Silent Night, Bloody Night

The snowstorm hit with a ferocity none of them had anticipated. Emma, Brian, Lisa, and Todd had been en route to a ski lodge for a Christmas getaway when their SUV skidded off the icy road and into a snowbank. Miles from the nearest town and with no cell service, the group had little choice but to follow a faint trail illuminated by the moonlight. It led to a remote village nestled in the shadows of the pine forest.

The village, blanketed in thick snow, appeared timeless, its cobblestone streets lined with crooked cottages adorned with Christmas wreaths and crimson candles. The travelers were greeted by smiling villagers wrapped in old-fashioned garments. "Welcome to Frostwood," an elderly woman said warmly. "It’s a blessing you’ve come tonight. Our Christmas Eve celebration is about to begin."

The travelers were led to the inn, where a roaring fire and a feast awaited them. The villagers were unnervingly kind, their pale faces lit by an unnatural excitement. "This is a place untouched by the modern world," Brian murmured, impressed by the authenticity. Emma, however, felt the weight of the villagers' stares, their smiles lingering just a moment too long.

As the evening progressed, the travelers were invited to the town square for the lighting of the Yule Tree. At the center of the village stood a towering pine, its branches decorated not with ornaments, but with bones and strips of crimson cloth that fluttered in the icy wind. The villagers began to sing carols, their voices low and haunting. Lisa tugged at Emma’s sleeve. “We need to leave,” she whispered, panic creeping into her voice.

Before they could act, the elder from earlier approached, holding a goblet filled with a thick, dark liquid. "Drink," she said, her voice sweet but firm. "It is tradition. A toast to the solstice and the coming of spring."

Todd, ever the skeptic, took the first sip, grimacing. "Tastes like iron," he muttered, passing the goblet. Emma refused, her instincts screaming, but Brian and Lisa, eager not to offend, drank. A cheer erupted from the villagers as the travelers were ushered closer to the tree.

That’s when Emma saw it—shallow graves in the snow at the base of the tree, half-covered by the drifting storm. The singing grew louder, a chant now, words guttural and ancient. The villagers’ smiles twisted into something feral, their eyes gleaming with hunger. Emma tried to run, but strong hands grabbed her arms. Todd was already on the ground, writhing in pain as the elder plunged a silver blade into his chest.

“The blood of the innocent brings life to the land,” the elder intoned. "The Yule King demands sacrifice."

Emma fought, kicking and screaming, but the villagers were too many. Brian and Lisa, groggy from whatever poison was in the drink, barely struggled as they were dragged to the tree. Emma could only watch in horror as their throats were slit, their blood soaking into the snow, turning it crimson.

Emma’s vision blurred as the storm grew fiercer. The Yule Tree seemed to pulse, its branches growing darker, its ornaments swaying in rhythm with the chants. She felt herself being bound to the base of the tree, the cold seeping into her skin. The elder leaned close, whispering, "Rejoice, child. Your sacrifice ensures the return of spring."

As the blade descended, Emma’s last thought was of the warm, sunlit slopes she would never see. The villagers cheered, their chant rising to a deafening crescendo.

The snowstorm ceased abruptly, the sky clearing to reveal a blood-red moon. In the eerie silence, the Yule Tree stood tall, its grisly decorations glinting in the moonlight. The villagers returned to their cottages, leaving the bodies to freeze where they fell, ensuring Frostwood’s twisted spring would come again.

Far off in the distance, another car approached the village, its headlights piercing the dark. The villagers smiled. More travelers, just in time for next year's celebration.