. Snow was already heavy on the ground and still falling when my boyfriend came in from outside after going for the mail.

I shivered under my blanket and looked over the back of the couch to see him stomping snow from his boots with the door wide open. It looks like a blizzard outside. Shut the damn door! I pulled the blanket around me a little tighter as he gave me a lot sighted grin and closed it. He then walked over and stood beside the couch. I swear to God, Luke, if you even... His ice-cold hands touched the back of my neck. He moved with me as I dropped my head to the seat

of the couch. He was laughing the entire time as I swatted his arm away. Now you know how I felt get in the mail. I sat up, my hair mess around my face, and I blew a few strands away. I told you not to go out there the damn mail could wait. I even offered to share my blanket. Oh, is that still an option? Not now it isn't, you freaking iceberg. He laughed as he moved around to stand in the TV and started to sort the mail in his hand. Just don't want to miss anything important again. I sneered as I tried to see the TV. It was a Hallmark Christmas movie. It was my guilty pleasure. He moved every time I did, blocking the screen. God, that wasn't my fault, and you told me you would drop it. I said I was sorry. I just don't want the oil tank empty when we're

talking a blizzard, Em? Full tank. Truck was here Monday. Now will you move? The commercials are finally over. He turned to look at the TV and then back at me. Ah, yes.

Must never interrupt Emma's Christmas movies. Luke plopped down on the other side of the couch. He started to tear into the envelopes and they continued to watch sappy rom-coms. He would hand me a Christmas card from his family or mine and I'd glance at it for a moment and then add it to the pile. Oh, hey. Josie and Keith are having a party.

Free booze and food. He shoved the imputation in front of my face. I looked at the date. The 16th? That's tomorrow night. Cutting it a bit close with the invites, aren't they? He shrugged. Good thing I went and got the mail.

What do you say? See all our friends? Well, you're really your friends before we head to your parents? I slapped him gently on his arm. Don't act like you don't like my friends. They're cool. As cool as you. He kissed my cheek as he stood.

Why does that feel like a slight? That's a question you're going to have to answer. So, were we in? I'll call Keith right now if it's a yes. I grimaced and pulled the blanket around me a bit more. But it's cold. Em, come on. All right, fine.

Yes. Gives me an excuse to wear that new dress I got. New dress? When? I grinned at the disapproving face he gave me. Oh, don't worry about it. You'll see it tomorrow. Relax.

It was bought with my fun. account, not yours. Uh-huh. I'll call Keith. He went for his cell phone and I settled down to watch more Medicare commercials that felt longer than the movie. The next evening, we parked near Josie's house. We were obviously one of the last to arrive as the street and her driveway were packed. I could see silhouettes of people through the haze of falling snow and for a moment thought of the Home Alone movie. Luke turned off the car. Ready? As ever. I'll grab the veggie tray. You got their gifts? On it. We both braced ourselves for the cold and opened our doors.

After rushing through the ice like snow with our designated items, we arrived at the front door and we're quickly ushered inside with hugs and cries of surprise from deeper in the house. It took a few minutes to greet everyone, but soon I had a wine cooler in hand and found myself in the living room chatting with my friends while Luke went off with Keith and a few of the other guys to the kitchen. I looked around at the decorations, each more elaborate than the last.

The tree was a festival of lights and flashy bibles. A little train ran around the base of it, weaving between the brightly wrapped gifts. Josie came out of the kitchen laughing and laid a tray of crackers and cheese on the coffee table. Her black hair was in a ponytail. She wore a red turtleneck sweater that had a little silver Christmas tree stitched on it, and it looked amazing on her. You better be careful. Otherwise, Keith might steal Luke from you.

I'm not worried. I feel out of dress better than he does. I don't know. He's catching up with all that. shitty microbrewered beer he's been drinking. I heard that. You went all out this year, Josie. I gestured towards the tree with my bottle.

Keith was about to murder me a couple of times. But I just love this time of year. Now that we got our own house, I wanted it to be special. Oh, let me show you something. It's the best thing I've ever created. Created? Yeah, I made most of the decorations. I felt a sudden awe for my oldest.

friend. She loved photography, but I never knew she wasn't the arts and crafts type. Hey, babe. Did Carol and Steve see you before they left? Oh, yes, they left with Sean. Carol wasn't feeling well. Oh, okay, good. What are you two doing? I'm showing her the mistletoe I made. And you're not going to let me and Luke watch? What kind of girlfriends are you? Keith grinned as we both gave him the finger. No. I just want to show her how pretty it came out. But that's not a bad idea. Go get Luke. What?

Just go get him. I stepped back from Josie. I know we've been friends for a long time, but I'm not making out with you under a plant. She laughed and swatted my shoulder. No, duh. But you can kiss Luke under a plant. It'll be cute. She went to a small side table against the stairs and picked up her camera.

I've been taking pictures of all the couples under it tonight. Some of my best shots. She turned it on and took a picture of me. I blinked the flash from my vision as Luke came up behind me and laid his hands on my shoulders. What's going on? Josie pointed to the mistletoe above us. Look up. Geez, really?

If you wanted a kiss, you just had to ask. I'm asking now. I turned and went up on the tips of my toes and touched my lips to his quickly. I pulled back, but his hand went to my waist and pulled me in deeper. We lingered there just a bit too long, and Josie took him. a picture of us as we broke apart. Wow, you two need to get a room. But first, you both got to take a berry. What? It's tradition. Whenever you kiss under a mistletoe, you take a berry. When they're all gone, the magic of the plant is gone. We can't do that. You spent a lot of time. I'm telling you,

it's okay. Luke shrugged as he reached up and plucked a berry from the vine lake branch. I couldn't quite reach, so he got one for me too. But as he brought them down, they Kind of exploded. A yellow juice dripped down his hands and arms, and he cursed as he shook the liquid from his hands. It's like sap. You could have warned me, Josie. Josie took some tissues and started to wipe his hands.

I'm sorry. Forgot to tell you about that. You gotta be gentle with them. Luke continued to wipe his hands, the tissue's tearing and sticking to his skin. Yeah. Well, thank for the heads up. I'm gonna go get cleaned up.

I watched Luke head to the kitchen. That happened to anyone else? A few, mostly the guys just tearing them down. You should take one, though. New dress, so no way in hell. Josie shrugged and I went to check on Luke. I fell into the conversation the guys were having in the kitchen for a bit until it started to feel stifling inside.

I told Luke I was going out for a bit. He gave me a small glare. He knew my habit and hated it. I stood in the cold and lit a cigarette. I could hear them all inside laughing and talking, and I turned from the golden windows and looked out at the yard. It wasn't very big and ended in a wire fence that cut off the brush and weeds of a clump of trees. There was one large tree and its branches reached across the snowscape and threw bony shadows over the white.

I blew out a puff of smoke and walked a little further into the yard, my boots crunching through the snow. Missile-toe grew through the fence, pearl-like berries dragging down the twigs of the plant. This was where Josie must have gotten her supply. I touched the leaves and thought they were sort of pretty, with the way They danced in the wind, but that wind brought something with it, a stench that made me cough and nearly dropped my cigarette. Oh, God. What is that? I covered my mouth and nose with the sleeve of my jacket and pushed a little bit into the brush.

I found the source of the smell and gasped. Laying in the snow was the remains of some animal. It looked like a dog, but I didn't get too close. From it grew the mistletoe. Vine-like branches curled around each other as they reached for the fence. The gore was brilliant on the snow. Emma. I turned with a start to see Josie pulling a coat around her as she came down the wall.

What are you doing out here? I was just having a smoke. I told Keith and Luke. Oh, you shouldn't be out here. Keith has junk laying all over the place. I looked back at the mistletoe and shivered. Yeah, yeah, sorry. This is where you got your mistletoe for your projects?

Josie looked past me to the fence and then smiled as she walked to it. Yeah, started growing up about a month ago. Really beautiful. I guess. See what it's growing out of? Yes, poor thing. Keith found it out here in the shed. I told him to throw it back further, but he, of course, didn't listen to me.

But that's enough about that. Come on. I broke out the bailies, and Amy is on her third glass already. She grabbed my hand and pulled me back towards the house. I tossed my cigarette when we reached the steps. Josie went inside first and removed her jacket and I stepped up behind her. I paused as she leaned forward to get her arms out of the sleeve. At the back of her neck I saw something that looked almost like an uncurling leaf on a thin stick.

Her ponytail hit it before, but now it was right in front of me. I almost reached out and touched it, but I noticed Keith was watching me carefully from the island. Something was off. was very off. I looked around for Luke, but he wasn't in the kitchen. It's cold out there. You really need to try to break that habit, and it'll kill you. Yeah, so Luke keeps telling me.

Speaking of which, where is he? Keith made a show of looking around and then shrugged. Oh, he said he was going to the basement to get some more beer. Brock's been sucking them down. He should have been back by now, though. I'll go see. that he's drinking down there by himself. I offered a smile, but it was forced.

The dead dog had spooked me, and I wasn't about to mention the leaf on Josie's neck. She was close to the bush. It probably got stuck in her collar. I knew it wasn't the truth, even as I opened up the basement door and started down. I paused near the bottom of the steps and found Luke standing in front of more branches of mistletoe.

Clumps of it were growing out of little mounds of dirt all along the walls, and even in front of the door that led outside. Luke had a beer in his hand and he slowly took a sip of it as he turned around Finished your smoke? Yeah, what's all this? Apparently they're growing it,

gonna sell it or something. Keith thinks it's a good idea. Maybe we should get in on it too. You sure you're all right? Sure, why wouldn't I be? Keith has been telling me all about this plant. It's kind of interesting. He reached down and plucked a berry from one of the branches.

Did you know mistletoe was a parasitic plant? I had no idea, but it can completely take over trees and grow to the point that it's all you can see on the branches. No, I didn't. That's a bit creepy. He chuckled and took another sip of beer as he turned to me. The berry held in between his fingers. Yeah, I guess it is. But it only attacks trees, so nothing to worry about. Here, since I accidentally crushed the last one.

He held out the berry. I took a step back. Uh, thanks, but I'm okay. He took another step forward and thrusted the berry towards me. Come on. It's tradition. Hey, you keep away from me. This is a brand new dress, and if that thing explodes, I will never forgive you. He took another step.

I'm not really giving you a choice, M. Take it. Knock it off, Luke. Em, Luke, what's taking you to? I turned to see Josie standing at the top of the stand. When our eyes met, she started down. What's going on? Luke's being an idiot.

He shrugged and looked at Josie. It's just tradition. Josie nodded and looked back to me. He's got a point. Just take the damn bury, Emma. I stepped back from the stairs and started to move away from them both. What? What's with you two?

Josie descended the rest of the steps and came to stand aside. Luke. We are going into business together. Hopefully you can join us. Hopefully. What the fuck is wrong with you two? Knock it off, you're scaring me. We don't mean to, Emma. It's just you have to take the berry, and we can tell you everything. Or you'll just die. It really seems to be down to chance. Josie motioned towards the other end of the basement that I couldn't see from the stairs. Laying there unclear plastic tarps were body parts with leaves growing out of them. The floor and tarps were smeared with red and yellow. This is a fucking joke, right? It grows best out of infected meat. Carol and Steve just weren't the right fit, but they make great fertilizer. So really, no matter

what happens, he won't go to waste. Josie grinned, and I felt like I was going to throw up. Luke, you can't do this. Sure I can. Take the gamble, M. You won't be cold anymore. I stumbled and almost fell over as they continued to make their way towards me, frantically looking around the room for any sort of escape. Help!

Shouldn't have been late. But then that's just Emma. Isn't it, Luke? Josie smiled at him and he nodded. No one here. will help you. I looked at the basement door. There were branches over it, but very few berries.

My only way out would be through them. With a quick look back at my boyfriend and best friend, I put up the hood of my coat and made a run for it. The branches snapped as I pushed through, and I heard Josie and Luke run after me. I turned the knob on the door and found it locked. They were right behind me as I managed to undo the lock and open the door. I was a step out when Luke grabbed me by the coat.

I felt Josie grab on two, and they both started to pull me back. They were far stronger than me. The zipper on my coat started to come apart, and I quickly undid the rest of it and slipped out of the garment. I fell forward onto the steps as I heard them break through the branches

and hit the ground. I rushed up the concrete steps and outside. The cold slapped against my chest and face, and it took a moment to get air back into my lungs as I stumbled through the snow. I turned to see Luke and Josie come up the stairs. I hopped the fence and ran for the car. I made it ten steps when I remembered my keys were in my jacket.

I turned to see them both dropping from the fence. Where are you going, Em? You've been drinking. You shouldn't even think about driving. The metal shimmered in the streetlights. My keys. Be careful. The roads are slippery.

I watched an amazement as they both turned with a wave and headed back to the house. I rushed for the keys, sure that it was all a trick and grabbed them. I made my way to the car, started it, and locked all the doors. I reached up and ran a hand across my neck. I froze. There was something sticky just below my jaw, and I brought my hand down and swore. It was the same yellow liquid that had been on Luke's hands earlier. When I pushed through the branches or when they were pulling my coat,

somehow I had got the stuff on me. I drove home, locked the doors, and hid in the dark, praying. All through the night, I could have. could feel pain rush along my skin as if something was tunneling underneath of it. I can feel something in my head, like some other voice or instinct telling me that I should go back, that I should see Luke and Josie again, that they could help me. The pain has at least stopped, but the urge to join with them is getting stronger. I feel like I'm losing myself.

None of this makes sense. None of this makes any sense. But I need to warn people, warn you. Stay away from the mistletoe, no matter what. Oh, that one was scary. I think turning into mistletoe would be fun. Then I could bring Christmas cheer all year. Until you were harvested.

Mrs. Claus, is mistletoe poisonous? Oh, yes. It is poisonous. Quite poisonous. One look at it and you start to feel lightheaded. Happy and hungry for Christmas cookies And it's contagious Do you know what it spreads?

Clumsiness Uh, candy allergy Bad hair days No, no, it's got to be gonorrhea No, no Christmas cheer, my lovelies Yay! Who's ready for another story?

And then, fruitcake? Patience, my sweet head. or I think you're going to turn into a fruit cake. What's the next story called, Mrs. Claus? This one is called the Bell Tower Children. The Bell Tower Children's Sanatorium first opened its doors to young tuberculosis patients in the autumn of 1903. A retired physician, Dr. William Arnold Scott, my great-grandfather, built it on the edge of Big Tupper Lake in the Adirondacks, where the air was clean, and the prospects for a natural recovery were better than in the city.

He, along with a board of trustees that included the millionaire philanthropist Samuel Gordon, modeled it after the pioneering efforts of Dr. Edward Trudeau. The widower, Reverend Pike, was its first administrator. In those days, tuberculosis was better known as consumption, or even the Great White Plague, and it was the number one cause of death in the United States. Those who contracted it were outcasts, abandoned to rot in communal shelters or out on the streets. They lived in a perpetual state of fatigue, coughing up white sputum thick with blood, waiting to die. That is, until places like the Little Red Cottage, the Nettie Brown Hospital, and the Bell Tower Sanatorium gave them hope.

Not that everyone taken into care survived. In its first year, the mortality rate at Bell Tower remained just under 50%. Now, over time, those numbers improved, but even as late as the 1940s, one out of every five patients who came to the Bell Tower were eventually lost. It stayed open through the Great Depression in both World Wars. It outlasted the worst years of TB in the northeastern United States and only stopped taking in new patients in the mid-50s. By then, alternative medicines proved more effective against the ravages of tuberculosis

than fresh air and exercise. It ceased to exist as a hospital in 1955, but it remained a popular tourist attraction for many years after, a symbol of the good of mankind that endured well into the 21st century. Its Christmas traditions were legendary. The toy donations came from all around. The annual host celebration, when benefactors came on Christmas Eve to meet the kids and share a meal with them, drew not only the local press, but a number of notable artists. Their oil-on-canvas recreations of the long table running over with turkey and ham, sweet potatoes and cranberries was a bona fide holiday inspiration.

And then there were the Christmas treaties, especially the one in the Grand Hall with its massive brick fireplace on the opposite end. Placed just so for St. Nicholas, Boldner's Chapman liked to say. Even after the sanatorium shut its doors for good in 1983, the stories continued to be told. To grow into the stuff of folklore that continues even now, I'm about to ruin all that. Last week, I paid one last visit to the grounds, partly business and partly out of pure nostalgia. Actually, watching the building get raised out of existence was not on my to-do list. It had been difficult enough signing the papers that sold off the land to the real estate developers. But I did want to preserve some of the artifacts, maybe donate them to the local,

historical society and keep my family's legacy from being snuffed out entirely. I had two U-Hull rentals and four of my grown-up children to help get it done. If I wasn't so damned frugal, I might have hired the job out. It's not like I'm hurting for money. Now now, not after the sale. But I told myself that professional movers were expensive. They wouldn't know what to keep and what to abandon. The job just wasn't that big, I told myself. And anyway, my sons and daughters, though now in their 20s were eager for a little treasure hunting. Lucas and Noah managed the furniture I couldn't part with, including my great-grandfather's mahogany desk, as well as the grandfather clock from the entry and admittance hall.

Elizabeth made sure we didn't miss anything important when clearing out the display cabinets, but for a while she remained particularly fixated on a glass-blown, redding green Christmas tree ornament. Within it, there seemed to be a frozen-in-time snowfall taking place, and at the bottom, the name Robert, December 18, 1908, was written in tiny snowflakes. But it was Krista who discovered the kids' journals in one of the library's antechambers, and after she found those, she was pretty much useless to us for the rest of the day. She's a stubborn girl, my Krista, and when she said she'd picked the best of them to preserve for posterity, I knew it would be more work to extricate her from the library than it would be to just go

on moving the rest of the stuff without her. Unlike most TB hospitals established at the turn of the century, the Bell Tower conducted primary school classes for its youngest charges. For many of them, coming from mainly poor families, this had been their first experience with school. And as part of their education, they were required to keep journals for the length of their stay, regardless of how long or brief that turned out to be. And so it was, eight hours after Krista had set herself down in the life.

library that I found her still there. Most of the handwritten books discarded on the floor, but with a select few piled at her left in a small, untidy heap next to an open cardboard box stuffed with tissue paper. She was leaning over one of the journals. She'd been crying. How many of these has she read? Her eyes were dry, but her face remained flushed. She read by candlelight. The power had been cut off yesterday, and the sun had gone down an hour ago. From the entryway foyer, a battery-powered radio, played Christmas music in the background. Krista? She sat, bolt upright, clutching her chest.

God, Dad, scare the hell out of me next time, won't you? I smiled at her. Then, pulling up the chair, I put on my concerned father. What is it? She looked away from me, shook her head. Then, after a moment, she elbowed the small pile of books a few inches closer to me. Most of these are unreadable. They were so young.

Some hardly knew how to write. But not those ones. There were three in the pile, the most recent from 1914, the one on the bottom from 1908. The hardcover's were frayed, but overall they had held up remarkably well. The pages were yellowed with age, but intact. Yeah, those you can read.

I don't know if I recommend it, though. Why not? They don't read like kids, I guess. They read like old people. They read like... Dead people. Such a big heart. I'm feeling it too, you know.

It wasn't easy selling this place. There just wasn't much of a choice. Even if I had fought it, they'd have gotten me with eminent domain sooner or later. But I'll probably feel guilty about it for the rest of my life. Getting to her feet, she walked past me, leaving the books behind, over her shoulder to me from the doorway.

You should have burned this place to the ground and cashed in on the insurance. And she left me there. The candle's still burning. One journal's still open. I closed it about to follow my daughter out. But instead I reached over and slid the journal labeled 1908 from the bottom of the pile. The name on the front read Timmy. Krista had dog-eared one of the pages about halfway in.

The wind's up again outside. It shakes the walls. It catches up snow and turns it into ghosts that dance. They're not scary. I like watching them, even at night under the lamps, even when they scream, because that's really just the wind. That's what I tell myself.

Nurse Chapman says it's Christmas Eve, and I believe her, because all of the Christmas Eve things are happening downstairs. I can hear them, putting the decorations up, talking to each other, laughing, setting presents under the tree. Reverend Pike and Dr. Scott are down there, and the teachers too. I can hear them all, the grown-ups, even over Sebastian's retching and coughing. I can hear them over Abigail's praying. The walls on this floor are thin, and I can hear Benson next door, crying into his pillow. The doors up here

are locked. This too makes me know it's Christmas Eve. After dinner, they'll stay locked. Wouldn't want us sneaking about when St. Nick is on the job, would they? Not that many of us can, but I can, if only they'd let me. After three years in this place, I think I may be getting better. I may be almost well. They need to let me out before I get sick again. It happened to Winifred last winter. could happen to me. The newspaper men came today, even through the storm. I heard the bell tower when they arrived, and I watched them come off their carriages on the west side of the grounds and hitch their horses to the lampposts. In my corner room on the third floor, I have a window that looks out west where the bell tower is, and another that looks south where I can see the furnace and the

stable. The newsies must not know we have a stable. I can smell the ovens downstairs. I'm so hungry, but I wait. I know they'll come from me. In an hour or so, the Reverend will come for me, and for Alice and Matthew, Olivia, and some others. They'll want at least ten of us, boys and girls of different ages. I'll be the oldest. They'll take the healthiest of us for dinner and for photographs.

We'll do our best to be happy. And it won't be difficult, considering the Christmas feast we're going to get, and if it's Christmas Eve, then in two days it will be my birthday. I'll be 12 years old. It's a good year, 12, to be sent back home, if I'm well. Mother wrote me a letter last month. She said she was going to send me a special present. I hope there are presents for everyone this year, like there was the year before last, and not just the used presents from the Goodwill, which will open in front of the newsies, will be made to stand still. and smile for a minute or more while they wait for the camera flash.

They're quite splendid, the presence from Goodwill, but it's not the same as a present from home. Mother wouldn't lie to me. There'll be something especially for me this year, though I cannot guess what it might be. It doesn't matter. It'll be only mine, with my name, interpendmanship on the paper, and all.

A strange thing that the furnace should come on as I write this. It's like a camera flash. the furnace when it erupts to life. I feel the light even though I'm looking out the other window. I hear it like another gust of wind. It calls to me and I go to the south window. I see Mr. Gates, the old stablemaster, stoking the flames with an iron rod that looks like a long fireplace poker. The furnace is quite large, ending in an iron cylinder like a cannon, only wider. The inside of it is fiery orange. They use it for horseshoes, I'm told. Mr. Gates can also make doorknobs and hinges if they should go bad.

Locks and keys as well one day when the bell tower needs keeping up. But tonight it's Christmas Eve, and long before he finishes his work, I know what Mr. Gates is making. He draws out the poker. At its end is a small, golden, molten ball soon to become glass. He'll shape it into something pretty and put a catch on the end. One of us will hang it from the ball. Christmas tree. It will have a name on it, probably Robert, who went home to God last week. He was a good boy, Robert. He was my friend. We were the same age. One day he was with us and the next

day he wasn't. He was two doors down from me. His room will not be empty very long. It's a good room, a room without noises. I shouldn't make note of these things. They're trouble. I'll be in a right fix if anyone ever reads this journal, as Alice likes to remind me. But no one ever does. Some of my friends only pretend to write in them. No one will ever know because no one will ever care. I wish Sebastian could stop coughing, that Abigail would finish praying, that Benson would calm down. They should be quiet, like church mice. It's Christmas Eve.

And they are dead after all. They're coming for us. I can hear them on the stairs. Dinner time. Thank God. I flipped through the pages that followed and found nothing particularly interesting. The entries ended in August of 1909, leaving much of the journal's second half blank. Maybe Timmy had gone home. I sat back in the chair, closed my eyes, listened to the distant racket of my

My kids still moving things, arguing with each other, the radio still playing old Christmas songs. I checked my watch. Before I could register the time, the candle went out, leaving me in the dark. I chuckled, fishing in my coat pockets for a lighter. I hadn't felt any wind. There wasn't a fireplace, and the windows were painted shut. But I thought I might have heard a sudden breath of wind right next to me, as though blown through human lips. Had I felt it, too?

I flicked the lighter and stifled a scream. There, hovering over the table over the candle was a figure of a child. She wore a nightdress. I couldn't tell what color her eyes were, nor her hair. Her image flickered in the shadow all black and white, and it was gone two seconds later. If she had ever been there at all, she had been pointing to the second journal, the one now on the bottom.

I relit the candle. There was still more than half of it left. I shut Timmy's journal and opened the one my hallucination had indicated. The name on the front read Alice. I turned to the page Krista had folded at the corner and found myself two years and two days later. On December 26, 1910. They're such pretty things.

They sparkle in any light. Mr. Gates has gotten better with the shapes and the colors. Last year, he made a diamond-shaped one for Sarah, with tiny red speckles of flame inside. For her spunk, he'd said. I don't recall Sarah ever being spunky, but then she was already sick when I got here. It seems so long ago now. This year, there'll be a new one for Timmy. I've seen it.

A deep velvety blue with tiny stars. one shining brighter than the others. It might be on the tree already. But before I ever saw that, I saw what they did with him. I awoke to the sound of the clock in the main hall striking midnight, bringing in Christmas Day. But there was a thumping, too,

as though from above me in the attic, where the decorations are stored. But by this time, The attic must have been empty, and I should have been asleep. We are not permitted to be up at this hour on any night, but most especially not now. But I was not feeling well, and sleep was difficult. So was rising from the bed, difficult and painful, and yet I did it. I padded to the door, past Maribel, who never stirred.

I rubbed my eyes and found myself at the door, which I quietly tried, just out of curiosity, still locked. I wondered when precisely they unlocked the doors on Christmas morning. We never heard it happen in Christmas's past, but we always woke up to find it had been done. A light from outside, wishing to life in a muffled blast of wind. I turned to the window I made not a sound but I went to it as though drawn there as though not to a window

but to temptation itself I wish that I had not gone I shouldn't have it was wrong and I shall pay for it in my nightmares for however long I still shall live it wasn't Mr. Gates at the open tube of the furnace.

It was Nurse Chapman. Slung over her shoulder was a burlap sack, big and heavy, open at the top. She managed it with one arm, as her other cranked a lever which raised the tube to an angle that would accommodate her purpose. She was about to put the bag and its contents into the tube, to slide them into the heart of the inferno together, then seemed to reconsider. I think she must have made a decision just then to preserve the bag for further use. So instead, she turned it face down

and emptied its contents onto the snow. It was Timmy. I'd already known he was dead, of course. He had passed away three days ago. We'd already had services. We'd already cried. for him. But I hadn't seen him. Not like this. Not so wasted away. So frail and powerless and lifeless and utterly destroyed by the disease he thought he'd beaten. His mouth was open.

Only one eye was shut. He was stiff as a statue as she raised him back up in both arms and fed him naked and dead into the firing tube of the furnace. Nurse Chapman looked my way. The lower half of her face covered with a thick kerchief, and I was only just in time to avoid being seen by her, ducking to the floor under the cell, backing up against it, punched over. I was suddenly, in violently, ill, coughing and vomiting,

throwing up a stream of milk-like bile, onto the floor, bright white, streaked with red, a small river of candy cane colors. Thankfully, Maribel never stirred. She was used to my episodes of late. She could sleep through them. In the morning, before we would be permitted to celebrate Christmas, she and I would have to scrub the floor spotless. If I was too weak to help, I'd be punished. They'd send me. to the bell tower. The Christmas ornaments. The little specks of flame.

The snowflakes. The stars. They're ashes. They're all that remains of my friends. And of the dead that came here before me. They're the children of the white plague. Never claimed by their parents. Never parried.

They're trapped in time and hung on the tree. year after year. It's why we can still hear them. I have no evidence. Nevertheless, I am convinced that this is true. Even as I listen through the walls of the adjacent rooms writing this, I can hear them. They offer me affirmation. I am either right or I am mad.

I know I should not write these things. things. I used to warn Timmy about doing so. But what have I to fear now? I'm half in the ghost world already. No one will come for me. No one will rescue me from this place. Not even after I'm gone. I do not think I'll live to see another Christmas. I don't think I want to. When I am dead, they will ring the bell one time for every year that I have lived on this earth. I do not think I shall ever be married again. The box. I hadn't given it a second thought, just automatically assumed some of the journals had been stored in it,

or that Krista had brought it out to carry some of them home in. But now I drew it over, reached inside. and pulled out the tissue paper. Underneath, I found dozens of the glass-blown Christmas ornaments in a variety of shapes and colors. No two of them were the same, unified only in that each bore a name, and a date of death.

William, Marcy, Spencer, Bridget, the craftsmanship really was incredible. Timmy, Alice. I took hers in hand and held it to the candlelight. Pink glass over a small green meadow, speckled with flakes of yellow meant to be flowers. Could those small flakes really be ashes, dyed golden and frozen in stasis?

She had perished in May 1911, but if what she said was right, then no family had come to bury her. I'm not a religious man. I had trouble swallowing the notion that failure to receive a proper burial had the consequence of being damned to haunt the earth for all time. That shit didn't work. No God would be like that.

But what if they did pass on? And this remnant left behind was meant for us to teach us simple respect for the dead, to curse this ground and its keepers until we finally got it right, I sighed. Such thoughts. From outside, my eldest, son, Lucas, called to me, asking how long I'd be. I realized then that the music had stopped.

The U-Haul rentals would be all loaded up and ready to go. The doorway was open. Krista was there, watching me. Beyond her was the empty hall, open to the outside. Cold wind eddied and swirled into the library, making me shiver. She called back to the others. Hold your goddamn reindeer already. We'll be there in a minute. I checked my watch again. I'd only been there a half an hour. It wasn't like the marked entries were terribly long. There was only one left.

Spencer's. I opened it. It was dated Christmas Day, 1914. Go ahead. It's not that long. Her tone was light, but her eyes were dead with shock, heavy with disillusionment. Spencer's ornament had marked his death as December 1914. Unlike the others, he had died less than a week after whatever he had written here. This was his final testament.

I can't sleep. Can't sleep. Can't. Can't. They put me in this place and I hate it. And I don't want to be here. And they put me here anyway. And I hate it. Hate it. He hate it. They took my things and they locked me in here. And all they left me would just. stupid journal and a pencil and I want to stab myself with it and I hate them all. They say they can't hear them. The voices. But they must be able to.

They lie. The voices, they're loud and they're dead and they're everywhere. When the bell tower rings, it bangs and bangs and it hurts. It hurts so bad. And I want to go back to my room and they won't let me. I want to scream, but I can. I can only scream on this paper, and I'm scared. And I'm sorry if that's what they want to hear.

I'm sorry, and I'll be good, and let me out of here, please. My name is Spencer. I'm still new here. I don't know how this works. The police caught me stealing from a fruit stand, and I got sick in my jail room, and they brought me here. It's cold here, and I throw up all the time. and it's white and bloody, and no one else helps anyone.

They call me the rat, on account of what I've done, on account of how I got by on the streets. They don't trust me. They shouldn't. I don't trust them either. But I'm not a rat. Rats don't pick locks. But I do.

Yes, I do. I do. That's your bottom dollar. They lock us up on Christmas Eve. Who would do that? Merry Christmas, wicked urchins. Lock you away and you write and you pray and you die anyway. I'm a preacher. You do what I say.

You cry and you scream and you die anyway. Why do that? Had to. So, before they do it, since the other archins and rats and little ones and pests, they told me before the big people did it, I borrowed a hairpin from one of the girl girls. Yes, I did. She didn't want to give it to me, so I took it, and I told her,

you'd be quiet about it. And I got out when the bell tower, the loud tower, banked 12 times, I got out. Out. I got, and I went downstairs. And there was no one there, but there were noises. There were voices. I have to check, Alice. It might be here this time.

No, Timmy. They wouldn't put it under the tree if it came. It's not for them. Please. No one ever gets presents anymore because of you. And the light in the fireplace was almost out, but I could still see the Christmas tree. And there were presents there, even though the other urchins said they never got them. And the presents were opening themselves with no help.

The paper came off in shreds and tatters and pieces with no one pulling it. There were horses and dogs. and little houses and pretty things and fun things. And I was crying. The boy boy was upset. And the fire got brighter, and the stockings pulled themselves from the mantel and threw themselves into the fireplace.

And all the toys flew all over the place like they were getting kicked and stomped on. Such a clatter! Like the old rhyme says. And the girl girl cried and screamed. And I screamed too until they came for me. And I threw up on her. I got them with my dinner and it was white and full of blood

They took me away And I'm here now In the bell tower Under the bell And I hope it won't bang again before they let me go And I look down on the ground And I see the reverend The preacher

Our father who ain't in heaven Right away on his horse through the snow Like the devil's chasing him And maybe the devil's chasing him Maybe the devil is. I don't know. I don't know anything. I just got here.

I'm not alone. There are rats in here. Real ones. They're sizing me up. I can tell. It's how they look at me. They want to eat me. They don't dare.

Not yet. Not yet. Into the truck the books went, all of them, even the unreadable ones, and along with them one cardboard box of old Christmas ornaments. Krista and I didn't talk about it. We just did it. I don't intend to make a big deal of this. Let the rest of the kids remember this place the way they knew it when they were growing up. Let them be proud of their family, at least their Christmas. And why not? From all I could gather, the worst of everything that had. happened at the Bell Tower Sanatorium took place in the first ten years, and my great-grandfather,

the good doctor, could hardly be seen as responsible for any of it. For 40 years, it is to be hoped, there was nothing more terrible than the voices of its long departed, and they seemed to have quieted over time. If what I had seen truly was the spirit of Alice, she had said nothing to me, it was enough to hope. I hope that my family legacy is. is not one of generations of children who heard those ghosts in the night for the rest of their lives, unable to enjoy the spirit of the holidays. Children really should be merry at Christmas. And as for the dead whose family never came,

whose ashes were never properly scattered or their remains buried, the answer isn't as simple as a shovel or a spade. Now, the earth movers are coming in at the start of January. They'll not only tear the place down, but dig it up by the roots. The Bell Tower children will be six feet under, or more, in no time. Hopefully it's what they want. And if not, a haunted shopping mall will probably be a big hit when Hallorine rolls back around anyway. Mrs. Claus, I don't want to be locked in a bell tower.

Neither do I. You want to do that to us. Would you, Mrs. Claus? Oh, my goodness, of course not. Santa loves all of you elves, and so do I. This was simply a story, my sweets. Is it time for fruitcake yet? I'm getting so sleepy. Can we go down the candy cane slide now?

Oh, it's so big. Soon. Go down the slide. Fruit cakes. Soon, my sweets. I have just one more story to read to you. tonight. Then we can make fruit cake and you can all go down the slide. Mrs Claus, can I say good night to Blitzin before he leaves?

I'm afraid Blitzin is very busy being groomed and harnessed into Santa's slave. Oh, okay. What's the last Christmas story called Mrs. Claus? This one's called pub trivia. Mrs. Claus, what's pub trivia? Patience, my sweet. You're about to learn. Trevor held the door open and Kim and I stepped inside, trading a light snowfall and carolers for sweaty drunks.

We'd worked a double for the airline and ended up in London for Christmas Eve. It'd been a long few days, and all I wanted was a relaxing night getting Forget My Worry's drunk with coworkers. Jacob waved us over from a corner table, laughing to himself. A blonde, a brunette, and a redhead walk into a bar. He was right, but only technically. This was a pub, not a bar, and Trevor was a bottle blonde. He thought it made him look hot, but it only made him look like a background extra from a 90s music video.

Kim was the brunettes, and I represented the gingers. The pub was a hole in the wall, a short walk from our hotel. The place was decorated for the hollow. with sparkly tinsel and candy canes. A dirty scarecrow was propped by Jacob's table with a Santa hat and a festive sign for trivia night hanging around its neck. Jacob looked like he already had a buzz going. There were glasses full of sudsy beer waiting for the three of us,

but there were two empty half-pint glasses in front of him. Trevor Kim and I took our seats at the small table. You're sure the airline's paying? I didn't even bring my purse. I look like I'm over-twain one, right? Drinking age is only 18 in Toronto. Not pertinent to the conversation, just bragging. 18 here also.

You're good, Kim. He flashed the airline debit card and then shoved it in his pocket. Michael said I could charge up to 300 pounds as a little holiday bonus. If our meals are just 20 to 30 pounds apiece, we can get blackout drunk and forget we're away from our families. You didn't miss your holidays. I missed the first three nights of Hanukkah this year yet. No one seemed to care.

That was three weeks ago. It looked like the stereotypical English pub fair I'd expect. Salads, soups, fish and chips, bangers and mash. An older waitress in an ugly Christmas sweater strode our way and collected the empties in front of Jacob. Happy Christmas. Are you not playing trivia tonight? I heard there's a special prize for the winning team.

Bar trivia? I don't know. Why not? We sit here, we eat, we drink, we am. answer some stupid questions. We're in. Great. She pulled a pencil and a folded sheet of paper from her back pocket and set them down in front of me. I'll give you a few minutes to look over your menus.

I looked over the Xerox dancer sheet. There was a place for a team name and three rounds of ten questions each. 30 questions? That special prize is so ours. Depends on our competition. The pub was full and rowdy. The waitress was handing out more answer sheets, although from my position at our table, I couldn't see much of the room without craning around.

Trevor downed his beer and got around from the bar. He replaced our half-pint glasses with full pints. It was certainly going to be one of those nights. As we worked on the fresh drinks, a tall, thin man appeared by the bar. He wore a long red and green coat and a Santa's hat that matched the scarecrow's over wave, forest green hair. A wireless microphone was clipped to one of his elf ears. As he spoke, his voice buzzed through unseen speakers. Okay, a warm welcome to everyone this frosty Christmas Eve. It's trivia night, and I am Felix, your Elfin Quizmaster. Yeah, you're too kind, you're too

Kind. We're going to give teams time to get organized and then we'll get started. I know we're all eager to see who's going to win our grand prize. Can't wait. What do you think the prize is? Free meal, I hope. Then we can get 300 pounds of sushi. That's a lot of fish. We need a team name. The layovers? Sounds slutty. Um, boarding passes? That doesn't. How about missile toads? I like it. Sure, whatever. Okay, if we're all good to go, let's begin. The game will consist of three rounds of Christmas-themed trivia. Difficulty increases each round. We'll take a quick break in between rounds to tally scores.

We usually swap sheets, but we'll play a little different and reveal the answers at the end of the night. We don't have many rules, but let's look to our scarecrow pal for a reminder. I glanced over Kim's shoulder and realized the trivia rules were written. on a card around the scarecrow's neck. Felix read each one. No mobile phones. Remain seated during gameplay. Have fun.

I'll have fun winning. Okay, question one. In the classic tale, a Christmas carol, how many ghosts visit Scrooge? The bar erupted and hushed whispers, and I felt a smug smirk creep across my lips. This was too easy. I wrote down three in the first.

box. Jacob cleared his throat and held up four fingers. What? Jacob Marley. The rest of the Mizzle Toads wooed, and I quickly changed my answer. Question two. Which long-running TV series featured a Christmas special every December the 25th from 2005 to 2017? Uh, one of their game shows? I love the chase. Guys, this might blow your mind, but I'm a closet nerd.

You're a closet nothing. It's Doctor Who. Any objections? Kim and Jacob shook their heads, so I jotted down Trevor's answer. The next question sailed by. Easy enough for our brain trust. And I felt like a Christmas expert as I wrote down, Boxing Day, Figgie Pudding, Home Alone, Tinsle, Jimmy Stewart, Eggnog, Vickson, and Day. David Bowie.

Trevor was right. We so had this. We'll take a short break while I collect and tally the scores. Felix made a circle around the pub, and I handed him our answer sheet. Are these going to get hard? Careful, love. Wishes have consequences. I guarantee round two will be demonstrably more difficult.

He winked and moved on to the next group. Way to taunt our quiz master. Great. Michael says there's an issue at the hotel. I'll run over, take care of it, and be back in ten. But you're our trivia ringer. Jacob stood and finished his beer. I'll try to make it back for round three. See if you can ace a Christmas test without the Jew, huh? He gave us a sloppy smile and headed out of the pub. We still got this. I wondered what the issue was at the hotel.

Good. I really want to win that car. Yeah, right. I'm sure that's the mysterious prize. Soon, our waitress returned with the same grin frozen on her face. She handed our answer sheets back. Having fun, dear. Do we order with you? Typically at the bar, love.

But I'll put it in for you since we're backed up. Christmas Eve is one of our busiest nights. You're the best. Fish and chips for me. That sounds good. Me too. And I'll go with the turkey Christmas meal. Lovely choices.

She took our menus, her smile never even shifting and left. Okay, we have a three-way tie. All ten questions were answered correctly by the jingleberries, the Missile Toads, and Santa's Little Bastards. We hooded and holler, and I cracked my knuckles, settling in for the promise more difficult round. Question one. The child actor who got his tongue stuck to a flagpole in a critical. Christmas story, worked in what field throughout the 90s? I wrote down porn, and my teammates wiggled their eyebrows at me.

What? I haven't seen any of his work. Just heard about it. Question two. Finnish families used to spend Christmas Eve on their floors, so who could sleep in their beds? I threw my arms up. How was I supposed to get this one? We can figure it out.

Relatives maybe? That's too simple. Dead relatives? Sure. I wrote that down with a sigh. Question three. We all know Frau Perthé, the Christmas witch, opens the bellies of naughty children. But what item does she place inside?

Hmm. That one took a turn? You think? Any ideas? I tried not to picture some hag ripping all. open the stomachs of naughty boys and girls. Trevor shrugged while Kim's browsing it together. It's got to be, what, German or Dutch?

Trevor snapped his fingers. Wooden shoes? That's stupid. They wouldn't fit. What would make sense for a Christmas witch to put inside the sliced open stomachs of children? We'll circle back to that one. Question four. Hans Trapp was a French Satanist who lived in the woods

and dressed like what to scare and eat children before Christmas. Jesus Christ! I don't think that's it. What do they have in the woods in France? Snooty Bears? Yes, go with that. Goodbye, prize. I wrote down Snooty Bears.

With an English quiz master, maybe he'd appreciate the dig at the French. Question five. One of St. Nicholas's helpers was an innkeeper who, Butchered and et three boys. What's his name? Are these Christmas questions or Halloween? This one's French too. I've heard it.

Pierre, something, maybe? Sure. I wrote Pierre, shaking my head. Question six. Name the phone-harassing psycho-killer in Black Christmas. It's Billy. Should we ask to clarify? He could mean the remake.

They're both, Billy. Question seven. To the duck. Cinterclass doesn't travel with elves, but with black slaves. Name their leader. I can't even. I set down my pencil. It's Black Pete. I dated a Dutch guy in college. I felt dirty just writing the name, but pub trivia demanded it. Question 8. Which beauty queen disappeared on Christmas Day, 1996?

Oh, John Van derby. Who wrote these questions? Question 9. What natural occurrence killed over 230 people across the Indian Ocean and Africa on Boxing Day 2004? A tsunami. It was shitty for all those people, but at least we knew the answer. Question 10. On Crampus Night, the Crampus is given free reign to beat children or spirit them straight to hell. Which night is Crampus Night? I don't know. Near Christmas, right?

Sure. Twenty? I like 20. I wrote December 20th down. And with that, round two ended. I couldn't help but wonder if Jacob would have known any of the ones we got wrong. It would have been nice to have him back with us. I skimmed our answers, but couldn't come up with whatever hands trap disguised himself as when he went child hunting.

I handed the sheet over for Kim to turn him. in while Trevor and I worked on our pints. I can't wait to hear round three. I can. Should we even stick around? There's no way we're winning after guessing on some of those. And these questions are awful.

We were tied, and we had to have gotten some of those right, thanks to Kim's college boyfriend. Besides, our meals haven't come yet, and I'm starving. True. Kim returned with the answer sheet, and Trevor immediately ratted me out.

Monica wants to leave Why would we leave? Creepy questions I don't know Just I don't know We can't anyway Jacob has the company card

I don't have any cash on me Me neither You know I can't think of anything More Christmasy than waiting for a Jew to arrive Ha ha How many did we get right Uh six Kim's led the paper my way

Not bad We got dead relatives right Go us Yay relatives. I couldn't help but wonder what the Christmas witch stuffed in children's bellies, or hands trap dressed as to hunt kids. Just the thought of it gave me shivers.

Well, the race is still tight, but we're in a two-way tie for the lead between the Jingleberries and Santa's Little Bastids. I half-heartedly clapped along with the others. Of course we'd fallen behind. But there were ten more questions, and we could still. We'll get this. Our waitress returned to clear the empty glasses and set down another round. There you go, lovelies.

Don't tell the others, but I'm rooting for you. I smiled weakly. Thanks. She just blinked at me a moment and then slowly backed away. Round three, question one. On one chilly Christmas morning, who slept with his boyfriend's father? Is this from something? Has to be.

What messed up Christmas movie is that? What piece of trash screws their boyfriend's dad? Look, I'm not the only one with daddy issues. It's me, all right? Kim just wore a blank expression on her face. We want to win, right? I'm the answer. He tapped the table and sighed.

It was like a winter fling anyway. It's not like we were engaged or anything. But how are you the answer to the pub trivia? Question two. I felt the rush of time and scribbled Trevor's name down. Who cheated at the office elephant gift swap last year? I felt shame tingle through my arm and course into my right hand. I expelled it on the answer sheet by writing my own name.

I got stuck with losing scratch tickets. And I stole the extra paid vacation day. Sorry. At least my indiscretion didn't hurt anyone. How's your ex's relationship with his dad? Rocky, at best. Fine. This is insane. I'm leaving. Just as I started to stand, a metal bar swung around from the back of my chair and clicked into place,

pinning me to my seat like a roller coaster ride. Trevor and Kim stared at me for just a second before their chair has pulled the same trick. What the hell? I'll have to remind all trivia participants to remain seated until the end of the round. The rules are right there. He pointed to the festive sign around the scarecrow's neck. No mobile phones. Remain seated during gameplay.

Have fun. Let's just play the game. I leaned up as far as I could to find help from the other patrons. But the few I could see were still having a jolly time. There were more festive hats than I'd remembered. They were also shorter. Feet swung back and forth under tables like antsy children. Even to my beard-dulled brain, none of this was making any sense.

But I couldn't think of anything to do but play like I was supposed to. Question three. Who told a group of orphans that Santa doesn't exist? Trevor and I turned to Kim. What? I had a bad day. The mall was crowded and it was this whole thing. Was there a lot of crying? So much. Put my name down for number three. At least we all got one. Now we can move on, right? Question four. Which pieces of shit once called out sick on Christmas Eve because they wanted to party and left their co-workers in the lurch?

It was a mall job. It wasn't worth the stress. I wrote Kim's name again. The question's plural. I've done the same. I added Trevor's name beside Kim's. Question five. Who volunteered to work this Christmas to avoid seeing her dying mother? I don't want to have to remember her when she's not herself. Fuck me. She downed her beer, followed by Trevor and then me. The waitress returned to clear our drinks, stiff jointed with a frozen smile.

Fresh pints? No, we'd like to leave. She blinked twice. Fresh pints? Yes. The waitress spun on her heels and carried our empty glasses to the bar. She had a large wind-up gear stuck in her back. It spun slowly as she walked away.

We stared in shock as she gathered three fresh pints and returned. Here you go, lovelies. The waitress set down our drinks and blinked at us. Thanks. Cheers. She turned and marched away. The gear in her back spinning. This was insane.

Question six. Who outed his former best friend to his family over Christmas break? Kim and I turned to Trevor. It was for his own good. I thought he was ready. I thought, I don't, I was 19. I didn't think he'd get disowned. What happened to him?

Last I heard he was in rehab again. Question seven. How many of these are there? Just four more. Hold it together. Maybe the grand prize is letting us leave. Oh, God. Who killed Mrs. Appleby?

Who's Mrs. Appleby? My next door neighbor growing up. I was supposed to shovel her walk. She slipped on the way to the mailbox, sending Christmas cards. Fuck. That is the saddest thing I've ever heard. I didn't push her. Still, I think you better put your name down.

Where the hell is Jacob? I grabbed my phone. I had a missed text from him. I'm back at the pub. Where did you guys go? Felix was suddenly beside the table. He placed an ice-cold hand on a cold hand on my wrist. No mobiles. Cheaters will be penalized. You wouldn't like that. I need to check on

my friend. He's no longer playing. Why not? He smiled a long row of sharp yellowed teeth and one eyebrow cocked to the heavens. It dawned on me that he wasn't wearing stage makeup. His ears really were pointed and the very roots of his hair were forest green. He pulled back his coat and revealed he was standing on two 18-inch stilts. He couldn't have been more than five feet on his own. Question eight. Why isn't Jacob here? Felix smiled knowingly and then continued walking by other tables,

leaving us to play his game. What did he say? Some mix up at the hotel, right? Is that specific enough? No. There's another difference between him. him and us. You don't mean...

Trevor trailed off, looked around, and lowered his voice. Because he's Jewish. You're a moron. Jacob's not here because he's a good person. I'm a fantastic person. I tell it to the orphans. Hey! Question nine.

What happens to naughty children at this time of the year? They're punished. I sniffled and took another day. drink. Question 10. Who's the naughtiest here? You killed an old woman. You scarred orphans.

They're orphans. I'm pretty sure they had other issues to begin with. Trevor ruined his friend's life. He could turn it around. Mrs. Applebee's never coming back. If it's a numbers game, Kim came up more than either of us. I waved around the answer sheet. Trevor and my issues are in the past.

You're here right now. avoiding your sick mother. Just write your name and let's move on. Yeah, I vote you. Majority rules. Fine. I wrote my own name in a trembling hand. Are we all horrible trash people?

Neither of us answered. We didn't have to. Felix was back at our table. His hand outstretched. I hadn't noticed before how long and narrow his fingers were. The nails chipped and black. I handed him our answer sheet. He nodded and set it back down.

He trotted off to look at the other team's answers. I couldn't look either of my friends in the eye, too drained to think and too raw to feel. And we have a tie to break this fine Christmas Eve between the Santa's little bastards and the mistletoads. Whatever this is, at least we're still in it. Are we even sure we want to win this anymore? I have a feeling we really do.

We were in trouble as it was, and I couldn't imagine losing would help any. This one's a numbers question. The closest team to the correct answer wins. How many total times have your team members been naughty this past year? This hell is never going to end. What do you guys think? I flipped over the paper, ready to do some quick math. Put three for me.

No, four. Yeah, four. I wrote five for Kim, and 20 for me because why not. How do you even judge? Trevor? I'll go with 400. Kim spit out her drink. What?

This year? He shrugged. I jack off a couple times a week, and I never go out of my way to help anyone. Trash people, remember? Wait, does masturbation count? How about jaywalking? What are the metrics here? It's impossible to tell. I think that's the point. If we're accountable to ourselves, then whatever we say is right.

We so got this. I wrote down his 400. I added a zero to my own number and then put them all together. I wrote that the three of us had been naughty six hundred five times in the last year and shook my head, shamed and embarrassed. And we have a winner. Felix announced the moment I set down my pencil. Let's hear it for the mistletoads.

The whole place erupted in cheers and jeers as Felix appeared at our table. Congratulations, friends and fiends. You each win one Christmas wish. A what now? I have to admit, I didn't see that one coming. I'd half expected the prize to be a knife to the throat. Just tell me your wish and elven magic will make it come true. Just name it, anything.

Well, besides one. He pointed to the Christmas scarecrow. It's sign now read. No wishing for more wishes. Fine, I wish for a million dollars. Yes, me too. Felix nodded. Done and done.

What's your Christmas wish? They'd come up with that without any hesitation. Selfish, naughty wishes. I should have been more surprised. I wish I could have been at that point. I'd love to have all that money, of course, but it wouldn't buy my peace of mind or clear my guilt. I wish I shoveled Mrs. Appleby's yard.

A twinkle came to Felix's eyes, and he nodded. Done. The bars pinning us to our chairs disengaged with a whoosh, and I breathed easy for the first time in what felt like years. Kim leapt to her feet, rubbing her stomach. Trevor stood up beside her. Well, this has been real fun.

Their phones buzzed, and he checked his with a smirk. Looks like I'm Bitcoin rich. Elves are into cryptocurrencies? Makes as much sense as anything else. Kim stood next to him and finished her beer. I was still too numb to stand. But I managed to fumble for my phone. There were more texts from Jacob asking where we'd gone to.

Oh, before you leave, wouldn't you like to know the answer to one of the questions you missed? Sure. He finished his beer and slammed the empty glass on the table. What'd we miss? You remember the question about Hans Trapp, the Satan worshiver who punishes the naughty? Sure. What does he disguise himself as? A scarecrow. Trevor and Kim snapped their attention to the scarecrow behind them.

They screamed as Hans Trapp himself reached past them and grabbed a pipe boss. He broke it over Trevor's head, who fell to his knees. Kim tried to run, but the scarecrow grabbed her shoulder. He spun her around. and stabbed her in the neck with a piece of the broken blast. Arterial spray shot Felix in the face, but he only laughed. As I sat there and watched Hans Trapp massacre of my screaming friends, I opened the gallery on my phone.

It was just a hunch I desperately hoped would prove right. Hans Trapp backed into the table, nearly knocking it over, as he brutally kicked Kim on the floor, even after her body went still. I scrolled through my picture gallery, past selfies and scenic shots in foreign countries with my friends. Trevor was desperately crawling away, but the scarecrow grabbed his ankle and yanked him back. Trevor clawed chair legs and anything else in reach, but there was no saving him from the onslaught. I found the folder I was looking for. Thanksgiving from this year

A picture of the turkey Then the stuffing I adore stuffing And then a group shot of us around the table I felt such a rush of relief Seeing the smiling faces of my family And Mrs. Appleby That one had a happy ending

I know I'm on the nice list I am too Me too Yes you're all on the nice list this year We wish you a Merry Christmas We wish you a Merry Christmas We wish you a Merry Christmas And a happy new year

Oh hell No everyone I fear I got carried away Singing carols outside Oh Santa you didn't Are you going to have time to get to all the children Oh of course of course my dear I would never disappoint a child

I know you wouldn't That's why you're Santa Claus Yay Santa! Well now I'd better get going I just came in to see if I could grab a slice of fruitcake for the road Oh Santa I'm afraid we haven't made it yet I may have got a bit carried away with my Christmas stories as well Well no harm done my dear

Something for me to look forward to when I get to back in the morning. Yes, and there'll be plenty of it. Now, on your way. On your way, Santa, so many children to visit. I say give me a kiss, darling, and I'll see you in the morning. Oh, come here, you. There's not even mistletoe above them. Well, I'm off. Thank you all for your hard work this year. The children will be very happy. Bye, Santa. Bye, Santa Claus. Good luck. Fly safe.

Goodbye, Santa. Good luck. Tell Blitz and good night from me. I'll see you all for fruitcake in the morning. Is it time for fruitcake now, Mrs. Claus? I want to go down the slide. Well, how about this? Let's do both.

Yay! Stand up, stand up, everyone. It's time to make fruit cake for Santa. Let's line up one by one in front of. of the candy cane slide. Mrs. Claus? Single file. That's right, aught, don't cut in front of Nicole.

You'll all get a turn. Peter, come now, back of the line. Wonderful. Can we start with the cherries, Mrs. Claus? And then the grapes. Oh, yes, yes, there we go. Here are the cherries. Drop them down the slide. Here are the grapes.

And the mangoes. Santa loves his mangoes. What about the pecans, Mrs. Claus? Oh yes, here you are Nicole. Now, I'll add the flour and butter. There we go. Now, to puree the nuts and mix it all together. Kyle, will you turn on the grinder?

Yeah. All right, now it's time for the magic ingredient. Are you ready, my sweets? Yeah, we're ready. You're ready. All right, one by one, down the slide. Me first, me first. Come now, everyone wait there, too.

Turn. Very good. Down the candy cane slide, everyone. Santa will be so happy with his fruit cake this year. You're all so sweet. Merry Christmas, Mrs. Claus. Whee. Don, Peter.

It's your turn. But I don't want to go down the slide. I don't want to be in a fruit cake. Oh, but Peter, Santa needs his fruit cake. This cake sustains him all year long when the magic of Christmas is at its lowest. But we worked so hard this year and I thought, well... Come here, let me give you a hug, Peter. Yes, you worked very hard.

Santa will have a rich and hearty fruit cake this year. I need your help, Peter. I need you to help keep some. Santa alive when the air is too hot for Christmas spirit. But Blitzen is my best friend. I want to stay with him. He'll miss me. He will, my sweet.

He will miss you, but just think, new elves will be born from the holly in the spring, and Blitzen will have new friends. I guess. Now, won't you help me make the fruit cake for Santa, Peter? Yes, Mrs. Claus. Merry Christmas, Peter. Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas, Mrs. Claus. You have been listening to the No Sleep Podcast's Christmas 2018 episode. Let me tell you about the stories we did for you this year. Its tradition was written by S.H. Cooper and produced by Jeff Clement. It was performed by Addison Peacock, Erica Sanderson, and Nicole Doolin. The Ginger Dreadman was written by Manon Lyset and produced by Phil Mikulski. It was performed by Ellie Hirschman, Erica Sanderson, Matthew Bradford, and Nicole Goodnight. A Christmas Wish was written by David Alt and produced by Phil Mikulski.

It was performed by Mary Marysmyssen. Murphy, Jessica McAvoy, Nicole Doolin, and Mike Delgadoo. The Dangers of Missile Toe was written by J.P. Carver and produced by Phil Mikulski. It was performed by Nicole Goodnight, Kyle Akers, Nicole Doolin, and Dan Zapula. The Bell Tower Children was written by Marcus Demanda and produced by Jesse Cornett. It was performed by Mike Delgado, Addison Peacock, Ellie Hirschman, Jessica McAvoy, and Erica Sanderson. Pub trivia was written by Troy H. Gardner and produced by Phil Mikulski. It was performed by Jessica McAvoy, David Alt, Kyle Akers, Erica Sanderson, Cody Heller, and Dan Harmon.

The episode script was written by C.K. Walker and produced by Phil Mikulski. It was performed by the North Pole Community Theater. Oh, weren't they delightful? Musical score composed by Brandon Boone and Tom. Well, we thank you for letting us be a part of your holiday horrors. Please visit the no-sleeppodcast.com learn more about our show. Oh, I say, yes, of course,

this last part I need to read. This audio production is copyright 2018 by Creative Reason Media, Inc. All rights reserved. Oh, yes, of course they are. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors.

Oh, yes, such good little boys and girls, they are. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent of Creative Reason Media, Inc. Oh yes, you pay attention to that, you naughty, naughty little boys. It goes, ho, ho, ho.