Home for the Holidys

Snow blanketed the winding road as Nora drove toward the old family estate, her hands tight on the wheel. She hadn’t been home in years, not since the screaming fights and slammed doors that marked her departure. But her mother’s voice on the phone—quivering, pleading—had cut through her resolve.

“Please come home, Nora. Just this once. For Christmas.”

Reluctantly, she’d agreed, telling herself it was for closure. But now, as the towering house came into view, a pit formed in her stomach. The three-story Victorian mansion stood like a sentinel against the storm, its dark windows watching her approach.

The family greeted her warmly enough, their smiles just a little too wide, their hugs lingering a little too long. Her mother, pale and frail, clung to her as if afraid to let go. Her father avoided her gaze entirely, muttering about keeping the fire going. Even her younger brother, Ethan, who had once idolized her, seemed distant, his laughter forced and brittle.

Something was wrong.

Dinner was a quiet affair. The large dining room, always too big for their family of four, felt cavernous. The firelight flickered over the table, casting long shadows on the faded wallpaper. The conversation was stilted, punctuated by awkward silences. Nora tried to bridge the gap, asking about their lives, their health, but the answers were vague, evasive.

It wasn’t until dessert that the first crack appeared. Ethan pushed his plate away, his face pale. “We shouldn’t have called her,” he muttered.

“Ethan!” her mother snapped, but her voice cracked under the strain.

Nora set down her fork, her eyes narrowing. “What’s going on? Why did you want me to come back?”

Her father stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “Enough,” he barked. “It’s Christmas. We’re together. That’s all that matters.”

But Nora wasn’t convinced. The pit in her stomach deepened.

That night, as the storm howled outside, Nora explored the house. Memories clung to every corner—the creak of the stairs, the faded family portraits lining the hallway. But something about the house felt... wrong. It was too quiet, too still, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.

In the attic, she found it: an old wooden chest, its lid cracked open. Inside were faded papers, brittle with age, and a single photograph of her family—taken 12 years ago. In it, they were all smiling, except for her cousin Anna, who looked gaunt and terrified. Nora remembered Anna had gone missing that year. They’d said she ran away.

Her hands trembled as she sifted through the papers. Among them was a contract, written in looping, archaic handwriting. Her breath caught as she read the words:

“In exchange for prosperity and protection, one shall be gifted every twelve winters. The blood must remain within the family.”

Nora stumbled back, her heart racing. The pieces fell into place—the distance, the strange behavior, the unease that had plagued her all evening. She was the gift this year.

When she confronted them, her family didn’t deny it.

“We didn’t want it to be this way,” her mother sobbed, wringing her hands. “But the spirit demands blood. It’s the only reason we’ve survived—the only reason we have anything.”

“You knew!” Nora screamed. “You knew this was why you brought me back!”

Her father’s face was a mask of guilt and determination. “It’s the only way to keep the rest of us safe.”

Ethan couldn’t meet her eyes, his jaw clenched. “I tried to talk them out of it. I swear, Nora.”

But it didn’t matter. The truth was clear: they had chosen her. She was the sacrifice.

As midnight approached, the house seemed to come alive. The storm outside grew fiercer, shaking the windows and rattling the doors. Shadows writhed in the corners of the room, and an unnatural chill seeped into the air.

Her family surrounded her, their faces grim. Her mother held a silver bell, its chime soft and haunting as she rang it. “Forgive us,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “It’s too late to stop it now.”

The lights flickered, and the fire roared higher, casting grotesque shapes on the walls. A deep, guttural voice filled the room, reverberating through their bones. “Where is my gift?” it demanded.

Nora tried to run, but her father grabbed her, his grip ironclad. “It will be quick,” he promised, though his voice shook. “You won’t feel a thing.”

But the spirit had other plans. The shadows coalesced into a hulking figure, its eyes burning like embers. It reached for Nora, its claws cold as death, but she lashed out, grabbing the silver bell from her mother’s hand.

“Take them instead!” she screamed, her voice trembling with rage and desperation. “They made the deal! They’re the ones who deserve this!”

The spirit paused, its burning eyes shifting to the family. For a moment, silence hung heavy in the room. Then it grinned, its jagged teeth glinting in the firelight.

“So be it.”

The room erupted into chaos. The shadows engulfed her family, their screams echoing as they were dragged into the dark. Nora fell to her knees, the bell clutched in her trembling hands. The spirit loomed over her, its voice a chilling whisper.

“You are free... for now. But the pact remains.”

And just like that, it was gone. The fire sputtered out, plunging the room into darkness. The storm outside faded, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.

By morning, the house was empty, save for Nora. She sat alone in the dining room, staring at the photograph she had taken from the attic. Her family was gone, just as Anna had been 12 years before.

But she knew the truth. In another twelve winters, the spirit would return. And this time, there would be no one left to take her place.