A Chair For Santa

It was a cold, snowy evening in the little town of Pinebrook. The streets were lined with twinkling lights, and the air smelled faintly of gingerbread. Christmas was just around the corner, and everyone was busy preparing for the big day. But there was something strange happening in Pinebrook this year.

In the heart of town stood an old, forgotten house at the edge of the forest. Its shutters creaked in the wind, and its windows were dark, as if it hadn’t seen a soul for years. But tonight... tonight was different.

You, dear reader, had been invited to visit this very house. Why? Well, that's a mystery.

You received an odd letter in the mail, addressed in fine, flowing script:

"A chair for Santa, if you dare. Meet me at the house by the woods. Come alone, and bring no one but your curiosity."

Intrigued, you could hardly resist. The air was thick with the kind of magic that only happens on Christmas Eve. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the moonlight stretched over the snow, you found yourself standing before the eerie house. The door was slightly ajar.

But something felt... strange. The wind whistled through the trees, and in the distance, the faint sound of jingling bells could be heard.

Chapter 1: The Mysterious Invitation

Your heart races as you push the door open, the rusty hinges groaning in protest. The room inside is dimly lit by the flickering glow of a single candle on a dusty table. The air smells of pine and something... else. Something older. You step inside, the wooden floor creaking beneath your boots.

The room is filled with forgotten relics—old chairs, dusty paintings, and shelves lined with objects you can’t quite make out in the low light. At first, it seems abandoned, but then you notice something peculiar: in the center of the room sits a single, beautifully carved armchair. It stands out against the otherwise worn and weathered furniture. Its wood gleams in the candlelight, and the cushion, though faded, seems as if it’s been recently fluffed.

On the chair, there’s a note.

It reads: "For Santa. He’s coming soon. Make sure he has a seat."

As you approach the chair, a shiver runs down your spine. You glance around—no one seems to be here. Yet... you can almost feel a presence watching you. The room feels alive with anticipation.

Chapter 2: A Seat for Santa

You take a deep breath, your fingers brushing the smooth wood of the chair as you slowly lower yourself onto the cushion. The moment you sit, the air seems to shift. The faint jingling of bells grows louder, and the room grows colder, the warmth of the candlelight flickering wildly. You feel a strange tingling sensation running up your spine, as though something is watching you closely.

The room around you begins to blur. For a brief moment, it feels as if time itself has stopped. The shadows dance on the walls, and the sound of the wind outside becomes a low hum, almost like... whispers. The chair beneath you creaks, as if shifting into a new form. You can’t help but feel a sudden weight on your shoulders, as though something—or someone—is about to appear.

Then, a soft voice breaks through the silence. It’s barely audible, but you hear it clear as day.

"Thank you for preparing my seat."

Before you can react, a figure steps into view. A tall man, dressed in a dark red suit, his face partially hidden under a hood. His presence fills the room with an air of ancient power and mystery. His eyes twinkle like stars, and his grin, though kind, sends a strange chill through your chest.

"Santa," you whisper, but the word feels odd on your tongue. There’s something... off about this version of Santa.

He moves closer, his boots making no sound on the floor. "I knew you would come," he says softly, his voice like the wind whispering through trees. "Now, we have something important to do. But first, I need your help."

Before you can respond, the room seems to darken further, and the jingling bells grow louder, now filling the room with a kind of urgency.

Suddenly, you hear a faint noise—a soft jingling, like bells in the distance.

Chapter 3: The Unseen Danger

You rise from the chair quickly, the movement feeling almost instinctual. The moment your feet leave the ground, the room seems to shift. The shadows stretch toward you, like they’re alive, and the faint jingling bells turn into an almost deafening cacophony of chimes. The air around you feels thick, oppressive, as though something powerful is about to unfold.

Santa—if that’s who he really is—looks at you with an amused yet knowing expression. His smile fades slightly, but his eyes gleam with a strange light. He doesn’t seem angry, but the intensity of his gaze makes you uneasy.

"Ah, you can sense it, can't you?" he says softly. His voice echoes in the empty room, sending a shiver down your spine. "I should have known you wouldn't just follow blindly. The chair was only part of the puzzle. You were meant to stay... but now, it's not so simple."

As you step back, you realize that the door you came through is no longer there. Instead, the walls seem to close in on you, and the faint sound of footsteps echoes in the distance. The room is no longer just a room—it’s a labyrinth. The candles flicker and dim, casting long, twisting shadows that seem to move of their own accord.

The mysterious figure before you steps closer, his presence now even more imposing. "You see," he continues, "Christmas isn't just about gifts and joy. There's a balance, a harmony that must be maintained. And this year, things are... out of alignment. The chair was meant to hold something important, something that will help me restore the balance. But now, the choice is yours. Will you help me, or will you leave with the mystery still unsolved?"

As you glance around, you notice a faint glow in the far corner of the room. There, near an ancient-looking bookshelf, something seems to be pulsing—almost like a light, or perhaps something far more dangerous.

Chapter 4: Confronting the Stranger

You stand tall, your heart racing but your voice steady as you take a step forward. "Who are you?" you ask, your words cutting through the heavy silence. "What’s really going on here? What do you want from me?"

For a moment, the figure before you—Santa, or whatever he is—doesn’t speak. His eyes remain fixed on you, and for a heartbeat, the world seems to hold its breath. The soft jingling of bells echoes in the background, but everything else feels distant. His gaze is unwavering, and something in his stare sends a tremor of unease through your chest.

"You’re right to question me," he says after a long pause, his voice softer now, almost like the wind sighing through the trees. "I am not the Santa you know. But I am Santa, in a way—one of many. We are all bound by the same purpose, the same role. We carry the spirit of Christmas, but... not all of us are bound to the same rules."

The man pauses again, as if carefully choosing his next words. "I come from a place where the magic of Christmas is real, not just in the hearts of children, but in the fabric of the world itself. It is a power—ancient and fragile. This house, this chair... they were built to hold that power. To channel it. But this year..." His eyes darken slightly. "Something has gone wrong. A fracture has formed, and I need to fix it before Christmas is lost forever."

You blink, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. "So... you’re not the Santa I grew up hearing about? You’re some kind of... other Santa?"

The figure nods slowly, his expression unreadable. "Yes. And I’m afraid you have a role in this. The chair, the note, all of it—it’s part of a larger plan. I’m not here to trick you, but the choice you make tonight will have consequences."

You feel a cold shiver run down your spine. The air is growing heavier, and the flickering candlelight casts strange, elongated shadows around the room. The walls seem to hum with the strange energy that this figure carries, and you begin to understand that the decision before you is not just about Christmas—it’s about something much bigger.

The mysterious man takes a step closer, his voice softening. "I am not the one who invited you here. Someone else, someone older, is pulling the strings. But you, you have the power to help me—or to undo everything."

The faint glow in the corner of the room pulses again, brighter now. You can’t help but feel drawn to it. Something in you whispers that it holds the answers you seek.

Chapter 5: The Fracture Revealed

You take a deep breath, gathering your courage. "What do you mean, 'fracture'?" you ask, your voice steady despite the unease that gnaws at your gut. "How can I help fix it?"

The figure—Santa, or whatever he truly is—studies you for a long moment. His eyes, which had seemed so enigmatic before, now soften slightly, as though he’s measuring your sincerity. He nods, as if coming to a decision.

"Very well," he says, his voice now heavy with the weight of centuries. "I will tell you."

He raises one hand, and as if by magic, the room around you begins to shift. The shadows flicker and twist, and the air becomes charged with an otherworldly hum. The faint glow from the corner of the room grows brighter still, and the bookshelves around you seem to tremble with the power that surges through the space.

"The 'fracture' is not just a tear in the fabric of magic," he explains, his voice low but clear. "It’s a crack in the very heart of Christmas itself. Someone, or something, is trying to steal its power—its joy, its warmth, its promise. This force is ancient, older than even the traditions of gift-giving, older than the first Christmas. It seeks to unravel what makes the holiday special, and if left unchecked, it will destroy not just Christmas... but the spirit of hope itself."

You take a step back, feeling the weight of his words sink in. A force so powerful, so ancient, threatening to unravel Christmas. It sounds like something out of a dream—or a nightmare.

"Who’s behind this?" you ask, your mind racing. "Is it the person who sent me the letter?"

Santa’s expression darkens, and his eyes flash with something that looks like regret. "Yes," he says quietly, "but not in the way you think. The person who invited you here is not an enemy—they are part of the solution, but they have been misled. Their intentions are pure, but they’ve been deceived. The fracture began long before you received that letter."

He gestures toward the glowing light in the corner. "The chair you sat in was meant to guide you, to bring you here so that you could understand what’s at stake. It’s not just about fixing the fracture. It’s about deciding whether you’ll help me seal it—or risk letting the darkness of doubt and despair spread further."

You feel the pressure of the moment, the weight of the decision pressing in on you. The air is thick with tension, and the glow grows almost blinding, as if it’s waiting for you to make a choice.

"To fix the fracture," he continues, "you need to go to the source. There’s a place—an ancient grove, deep in the forest beyond this house. It is the heart of Christmas, the origin of its magic. But the path is treacherous, and time is running out. If you do not act soon, Christmas itself will be lost."

Santa steps back, his gaze steady. "I cannot go with you. I am bound to this house, bound to the chair that was meant for me. But you... you have the power to heal this world, or to watch it fall into shadow."

The air feels electric now, as if the entire room is holding its breath, waiting for your decision. The mysterious light pulses with urgency, almost beckoning you forward. But is this really the right choice?

Do you agree to go to the ancient grove, feeling the weight of the responsibility but knowing it’s the only way to save Christmas?

Ask more questions about the grove, Santa’s role, and the dangers you might face on your journey?

Decide to leave, no longer willing to risk your safety for an ancient mystery you don’t fully understand?

(The path to saving Christmas lies before you, but each step is fraught with danger. What will you choose?)

Chapter 6: The Path to the Grove

You nod, steeling yourself for what comes next. There's no turning back now. The weight of your decision settles into your chest like a cold stone, but beneath it, a flicker of resolve kindles. Christmas itself, the very spirit of joy and hope, depends on the choices you make in the next few hours. You can't walk away—not when so much is at stake.

"I’ll go to the grove," you say, your voice firm despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. "I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this."

Santa regards you with a mixture of respect and something deeper—perhaps a hint of relief. He doesn’t smile, but the twinkle in his eyes seems to soften just a little. "I knew you were the one who could help," he says, his voice filled with quiet gratitude. "But be warned—the journey will not be easy. The forest beyond this house is not what it seems. The magic that holds Christmas together is fragile, and the darkness threatening it will try to stop you at every turn."

He extends a hand, and you notice that it’s no longer the hand of a man—at least, not entirely. His fingers have elongated, and his skin seems to shimmer faintly, as though woven from starlight and frost. It’s an unsettling sight, but you’re too far gone to question it now.

"In the grove, you will find what you need," he continues. "A key, a way to seal the fracture. But there are creatures in the woods—beasts that were once guardians of the holiday spirit, now corrupted by the same dark force that seeks to destroy Christmas. You must tread carefully, and you must remember: your heart is your guide. Stay true to the spirit of Christmas, and you’ll find your way."

The air grows even colder as Santa steps back, the room beginning to fade into a blur of mist. "Go now," he says, his voice echoing like a distant bell. "I will be waiting here. But the forest is yours to navigate. Good luck, and may the spirit of Christmas guide you."

With a final nod, you turn toward the door that has reappeared in the far wall. As you reach for the handle, you feel the unmistakable shift in the air—the world outside has changed. The familiar chill of winter winds is now sharp and biting. When you step through, the dark forest looms ahead, its trees twisted and tall, their branches reaching out like clawed fingers.

The path to the grove is hidden somewhere within. You don’t know how far you must walk, how many trials you’ll face. All you know is that time is running out, and you can’t waste a second.

The forest feels alive, almost sentient. The trees whisper as the wind rustles through them. The moon is full and bright, casting long shadows on the snow-covered ground. But there’s something wrong with the air. It’s as if every step you take is being watched, as though the darkness is closing in around you.

In the distance, you hear the faintest jingling of bells—an eerie echo of the sounds from earlier—but this time, they sound sinister, as though mocking you.

Suddenly, you hear something else—a rustling behind you, then a low growl. Before you can react, a shadow darts out of the trees, blocking your path.

The creature before you is massive—its fur matted and dark, its eyes glowing an unnatural red. It’s no longer a guardian of Christmas, but something twisted, something born of the darkness threatening to unravel the holiday. The creature snarls, stepping closer with every breath, its claws scraping against the snow.

Stand your ground, hoping your bravery will be enough to face this creature head-on?

Try to use the power of Christmas, recalling the warmth and joy of the holiday season in an attempt to calm the beast?

Turn and run, hoping to find another path to the grove before the creature catches up with you?

(The stakes are rising, and the creatures of the forest grow more menacing. What will you do next?)

Chapter 7: The Power of Christmas

Your heart pounds in your chest, but as the creature’s glowing red eyes narrow, you feel something stir deep within you—a flicker of warmth, of hope. The spirit of Christmas, the same feeling that makes the season so magical, begins to rise inside you. You remember the joy of a Christmas morning, the laughter of family around a table, the excitement of giving and receiving, and the quiet wonder of a snowy evening filled with twinkling lights.

You raise your hands slowly, taking a deep breath. "I don’t want to fight you," you say, your voice steady despite the fear tightening your throat. "Christmas is about hope, joy, and kindness. You don’t have to be like this. You were once a guardian, weren’t you? Protecting the spirit of the season."

The creature hesitates. Its red eyes flicker, momentarily clouded with confusion, as though it’s hearing your words for the first time in ages. You feel the warmth of the holiday season growing stronger, like a fire in your chest, and you push that feeling outwards, sending it toward the beast. A golden glow begins to radiate from your fingertips, lighting up the snow around you.

The creature snarls and takes a step back, its claws scraping the ground. But instead of lunging, it hesitates, shaking its head as if struggling with the light you’ve summoned. The growl fades into a soft whimper, and the creature’s red eyes slowly begin to dull, the unnatural glow fading into a dull, tired amber.

"Christmas...?" the creature mutters, its voice low and hoarse, like a sound long buried in the dark.

You don’t lower your hands. Instead, you speak more softly, drawing from the depth of your memories and the pure spirit of Christmas. "Yes. Christmas is a time of joy. Of family. Of giving. You don’t have to be lost. You can remember what you were. The world needs that spirit more than ever."

For a long moment, there’s only silence. The creature stands stock-still, caught between the darkness that has twisted it and the light you’ve summoned from within. The wind picks up, swirling snowflakes around you, but it feels different now—lighter, warmer.

Then, slowly, the creature’s eyes soften, the red glow completely gone. Its massive body relaxes, and the low growl fades into a long, deep sigh. "I... remember now," it says, its voice almost gentle. "I was once a protector. A guardian of the season. But the darkness... it corrupted me."

You nod, stepping cautiously closer. "You don’t have to be that way anymore. You can help protect Christmas again. Help me stop the fracture."

The creature looks down at you, and for the first time, you see something almost like sadness in its amber eyes. "Yes. Yes, I can. I was lost, but... I can help you."

With a final glance toward the deep, dark woods, the creature steps aside, clearing the path ahead. Its body shifts, becoming smaller, less menacing, as though it’s shedding the weight of its own corruption. In the moonlight, its fur begins to gleam with the faintest trace of silver, and you realize that what you’ve done—what you’ve awakened—has restored some part of its true self.

"You are on the right path," the creature says, its voice now warm with purpose. "Follow it, and you will find the grove. But beware—the darkness will not give up easily. More obstacles will come."

With that, the creature turns and disappears into the shadows, its form blending with the night like a fleeting dream.

You stand there for a moment, breathless, still feeling the warmth of the Christmas spirit inside you. It’s a power you never knew you had—one that is as ancient as the season itself. But you know it’s not over. The grove awaits, and the fracture still threatens to tear everything apart.

As you continue down the path, the moonlight casts long shadows across the snow-covered ground, and the air grows colder once more. But the fear that once gripped your heart is gone, replaced with a quiet, unshakable sense of purpose.

You are no longer just an observer in this story. You are a part of it.

The grove is waiting. The key to restoring Christmas is within your reach.

But there’s no time to lose.

Do you:

Continue down the path, determined to find the grove and restore the balance before it’s too late?

Pause and reflect, feeling the weight of the power you’ve just unlocked and wondering if you’re truly ready for what lies ahead?

Search for more signs, feeling the need to be certain that you’re on the right path before you proceed?

(The journey is far from over, and the forest is still full of dangers. What will you do next?)

Chapter 8: The Path to the Grove

With renewed determination, you press on, the path ahead now feeling less ominous and more like a calling. The forest stretches out around you, vast and silent, the trees now towering above you like ancient sentinels, their bare branches forming intricate patterns against the starry sky. The wind whispers through the forest, but this time it’s not menacing—it’s as though the trees themselves are guiding you, pushing you forward, urging you to continue.

The snow beneath your feet crunches softly, but you move with purpose, each step fueled by the knowledge that you’re getting closer to the heart of Christmas. The path winds through the forest, and after what feels like hours, you begin to notice subtle signs that you're drawing near to your destination—twinkling lights appearing in the distance, like stars caught in the branches of the trees; the faint sound of chimes, like distant bells, ringing in the air; and a warmth that seems to radiate from the ground itself, despite the cold night.

Then, as if the forest itself is breathing with you, the trees begin to thin. The snow turns to soft, powdery white dust beneath your feet, and the ground shifts into something softer, like moss. Finally, you step into an open clearing—and there, bathed in moonlight, stands the grove.

It is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. The grove seems to pulse with life, as though the very air around you is charged with magic. In the center of the clearing is an ancient stone circle, covered in ivy and glowing with an ethereal light. A massive tree stands tall in the middle of the circle—its trunk wide and twisted, its roots snaking into the ground like veins of pure energy. The branches stretch far above, crowned with what look like shimmering stars, twinkling with an otherworldly glow. At the base of the tree, there is a hollow, and within it, a soft, golden light pulses steadily, casting gentle reflections across the clearing.

You can feel it now—the heart of Christmas. The very spirit of the holiday is alive in this place, embedded in the roots of the ancient tree, the stones, the air around you. This is where the magic began. This is where it all connects.

But even in this sacred place, you feel a lingering darkness—a shadow, just at the edges of your vision. It’s faint, but it's there, watching. A cold presence that seems to reach out toward the heart of the grove, trying to suffocate the light.

You approach the stone circle carefully, your every step filled with reverence. The golden light within the hollow of the tree flickers and dims as you get closer, as though sensing your presence.

Suddenly, you hear a voice—not loud, but clear and sharp in your mind.

"You’re too late."

You freeze. The voice is cold, sharp like ice, and it sends a chill down your spine. The air around you shifts, and the grove seems to darken slightly. The presence is no longer just a shadow at the edges—it’s here. A dark figure emerges from the trees, cloaked in black, its face hidden beneath a hood. It moves with a strange fluidity, like it’s part of the darkness itself.

The voice speaks again, this time a low, mocking tone.

"The fracture is already here. Christmas is already lost. You cannot stop what’s coming."

You feel the air grow colder still, as if the temperature has dropped by degrees. The golden light from the tree flickers once more, dimming.

The figure steps closer, its form becoming clearer, though you still can’t make out its face. Its presence feels suffocating, oppressive—an embodiment of the very darkness that Santa warned you about.

"You should have stayed away," the figure whispers, its voice a hiss now. "You have no place here. This world is no longer yours to protect."

But you know what must be done. This place—the heart of Christmas—is the last defense against the growing darkness.

Do you:

Confront the figure, demanding to know who it is and why it wants to destroy Christmas?

Focus on the golden light in the hollow of the tree, sensing that it holds the key to sealing the fracture and stopping the darkness?

Call upon the Christmas spirit, trying to harness the warmth and light you’ve carried with you to push back the figure’s darkness?

(The final moments of your journey are upon you. The choice you make now could decide the fate of Christmas itself. What will you do?)

Chapter 9: The Face of Darkness

You stand firm, gathering every ounce of courage within you. The cold air presses in on all sides, but you refuse to be intimidated. The figure before you—this embodiment of darkness—wants to crush the spirit of Christmas, but you won’t let it. Not now. Not after everything you’ve faced.

"Who are you?" you demand, your voice steady but forceful, echoing through the grove. "Why are you trying to destroy Christmas?"

The figure tilts its head slightly, as if considering you. The darkness around it seems to ripple and twist, like smoke in a breeze. Then, in a voice that is as cold as the deepest winter, it speaks again:

"I am the shadow of doubt. The fear that twists the heart of every human who stops believing. I am the forgotten spirit—the one who lurks in the corners of your world, waiting for your hope to flicker out. The spirit of Christmas has always been fragile. And now, it is ripe for destruction."

The words hit you like a blow to the chest, but you don’t flinch. The voice is seductive in its coldness, pulling at your insecurities and fears. But you stand tall, even as the air seems to press in on you.

"You’re wrong," you say, your voice unwavering. "Christmas isn’t just about belief. It’s about kindness, love, family. It’s about hope, no matter how small or fleeting. You can’t take that away."

The figure laughs, a low, cruel sound that echoes through the trees, sending a shiver down your spine.

"You still don’t understand," it says, its voice dripping with disdain. "The light you cling to is temporary. It fades as easily as a candle’s flame in the wind. It’s not enough. No one can stop me now."

The darkness around it seems to grow, swelling in size and intensity. The golden light from the hollow of the tree flickers again, struggling against the growing shadow. You can feel the weight of its presence, the creeping tendrils of doubt and fear wrapping around your heart. It’s hard to breathe, and harder still to think clearly. The figure is right—Christmas is fragile. But there’s something else inside you, something stubborn and determined. Hope. And it’s stronger than the darkness.

You take a step forward, eyes locked on the shadowy figure. "You think hope is fragile, but it’s not. Hope is a choice. It's something we carry with us. Even in the hardest times, it’s there. You can’t destroy Christmas by taking away belief. People will always find a reason to hope. And that’s something you can’t fight."

For a moment, the figure seems to waver. The darkness flickers, hesitates—almost as if it’s unsure. But then, with a sharp hiss, it lunges forward, its form rushing toward you like a storm.

"You are so naïve," it sneers, and as it reaches out with dark, shadowy hands, you feel the coldness, the weight of despair pressing down on you, threatening to drown your every thought.

But just as it is about to engulf you, something shifts—something deep inside you. The warmth that has been growing in your heart all along bursts into flame. You remember what Santa said: the spirit of Christmas, of kindness, of hope—it is stronger than any darkness.

You raise your hands, and suddenly, the light within you surges forward, golden and bright, pushing the darkness back like the first rays of dawn. The light from the ancient tree pulses, responding to your call, flooding the grove with warmth and power.

The figure recoils, its form rippling and distorting in the face of your light. "No!" it screeches, its voice breaking as if it cannot comprehend what’s happening. "This can’t be! You… You can’t stop me!"

But it’s too late. The power of Christmas—the belief, the hope, the love—is too much for it. The darkness begins to unravel, collapsing in on itself, shrinking back into the shadows from which it came. The air around you grows warmer, the cold retreating into the night.

As the shadow vanishes, you feel the weight lifting from your chest. The golden light from the hollow tree burns brighter now, steady and true. The grove is bathed in warmth, and the oppressive atmosphere lifts, replaced by a deep, peaceful silence.

You turn to the tree, feeling its ancient energy surge through the clearing. The fracture has been sealed, the balance restored. The Christmas spirit is safe once more.

The grove, now fully alive with the light of the season, hums with a soft, joyous melody—the bells you heard earlier ringing gently, their sound peaceful and full of promise.

Then, from behind you, you hear a familiar voice, warm and full of gratitude.

"You did it," Santa says, stepping out from the trees, his smile broad and knowing. "You saved Christmas."

You turn to face him, your heart still racing from the confrontation. The weight of the moment settles over you, but it’s a weight that feels good—a weight of accomplishment, of knowing that you’ve fought for something that matters.

"How?" you ask, your voice filled with awe. "How did I—?"

Santa steps closer, placing a hand gently on your shoulder. "You didn’t just defeat the darkness with your strength. You did it with the light you carry inside. The spirit of Christmas doesn’t come from magic or gifts—it comes from the heart. And that’s what you’ve shown here tonight. Hope, kindness, love—they can never be destroyed, not as long as people continue to believe in them."

He smiles at you, and for the first time, you feel like you truly understand. The magic of Christmas isn’t in the presents or the decorations—it’s in the hearts of the people who carry its spirit, no matter how dark the world becomes.

"You’ve restored the balance," Santa continues, his eyes twinkling with pride. "Now, Christmas will live on—for everyone."

And with that, he steps back, disappearing into the glow of the grove as the light of the tree continues to shine brightly in the night.

You stand there for a moment, alone in the heart of the forest, the air now warm and peaceful. The night is silent, save for the soft, distant sound of bells—a sound of hope, of love, of Christmas.

As you turn to leave, the stars above seem to shine a little brighter, the world a little warmer, and you know, deep in your heart, that Christmas is safe.

For now, and forevermore.

The End