The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S13E25 - Christmas 2019

Episode Date: December 15, 2019

It's episode 25 - the Season 13 Finale! We celebrate the Holiday Season with our annual Christmas episode. "Creaks’n’Peaks" written by S.H. Cooper (Story starts around 00:07:20) Produced by: Jeff Clement Cast: Veronica – Nichole Goodnight, Mom – Erin Lillis, Dad – Mike DelGaudio, Uncle Randy – Atticus Jackson, Creaks’n’Peaks – Jeff Clement "Gift Exchange" written by A.C. McAnelly (Story starts around 00:32:40) Produced by: Jesse Cornett Cast: Mrs. Mac – Sarah Thomas, Yancy – Kyle Akers, Courtney – Jessica McEvoy, Kendall – Nikolle Doolin, Mr. Bryan – David Cummings, Michael – Matthew Bradford "Wonderland" written by Marcus Damanda (Story starts around 00:50:40) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Abigail Gallo – Jessica McEvoy, Michael – Mike DelGaudio, Sandy’s father – David Cummings, Cop from CPS – Nikolle Doolin, Lily – Addison Peacock "You Gotta Believe (In Grandpa John)" written by C.M. Scandreth (Story starts around 01:17:15) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Mike – Mike DelGaudio, Claire – Addison Peacock, Sarah – Nikolle Doolin, Jake – Jeff Clement, Grandma – Erika Sanderson, Grandpa John – David Cummings "Christmas in Antarctica" written by Gemma Amor (Story starts around 01:40:40) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Jen – Penny Scott-Andrews, Ash – Andy Cresswell, Sarah – Nikolle Doolin, Mary – Erika Sanderson, Troy – Dan Zappulla, Keith – David Ault, Mark – James Cleveland, Flick – Jessica McEvoy, Pat – Kyle Akers, Duncan – Jeff Clement, Jack – Jesse Cornett "Episode Wraparound" written by Olivia White Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: David Ault, Erika Sanderson, Addison Peacock, Nichole Goodnight, Sarah Thomas, Jessica McEvoy, Mike DelGaudio, Penny Scott-Andrews, Graham Rowat, Nikolle Doolin, David Cummings Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast   Click here for tickets to our UK/EU Tour in January 2020   Click here to learn more about S.H. Cooper   Click here to learn more about Marcus Damanda   Click here to learn more about C.M. Scandreth   Click here to learn more about Gemma Amor   Click here to learn more about Olivia White   Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone "Christmas 2019" 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

Hi, Penny Scott Andrews here. It's the holiday season, everyone. And for many of us, that's extremely exciting. There are preparations to be made, family to visit, gifts to buy. Even if you don't celebrate Christmas, then it's a busy time of year. The stores are filled with people. It's just hectic. But hectic times can mean stress,

and stress can mean strain on your mental health. And this time of year is stressful for a lot of people. people, families, retail workers, emergency services, people who don't have anyone to spend the festive season with. And sometimes it can all get a little too much, which is where BetterHelp comes in. BetterHelp will assess your needs and match you with your own licensed professional therapist. You can start communicating in under 24 hours. It's not a crisis line. It's not self-help. It is professional counselling done securely online. There is a social. There is a broad range of expertise in Better Helps

counsellor network, which may not be locally available in many areas. Better Help service is available for clients worldwide. It doesn't matter when you need help, day or night. You can log into your account anytime and send a message to your counsellor.

You'll get timely and sortful responses, plus you can schedule weekly video or phone sessions so you won't ever have to sit in an uncomfortable waiting room. Plus, you can even chat and text with your therapist between sessions. BetterHelp is committed to facilitating great therapeutic matches, so they make it easy and free to change counsellors if needed. It's more affordable than traditional offline counselling and financial aid is even available. So whenever you need

some help, visit betterhelp.com slash no sleep and join over 500,000 people taking charge of their mental health with the help of an experienced professional. No sleep listeners get 10% off your first month at betterhelp.com slash no sleep. Even when this hectic holiday season has passed and Christmas feels like eons ago, remember it's okay to need help and a bit of relief that doesn't have to be an excuse. So don't suffer longer than you need to and don't even be afraid to reach out preemptively. That's what services like BetterHelp are for. to offer a helping hand.

So remember, reach out that helping hand by visiting BetterHelp.com slash no sleep to get 10% off your first month. So, from all at the No Sleep podcast, we wish you a Merry Christmas, or happy holidays, or simply hope that you have a wonderful end of year as we wind down the show for season 13.

You remember the plan, yes? I mean, we've been over at a million. in times. Once more for those in the back. We begin singing. We lure whoever's in the house outside. I use my amazing powers of hypnosis. Then while they're trapped in my thrall, we tell them a horror story. Remind me what this achieves? It lets us ensnare their souls. For crampus. Wait, we work for crampus now? No, but he's starting a new podcast, Night Cramps. We heard he offers triple the pay of anyone else in the voice acting industry. So we're going to collect him some souls and try and impress him enough to get hired.

Won't David be a bit upset if we just ditch him? Yeah, I mean, he's kind of an amazing boss. I'm with the others. Triple pay? Yes, please. I'm just with you guys because I have nothing on tonight. Well, that's all of us agreed then. We're doing it. I mean, uh, not... We're doing it.

Fine. We're doing it. Right, here we go. House with the lights on. Those of us who can sing begin singing. The first storyteller get ready to hit them with a tale of terror. The first Noel, the angel did say, was to certain poor shepherds in fields where they lay. In fields where they lay, they keeping their sheep, on a cold's night that was so deep. Noelle, Noel, Noel, one is the king of Israel of Israel. Just one old-ass granny? She can't be worth much in soul weight. Oh, well, anyway.

Thank you for listening to our carols, ma'am. Now, look into my eyes. Look deep, deep into my eyes. Are you looking? Yes, good. Can you see the spirals? Stare deep into the spirals. Keep staring.

Now, Nicole, hit her with creaks and peaks by S.H. Cooper. Uncle Randy was the relative that no one ever really invited to the family get-togethers, but who somehow always managed to show up anyway. He wasn't a bad sort, never did anything terribly offensive or dangerous. He was just off. And when my family arrived at Grandma's a couple days before Christmas, we knew he was there even before we saw him. The house was already crowded when we arrived.

Cars clogged the driveway and the front door had. been left a jar by my cousin streaming in and out, 15 of us all told and none very prone to being mindful about keeping the heat inside. It was my first Christmas at Grandma since I was very little, and I bounced in my seat as we squeezed into the end of the drive. There's Gwen! I tugged at my seatbelt. My favorite cousin, closest in proximity in age,

was lying on her back in the snow, arms and legs pumping to form an angel beneath her. I'm going to go play with her. Not so fast, young lady. You're going to say hi to your grandma and your aunt. He's an uncle's first. My whining won me a warning look in the rearview mirror. It'll take five minutes,

and then you get to run right back out. If only, we were all so lucky. Hey! Dad chuckled and leaned away from mom's playful swat. We climbed out, stretched after a two-hour ride, and unloaded the bags of gifts that filled the trunk. A chorus of excited helloes rang from around the yard

and calls for me to join my cousins followed, but I dutifully trailed after my parents with promises of coming back out in only a second. We reached the covered entryway and paused to tap her boots against the stone wall, knocking the clinging snow loose. Mom heard him first. Ugh.

She groaned, eyes squeezing shut and brow-pulling into an unhappy wrinkle. Uncle Randy's voice, never aware of its own volume, cut through the vinyl carols drifting from Grandma's record player. You had to know he was going to be here. He's your brother. Unfortunately. Come on, it's Christmas.

I know. That's the problem. We were swarmed the moment we stepped over the threshold. I was tossed about on a sea of familiar smiles. My packages swept away to join the rest beneath the twinkling, brightly lit tree. A hug from Auntie Hannah. A moment to ooh and awe over the baby John,

the newest addition to the family. a kiss from Grandma. And then I was free from the tide of loving Christmas cheer and deposited at the feet of a tall, broad figure and a Rudolph sweater. I tilted my head back, away from its red pom-pom nose, to look up at Uncle Randy.

His smile managed to be both wide and self-conscious at once, and his single eye was bright and blue behind shaggy strands of dark hair. Where the other should have been was a black eye patch. He decorated it with a little hand-painted snowman. Hi, Veronica. The ice and his drink clinked as he shifted.

He met my gaze briefly, turned away, met it again, and then studied his socks. My fingers twisted nervously around the fringed end of my scarf. Hey, Ronnie. Mom was behind me. Her hand curled protectively over my shoulder. Why don't you go outside and play, huh? Gwen's waiting. I nodded, waved timidly to Randy, and darted back out the front door to join my cousins in a snowball fight. That evening, after you know, after you know, I was going to go ahead.

After dinner had been eaten in the house half-emptied as people made their way to their hotels, the adults gathered in the parlor to sip liquor and swap stories. Only myself and a few of my cousins still remained of the children, and we were lying on the floor in the living room, watching The Muppet Christmas Carol. Michael and Luke had already fallen asleep in the easy chairs. Gwen had knotted off in a pile of blankets on the floor. I fought back a yawn of my own on the couch by cramming popcorn in my mouth. Muppets, huh?

I craned my neck around to see Randy leaning against the doorframe. His arms crossed over his chest. He seemed somewhat more at ease now that the noise and crowd had died down. I nodded. I like them too. He lingered in the doorway tugging pensively at his bushy beard. His features furrowed into a frown as if he were thinking hard, trying to decide something. One side of his internal struggle won out, and, after a quick check over his shoulder, he walked to the couch and perched on it.

His large fingers drummed against his knees. I watched him, uncertainty wriggling in my tummy. Been a long time since you were back up here for Christmas. You were just a baby last time. I guess so. Family rotates every year. A lot of relatives to go through. Uh-huh.

So, you've never really been here for it. His fingers had stopped their job. drumming. They turned white in the television's glow as they tightened around his knees. You're what? The phantom of a smile played across his face. My eyes wandered uneasily towards the door. Should I call for Mom? She'd never liked the idea of me talking to Randy by myself. He fidgeted and my attention snapped back to him. You gotta promise me something, Veronica. If you hear voices outside your door at night, Mommy and Daddy or grandma or anyone else, If you hear them whispering near your door

From now until Christmas morning Promise me you won't get up to listen And you won't let your cousins either Why? The urgency that had crept in as he spoke Made the hair all along my arms rise He licked his lips and checked the door again Santa's not the only one

Who comes to this house for Christmas Promise me, Veronica You'll stay in bed You won't try to listen You'll be good and you tell the others too, be so good and stay in bed, okay? No matter what you hear,

don't listen to creeks and peaks. I bobbed my head in silent agreement, too frightened to form words. I didn't know what he was talking about, didn't want to know. I just wanted to watch Kermann and Gonzo and wait for Christmas. He got up and patted out of the room, his fists clenching and unclenching into agitated.

When mom took me into the bed I was sharing with Gwen later that night, I begged her to leave some kind of nightlight on. She pursed her lips. A nightlight, huh? You've slept at grandma's dozens of times just fine without one. Cause. Cause? Because? What is this about, Veronica? I didn't want to betray my uncle and get him in trouble, but his grave request had followed me upstairs and curled tight within my chest. Because Uncle Randy was saying stuff. I told you not to talk to him, Veronica. I shrunk at her sharpness.

She sighed, composed herself, and smoothed my hair away from my face. I'm sorry. You did nothing wrong, sweetie. It's just Uncle Randy isn't well. You know how we get cold sometimes and it can make your head feel foggy? Yeah. But Uncle Randy, he's kind of like that all the time. His thoughts are foggy.

He thinks things that aren't always true. Christmas is especially tough for him. Mom took a moment to choose her words. When we were little, he had an accident around this time of year. That's why he wears that eye patch. It was very upsetting for him, and he never fully got better. Her explanation felt too big for me. Randy hadn't seemed sick when I talked to him, at least not in a way I understood.

I tucked the idea into the back of my mind to further dissect later. Right then, I had a much more pressing concern. Mom, what creaks and peaks? Nothing, it's just a story. Don't worry about it, okay? Get some sleep. Her certainty instant. She instantly calmed me.

She kissed my forehead and tiptoed over the boy sleeping on the floor. After blowing me a kiss, she shut off the light and pulled the door so that it was almost closed. A thin slice of light from the hall left a pale streak across the bed spread. I heaved a relieved sigh convinced that my mom knew what she was talking about. I stared up at the ceiling long after mom's footsteps had faded. I tried to focus on the fact that the next day was Christmas Eve, that the house would fill up again and there'd be good food and games and music, but Randy stood at the edge of all my thoughts, his one eye fixed and staring.

Don't listen, he said with no words at all. I buried him behind colorfully wrapped boxes and guesses as to what toys might be inside them. Shadows passed by the bedroom door on tiptoe as the adults began heading to bed. Their whispered good nights, the same I'd heard at every holiday if I was still awake for them, had suddenly taken on a sinister quality in the dark. I ducked beneath the comforter, hands clapped over my ears, and I stayed there until I fell asleep. The light from the hall was out when I woke up some hours later,

hot and stuffy within my blanket cocoon. I kicked it away from my face unconcerned that I might wake Gwen and rolled over. Winter moonlight cast the room in a dull silver, and I could make out the lumps that were Michael and Luke in their sleeping bags, and the door opened only a crack. beyond them. Muffled voices slipped through that crack from out in the hall. I went still, my heart crawled into my throat, more whispers, but as I strained to make sense of them, I came to recognize the two speakers standing outside the door. Mom and Dad, I relaxed,

releasing the breath that had caught in my chest, and redoubled my listening efforts. They were talking about me, about what Santa was bringing me, mischievous excitement swirled like butterflies in my stomach and I sat up slowly. As quietly as I could, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and slid to the floor. I crept over Michael, who slept on, oblivious, and then over Luke, who I would have to tease in the morning for still sucking his thumb at six. As I neared the door and began to lean forward to look out into the hall, the floorboards creaked beneath my weight. The low-grown was enough to root me in place. If you hear voices outside your door at night, promise me you won't get up to listen.

The promise I'd made to Randy rushed to the forefront, chasing away the childish glee of eavesdropping on my parents and forcing me to jerk back suddenly. A rush of air struck my cheek as something raked through the dark mere inches from my face. Rise and pain for one that doesn't pay for their greed. It no longer belonged to either of my parents. In the limited light offered by the window, I watched the outline of a long, pointed claw retract slowly through the door's opening. I stumbled backwards, narrowly missing, tripping over my sleeping cousins and sank back onto the bed, my mouth hanging open, but unable to scream.

I didn't sleep or even move at all for the rest of the night. At the first sign of morning light, when I could see for sure that nothing was waiting for me in the hall, I leapt over Michael and Luke and dashed down the stairs two at a time to grand puzzled study where I knew Randy was staying. He was still asleep when I crashed the door and threw myself at him. What? What? When he realized it was me, he slapped a hand over the eye usually covered by his patch. But not before I saw the angry red scarring that surrounded the socket and the fleshy emptiness within. I heard him. Creeks and peaks.

I sobbed. touching his arm. The collar drained from Randy's face. My lip quivered with guilty fright, and he groped for his eye patch to pull it on. Why? I told you not to. Did your cousins? Did they get up? I shook my head, tears sliding down my cheeks. He tugged roughly at his beard and then stopped himself with a deep, slow inhale. When he looked at me again, his expression was hollow. Your mom should have warned you, but she never believed. She always thought I was making it up all. I sat back on my heels, twisting the hem of my pajama shirt in both fists.

Do you know anything about it? No. He's a local legend, a goblin that comes for naughty children. The ones who will get out of bed and try to overhear what they're getting for Christmas or spy on Santa. He lures them by santa. sounding like family members talking about presence and waits for the creak of the floorboards. And then, when they peek, he uses his fingernails to take their eye. What happens if he doesn't get it?

Double the price in pain. Randy shrugged. But you got away, and that's what matters. You have to make sure you stay in bed tonight, all right? No matter what? Don't get up. I swallowed hard. My whole body's shaking and I pointed at his patch.

Is that because of him? Yeah. But Mom said you had an accident. He pulled at his beard again, lips pinched together in a pained scowl. None of them believed me. Your mom, grandma, the others, they don't believe me. They'd have to now, I thought. After all, I'd seen him too.

But when I ran to mom and told her what happened, she sighed heavily and pulled me aside. Creeks and peaks isn't real, honey. It's a story that parents made up to keep their kids in bed on Christmas Eve, so Santa could deliver his presents without being bothered. It's like the boogeyman. Remember how he talked about him not being real, either? But I saw him, Mom, and he tried to take him. take my eye just like Uncle Randy. I told you Uncle Randy is confused. He thinks things that aren't

true. But it is true. We argued back and forth my voice steadily rising until Mom told me to go to my room to cool down. I heard her mutter that she'd be having a talk with Randy while I stomped away. After I was allowed out again, I avoided everyone, even Gwen for the rest of the day. Mom had forbidden me from telling them about creeks and peaks, and I saw more than one of my aunts and uncles cornering Randy to scold him for telling tales. Grandma finally had to intervene and order people to leave him be, but the damage was done. He wasn't allowed to be alone with any of the children. My one attempt to speak up on his behalf at Christmas Eve dinner was swiftly shut down by disapproving grunts and headshakes. It ended with Dad carrying me away from the table while I screamed

about creaks and peaks, and mom apologizing for my behavior. You have to sleep in our room tonight. You've scared your cousins. Mom had joined us in the living room where Dad was trying to comfort me. I grabbed her sleeve. Did you tell them not to get up if they heard voices? Enough, Veronica. Susie. Dad's attempt to placate her was shot down with the glare. I was given a sleeping bag, some pillows, and made to lie on the floor beside my parents' bed, while the rest of the family tried to enjoy what remained of Christmas Eve.

I curled up, a tight ball of fear and contempt, and stared at the door through the underside of the bed. Twice the price and pain, it had said, and the phrase ran loops in my mind. What had it meant? I covered both eyes and hunkered down as far into the sleeping bag as possible. Gradually the room darkened, the merriment from downstairs lessened,

footsteps walked by the closed door and disappeared into other rooms. I pretended to be asleep when my parents came to bed. They moved around a bit, their clothes rustled as they took turns changing in the closet, and the lights clicked off. They mumbled to each other about Randy and how he'd been told to go to a hotel by his siblings, about me, about looking forward to going home the day after Christmas, and then they were silent. But while they slept, I remained wide awake, trembling at every single.

sound and staring at that door. I stayed that way for hours, almost too afraid to blink, staring and waiting while my parents took turns snoring, until it started to feel silly, like maybe it really had been a nightmare. And then I heard the doorknob begin to turn. My throat tightened. I couldn't make anything out through the dark. Quick, skittering footsteps started to cross the room and I rolled sharply to look at the foot of the bed where I expected to see a creature outlined against the picture window hunched and preparing to pounce. But there was nothing. I scanned the shadows, sweat beating across my brow, my breath short and shaky gasps.

Dad was instantly awake, reaching for the bedside table, shouting to know what was wrong. What happened? What is it? What's wrong? What's wrong? Mom just screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed. Too loud for Dad to notice the gleefully hurried footsteps running from the room. The light came on. Oh my God, Susie! By then, other family members were gathering at the door.

Their faces pale and confused, but I stayed huddled in a ball on the floor. I pulled myself up, made myself turn towards my mother. Dad was pulling at her wrists, trying to take her hands from over her eyes. Red ran down her cheeks, stained her neck and nightgowns, splashed onto the bedding. I fell back against a wall, a burning sickness threatening to expel itself a crows. the floor. I covered my mouth and wrenched my head to the side, eyes squeezed shut, unable to look at her writhing there with her family surrounding her any longer. Twice the price. Twice the pain. That was what creeks and peaks had promised me. And as my mother's agonized cries tore through me deeper and more excruciating than any physical

wound could ever have been, it felt like he had delivered tenfold. Everybody, Santa Claus here. I want to take just a moment to share about Mint Mobile. Yes, imagine a holiday season where you get to escape the long lines, crowded parking lots, and pushy salespeople. Oh, sounds pretty nice, right? Well, that's exactly how every day can be with Mint Mobile. This year, skip the lines and skip the hassle when you shop with Mint Mobile,

the online wireless provider that delivers unbelievable savings directly to you. For a limited time, Mint Mobile is offering the best deal in wireless. Save up to 40% on their three-month phone plans, starting at 15 bucks a month. Oh, wait, can that be true? Saving up to 40% on their already low prices? Oh, my, I can see why it would be only available for a limited time. Oh, my yes. Oh, you'd better be good little boys and girls and act fast.

Remember, Mint Mobile's holiday deal is only here for. a limited time. For only 15 bucks a month you get 12 gigal bytes, oh I'm sorry, that's 12 gigabytes of 4GLTE data plus unlimited nationwide talking text. Oh my, that's 40% off their standard rate. You use your own phone with any Mint Mobile plan and keep your same phone number along with all your existing contacts. And if you're not 100% satisfied Mint Mobile has you covered with their seven-day money back guarantee. So listen to Santa.

Take advantage of this Mint Mobile deal before it's gone. To get your new wireless plan for just 15 bucks a month and get the plan shipped to your door for free, go to mintmobile.com slash no sleep. Yes, that's M-I-N-T-Mobile.com slash no sleep. Avoid getting cold in your stocking this year. Cut your wireless bill to 15 bucks a month at Mintmobile.com. Dash no sleep. And now your soul is ours.

Nice. One down. On to the next house? Onwards, vile minions. Bit much, that? Oh, come on. You are a vile minion. Isn't that literally your job title with Olivia?

Fair point. Oh. Hey, look, what about that house up there? Loads of lights on, decorations, and there's a people carrier. I bet they have guests and everything. Yep, let's head here. Oh, holy night, the stars are brightly shining. This is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.

Long lay the world in sin. In sin and error piping Till he appeared And the soul felt its word Loads of them This has to be an extended family party Yes Meat!

Why did you yell meat out of the blue? We're not eating them Now I'm hungry Pipe down, you weirdos Uh, hello, nice to see all of you. Oh, such a large family. Wow. Look, can you all see me? Can you all see me? Yes, good, good, yes, yes, good. Right, so look into my eyes. Look, look hard into my eyes. That's it, stare. Even you, the obvious drunken uncle. Good lad. Now then, can you see them? Can you see my eyes?

Look into my eyes. Can you see the spirals? Watch the spirals, fall deep into the spirals. Watch them all of you. Now, Sarah, your turn. Smackham with gift exchange by AC McInelly. There were almost no children on campus. It was the final week of school before Christmas break, and most of the students had already taken their semester exams. The day was just a make-up day for those who had missed a test. It was also the day of the staff Christmas potluck, and the day that we would finally reveal ourselves to our Secret Santa's. We drew for Secret Santa's back in September, and actually gave each other some all gifts here and there throughout the year, but were to give one final big gift at the potluck.

I drew Sandy, the virtual Arkansas facilitator. She was a huge Arkansas Razorback and St. Louis Cardinals fan and liked tea and chocolate. So, I had packages of snickers and twicks in her mailbox and left her a razorback mug filled with fancy herbal tea bags on her desk. I also left encouraging notes, because sometimes it's a simple, thank you for everything you do for us. That really keeps a teacher going. 80% of teachers quit after their first year. I used to be proud I made it to five. After this party, I wouldn't step foot back into Friendship Academy or any other school to teach. I had already graded all of the final exams, and what few students I had in class that day I had rearranging my desk and cleaning. They were good kids, respectful and always

looking to help. They came to school not because they had to make up the test, but because it was better than the alternative. Teaching at a small rural school definitely tugs at the heartstrings when you realize how many kids had it far worse off at home. I had one seventh grader in my geography class named Yancey, who was a little talkative and sometimes late turning his work in, but was very smart. I was afraid to call home to tell his parents he was missing work because I was genuinely afraid he would be beaten for it. So I just stayed on top of that student as much as possible. Yancey happened to be the only one there for first period. He usually rode the bus but caught a ride with his brother, Michael, that day. I offered for him to go to a room with other students,

so he didn't have to hang out with just me. But nope, he was happy where he was. The threat of putting him to work didn't phase him either. He wanted to help. I told him he could use the putty knife in the closet to scrape the gum off the bottom of all the desks. He got half of them done before he got distracted. Hey, Mrs. Mack, which country does that flag belong to? I looked up at the 212 country flags hanging from my ceiling to the one he was pointing to. That's Barbados. Do they have Christmas there?

That's a good question. I bet they do, though I don't know how big their Christian population is. Oh, what about this one? I don't know that one. But you're supposed to know everything. Then they forgot to teach me everything at college. Yancey laughed. It was a good laugh.

Not one of his mischievous laughs I heard throughout the class period when he knew he was goofing off instead of doing his work. It reminded me of why I became a teacher for little thankless moments like that. The principal's voice boomed over. over the intercom system. I grabbed my last gift to my secret Santa as I headed towards the door. You heard Mr. Brian, let's go eat.

We heard Christmas music as we walked the 50 feet from the main building to the cafeteria. Yancey thought he had to stomp through the inch of snow that managed to accumulate last night. Around these parts, an inch of snow sent everyone freaking out to the store for milk and bread. But as it was the last day of the semester, the buses weren't running anyways.

We all managed to get here. Your sneakers are going to be soaking wet. Get out of the snow. Oh, Mrs. Mack. You can catch your death on your parents' watch at home. Not on mine. Come on. He begrudgingly jumped back on the sidewalk beside me,

stomping hard on the concrete, as if dusting off what snow stuck to his shoes. Do we get to eat potluck or crusty, dusty cafeteria food? Did you bring anything for the potluck? No. No one told me to. Because the potluck is for the staff. Oh, yep.

So, brown bag special it is for me then. I chuckled. He knew he always got a bit of potluck along with the brown bag. I swung open the door and the Christmas music roared at us. Tensel and garland hung from the columns framing the room and up to the stage. 30 circular tables with specifically six chairs per table, all had a small Christmas tree centerpiece sitting at top of the table. the table's napkin dispenser.

Student artwork of a Christmas wonderland was painted on a long banister, running down the entrance hall where the students lined up for their trays. The cook's window, where the hot food would be served, had Christmas lights hanging in the arches, lighting up the room with a colorful array. The two rectangular tables, where the staff usually sat, were pushed together and held all the potluck meals everyone brought. I had plugged in my crock pot of meatballs earlier that morning, but I forgot a spoon to fish them out with. It smells so good in here. And with that, Yancey darted off to join his classmates at a table.

I walked over to a table where the librarian, Kendall, and the English teacher, Courtney, sat. I rarely got an opportunity to see them during the workday because we were on different lunch schedules. I walked up mid-conversation. No one knows where it came from, but it's supposed to be seen. circulating in this county and does some freaky stuff. What are we talking about? Courtney, and her new made-up drug she thinks all the kids are on. Listen, just because Dr. Phil says it's not real doesn't mean it's made up.

The kids are calling it Jetson, supposedly because it takes you higher than space. Like we needed any other drugs to worry about. I'm sure we still have seventh graders in the bathroom right now, jeweling. Or some high schoolers' dead. and make out hall. I'm sure Mr. Bryan is trying to round them up before heading this way. Oh, look, speak of the devil. We turned to the entrance. Mr. Brian held the door open for one of the couples that couldn't keep their hands off each other. He walked in after them. Yep, got caught red-handed. Courtney shook her head and returned to the drug talk.

One of my friends teaches over at Russell, though, and they, They said they've already had kids showing up to school high off this Jetson crap. One was tearing his own nails off, and the other was trying to eat the locker. Afterwards, they said they didn't remember any of those things, just how peaceful they felt. That's the allure of drugs, isn't it? To help you escape from reality? Kindle stood up. Speaking of escapes, I'm ready to escape to the food.

I didn't eat breakfast. People need to hurry up and get in here. I think everyone's here now. Mr. Brian turned the music down. May I have everyone's attention, please. I think we're all here, and we're all just about ready for the wonderful food that's been wafting through the school all morning.

So, let's say, Grace, so we can eat. The lunchroom was filled with the noise of plastic utensil scraping plates and some conversation between bites. I always just sad and listened. I kept eyeing the Secret Santa table. I thought I knew who mine was based on the smell and types of gifts I was given, but it would be nice to know for sure and thank her face to face.

Some of her notes throughout the year really kept me afloat on bad days. But I waited and listened to my colleagues talk about their lives or our students and chimed in when I could. Once everyone was done eating, we exchanged gifts. Mr. Brian would call us up one at a time and tell us to deliver our last gift to our Secret Santa. The coaches played around, pretending to go to one person but then last-minute changing direction and going to another. We had to entertain ourselves because no one else was going to do it for us. I admired some of my more seasoned colleagues for keeping high spirits, even when faced with so much on our plate.

It helped me feel that loving Christmas spirit. I wasn't as inventive as them. I grabbed my last gift and circled the table a few times before stopping at Sandy. She loved the autographed razor-back t-shirt. She gave me a hug and told me Merry Christmas. I sat back down and waited patiently for my Secret Santa to bring me my gift. Then I realized she wasn't here. Megan Beggs was the Secret Santa given to me.

Mr. Bryan just skipped over her once he realized she wasn't in there right then, thinking she would appear in a bit with my gift. But once he got through everyone else, I noticed there were no more gifts on the table. I felt like a child cheated on Christmas morning, which was petty of me, I know. I had relied too much on her kindness throughout the year and looked forward to her last gift. Mr. Brian tucked his gift under his arm as he approached me. Megan was just here. She brought the cheesecake.

But as the Christmas game started, Megan was still a no-show. My curiosity teamed up with my pettiness. I'm going to go look for Megan. I walked to the main building, noticing the hallway lights didn't flick on. The lights were on a motion sensor, so I thought it's strange when they didn't catch me walking down the middle of the hallway. There were no windows in this hall, so even during the day it was dark. With no students or staff around, my heels clicking echoed loudly. But I noticed another sound.

I stopped walking to hear where it was coming from. It was a rustling, like plastic bags. It must have been one of the custodians finishing taking out the trash, I thought, so I continued down the dark path. There was a light at the end where the hallway connected to the next. I walked a little faster to get there. All the classroom doors were closed, so I didn't bother looking in. I was bad about scaring myself in this place after dark, so I shook it off and kept walking. I made it to the next hallway and stopped.

The rustling grew louder. and I saw what was causing it. Megan's classroom door was open, and someone's feet were laid prostrate outside of it, their body jerking. Crap! Was Megan epileptic? I rushed down the hallway to her door.

Megan? Are you okay? But it wasn't a seizure that had been causing her body to twitch. Yancey's older brother, Michael, was leaning over Megan. His back turned to me, his face buried in her neck. Michael, what the? Michael turned to me, and any thought of him just making out with his teacher was gone

when I saw him drooling blood. He smiled at me, and it turned my stomach seeing that precious smile covered in Megan's blood. Hey, Mrs. Mack, Mrs. Beggs wanted me to give this to you. Michael reached across Megan's body to the gift wrap box on the floor and lifted it towards me. Meat and blood hung from his nails, staining the ribbon. I was too shocked to scream.

Isn't this a wonderful meal Mrs. Begg's cook for us? His words startled me out of my shock, and my survival instinct kicked me into teacher mode instead of pushing my legs to get me the hell out of there. My question to him, even I wasn't sure why I asked it. Michael, where is Mrs. Beggs? He lifted more meat from her neck to his face, but paused to answer me, turning and waving a hand into the darkened classroom. Oh, Mrs. Beggs, she's here somewhere. I think she was going to tell the elves to come here.

My eyes darted to the three elves hanging from Megan's door. Courtney's Jetson drug immediately came to mind. I heard footsteps coming down the hall, too fast to be a teacher. grabbed Michael's hands as he raised them to his mouth with more of what remained of Megan. Michael! Michael, stop what you're doing! Snap out of it! Mrs. Mack? Hey, have you seen my brother? It was Yancy. God help me. It was Yancey. Yancey! Go get Mr. Brian! Now! Michael looked down the hall, and his eyes lit up again when he saw who spoke.

Yancey, about time you showed him. ready to eat. I'll never forget Yancey's words. He was already such a hardened kid, gone through so much at home, was trying however whimsically to make it through the school year. I expected him to freeze like me, or to scream, but he did neither. Oh, Michael, not you too. So much for a good Christmas. I wasn't sure if Yancy knew then that Megan was dead, or just that his brother did something he shouldn't have. Yancey did what I asked, though, and went for Mr. Brian. My shock kept me numb and distant to the fact that my colleague was lying dead in front of me, and that one of my upstanding students had a drug problem so bad he was eating his own teacher. Why did I feel safe staying beside him,

stopping him from eating anymore? I saw the look in his eyes when he sobered up. The look on his face, once he knew what he had done, will haunt me. for the rest of my life. And now all your souls belong to us. What a haul. I'm beginning to feel like Santa Claus. Don't say that name, not here. We're trying to impress Crampus, remember?

You might think we're double agents. Okay, fine. I'm beginning to feel a lot like... Someone carrying a burlap sack full of souls for nefarious personal gain? Hey, that's the spirit. I'm cold. Let's move on.

I did tell you not to come caroling in a bikini. No, you didn't. You specifically told me to come carol singing in a bikini. You said it would be good for optics. Now, now, we can argue over who said who should wear a bikini all day, but I... I mean, at least Alts wearing one, too? True. It's a mankini, actually.

Thank you. And there is a house, and I can see a family inside watching telly. Telly. Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way. Oh, what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh. Hey, jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way. Oh, what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh. Season's greetings, wholesome-looking family of four.

You seem bright-eyed. Now, do you know who else is bright-eyed with jingly balls? Me, look. Yes, look closer, not down there. My eyes are up here. Look into my eyes, all of you. Yes, the little baby, too. Yes, that's right.

Look, stare. Look into my eyes. Can you see the spirals? Yes, you can. Good. Gaze deep into the spirals, yes. And Jessica, hit them with your tale of terror, Wonderland by Marcus Demand.

There's something magical about a Christmas Eve snowfall, especially at night. The light and the darkness, the sparkling, falling sky reflecting moonlight, the perfection of the white blanketed ground where no boot has yet made tracks, the yard decorations casting a prismatic haze that glitters like gems suspended in space. It's cold out, of course. but I have my coat, my sweater, my boots and gloves, fingerless gloves tonight. I have gifts to deliver, and I want to keep my grip.

The mist of frost that escapes my lips smells of bourbon. Bourbon is good against the cold. I stamp my feet on my darkened porch, testing the snow, which is powdery and fresh. All of my house lights are off. I didn't put up decorations this year, so it's best to just stay in the dark. Don't want to be conspicuous. The Samson's have their lights on a timer.

They flash on and off to the soft rhythms of holiday songs. The shadow of Santa's sleigh, drawn by eight shadowy reindeer, is still just a silhouette on the Nicholson's roof. Old Davy won't flick the switch until nine or so, when most of the smaller neighborhood kids would have been tucked into bed. Some will be able to see it through their windows, flickering to life as they drift off to sleep. I set down my presence, one from each hand. I peel the glove from just over my wrist, thumb brush the dust of snow from my watch. It's only 6.30, dark, but still early. I pick my presence back up. I walk. Most of the windows on Beauregard Street are. It's are lit at ground level, dark on the upper floors. Families are cleaning up after dinner.

The one gift on Christmas Eve tradition, the eggnog and whiskey, the crackling fireplaces hung with stockings, I can imagine it all behind those windows. I can see it, even though I'm outside, even though, for the moment, I'm by myself. I'm coming, Lewis. I'll be there, sir. I'll be there, I brought something for you, two somethings. My limbs are tired. My whole body sighs with weariness. My eyes flutter. My brain wanders.

I keep going. We don't often get snow this early in Fairview, Virginia. Sometimes we don't get it at all, not once through the whole winter. Ice storms are more typical here, or ordinary rain. And that's fine. I like rain. Its soothing song and its cleansing power. But it's not magical.

It's not like snow at Christmas. I'll walk the neighborhood, listening to the soft crunch of my own feet, tasting the melting crust of new winter on my scarf. I'll look forward and not back. I don't want to look at the snow I've broken. ahead of me, it's still perfect. I'll keep to myself, to the sidewalks without lamp light. I don't want to intrude.

I'd rather be alone tonight. I'm a little drunk. One does tend to get heady in the silly season, especially when the weather's bad and there's no way to drive. It's coming down heavy now. The eddying swirls thrown up, from the grass and the concrete and asphalt bite with a cold fire like the absolution of sin. There must be six inches of it already, and if one is to believe the afternoon forecast, it'll be going all night and into the morning.

There may be three feet on the ground before it's done. And oh, look, the plows are out, finally hitting the residential streets for the first time since they pretreated the road six hours ago. That means they've probably already done Garrison Road and Market Street at least once, and probably twice, waging a war against inevitability that is almost comical. They know it, too. I can almost see Michael Finn through the windshield of his plow. Number three, the blue one. His silhouette unreadable, but his teeth likely gritted in that thin, silent line.

He reserves for pain in the ass jobs like this. there'll be a flask next to him on the seat. I wonder if he's unscrewed the cap yet. We went out together in high school, Michael and I, for a while. It didn't last. Abby, Jesus Christ, what the fuck's the matter with you? You know what? That's it.

I'm done. Get out. What? I'm just having a little fun. I told you. I'm not into the whole biting thing. Out of the car! Crazy bitch!

The plows are the only vehicles on the road, and that's a good thing. I'd hate for anyone to have an accident. And yet the town, which has seen its fair share of adversity over the years, is resilient, alive. It is positively a buzz with people and with Christmas spirit. Not far from me, through a gap between houses opening into a little. a cul-de-sac. I can see a host of teenage carolers, perhaps as many as ten in total. It's hard to be

sure from here through the falling snow. Certainly more than five. I can hear them. I can see the glow of lit candle cups in their hands. Their voices are so beautiful. The open door with the happy shadow of a couple standing behind it is so welcoming, so grateful for this shared joy. It's so grateful for this shared joy, this innocence made song. Those kids, no doubt, are from the intrepid youth group ranks of Holy Trinity. The local diocese never fails to dispatch its carolers on Christmas Eve. If I squint my eyes, I think I can make out Sandy McGee and Harlan Royce, on and off sweetheart since I had them both in Sunday school, caught them kissing on a dare once, and took care of that. And took care of nonsense on the spot.

Sandy's father did not approve. I swear to God, you come within five feet of my daughter again, and I will call the cops on you. You got that? I'll have your ass arrested. For God's sakes, they're seven years old. What's wrong with you? Some people.

I'll just hang back here, I think. The carolers will sing one more song before going to the next house. They won't mind me just listening. Oh my, they're so grown up. Almost. They'd be 16 now? Something like that. And is that Brenda Bayless?

I think it is. Had her babysit the twins once or twice back in the day, back when life made sense. When I was a mother, I was a good mother. No matter what she says, no matter what she told the cops. Mrs. Gallo, we're from Child Protective Services, and we've had a report we need to follow up on.

May we come in? Their voices are so beautiful, so beautiful. The kids, the carolers, will recruit others along the way tonight, as many as they can, regardless of age. It's an annual tradition as old as the town, a ritual that has never flagged, no matter how many fucked up things happen around here. I like to see kids happy at Christmas, even teenage punks like these, so convinced they have the world figured out, so sure that they're the first generation to get it right, whatever it is. I remember what it's like to be happy. If they see me, God, if they see me, they'll come running.

They'll fly at me like young, hungry vultures, ready to devour me with their scripture and pity. I must get walking again, pleasant as it is to listen to them. I do not wish to be assimilated. I cannot sing, and I have much to do. There are other things to see, other sites for me to enjoy. And there's you, Lewis. I don't want to keep you waiting forever. Time presses.

The snow continues to fall. In an hour, it'll be difficult to walk. It's so cold. Pickett Street. There's the lot with the Christmas trees for sale. Still open, hard as it is to believe. And still doing business. Breyer and son.

Drew and Zach, respectively, are strapping the top ten feet of a fir tree into the flat bed of an F-150, whose owner, despite all common sense, has decided to brave the snowstorm after all. I don't know who he is. That man in the parka thumbing out money one bill at a time to Lily Breyer, who mutters something about waiting to the last goddamn minute. The Breyer family sells fireworks in late June and early July. Then there's the pumpkin patch and costume barn in autumn. In Fairview, the Breyer family is your regular, all-American, one-stop holiday shopping place, practically year-round.

In the off-season, it's potted plants and flowers. Lily and I had a thing once, but you knew that, didn't you? You left me because of her, even though it was just a fling, just fun. Maybe I still like her. Had some good times. Fond memories. We were already married with kids by then, you and I. And so was she.

Lily and I were there for each other when things weren't going so well in one household or the other. When Drew or you were being an asshole. Nothing lasts forever, I guess. Abby, what the fuck? You knew we couldn't. keep it up. You said so yourself. It would have been bad enough sending those pictures to Drew, but to my son? Have to admit, it was kind of a bitch thing for me to do. What can I say? I was pissed.

I have to keep walking. Keep walking. They're getting heavy. These gifts I have brought for you. The fingers poking through the palms of my glove grown numb, glazing with frost. But You're just up ahead, Lewis, right where I can always find you. I can see the steeple from here, rising atop a wooded hill half a mile up the way. Holy Trinity. It's always lit at night. And, of course, it'll be quite busy on Christmas Eve. Snow or no snow.

Up ahead, there's a thin pilgrimage trudging up the residential side of the street. I have to be careful. I don't want to be invited into that cold, quiet trek. A single-file line of the lonely, faithful. But not you. You'll still be outside. I'll go around. There's the bike trail.

It's not far. In no time, I'm passing the expanse of open ground that used to be the old juvenile correctional center. How I remember it. And the rioting. right around Christmas. That resulted in its shutdown back in 2007. No one took me seriously when I talked about the phantom who had come to me in my cell when the chaos outside my door had been at its worst. No one had believed me about the shadow who made it under the door without ever opening the door. The dead woman in the tie-dye shirt who had bitten me and

suddenly left, as though summoned from afar by the voice of a spirit. spirit I could not hear. It had bitten me, but not killed me, attacked me, but didn't finish me, poisoned me but left me alive, human but changed. How I struggled to be normal ever since that night. I tried, Lewis. I really did. Perhaps it would have been easier if you, at least, had believed me. Do you recall that? Do you recall? the playground, Lewis. It used to be right here, built over the wreck of that old demolished prison. But no kids ever come here to play. Everyone said it was haunted. And when the sinkhole swallowed it whole two years ago, no one cried for the lost monkey bars or the swing set, the roundabout

or the jungle gym. Fairview hadn't yet finished grieving instead, and it seemed to many that the dead had refused to leave. The sinkhole somehow refuses to be fixed or filled, as though the ground itself has a will of its own. Still cordoned off by steel wire fencing, I see, the yellow caution tape paling and becoming unreadable with age. This is cursed ground that I am now treading. The place is alive with a slumbering evil I can feel in my bones, like the welcoming heat of our own fire. There's no one anywhere close to me. I could sit down here. I could lie down, stare up through the silver-gray clouds, spitting down snow, perhaps catch a glance of the north star if the weather breaks at all, until I'm buried in drifts and die from exposure. It might be better that way. Or I could

throw myself down the sinkhole. I could get through the fencing if I really tried. if I put my mind to it. Instead, I keep walking. I leave the sinkhole behind. There's a stretch of woods up ahead, and beyond that, the backyard of Holy Trinity. I wonder if old Father O'Hara would welcome me back, if he caught me back there.

He is the kindest man I know, and yet somehow I doubt that he would. There is no one. There is only us and our family, Victoria, Elliot, the twins. I tossed the gifts over the wrought iron fence before climbing it. It feels good, the release of my burdens, which thumped down just inside the cemetery grounds on a soft blanket of snow. There's nearly a foot of it now.

The perfect cushion. The strain of muscles. the coordinated effort to keep myself from the top spikes of the barrier gate. It feels good. It gets my blood flowing. I recover the gifts. I trudge forward. I can barely feel my own feet.

But I can see you now. I told you I would come tonight and here I am, even after what you did. But I cannot feel. forgive you. There's no forgiveness left in me for anyone. You, you were already gone when they took them from me, you bastard. You merciless, son of a bitch. You left me to bring them up by myself. You abandoned them instead of protecting them, instead of being a husband and father, instead of protecting me against what I could not help. I'm coming. Louis. You're waiting for me, aren't you? You're so patient. You know how much you need me now,

don't you? Despite my faults, despite my predilections. You know what they say. There's no arguing taste. You weren't there, were you? When they took them from me in open court, when they showed the fucking pictures. When they accused me in front of the whole town of being a fucking vampire to my own children, even though I'd never hurt them once, never even broken the skin. Vampire? Really?

And there we were in court at 11 in the morning. They never felt a thing. You stuck around long enough to know that. And then, and then. Why did you do it, Lewis? Couldn't we have talked this through? Ah, but there you are. Your stone gathers snow. Is that you, I still hear breathing under there? Louis Gallo, loving husband and father. But no, it's only the wind. The storm gathers strength. Not far from here, I can hear the congregation through the walls of the church.

More singing. Is that Ave Maria? I think that it is. It's beautiful. It's perfect. The Holy Mother at Christmas. There is no power in heaven or hell that can keep a mother from her children at Christmas. Certainly not the Virginia.

Department of Social Services, nor the unlocked front door of the foster home where they've been imprisoned these past six months. How surprised they were to see me and the other three foster children as well, not to mention the foster parents themselves. How they screamed when I did my duty, when I kept my promise to you. Nothing will come between us ever again. I promised, after you learned about the fling I had with Lily. Nothing, I said, and no one. The police will find the other three kids, bound and gagged but otherwise unharmed. As for their foster parents, the police will likely find them first, neatly strung up by the chimney with care along with the stockings.

As for my kids. Our kids. I took them with me, naturally. As much of them as I could anyway. I've brought them with me, Lewis, one in each hand, my fingers holding them by the hair. So, here we all are, as I take a knee in the snow in front of your headstone. Just a family of four, together on Christmas Eve, At church, no less, or close enough for social services. Would that it didn't have to be this way. Let's see. We'll have Victoria on the left, I think.

Beliot on the right. I'll just pack the snow a little tighter. See that they don't tip over? I'll close their eyes now. Look, honey, they're asleep. It looks like they're waiting for Santa, visions of sugar plums dancing in their severed fucking heads. And I'll just stay here until either the snow covers us or the authorities find us. It won't be hard.

Won't be long. As I look back over my shoulder, I see the broken snow, the tracks, the blood, They could come at any time, really, unless new snow covers the old, quickly enough to give us more quality time together. How I've missed you. How I've missed us all. And longed for this moment. I'm so tired. But I'm happy. God bless us, everyone. All your soul are belonged to us. A gaming meme. You are the biggest nerd. Sure thing, Eric and Skywalker.

Yeah, all right. I'll give you that. That was quite funny. Okay, can we move on? Now I'm getting cold, thanks to the lack of clothing. Jessica, lack of clothing? You're wearing six sweaters and four winter coats. Yes. I dress down for the occasion.

Normally I'd wear at least three cloaks too, but Alt wouldn't allow it. To Jack the Ripper, he said. Man, I wonder who Jack the Ripper actually was. I heard he was a member of the British royal family. I heard he was David Alt. I heard. Look, my past is none of your business. But I can also see a house up ahead.

Lights are on. Silent night. HOTEM. Screw that guy. He's obviously from New York. Let's go. It's me up next, right? Yep.

Then I want to go to this house. There's no lights on in the windows. I know, but I get a feeling. Fine, whatever. On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me, a partridge in a pear tree. On the second day of Christmas, Christmas my true love sent to me two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree.

On the third day of Christmas my true love sent to me three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree. On the fourth day of Christmas my true love sent to me, four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle, And a partridge in a pear tree Delightful carolers. And there we were all 12 of us siblings sitting in the dark with nothing to do. Wow, Mike, I guess I should actually trust you in future. Anyway, 12 whole siblings.

You loved our music, and you know what you would love more. Staring into my eyes. Okay, you're all staring. Yes, you're all staring very eagerly. That's good. Now, stare harder. Can you see the spirals in them? Yes, yes.

Good, good. Look, into the spirals. Gaze hard. Fall into the spirals. And now Mike Del Gordio, who I now trust, let loose with You Gotta Believe in Grandpa John by C.M. Scandrith. I should never have agreed to Christmas with my girlfriend's family. It's not that they're awful people.

On the contrary, they're warm, loving, funny, and accommodating. It's more that their Yuletide superstitions turned out to be a much bigger deal than I could have anticipated. If I had truly known the extent of those beliefs, I probably would have stayed the hell away. But as it stands, I'm stuck here, so I might as well tell you the story of how this all came to pass. Buckle up, it's going to be a wild ride. The van was crammed with as many of my girlfriend's family members as possible, and we were making great time. Claire sat with me behind the driver's seat chatting away to her mom who was driving. I made idle conversation with her dad riding passenger, mostly about football and what I wanted to do after I finished my degree.

I didn't have much of my own family left, only in a strange stepmother. So it seemed like a perfectly sensible idea to spend holiday with Claire's relatives. We've been dating for over two years, and I got along well with her folks. It would have felt a bit rude and kind of odd to refuse their hospitality. The only catch was Grandpa John. Claire had been gushing weeks earlier after I agreed to go. Her eyes bright with emotion. I can't wait for you to meet him.

He's a really special guy and such a pivotal part of our Christmas celebrations. How old is he? Oh, he must be at least 200 years old. What? Come on, you're shitting me. Claire had grinned shaking her head. I'm not joking. Grandpa's as old as the house.

Okay, he's not really. my grandpa, more like my great, great, great something grandfather. But everyone calls him Grandpa John. It's just easier. Incredulous, I'd ask the only question that made sense at the time. How was he still alive? He's not. He died well over a century ago. But he's a powerful spirit, and so long as everyone believes enough, he can manifest and become part of our Christmas,

just like he has for the last hundred years or more. Claire made me promised then and there that the one condition for coming along to her family Christmas was that I had to believe in Grandpa John. Thinking it was just a silly superstition, the alternative being that my girlfriend of two years was losing her mind, I'd foolishly agreed. What I hadn't told her was that I didn't believe in ghosts

or the supernatural at all. How hard could it be to pretend I believed in a ghost? The last stop on our road trip was a town that was little more than a gas station, and a few supply stores for the local farmers. Claire's three nieces took the opportunity to tear around the place and stretch their legs, while Claire's older sister Mel yelled at them to settle down.

Meanwhile, Mel's husband, Jake, brought snacks for the kids and cigarettes for himself. One of the three girls ran up to me as I was leaning against the back of the van and joining the crisp, clean country air. Uncle Mike, are you going to sit on Grandpa's knee when he does Santa? No, Sarah, I'm not. She frowned hard and kicked a stone at one of the gas pumps.

But why not? You got to tell them what you want for Christmas. Tell you a secret? Yeah, tell me, tell me. Her sulky face immediately brightened up again. I leaned down and whispered conspiratorially. I don't believe in ghosts. But...

Her bottom lip had started to quiver, and I knew right then... Oh, I'd fucked up. But... Uncle Mike, you gotta believe in Grandpa, or he won't come. You got to. Hey, what's all this, then? Her dad came around the other side of the van. Sarah flung herself at him.

Uncle Michael says he doesn't believe in Grandpa, John. Lifting my hands in mock self-defense, I smiled lopsidedly at her father, trying to make light. Look, Jake, I was just messing with her. I wasn't serious. lifting Sarah up, he stared at me disapprovingly. Look, Michael, the one condition for coming on this trip was that you believe in Grandpa John.

That was it. You could get drunk and piss your bed and everyone would still be fine with you so long as you do this one little thing for the family. Look, Jake, it's just that... It's just nothing, Michael. If you want to be a part of this family, it's something you're going to have to do.

And if you don't think you can make yourself believe in ghosts, then you need to tell Claire right now so that we can arrange to drive you back to the city. You can catch a bus home. He put Sarah down. She clung to his leg for a second, staring at me, then ran off to find her sisters when Jake gave her a little push. He leaned in and lowered his voice.

Look, man, I wasn't quite sure my first Christmas year either. But Grandpa John is real. And if you don't get your head around that, you're going to ruin Christmas. Not just for you, but for everyone else. As I nodded, he pointed a callous finger at me. And if you ruin Christmas for my girls, I will goddamn kill you. Do you understand? I understand.

I was genuinely worried. No one had said that to me like they really meant it before. Maybe the fear in my eyes was enough to convince him because he nodded. Good. Now get back in that van and tell my sister-in-law how much you're looking forward to meeting Grandpa. Grandpa John's home was a classic 18th century farmhouse, all timber and stone. Part of it buried in the hillside that it was built against. As soon as the van pulled up outside, the family started spilling out of the vehicle,

where we were greeted by Claire's living grandparents. Claire's uncle, aunt, and cousin were also already. in residence, having arrived a day earlier to get the place ready for the rest of us. As everyone exchanged pleasantries and introductions were made, I overheard Claire talking to her grandmother. Is Grandpa John here yet? Hello, dear. He's taking his time this year. I expect he'll pop in tonight or in the morning. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, after all, and he likes to meet new people before the big day. I could feel Jake's eyes on me, watching me, warning me not to ruin this for his girls.

How the fuck do you make yourself believe in ghosts when you don't? Inside the house was cozy and warm, rugs and sheepskins everywhere, cheery amber lamps and a big bright fire. The kitchen was mostly stone, hung with cast-iron pots and pans, but even that part of the house was warm and inviting, homey and comforting with the smell of hickory shavings and hot coffee. This was not a house that felt haunted. The bedrooms upstairs had bare floorboards

in imposing freestanding wardrobes, but the scent of clean linen and lavender failed to conjure any implications of eldritch spirits who had lived here for 200 years. This was a home, not a haunt, and that anyone could believe in ghosts in a place like this. It seemed ludicrous. The evening passed with a palpable sense of anticipation,

with Grandpa John never far from the topic of conversation. Jake's girls and Claire's 12-year-old cousin and played battered board games brought out from the linen cupboard, while the rest of us talked and drank enjoying the heat from the open fire. The entire family was so incredibly close-knit and charming. I felt a huge upswelling of loss at my own familial status. The last Christmas I had spent with my stepmother seemed an age ago.

The memory is so distant that it seemed as unreal as the specter of Grandpa John. Claire immediately sensed my change of mood, and burrowed closer under the throw blanket we shared in front of the fireplace. You okay? Not really, no. You know, family stuff, old memories. Do you want to go to bed? Sarah has insisted she's sleeping in our room with Uncle Mike,

but if we sneak away now, we can have some time together. The idea of intimacy with Claire washed away my brooding instantly, and I squeezed her hand. Yeah, sounds good. feigning a headache Claire told the others we were heading upstairs. Mel rolled her eyes while Jake winked at me, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from his wife. Sheepishly, I climbed the stairs pulled along by Claire. My mind filled with thoughts of what we'd do in that old 18th century wooden bed. But once inside our room, Claire's mood instantly shifted. Something's wrong. Grandpa isn't here yet. He's always here by now.

Sitting beside her, I kissed her forehead. Maybe he's just shy this year because there hasn't been a newbie for a while? Grandpa is never shy. This is his home which he built with his own hands. He's always proud to meet guests and show them around. Uncomfortable now, I squeezed her thigh, then stood to unpack some pajamas from our suitcase. You do believe in him, don't you? Willing myself not to say anything stupid, I stopped, turned, then spent,

smile reassuringly. I believe. I'm sure Grandpa John is just busy preparing an amazing Christmas for you guys. Don't worry. Her faith in me restored, Claire shucked off her shirt. Get over here. And don't you dare put those ugly PJs on or you're never getting late ever again. Christmas Eve began with a massive plate of bacon and fresh eggs, then a motherload of coffee. The house was vibrant and alive with laughter. Rich food smells. and the strong, sticky scent of pine, as Mel and Claire's uncle had been up early to cut down a Christmas tree for the kids to decorate.

I could tell everyone was doing their best to ignore the fact that Grandpa John hadn't made his appearance yet, as conversations would falter when he became the topic. Then I would feel the eyes of the family members flicker in my direction, before assuming polite smiles and changing the topic. Why couldn't I just make myself believe in ghosts? As the morning wore on and turned into afternoon, I managed to corner Jake when he headed out to chop more firewood. Hey man, need a hand?

I pointed to the stack of unsplit logs. Hefting an axe, he nodded. Throw a log on the splitting block. Selecting a medium-sized log, bark flaking in my hands, I placed it on the block. I know why you want to talk to me. Jake hefted the axe, then split the log in a single, precise blow. I picked up the biggest piece and sent it back on the block for him. You're struggling with your belief.

Everyone knows because Grandpa John isn't here yet. The piece of wood split neatly under another expert blow. Then he gestured for me to pick up the pieces and get another log. Look, you need to draw on whatever belief you have. In God, in the supernatural, in spirits, whatever. Screw it up into a ball inside. you and believe, okay? Placing a new hunk of wood on the block, I nodded.

I'm trying, man. I'm trying as hard as I can. I really don't want to wreck this for you guys. My hand had barely let go of the wood when the ax struck, smashing through the log and burying itself deep into the chopping block. Try harder. As evening approached, I could feel the animosity of the whole family directed at me. At one point, Sarah started crunch.

for no apparent reason. Then Mel carried her upstairs, glaring daggers at me. What had started out as an idyllic family Christmas was quickly turning into a nightmare, with myself as the centerpiece of the bad dream. And don't you believe I didn't try? I stared into the corner of the house willing myself to see Grandpa John. There was an ancient painting of him above the fireplace, cropped short gray hair, his rugged face, as clean-shaven as you could get in those times. He looks tall and posing, the kind of man who could work all day on a farm and barely break a sweat, even in his 60s. But try as I might, I couldn't summon his spirit into existence. I just couldn't make myself believe in something I fundamentally didn't believe in. As it grew dark out,

I began to realize that I didn't belong here. I wanted to be a part of family Christmas so badly that I'd been willing to lie to win the approval of Claire and her family. It had been a mistake, and it was time to rectify it. Grabbing my phone and my biggest winter jacket from the bedroom, I had it outside. Where are you going? Just out to cut some wood. I'll come with you. It's cool. I don't need any help.

I was out the door and jogging for the barn before Jake had time to put on his sweater. I knew he'd follow me, but if I took a circuitous route behind the barn, then doubled back to the road, I could just start walking back to the township where I could call a taxi. It was only 10 miles or so, and the walk would keep me warm enough. I'd intended to use the light on my phone to guide me, but if Jake was following, it would give me away. So I stuffed it into my pocket and navigated as best I could, the twilight turning to pitch with the speed of poured ink, until I was stumbling blind along a fence line trusting it would get me to the road.

Then, to my dismay, my phone started ringing. He's over here. Where? I fumbled with my phone, light spilling from my pocket before I managed to silence it, and I ran blindly away from the voices. The ground was stony and rough, and I stumbled, only starlight in a sliver of moon to illuminate my haphazard escape. I didn't see the slope in the darkness,

and I tripped and staggered trying to write myself as the grower. ground fell away from my feet, and I fell headlong into a gully. I remember the pain in my shoulder, then my leg, before my head hit something, and oblivion claimed me. Twice I remember waking, pain burning in my head and leg, distorted voices in the dark, a swinging light somewhere, then I lapsed into unconsciousness again. Strange nightmares harrowed my unconscious mind, of Jake chasing me with an axe before chopping off my leg and head, then pushing my lifeless body into a ravine, where it tumbled and smashed on jagged rocks,

breaking every bone in my body. When the nightmares slowly receded and consciousness came painfully back, I realized I was propped up in a big armchair in front of the fireplace, heat playing on my skin and the sense of pine and cinnamon heavy in the air. The pain was largely gone. My leg had been splinted, and a big bandage was around my head. Only a faint throbbing remained. As I grogly wrestled with the blanket covering me, Claire was there,

and then the rest of the family. All concern and love writ all over their faces. Oh, I'm sorry. I was stupid. I just, I couldn't. I couldn't make myself believe. Shh. You're awake just in time for Grandfather.

John to play Santa. Turning my head to the stairs, I watched an utter disbelief as an elderly man in an ancient Santa suit clombed down the stairs. Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas! Even under the fake woolen beard, I knew it was the man from the painting. Christmas with Grandpa John had begun. Despite the fact that I was confined to the chair, it was a marvelous Christmas, the best Christmas

I'd ever had in my life. Grandpa John was a force of festive nature, and I could see why Jake wanted me to believe in him so much. He was the greatest grandpa in the whole goddamn world, and the girls, they loved him to pieces. I tried addressing the mystery of my belief with Claire, but she just kissed me and shrugged. Who knows? Maybe that bang on your head woke you up. But I still don't believe in ghosts. She laughed and hugged me,

and then got up as her mother called her to the kitchen. I'd only the barest, briefest introduction to Grandpa John, and he picked a lull in his grandchildren's attention to sit beside me, two glasses of an amber liquor in his hands. Been saving this for a special guest, and I think it's you, son. Here's to family. After tapping my glass to his,

we both down to the potent whiskey. I think you're going to enjoy being part of our legacy. You're a fine young man. Grandin'pa John persisted for two days after Christmas, filling the house with his enormous, earthy presence. It was hard to believe the man was a spirit. He ate and drank with us. He interacted with the children, did practically everything a living person did.

But when we started packing to leave, some of the brighter colors seemed to fade from him, like a Polaroid slowly fading to blues in the sunlight. Jake had cut a crutch for me to get around on, but the injury was already healing, and I barely needed it now. Limping to the door as Claire carried our suitcases outside, I offered to help. No, you stay inside. You're not well. I'm almost fine. It was just a sprain.

As I stepped to the threshold of the door, she squealed and dropped the suitcase moving to intercept me. And as my hand passed over the worn flagstone at the entrance to the house, it vanished in the weak winter sunlight. Grandpa John was there, his hand on my shoulder, pulling me back inside. You can't go out there, boy. Not anymore. I don't understand. Oh, I think you do, son. I think you do.

My hand was reappearing now, but some of the color was lost. Believe in ghosts, like Grandpa John. Don't worry, son. I think you're going to like it here. He grinned and slapped me on the back. After all, from here on out, it's nothing but Christmas for you and me. As the last of the luggage went into the van, he put a heavy arm on my shoulder. Let's just hope they always believe in you, Uncle Mike. Twelve souls just for us. Into the bag you go!

Erica, keep a solid grip on this one. This is getting heavy now. Let's make it quick. One more house. Look up there. That house on the hill? It's festooned with decorations. lights and glowing things and rainiers and snowmen it's the most Christmassy house ever Okay, but it's up a hill

Yeah, Nicole's right This house is practically begging for us to show up Calling to us even, any objections Honestly, I've got a bad feeling about this one I think we should skip it Oh, who cares what you think, Mike? When was the last time you were right about anything? Well, I for one don't care

I'm just sick of walking around the snow in a bikini Jessica, can I borrow one of them? of your four coats. Fine. But if I freeze to death, it's on you. At least that'll be one more soul. Kidding, kidding.

Let's go. Oh, that's annoying. It's going to clash with our carols. Okay, with that out of the way, let's sing like there's no tomorrow for any of us. Oh, come all ye faithful, joyful and triumph. O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem.

And behold him, born the king of angels. O come let us adore him, Christ the Lord. Oh look, a guy dressed as Santa Claus. pathetic What a jolly bunch of merry carolars What a delight What an absolute festive wonder You know what else is a festive wonder

Um Rainier, elves Gifts under the tree Loyalty, commitment, trust Spending time with your loved ones Yeah, yeah sure all of that But also my eyes Why don't you

Why don't you look into my eyes? Why, yes, they do shine bright with Christmas cheer, my lad. Perhaps you'd all like to come in for some eggnog. I've just taken some mince pie out of the oven. Oh, you all look freezing, especially you, Jess. The lady with only three winter coats on. You're very underdressed. Thank you.

Nobody else understands me. Oh, for goodness sake. No, no eggnog. moments pies, just look into my eyes, you ridiculous Santa wannabe. Look into them, stare at them, gaze upon their glorious visage. Do you see the spirals within them? Do you see them? Yes, yes. Oh, yes. I see what lies behind your eyes, all right? Yeah, good enough for me. And three, two, one, you're under. You're hypnotized.

This is going to be a long one. So brace yourselves, everybody. The longer the story, the richer the soul. Which means, Penny, it is time for you to. to share Christmas in Antarctica by Gemma Amour. And Christmas in Antarctica, the adverts said, "'Tis the season to be in Antarctica. Enjoy the ultimate white Christmas on a special celebratory voyage to the southernmost continent.' It continued on like that, exclamation marks littered liberally throughout.

My eyes skimmed over the ad in the glossy travel supplement I was reading over breakfast. I chewed on a lukewarm piece of toast and peanut butter and contemplated how much disposable income you'd need to be able to afford to do something as extravagant as that. A trip of a lifetime. Cruising around the snow and ice of Antarctica on Christmas Day. Something rich, lucky assholes did,

not people like me. I felt a familiar yearning sensation in my heart. Think how incredible that would be. Waking up on Christmas morning, peeking bleary eye through your cabin porthole, seeing the mysterious white wasteland of the South Pole stretching out before you. God, I needed some adventure, some excitement.

I was young and I'd barely travelled further than the next town over in my relatively short time on this earth. There was a world out there, and I wasn't seeing it. It felt wrong. But what could I do about it? I was flat out broke. I worked in a shitty, low-paid role in marketing. I couldn't afford to even buy these travel magazines I kept torturing myself with,

let alone book a trip anywhere and see more of the world. There were bills to pay, a car to fuel, rent to cover. Every time I let my imagination run away with me, the sad realities and responsibilities of my actual life brought me crashing back down to earth with a meaty bump. And so the familiar yearning turned sour in my chest, just like it always did. Christmas in Antarctica, you're right. I rolled my eyes at no one in particular, and yet the advert still poked at me. I tried moving on to a different page, but the marketing spiel was too captivating.

Cruise among icebergs in a paradise where the sun never goes down, land on the continent, take a voyage with penguins, seals, mink whales and humpbacks. It sounded fucking amazing. Oh, shut up! I angrily flipped the page as I tried to get rid of the image that had stubbornly lodged in my mind. An icy wonderland, wildlife, everywhere you looked. Me, in the middle of it all, wide-eyed,

finally experiencing life instead of going through the motions. My boyfriend looked at me over the top of his steaming cup of coffee, amused at my little outburst. What's up? Nothing. Just feeling, you know, the itch. He gestured to the magazine. Show me.

There's no point. We can't afford it anyway. But I flipped the page back, showed him the advert. He was silent for a moment, reading. What you mean is that you can't afford it. I can. Fuck off, Ash. This trip costs...

Wait. I scan the small print looking for the finer details. Ah, there, you see, a 13-day luxury cruise to Antarctica is going to set you back $12,000 per person. 12,000. I'm pretty sure you don't have a spare 12 grand hidden in your underwear drawer. I don't have an underwear drawer, Jen. The floor is my underwear drawer. And as it turns out, I do have some money set aside for a rainy day.

Not 12 grand, but I don't think you need to pay that anyway. I have a friend who went to Antarctica. He said all you need to do is go to Oshua, the southernmost town in South America, where all the cruises leave from. If you hang around there for a week or so until the various tour agencies release the final last-minute cabins they haven't been able to fill, you get a hefty discount. And I mean hefty discount. Well, even if you can afford a luxury cruise in the South Pole, I can't. My ass is broke. What if I lent you the money?

I spluttered as my next mouth will have toast stuck fast in my throat. He reached over and thumped me on the back until I got a hold of myself. What? Ash chuckled again, then turned serious. What if I lent you the money? Only think it's about time we got away together. Did some sightseeing, saw a bit of the world, got away from the daily grind. Are you serious?

No, I couldn't do that. You know how I feel about borrowing money from you. Anyway, I thought we were saving for our own place. Of course I'm serious. I'm not giving you the money. It's a loan. I know you'll pay me back. And we can still save for our own place.

It might take longer, but it'll be worth the delay. And I'll put in a ton of overtime when we get back. You won't be stuck in your job forever, Jen. I know you won't. Something better will come along. Will it? Because I feel like I'm going to float from one, trappy, demeaning, underpaid job to the next until I can figure out what I actually want to do with my life.

But that's exactly what I'm saying, Jen. Maybe you need to take a step away from it all for a little while. Think about what you want from the future. Doing something like this... He tapped the magazine for emphasis. Would give you the chance to see life from a different angle. Help me put things into perspective. It could be life-changing for you.

I gazed at him, wide-eyed, and couldn't find anything. to say in response, because I could see that he was deadly, deadly, serious. He had the money, God knows where from, and he fully intended to lend it to me so I could get out of this apartment, out of this town, and out of my own head for a few glorious weeks and see something of the world. He gazed back at me, his eyes warm and steady, and we sat like that for a moment or two as the conversation sank in. There are moments in your life when you realize, sometimes, how much you are really loved. Moments where it feels like you've been smacked upside the head with a large billboard

painted with bright red capital letters saying, I love you, you idiot. This was one of those moments. I swallowed. My hands suddenly hot and sticky with anticipation. So shall we do it? Christmas in Antarctica? I'll think about it.

I smiled. In my head. I could already see icebergs dancing by. Ushuea, the Gateway to Antarctica, was a small city at the very bottom of Argentina, or the end of the world, as the locals like to say. It was sat under the Tierra del Fuego Mountains on the edge of the Beagle Channel,

and was unlike anywhere I'd ever been before. As a major launch point for cruises to the South Pole, it was a hive of tourist activity. The streets of downtown were crowded, with bars, hostels, expensive hotels, restaurants, Argentinian barbecue joints and steakhouses, and of course, outdoor gear shops. I fell in love with it, the second I set foot in the place.

Huge rolling snow cat mountains surrounded the higgledy, pickledy, brightly painted buildings on all sides. It didn't take more than a ten-minute walk from one street to the next to find yourself suddenly confronted by ships, shipping containers, cranes, and all the trappings of a well-established port. The city had a low-key feel to it, despite how busy the streets were. Hardened backpackers rubbed shoulders with wealthy day tourists,

Antarctica expedition crew members, sailors, residents, locals and dock workers. Paint peeled off of buildings in flaky strips, exposed too many times to extreme cold and sea winds. Overhead, tangled bundles of electric cables crisscrossed every street like vines in a maritime jungle. To a sheltered, being nowhere girl like me, it was intoxicating. I drank in every sight and sound as we wandered the streets on our first full day after we arrived, jet-lagged, and culture-shocked. Ash had been right. It turned out to be surprisingly easy to find discounted cabins on cruises to Antarctica.

We shortlisted three cruises based on price and departure date. We weighed up the pros and cons of each ship, then made our final decision. I remember sitting in a little cafe. Ash hunched over his laptop, abusing the free Wi-Fi, credit card in hand, frowning as he waited for the payment to go through on a two-week cruise that left in just three days' time. I remember pinching myself hard on the back of the hand as he sat back and smiled at me. The payment went through. A confirmation email popped up on screen.

Ash took my hand in his. It was warm and a little sweaty. Buckle up, Buttercup. We're going to the South Pole for Christmas, baby. I felt sick with excitement. Things like this didn't happen to girls like me. They just didn't. Shit, we overslept, Jen.

Ash woke me in a panic. It was the morning of our departure, and we'd overslept. Oh, fuck! Why didn't you set the alarm, Ash? I did, but my stupid phone has run out of power. It didn't charge. The cable must be broken or bent or something. Shit.

Fuck! I stumbled out of bed, tripping over my backpack and banging my shin against the chair as I did so. We're going to miss it. By the time we checked out of our hostel, we were in shitty moods with each other, bickering back and forth like couples do when they've been together too long. A cab arrived to take us to the dock. We got in, asking the driver to step on it, convinced we're about. to miss the boat. When we bundled out of the taxi in a panic, we were informed by a dock worker

that departure had been delayed for an hour, so we had plenty of time. Passengers were still boarding. We almost collapsed on the floor with relief, and then looked ruefully at each other, feeling bad about the mean words we'd said while stressed. Ash held out his arm for me to slip a hand under. Shall we start over? Let's start over. We took a slow, calm, warm. together to find our ship. And when we found her, God, what a ship she was. I took a deep breath as I saw her for the first time. She lay peacefully in the dock before us, white, long, sleek bow designed to break through ice. She was boxy and functional in the middle, and there was a small crane

on the back near the stern. A collection of smaller boats was secured on the rear deck near the crane. I later found out these were called zodiacs, inflatable boats used to vary passengers from the ship to the mainland during expeditions. The ship had two observation decks, one at the aft and one at the four. Her name was painted on her side in Cyradic text because she was a Russian ship. I couldn't read the words, but I didn't need to. I knew what she was called. The academic Iofe. I was enchanted from the second I saw her.

The academic Iofé was originally a hydrographic research vessel built in Finland for the Russians. Now she was an expedition ship and spent her days taking tourists on cruises to Antarctica and the Arctic. Tourists like me. I felt a surge of adrenaline and joy race through my veins as I realized I was going to be sleeping, eating, breathing, living on board for the next few weeks. Ash read off the spiel from the travel literature we'd been sent. 48 suites and cabins, 96 passenger capacity, 10 zodiacs on board. Zodiacs are those small boats you can see. Look, a bar, a dining room, a lounge, a library, a gym, a sauna, top deck and observatory,

massage room and the mudroom. I said nothing, just gazing in wonder at the white, beautiful thing in the water in front of me. Appie? Ash draped an arm around. my shoulders. A sea-gull landed on the railing next to us and started screeching a mournful, ugly song across the water. I ignored it, nodding. My heart fit to bursting. Happy. It was not to last. Walking up the gangplank of the academic Iofe was the most surreal experience of my life up until that point. We filed in after a long queue of people, some of who looked a little

familiar. I must have seen them around town or at our hostel. One girl, about the same age as me, turned, caught my eye and smiled. Hi. She stuck a handout. I did the same. She had a firm grip and a twinkle in her eye. Hi. Sarah. Jen. What cabin are you in? I scrambled for the piece of paper with our details on. Cabin 401. Cool. I'm in cabin 402. Hi, neighbor. I grin. This is what travel was all about. Not just the things you were here to see. It was the people, the people you met along the way.

It was part of the journey, part of the destination. Our passports were taken from us for customs, and we were told we could have them back at the end of the cruise once we'd paid our bar bill. We laughed at this and went to explore. Sarah waved at me as she disappeared into her room, which was indeed next door to ours. She shared it with a tall, confident British woman called Mary. I listened to them moving around, unpacking and chattering from behind a thin, dividing wall.

I smiled at Ash. I like her. Ash rolled his eyes. Uh-oh. Our cabin was sparse and functional. Two bunks, a wardrobe, desk and a small sofa. There was a big window through which cold, pale light spilled. Ash looked at it and laughed.

Perfect size for barfing out of when the weather gets bad. I tried not to think about that. To get the Antarctica Peninsula, you first have to cross the Drake Passage, a notorious stretch of ocean known for its terrible conditions. We would either get lucky and have a smooth crossing, referred to as the Drake Lake, or a terrible one, otherwise known as the Drake Shake. I was nervous about the latter.

I wasn't used to boats. I wasn't used to the sea, and I certainly wasn't used to 20-foot waves and all the fun that came with them. Ash saw my worried expression and rubbed my back soothingly. It'll be fine, babe, trust me. I frowned out of the window, not answering. I was a ball of nerves and excitement and expectation, and I couldn't wait for the ship to set sail so I could relax a little. Once we were at sea, it was all out of my hands. The longer we remained docked, however, the longer we remained docked, however, the

the more I thought about all the things that could go wrong. At last, I got my wish. The ship backed out of the harbour slowly, and Eushuea retreated, shrinking in size until it looked like a toy town. The ship turned then, pirouetting in the water with her thrusters, and let fly one loud, long blast from her horn. Then, we were on our way. On our way to Antarctica. There was a lifeboat drill before dinner, where every passenger had to don their life jacket and cue an orderly fashion, ready to be taken onto the Zodiacs in the event for crisis.

The Zodiacs carried emergency supplies and rations as standard, in case the ship got grounded, hit a rock, or anything else sinister happened. After the drill, we were called for dinner. This was held in a large dining room with Christmas decorations hanging from the ceiling. I blinked when I saw them. In all the excitement, I had completely forgotten about Christmas. It seemed absurd to be thinking about. about santa and stockings and sleigh bells in the setting of this ship.

I could see, now that all the passengers were assembled, that there were about a hundred of us on board, give or take. We were introduced to a dizzying number of people from all over the world. Dutch, Australian, Russian, German, American, English, Irish, Spanish, Italian, Norwegian, Japanese. I felt breathless with the weight of new information thrown at me as I shook hands with person after person over a three-course meal, served by a smartly dressed chef in a white hat. I knew, given time, I would get to know some of them,

and I was looking forward to that. But for now, I felt overwhelmed. I was a long, long way from home, and about to sail off into the southern ocean for the adventure of a lifetime. Networking and socialising were suddenly proving a little difficult. I excused myself from dessert. Told Ash I needed a minute and went to find a quiet spot to sit by myself.

My head ached and I felt too warm. I decided I wanted to go up on deck and get some fresh air. I slipped on a jacket and hat and climbed outside to the forward observation deck. It was peaceful outside, if cold. The ship moved at a steady pace, the engine a comforting throb underneath me. I shivered and watched the islands of the Beagle Channel diminish, as birds flew overhead, screaming in that wild, lonely way sea birds have. I realized we were now almost in the open ocean.

The thrill of adrenaline went through me. I became aware then of a presence beside me. I turned, thinking Asher had joined me on the day. It wasn't Ash. It was a tall, thin man, with hair so blonde it was almost white. He had pale, waxy skin, and the bluest eyes I'd ever. seen on a person. His nose was curiously long and pointed. His cheeks hollowed, and he didn't seem at all bothered by the cold, dressed only in a light shirt and pants.

He stood next to me, uncomfortably close. I flinched. Who the fuck was this guy? Didn't they have personal space where he came from? I moved to put a little distance between us. Hi. I spoke almost apologetically, even though he was in evading my privacy, because I'm an idiot and my default setting is always polite, beg pardon. I'm Jen. I stuck out my hand. Why, I couldn't tell you. Engrained good manners, I suppose. He stared at it with those blue, blue eyes and slowly slid his pale, thin hand into mine. I shuddered as he did so. His palm was cold. So cold I gasped. Why was he? Why was he? out here without a coat on this stupid man. His fingers gripped me tightly and I wince. He had long

fingernails and they dug into my skin. I felt a sudden irrational fear shoot through me. There was something really off about this guy. He gave out an air of violence somehow, of being dangerous. His eyes were bright, artificial and betrayed no hint of emotion. He seemed flat and cold and uncaring, like glass, like ice. He didn't tell me his name, but I saw a name written in Byro on a label on his shirt. We'd all been told to write our names down on labels for the first night, so we could all get to know each other. His read simply, Jack. Nice to meet you, Jack.

I tried to extricate myself from his grip. He said nothing but kept a hold on my hand, and my heart began to pound in my chest. What was his deal anyway? Please, let go. I was painfully aware that I was alone on deck and most of the crew and passengers were still indoors eating. Jack didn't let go. His hand stayed tightly gripped around mine.

I began to sweat. Please, let go. I wondered desperately if maybe it was a language thing, if maybe he didn't understand me, didn't speak English. I could feel something wet on my. my hand now. Thinking it was sweat, I glanced down and saw with shock that his long, pale fingernails were so deeply dug into my skin they were drawing blood. There was blood on my hand. I started to panic, pulling hard to try and get free of him. Please, you're hurting me. Let go.

He didn't. I yanked backwards again, but I remained stuck. Fuck, I couldn't get free. Then, to my immense relief, a voice called out from behind me, raised above the noise of the engine and the ocean brushing against the ship. Everything okay, Jen? I nearly wept as Sarah came to stand beside me. She frowned as she realized what was happening. The strange, silent man squeezing my hand so hard it was turning purple, blood dripping onto the deck. Hey, get off of her! She placed a hand on the man's chest.

and shoved him backwards angrily. Jack held on to me a moment longer, searching my face with his terrifying, blank, blue gaze. Then he let go. I sacked against Sarah in relief, my hand now none. As the blood flowed back into it, after his crushing grip loosened, agonizing pins and needles flared,

and I bit my lip, desperate not to cry in front of him. What the fuck, dude? She was about to say something else. When Jack did something then, something that made me sick to my stomach. He lifted the hand that had a grit mine and studied the crimson blood that now painted his fingernail. My blood.

Then he slowly and deliberately sucked on the fingertip of his index finger, licking the blood off with a slow, exaggerated pleasure that horrified me to my core, He repeated this with every other finger on his hand, and when he had finished, and Sarah and I just stood there, fixed with disgust and disbelief, he smiled. He had large, white teeth, too many almost for his mouth. And I had never seen a smile so devoid of anything remotely human. Then he turned and walked away, and the ship swallowed him. Once I'd recovered, Sarah and I went to tell someone about creepy jack.

We went to the first expedition leader we could find. A garrulous redhead man named Duncan. We found him in the ship's bar, which was crowded. It was happy hour, which meant two for one on cocktails. The barman, an affable man called Carlos, was busy pouring shots for a group of young folk who chatted and laughed excitedly nearby. Sarah and I cornered Duncan and heard at him to a quiet corner of the bar,

He kept half an eye on the room as we talked to him in low, urgent voices, and then gave us his full attention when I showed in my hand, which was now coming out in a deep, livid bruise. The small, bloody crescents where Jack had dug his fingernails in were raw and painful, and I tried not to think about bacteria and diseases and tetanus as I stammered through the rest of my story. Duncan's face had lost all sense of jodotty by the time I finished my tail. What did you say he looked like? Tall, really pale, really skinny, kind of weird-looking, white, blonde hair, really distinctive blue eyes. Duncan thought for a moment, then pattered me on the shoulder. Okay, look, here's what we'll do. Get yourself to the ship's doctor to check that hand.

I'll look for this guy and question him. We can keep him confined to his cabin, while the captain figures out what he wants. to do. If it turns out he's going to be a problem, we could, in theory, turn the ship around if we have to. We aren't too far from port. I blink. I hadn't thought of that. Turn the ship around. In the worst case scenario. I don't think you should do that. It would be such a shame to do that on my account. But I do think he's dangerous. Maybe if you could just... I trailed off as Duncan moved past us, tapping another expedition leader, called Patrick, who was also in the bar, on the shoulder as he did so.

We'll take care of it. Don't worry about it. I watched him go and jumped when Sarah touched my arm gently. Why don't we get a drink to calm those nerves before you see the dock? I reluctantly agreed. Sarah and I ended up around the table playing cards with a group of younger travelers, and Mary, Sarah's cabermate, who knew all the rules. The group had a great time pointing at each other and shouting, Shithead, at the person left holding all the cards, which was often me.

I had a hard time keeping up with my injured hand, but I found after a while that I relaxed a little. The ship's crew will take care of Jack, I told myself. As much as I didn't want them to turn the ship around, neither did I want to be stuck at sea with a crazy, creepy, grabby hands guy either. but maybe we wouldn't have to turn around. Maybe Duncan could talk to him, warn him off, let him know he was being watched. And if he couldn't be reasoned with, we weren't far from port.

Surely a police boat could come and take him off the ship if necessary. I felt better once I'd worked through it all in my mind. Ash found me a little later. He came over to our table and stood over me, frowning. Are you okay? He seemed annoyed. I couldn't blame him. I disappeared during dinner and hadn't come back,

and now here I was, drinking in the bar and playing cards. Guilt suddenly pinched at me. I'm fine, just making friends. Come, sit down. We're playing shithead. He squeezed in next to me and immediately noticed my purple swollen hand. Hey, what did he do to yourself? She slammed it in one of the ship's doors.

They're so heavy. Once they decide to swing shut, there's no stopping them. She didn't move out of the way quickly. clear enough. Ash tutted and cooed over me and I brushed it off, thanking my lucky stars that Sarah was on board. Sure, the night had taken a bad turn, but if nothing else, I'd made a good friend. The booze flowed and the cards blew. The academic Yofé made speed for the Drake passage. Duncan didn't return. My hands throbbed, and in the back of my mind, I knew Jack was somewhere on board, lurking, my blood on his lips. But I was damned if I was going to let him ruin the

best Christmas of my entire life. We found a British guy called Keith, faced down asleep on a table in the dining room the next day when we came down for breakfast. I poked him in the ribs to wake him up. I poked him again. He rolled off the table, grumbling, clearly still drunk. I think you should eat something, Keith. No, eating is cheating. There were quite a few saw heads on board that morning. A big, booming barrel-chested man called Troy, who shared a cabin with Keith, came and slumped down next to Ashen me with a groan.

His eyes stared at two different horizons, and he ain't nothing, just sat there with his head in his hands, staring listlessly at his coffee. Good morning. My fucking head hurts. I was glad I hadn't drunk as much as everyone else, because it was a much rockier day at sea. A six-meter swell made breakfast hard to eat and keep down. The weather was changing fast,

and the Drake Lake was threatening to become the Drake Snake. I could see green gills everywhere on board, not from the staff and crew, obviously. They had sea legs, but everyone else looked pale and tired as they tried to adapt. I ducked away after breakfast so that I could track down Duncan. I found him in the ship's library, going over a schedule for the day.

He looked worried as I approached. Well, I crossed my arms and winced as I caught my injured hand. I could tell from his face that I wasn't going to like what he said. Listen, I did a thorough door-to-door check of each cabin looking for this guy, okay? I had to talk to him before we took any further action, understand? So I took Patrick and went with your description. Pale, blonde hair, blue eyes, tall, Thin, kind of weird-looking.

I nodded. Duncan took a deep breath. We went to every single cabin. Couldn't find a single person on board, not even a crew member who fitted that description. But... What's more? I went through the passenger list with a fine-tooth comb again this morning. Not one single person called Jack on this ship, I'm afraid.

But... But... Look, it's not that I don't believe you. You had a witness. I saw your hand. I don't imagine for one second that you would make up something like that for attention. I bristled.

Despite what he was saying, the implication was obvious. He did think I was making it up. So you believe me, but won't do anything about it? If I can't find the guy, I can't talk to him, can I? But where did he go?

You can't just lose the passenger, right? If he's a problem, I'm sure he'll show up again. In the meantime, be vigilant and stay close to your partner. Ash, is it? I stared at him, disappointment flooding through me. Why did he seem so blazze about this? Was I overreacting?

Had it really happened the way I remembered it? The ship took a sudden roll as it hit a large wave. I gripped onto a pillar feeling sick. Duncan was already glancing at his watch, aware that the tightly scheduled day was slipping by. I went back to my cabin and locked the door. I did not come out for the rest of the day. The next day, I woke feeling more refreshed,

determined not to let anything spoil my holiday. Although the sea was still rocking and rolling under the ship, I felt more used to it now. I was getting my sea legs. Ash and I went up to the bridge, a glass-encast observation point that housed all the navigation equipment. There was a bank of screens up there with all sorts of digital readouts and displays going on that I didn't understand.

Ash drifted over to the equipment and started questioning the Russian captain who stood surveying the sea from his position on the bridge. I spotted a door to one side of the bridge. Outside this door was a small metal platform, like a balcony. I felt a sudden yearning to be outside. I shrugged into my coat and gloves, dragged my hat down over my ears, and went out to the platform. And there I stood, gripping on the side.

to the metal railing all around me. The thunderous sound of the ocean filled my ears. I felt the ship rise and fall as it cut through the huge waves on either side of me. It was like riding on the back of a giant horse. Feeling such a large, heavy object moved with the force of the sea was exhilarating and not a little terrifying as we listed from one side to the other. An albatross swooped low over the stricken sea, its enormous wings coming to a sharp aerodynamic point at each tip, its eyes fixed forward. It banked and wheeled, rose up on an eddy of cold southerly wind, and dipped back down again, tilting its body to one side so that one wingtip dragged through the water.

I watched it fly, watched it keep pace with a ship, and I had never in my life until that point felt so alive. And then I saw it. And when I did, I gasped and whooped in excitement. My first iceberg. It loomed from the grey, at first an indistinct white blob on the horizon. As we drew closer, I saw it as maybe the size of our ship, which I thought was huge at the time, but we'd discover later was small fry as far as icebergs went.

It grew larger and larger, and I found it so hard to believe it was made from ice and not marble. It was so white, so pristine that it looked man-made. It was accompanied by a flower. of tiny wet snowflakes that landed on my face and eyelashes. The temperature had dropped, and we were no longer just at sea. We were at sea at the ends of the earth, coursing through the southern ocean like a greyhound on a track. The ship skirted by the iceberg, far enough away to be safe,

but close enough to get a good view. I saw some dark, fat blobs sitting on one end of the bird, the lower end. Weddle seals. Their podgy, furry faces live. to watch us lazily as we sailed by. There were four of them, and they reminded me of dogs, of tubby Labradors lounging by a fire. Her great wave suddenly rose and smashed into the berg,

and I thought then that I saw something else, something within the wave, something dark and big and sinuous. It was hard to determine in the black-gray seawater and churning spray, but it was there. I was sure of it. A whale? I thought excitedly. But another flurry of snow and sea spray doused my eyes,

and I blink, trying to wipe them clear with my heavily gloved hands. When I could see again, there was one less seal on the berg, and no sign of anything in the water at all. I realized the wave must have knocked the seal off its perch, but hard as I tried, I couldn't see it swimming anywhere. The berg soon retreated behind us. More followed as we headed further south, and they grew more surreal.

in shape and form. Sometimes the wave had eaten portholes and archways into the iceberg, giving them the look of massive monuments. The arches and crevices that ran through the bergs were always the deepest, brightest blue in colour. The same colour blue as Jack's eyes, I thought. Eventually I grew too cold to stay outside. I went into the bridge and slowly peeled my layers of gloves from my freezing hands,

feeling my face tingle and sting as warm. replaced a bitter chill. I couldn't see Ash anywhere on the bridge and realized that an hour had passed, which was why I was so cold. He must have gone back to the cabin. I shook myself out of my coat, then froze.

Jack stood opposite me on the bridge. He stood still and upright on the spot, unmoving. His eyes were fixed hard upon me. I had the impression he'd been watching me for some time. I felt the color drained from my face. His whole body was held tight as if he were clenching himself against something. I was reminded of a cat preparing to pounce. There was something different about his eyes this time.

Before they had seemed unnaturally blue. Now they were a pale, pale grey, so pale his irises almost disappeared into the whites. It was like looking at an iceberg again. Was he... Was he wearing contacts? I frowned and blinked. I felt strange. A woman walked past him, seemingly unaware of his presence.

He stood tall, easily over six foot. His angular frame and bright white hair were hard to miss, and yet the woman didn't even throw him a glance. As she passed, Jack's hand lashed out lightning quick. He grabbed a handful of her hair, and with a disgusting, tearing, ripping sound, he yanked a great clump of it out of her head, all the while maintaining eye contact with me.

I stifled a scream. The woman didn't seem to notice that there was now a shiny, bleeding, bold patch on the side of her head. She rubbed at it absent-mindedly and exited the bridge. It was as if she couldn't see Jack at all. Not like I could. As if he wasn't really there. Duncan's words echoed in my mind. Not one single person called Jack on this ship, I'm afraid.

Jack lifted the hair up to his toothy mouth, and very slowly and deliberately stuffed it in, chewing on the fibrous clump as if it were a great delicacy. He swallowed, then leaned over to a nearby window, breathing heavily onto the glass. With horror, I saw the window frost over with a film of ice. With a long finger, he wrote a solitary word into the frost, his nails squealing painfully across the cold glass as he did so. chaos, it said. I bolted from the bridge, not wanting to see any more,

but I could feel those eyes on me as I ran. I should have told Ash about it. I didn't. It was obvious he was having the time of his life on this cruise, so he hadn't noticed that I was a bit quieter than usual. So he hadn't noticed that I jumped more than I should, that I cradled my aching hand against my chest, that I didn't like to be left alone anymore.

There was such beauty all around us. such sights to be seen. Earlier in the day, he'd seen a mink whale in the distance. He told me about it with a face shining with joy before we went to bed. I couldn't ruin the trip for him with my crazy nightmare delusions, even if they somehow turned out not to be delusions, not after he had paid so much money for us to be here. No, I couldn't do that to him.

I kept my mouth shut instead, replied the woman's hair tearing loose a million times until exhaustion rocked me to sleep. My dreams were full of terrible, dark things. The next day was Christmas Eve. Ash and I scrambled out of bed, despite having slept like shit because of nightmares and the roll of the ship during the night.

We ran to breakfast, stuffed a pastry and coffee down our necks, laid up, and went out to the front observation deck. By 9 a.m., we were supposed to be crossing the Antarctic Circle Line, and neither of us wanted to miss that. Ash, because this was a life goal of his, and me... Well, I just didn't want to be left alone anymore. I scanned the deck when we got there for any sign of Jack and found nothing to my immense relief.

The weather was worse than it had been the day before. Frozen rain hit us hard in the face. The deck rolled and pitched, and we were soaked through in moments. A small crowd of us gathered as more icebergs floated past. We braced ourselves and hung on to each other in a little huddled group as the ship listed. I suddenly felt very small and insignificant in the face of nature and unsure of my place in the world. And where was Jack? I felt him watching, but couldn't see him.

It made me feel awful, frightened and restless. Where was he? Was he even real or a figment of my imagination? Surely not. Sarah had seen him too. I clung to that as tightly as I clung to Ash. And then, at 9.17 a.m., we crossed the Antarctic Circle line, 66 degrees and 33 minutes south, to be precise.

Someone rang a brass bell hung on deck to signal our crossing. The bell pealed out across the deck, and a great cry went up from all the passengers, followed by delighted applause and cheering. The ship's boghorn let out a long, blasted screech, and we all jumped, then giggled at ourselves. Ash brought out a bottle of Lefroig that he had hidden inside his jacket. We stood in a circle and toasted the icebergs that loomed at us out of the fog and glue.

I looked up at Ash as the whiskey hit our cheeks and turned them red. He gazed down at me fondly. It's going to be hard to go back to normal life after this, eh? I laid my head on his chest, too overcome to speak. It really was for lots of different. reason. The weather cleared later that morning as if welcoming us to the South Pole. The fog and clouds lifted and brilliant deep blue skies spread high over our heads. The Iofe, having navigated the turbulent Drake crossing, now approached the Antarctic Peninsula on waters as still as a mill pond.

We could see land, mountains deep grey in colour and plastered with thick, brilliant white snow. Glaciers, ridged and cracked like dried mud, which tumbled into the sea. Icebergs drifted everywhere, glowing a delicate ethereal blue, and there was not a man-made structure in sight, not another boat or building or vehicle or anything. It was incredible. The whole ship came out on deck as we entered into a beautiful narrow passageway between the mountains called the Le Maire Channel.

A hush descended as the ship pushed on through. The channel was only a few miles wide, but there was a world of beauty contained within. We saw snow-top peaks, glaciers, black granite spires, and floating sea ice that bumped and ground against the ship as we pass. It was so stunning I almost forgot about Jack. Almost. Someone tapped my shoulder, and I turned to see a smiling couple holding out of camera to me.

The guy, who was called Mark, smiled. You mind taking our photo? I took the camera and nodded. His girlfriend was called Flip. She grinned at me and threw her arms around Mark's neck. You're a sweetheart. Then, kissed her boyfriend on the cheek. I snapped the picture, making sure to frame them with the Le Maire Channel behind.

Ash looked on as this played out, his face, a picture of contentment. I handed the camera back and the couple thanked me, then went back to leaning against the bow, gazing at the view. It was as I'd turned away that I glimpsed a bright, wide, shock of hair. I whipped back, lightning fast. Jack had materialized out of nowhere, and now stood next to the couple on Flick's side. They both seemed completely unaware of him, wrapped up as they were on each other. I watched with a sick, sinking feeling as the pale man leaned in and whispered something in Flick's ear. I saw a white, frosty breath missed out onto her face.

Her expression changed in an instant as Jack's words pierced her ear. She frowned, and her mouth turned downwards. Her cheeks flushed and I realized that she was angry all of a sudden. She turned to Mark then, and he reared back upon seeing her face which was a rage-filled mask. Babe, what's up? Flick didn't reply. She just shoved him, hard. She was tall and strong, and she took Mark by surprise.

There was a second or two when he tried to get his balance, but couldn't. Because Flick then rammed into him with her shuff. shoulder, grunting with effort. Stop! But no one seemed to hear me or notice what was happening right in front of their eyes. Ash stood next to me, gazing out at sea with a blank, stupefied smile on his lips. I shook his arm desperately. Ash!

Ash! She's going to push him overboard! That's nice, babe. Mark tried to grapple with Flick, pleading with her to stop. His pleas fell on deaf ears. She rugby tackled him and heaved him. up and over the side of the ship. It all happened so fast.

One minute he was standing there, the next he was tumbling overboard. And he fell. I rushed to the side and peered down, covering my mouth with horror. His body lay not in the water, but on an iceberg ten feet below. His head had hit the ice hard, and a bright puddle of blood now haloed around him. He was still alive, but twitching. and I didn't think it'd be long before he died unless treat it. I ran over to where Duncan and Patrick stood chatting nearby.

Before I could open my mouth, however, Jack's thin, long, waxy face pushed through the gap between them. Their expressions became slap, emotionless. He put his arms around the men and grinned at me. Without a word, they turned and walked away. Jack put a long finger to his lips. I closed my eyes. I didn't have to look to see what had happened.

Flick had thrown herself overboard after Mark. I looked anyway and saw nothing. But a large ripple in the water and bright red drag marks on the surface of the iceberg, something had taken Mark and Flick's bodies. The ship sailed on out of the channel without two of its passengers. I knew then that I was trapped in hell. There was no way for me to escape. Jack controlled the ship

and had everyone on it under some weird sort of spell Ash included Well, everyone except Sarah and myself But what could with that do me Even if we could somehow get off the ship Steeler Zodiac figure out the crane And lowered into the water Where would we go?

It was the South Pole for fuck's sake The Iofe moored in a bay Just as the sun was setting that evening Yes, the sun set in Antarctica but it never really grew dark after it did. The sky remained a pale sort of beige that somehow made me feel even more hopeless than I already did. The next day was Christmas Day.

Christmas in Antarctica. Ash was exuberant as we woke, mimicking the marketing spiel from the advert I'd read so many weeks ago. I tried and failed to raise a smile for him. His enthusiasm waned as he saw my pale, worried face. Aren't you excited, babe? I just don't feel too well, that's all. Concerned, he hugged me.

But you can't be sick. Not on Christmas Day. I sensed his disappointment. He'd been anticipating this day for weeks, and I was spoiling it. I faked a smile for him and wondered, at what point that day I was going to die. Christmas lunch was laid out on the front observation deck. As a special treat, four long trestle tables were spread out side by side with plastic chairs all tightly crammed around them.

There were paper hats tucked under the cutlery, party poppers on the plates, and Christmas crackers at each setting. Behind all this, the spectacular, wintry landscape of the peninsula lay like a Christmas card, everything white and blue and crisp and cold. We sat at a table with Sarah, Mary, Troy and Keith. Sarah and I looked at each other. over the noise of crackers being pulled. Her eyes were hollow, with dark circles underneath.

She had seen things too, I realized. Jack had been working his chaos everywhere, and not just when I was watching. Kiss me! Ash had managed to get hold of a sprig of plastic mistletoe, and he dangled it over my head, with a slow, dull feeling in the pit of my belly I did as he asked. He reached into his pocket and placed something on my plate,

breaking free of the kiss. I looked down and saw a small jewelry box tied up with a large cherry-red bow. A box, the right size for an engagement ring. I took in a breath. Merry Christmas, babe. With numb hands I untied the bow, looking around me furtively for any sign of jack. Nothing. A diamond ring glinted at me from within the box.

I felt dizzy. Was this really happening, or was this another nightmare? Ash took the ring out of its box and knelt down on the deck beside me. Behind him, festive lights twinkled gently against the backdrop of snow-plasted mountains and that same rich blue sky that had greeted us yesterday. The sound of people chattering happily died down to a low murmur as the other passengers nudged each other and pointed at us. Mary looked fit to cry.

Oh, how lovely! Ash was proposing to me. I felt a hot tear slide down my cold cheek. So? He held the ring up in front of him. He caught the light and bounced it back to me, and I thought about all the things that ring should promise me for the future. Should.

But I honestly didn't see us surviving the day. Jack had designs on this ship and its passengers. He was an agent of chaos, pure and simple, and he wanted us dead. I knew it. Ash stared at me with public. dog eye. I swallowed and nodded. Ash and I kissed then, and I threw my arms around him crying. He mistook it for joy. The other passengers erupted into cheers and happy applause. We're engaged. I held him tighter. I was so afraid of what was going to happen I could barely

breathe. I caught sight of Sarah over Ash's shoulder. She was white as a sheep. And then from the corner of my eye I saw someone tall and blonde push back his chair. It squeaked on the deck as he stood up with ceremony. He seemed taller and thinner than ever. His hair so bright had outshone the snow. Unlike the rest of us wrapped up in our layers, he was still dressed in a thin shirt and pants as if the cold couldn't touch him. He looked down at me from his place further along the table, and a small crooked smile lit up his face. My heart turned to ice in my chest. He raised his arms up and started to clap, a slow, deliberate clap that mocked our happiness. The other diners carried on celebrating.

They couldn't see him. Only Sarah and I could. Huh. Who the heck is that guy? I swear I've never seen him before. I gave... At Keith. You can see him?

You're sure? Well, yeah. Looks like a right prick. Ash grunted an agreement. I turned to look at my boyfriend. No, my fiancé. Can you see him too? Ash nodded, his face suddenly grim.

Sarah rose to her feet and joined us. Oh, thank you. I thought us going mad. We have to get out of here, Ash. He isn't. That man, he isn't. He's not... I struggled for the words, and Jack stopped clapping.

He raised his long-fingered hand and snapped his fingers. A single, sharp staccato sound boomed into the silence his laughter had left behind. And that's when Mary started screaming. A long, angry, howling sort of scream, a demented scream. The kind of scream you hear animals make when they're fighting or just plain out of their minds of the sort of indefinable rage only wild things are afflicted with. Survival rage.

Primal, base, uncontrollable, the kill or be killed kind of screaming. In a days I tore my eyes away from Jack and fixed them on the shrieking woman. Mary sat at the table, wrapped up in her outdoor gear, only a small section of her face visible through the layers of her jacket and her neck warmer

and absurd green paper hat, but that was enough. Enough to see that she was bright red and completely out of it. I couldn't see what had started her off. I couldn't see anything that would warrant that much fear and anger and volume.

As far as I could tell, she was staring at nothing in particular. Eyes wide and fixed on the middle distance, mouth stretched into an absurd cartoonish oh. Before any of us could react further, she picked up her fork lightning fast. She turned to Troy, who sat beside her, and sank the piece of cutlery deep into the large man's left eye. He clamped a hand to his face, howling in pain. I saw a fork handle. sticking out of his eyeball, which was now a red, ruined mess. Blood streamed down his cheek and splattered onto the crisp white tablecloth below.

He instinctively went to yank the fork out, then realized if he did that, he'd probably pull the eyeball out right along with it. So he just went on gripping side of his face and howling, and there he was also still screaming. That idiot, mindless cry, looked down, saw more untouched cutlery by her plate and went for her knife. What the fuck? It was such a relief that at last, at long, long last, he could see what was happening.

So could everyone else, it seemed. For passengers were suddenly hollering and scrambling over themselves to get away from Mary and her cutlery. I snapped out to my days. Stop her! She's got a knife! There was a blur of movement, and Patrick rushed into view. He launched himself at Mary, who flung herself at Troy, branching the knife like she was about to try and scalp him with it, still making her hideous racket.

The expedition leader wrestled her backwards and onto the ground, evading her gnashing teeth and frantic limbs. The pair struggled for a moment, but Pat was younger, fitter, stronger. He yanked the utensil out of Mary's clenched hand, and there was a moment where they looked at each other, panting. A second of stasis while they assessed one another. Patrick knelt to struck. Mary, pinning her to the deck, his blue expedition fleece now flecked with blood. Troy still wailed in pain at the table, clutching his face with one hand and banging the tabletop repeatedly with his other over and over. A member of the ship's crew was trying to get to him with a first aid kit, but couldn't move around the other passengers who were panicking

upon the crowded deck. Patrick lifted the knife carefully away from Mary. A slow, deliberate movement that was designed not to trigger any further violence. As he did so, Mary panted and snarled and made unintelligible, feral noises beneath him on the deck. And then Jack appeared beside them. He squatted down on his haunches next to the pair. White patches of crackling ice began to spread across the deck from under his feet. Mary whimpered like a dog about to be beaten,

and Patrick tried to push Jack away. Who the fuck are you? And what is your problem? Jack just smiled and raised his hand. He snapped his fingers again. The sound once more boomed out across the ship, and Pat went still. So did everyone else.

Well, not quite everybody. The small group of us unaffected by whatever power Jack held in those long fingers huddled together. Frightened. The snap lingered in the air. It was a signal, a harbinger. And then, it died. Chaos ensued.

Patrick lifted the confiscated knife high above his head and plunged it down as hard as he could into Mary's open mouth, pushing it up into her brain. Mary gargled and shuddered, then went limp. Jack chuckled. He fondled Pat's hair, which immediately turned white and stiff. I watched, rooted to the spot, as the expedition leader's skin crusted over with ice

and his heaving chest froze mid-breath. When the man was completely rigid, Jack pushed him over casually. Patrick fell hard onto the deck and smashed into a thousand glittering pieces. And the passengers at the academic Yoffei began killing each other. With a roar, Troy stood up, flipping the table as he did so. There was an almighty crash as everything slid off onto the deck. He picked up a chair, the fork still sticking out of his mangled eye, and brandished it as if he were a demented farmer's sithing corn.

I saw the chair connect with an old man who was too slow to escape. His face crumpled under the impact of it, and he dropped like a stone. A sweet Japanese lady in her 70s began to bludden her neighbor to death with her heavy, expensive digital camera. Ullulating as she did so. Brain matter and blood founted into the air around. as she swung again and again and again. Another woman in an inexpensive fur hat clawed at her husband's face with crabbed bare hands.

He smashed a plate over her head and then pushed her head down hard onto the edge of one of the trestle tables. He did this over and over again until there was not much left of her at all that was recognisably human. Then he turned and looked for someone else to attack. The debt became a bloody, brutal battlefield around us. The air filled with violence and pain. I grabbed that his hand. We fled to the rear of the ship, joined by Sarah, Keith and Duncan, who yelled at us as we dodged flying chairs and fists.

What the fuck is happening? It's tag! I jumped over a young couple who were grappling on the floor. One of the pair was trying to throttle the other with a noose made from a scarf. Keith narrowly avoided a meat cleaver to the collarbone wielded by the once smartly clad and now blood-splutted chef. Pack it in, mate. He shoved the chef hard.

The man went overboard, screaming and thrashing the meat cleaver about in the air as he fell. Where are we going? Zodiacs! Rea deck! We need a crane to get them in the water. We don't know how to operate that. There's a zodiac in the water already! Duncan was ahead of us.

A large, angry German ran at him with a full magnum of champagne clutched in his hand. like a club. Duncan punched him in the face before he could bring the buffle down and shuffed him to one side. We kept it afloat in case we needed it. That's our best shot. But we don't have time to lower the gangplank, understand? You're going to need to jump. From the deck! I tried to remember how far down it was from the deck to the surface of the bay. From the deck. It's not far. Ash pulled me along. We don't have a choice. We need to go.

Go! Now! We reached the rear deck and looked over the side. There, in the water, sat a zodiac, just as Duncan had said. We positioned ourselves above it, looking around us all the while for Jack. I swung a leg up and over the side of the ship, and then the other, perching precariously on the side. I looked back at Ash for reassurance. It'll be okay, babe. I'll be right behind you. Honey, he wasn't.

I jumped and landed square in the zodiac. my legs folding painfully beneath me as I did so. I scrambled over to the engine and realized it was a simple outboard motor. I fired it up, knowing that the bow line would stop me from zooming away, and looked up at the ship, waiting for the others to drop into the boat beside me. I saw Jack then. Up on the front observation deck, his arms raised up to the sky. He was drenched in blood from head to toe, smiling in ecstasy.

bodies littered the deck around him and every now and then one would tumble from the ship smashing into the sea below blood streamed down the prow and sides of the ship like rusty tears mangled Christmas lights dangled like broken vines across the bow it was chaos

and then something huge erupted from the water behind the ship and it up and up and up and up and up and a massive tentations tentacled arm that reared high above my head. I had a sudden understanding.

Jack had summoned this thing from the deep with his blood sacrifice. We had been offerings to an old, ancient seagull. My mind teetered on the edge of sanity as I heard the war of the ocean erupting skyward. Another tentacle loomed high and wrapped itself around the Yorfei. I had a moment when I saw Ash's face and Sarah, Duncan and Keith, They looked down at me with desperation from the railing of the rear depth. Then they began to scramble over the side, realization dawning. Jump!

They did. And not a moment too soon. The tentacle lifted the Iofe clean out of the water. The bow line, holding the zodiac to the ship, snapped, and I throttled the engine, getting as clear from the drop zone as I could, scanning the water desperately for signs of ash and the others. But there was no time. With a colossal grinding screech, the ship crumpled in the things, sticky coils like paper.

Then the mangled mass of iron and steel was thrown back down into the bay. I had a second to realize that tidal wave was coming at me from the vicinity of the ship. It was a second in which I thought I felt a frosty breath upon my cheek. When I thought I glimpsed a shock of white hair behind me in the little boat. Then the wave hit. I was thrown backwards. My head connected with the engine. The world went dark.

My zodiac was discovered the next day by another cruise ship, drifting in the ocean, not far from an old abandoned whaling station further around the peninsula. Ash and Sarah had miraculously managed to find the zodiac amongst the chaos as the Iofi sank down beneath the sea and clamber aboard to find me lying unconscious inside. They jetted away as fast as the outboard motor would take, them. Emergency supplies stored on the zodiac kept us warm and fed. Of Duncan and Keith, there was

no trace, nor was there any trace left of the academic Iofe, despite many different organizations' best efforts to recover the wreckage. A sudden, unseasonable dip in temperature froze the waters of the bay solid for several months, making it too dangerous to sail, scuffering all recovery efforts and confounding meteorologists everywhere. 48 suites and cabins, 96 passengers, a bar, dining room, lounge, library, gym, sauna, top deck and observatory, massage room and mudroom, all gone to the bottom of the ocean, dragged there by God knows what, summoned from the depths by God knows who. A sprite, a demon.

something else Not human That much I knew And why had he chosen us Why our ship Our cruise I would never know Nor would I ever see

The terrifying Pale Man ever again Spend Christmas in Antarctica The advert in the magazine had said I don't buy travel magazines anymore Well wasn't that just a delightful tale But you know you could have come inside That was a long one to share on my doorstep

Hold on, why is he responding? Where's his soul? Erica, do you feel anything? I feel... The bag's getting lighter, actually. All the souls, they're escaping. They're returning to whence they came. Oh, God, we made a terrible mistake. Oh, you're Santa Claus, aren't you?

You're actually him, and you've foiled our plan. Well, I can understand why you might think I'm Chris Kringle himself, yes. But no, Alt, I'm someone far, far worse. David Cummings! Boss, oh my God. I'm wearing a bikini under this coat. Would that help? Or, you know, an apology?

Or a snowball fight? No, none of this would help. Wait, a bikini? No, no. You see, there's a traitor among you. A traitor who told me of your plan to capture souls for Crampus in order to earn three times the maximum rate for voice acting in exchange for sacrificing innocence and working for a tyrannical demon.

Who? Who would dare betray us? Well, that doesn't matter for now. Firstly, the whole thing is a ruse. There is no three times the going rate offer. This was a test, and you failed. You mean Cranpus isn't making a podcast? Oh, no, he is, but he's expecting everyone to work on it for free. I'd better come clean.

It was me. I betrayed you all. I never agreed with this plan. I tried to put you off at every turn. But no, you saw dollar signs and were prepared to sell. Well, other people's souls to get that sweet, sweet cash. If it's any consolation, I don't really care about the money. I just really wanted to work for a Christmas demon.

I don't even know what you're all talking about. I literally just thought we were Carol singing to promote the podcast. Actually, I've been undercover this whole time, preparing to release the souls and let you know what was happening, boss. And don't just take my word for it. Ask Brandon. It's all on record. I was doing exactly the same thing, only I left my proof with Olivia.

And I, too, was underwere. cover to stop all this. And you can ask Jeff Clement to back me up there. And Addison? Honestly, I just wanted to go Carol singing in a bikini, then complain about it the whole time. It's not something you get to do every day, and I like having new life experiences to inform my character acting. I was just going to bail when it got to the Crampus part. Okay, okay. So, assuming all this verification checks out, none of you were actually intending to betray me and sell souls to crampus? This is all a big misunderstanding?

Um, uh, yeah. Yeah. Okay, so whose idea was this in the first place? Oh, it was old. I mean, I mean mine. Okay, uh, boss, look, um, the truth is, I was never going to ditch you for crampus. Yeah, I was going to sell all these souls to Crampus and work for his podcast at triple the rate of any other audio drama.

But I was going to stay with the No Sleep podcast. to. I mean, I would never betray you. I mean, remember Tucson, I just, I just wanted a gig on the side. At the expense of numerous innocent souls. I mean, well, yeah, but, you know, can you really, really hold that against me? After all, Olivia, Brandon, Jesse, Jeff, and Phil, they all work for you because you tricked them into signing their souls away. Really, really, you can consider this a compliment. I learned from the best. Aw, you guys. Oh, I can't stay mad at you.

Yes, it was a heinous and evil plan, but what's a bit of heinous evilness at Christmas? All right, all is forgiven. Come on in, and let's share some eggnog and mince pies. Jessica, you really do look freezing. I am. And do you mean it? No tricks, dungeons, punishment, or poison pastries?

Of course I mean it. It's the holiday season. Now, come on in. Oh, the No Sleep Podcast Players. What a bunch of rogues. But let's move on. A new year, a new start. Oh, and, ho, ho! Have a wonderful holiday season. And brace yourselves for a Merry Christmas and a Happy Christmas. New Year. You have been listening to the No Sleep Podcast's Christmas 2019 episode. Let me tell you about the stories we did for you this year. Creeks and Peaks was written by S.H. Cooper and produced by Jeff Clement. It was performed by Nicole Goodnight, Aaron Lillis, Mike Delgado, Atticus Jackson, and Jeff Clement.

Gift Exchange was written by... A. C. McKennelly and produced by Jesse Cornett. It was performed by Sarah Thomas, Kyle Acres, Jessica McAvoy, Nicole Doolin, and Matthew Bradford. Wonderland was written by Marcus D'Amander and produced by Phil Mikulski. It was performed by Jessica McAvoy, Mike Delgado, Nicole Doolin, and Addison Peacock. You got to believe in Grandpa John was written by C. M. Scandreth and produced by Phil Mikulski. It was performed by Mike Delgado, Goddio, Addison Peacock, Nicole Doolin, Jeff Clement, and Erica Sanderson. Christmas in Antarctica was written by Gemma Amour and produced by Phil Mikulski. It was performed by Penny Scott

Andrews, Ante Creswell, Nicole Doolan, Erica Sanderson, Dan's O'Lan, Dan's O'Intyll. The Pula, David Alt, James Cleveland, Jessica McAvoy, Kyle Acres, Jeff Clement, and Jesse Cornett. The episode script was written by Olivia White and produced by Phil Mikulski. It was performed by David Alt, Erica Sanderson, Addison Peacock, Nicole Goodnight, Sarah Thomas, Jessica McAvoy, Mike Delgado, Penny Scott Andrews, Graham Rowett, Nicole Doolan, Nicole Doolan, And David Cummings. Ooh, he's such a good little boy. Musical score composed by Brandon Boone.

Thank you for letting us be a part of your holiday horrors. Visit the No Sleep Podcast.com to learn more about our show. Oh, yes, yes. Be good little boys and girls and do that. Oh, yes, yes. And remember, this audio production is copyright 2019 by Creative Reason Media, Inc. All of the sugar plum fairy rights reserved. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors.

Only the bad little boys and girls would duplicate or reproduce this audio program without the written consent of Creative Reason Media, Inc. Oh, ho.