Silent Night, Sinister Night

It was a snowy Christmas Eve in the quiet town of Frostvale. The air was filled with the sound of cheerful carolers, children laughing, and sleigh bells jingling. Yet, something darker lurked beneath the town's festive glow.

Legend spoke of The Crimson Claus, a malevolent figure said to appear every 25 years in Frostvale. He wasn’t jolly or generous but vengeful, targeting those who harbored greed, jealousy, or betrayal during the holiday season. It was said he left no gifts but instead took something much more precious: a soul.

On this particular Christmas Eve, 17-year-old Clara Hastings discovered an old journal while rummaging through the attic. The leather-bound book belonged to her great-grandfather, a former resident of Frostvale. The entries told the horrifying tale of The Crimson Claus, describing him as a shadowy figure with glowing red eyes, a blood-stained suit, and an eerie, hollow laugh. According to the journal, her great-grandfather had encountered him on Christmas Eve in 1898, narrowly escaping his grasp.

Clara dismissed the story as a family myth designed to scare children into being good. But as the clock struck midnight, Frostvale’s joyful ambiance took a sinister turn. The snow outside turned crimson, falling like ash from the sky. The carolers' voices faded, replaced by a haunting melody that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

One by one, lights in the neighborhood dimmed, leaving Clara’s house bathed in an unnatural darkness. She heard heavy, deliberate footsteps crunching in the snow outside, followed by a raspy voice whispering her name:

“Clara... have you been good this year?”

Terrified, Clara scrambled to lock the doors and windows, but the whispers grew louder, accompanied by the faint jingling of bells—only these bells sounded like chains rattling. Desperate, Clara turned to the journal for guidance and found a chilling passage:

“To banish him, you must confront the sins of your heart. He feeds on the darkness we hide.”

Clara realized her guilt over an argument with her best friend, Sarah, whom she had betrayed by spreading a cruel rumor weeks earlier. Guilt consumed her as she remembered Sarah’s tearful face. Could this have summoned The Crimson Claus?

As the shadowy figure emerged from the snowstorm, Clara could see his hollow eyes glowing like embers. He raised a crooked hand, his long, claw-like fingers beckoning her. Clara had to act fast. She grabbed her phone and, with trembling fingers, called Sarah. Through sobs, she apologized, begging for forgiveness. To her surprise, Sarah forgave her instantly, and the burden in Clara’s chest lifted.

The figure paused, his twisted face cracking into a grimace of disappointment. The blood-red snow faded to white, and the sinister jingling bells disappeared into the night. Frostvale was safe again—at least for another 25 years.

As the first rays of Christmas morning sunlight touched the town, Clara knew the legend was real. And she vowed to never take the spirit of Christmas for granted again.

But deep in the snowy woods, a faint echo of hollow laughter could still be heard. The Crimson Claus was waiting—for the next sinner to summon him.