The Christmas Witch

The small town of Brackenwood had always been a place where the old traditions held strong. On the eve of Christmas, the air would fill with the sweet smell of cinnamon and pine, and families would gather to celebrate the holidays. But there was one story—one legend—that parents whispered about in hushed tones, cautioning their children to behave, lest they invoke something far darker than they could imagine.

It was the legend of Frau Perchta, the Christmas Witch. She was said to appear on the longest nights of the year, punishing children who were naughty or disobedient. The tales were grim—Perchta would carve out the bellies of those who misbehaved, filling them with straw and stones as a warning to others. Her eyes, glowing like burning embers, were said to seek out the wicked, her sharp claws and twisted face leaving no mercy for those who were unworthy.

But for the group of teenagers from Brackenwood High, it was nothing more than a silly bedtime story, a relic of a bygone era. They scoffed at it, laughing it off whenever the subject came up.

"We’re not kids anymore," said Caleb, the ringleader of the group, tossing a snowball at his friend Jack’s back as they walked home from the last day of school before Christmas break. "Frau Perchta? A witch who carves out bellies? Please. It’s just another excuse to get kids to behave. Total nonsense."

The others chuckled, agreeing with him. They didn’t believe in the old superstitions that haunted the older generations. The group—Caleb, Jack, Emma, and Sarah—decided they would spend Christmas Eve in the woods just outside Brackenwood, a place known for its eerie atmosphere and tales of strange happenings.

As the evening drew near, snow began to fall heavily, covering the ground in a blanket of white. The wind howled through the trees, and the forest seemed to grow darker with every passing minute. But the teens, in their youthful arrogance, were undeterred. They set up a campfire and settled around it, drinking hot cocoa and making jokes about old ghost stories.

"Wouldn’t it be fun if we somehow summoned Frau Perchta tonight?" Emma said with a smirk, poking at the fire with a stick. "I mean, we’re out here in the woods, and it’s Christmas Eve. Perfect conditions for a witch to show up, right?"

The others laughed, but Sarah, always the quiet one, looked uneasy. "Guys, don’t joke about stuff like that. I know it’s just a story, but... what if it’s real?"

"Oh, please," Caleb scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You’re not still scared of that old folktale, are you? There’s no such thing as witches or curses."

"Yeah, don’t be a buzzkill," Jack added, tossing another snowball at Caleb.

But as the night wore on, the laughter began to fade, replaced by an unsettling silence. The wind seemed to pick up, rattling the branches above their heads, and the flames of the fire flickered erratically. Emma noticed that the shadows in the woods seemed to stretch longer than they should, twisting unnaturally, as if something was watching them.

"Okay, this is getting creepy," Emma said, her voice wavering. "Maybe we should head back to town."

But Caleb, emboldened by his skepticism, dismissed her. "Come on, don’t be scared. It’s just the wind."

They all fell silent, the fire crackling and popping as the temperature dropped. Then, a voice cut through the night, soft but unmistakable:

"Who are the disobedient children?"

The voice was raspy, old, and filled with an unnatural authority. It sent a chill down each of their spines, and for the first time, the teens felt a flicker of fear. They turned, their eyes scanning the dark edge of the forest, but they saw nothing. The wind had stopped, and the air hung heavy with a sense of dread.

"Who is that?" Jack whispered, his voice trembling.

A figure emerged from the shadows—tall, cloaked in a tattered dress, her face hidden beneath a veil of white hair. She moved with an unnatural grace, her presence like a black cloud that smothered the warmth of the fire. Her eyes were burning coals, glowing with malice.

It was Frau Perchta.

The teens stood frozen, unable to move or speak. The figure stepped closer, and they could see her face now—a twisted visage, half beautiful and half grotesque. Her mouth was filled with jagged teeth, and her lips pulled back in a cruel smile. In one hand, she carried a long knife, its blade gleaming in the pale moonlight.

"You have mocked me," she said, her voice low and echoing, as if it came from the very earth itself. "Now you will pay the price."

Sarah gasped, clutching Jack’s arm. "It’s real—it’s really her!"

Caleb, trying to assert his bravado, stepped forward. "This is some prank, right? Someone’s messing with us. This isn’t funny!"

But Frau Perchta only smiled wider, her eyes narrowing. "You mock my name, but you will regret it. I know every disobedient soul. I know every wicked heart."

She raised her knife, and the temperature seemed to plummet. The wind howled back to life, swirling around them in a violent frenzy. The fire flickered and sputtered, the flames dying as the night grew darker.

"Get away from us!" Caleb shouted, but his voice trembled.

With a sharp movement, Frau Perchta flicked the knife toward him, and in an instant, the blade was at his throat. His body froze, his breath caught in his chest. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

"Foolish child," Frau Perchta said, her voice now like a hiss. "You will not escape your fate."

Suddenly, the ground beneath them trembled, and the earth seemed to split open. Hands—cold, bony hands—reached from the ground, grabbing at their ankles, pulling them down toward the darkness.

Emma screamed, kicking and struggling, but the hands tightened their grip, dragging her into the cold earth. "Please! Please!" she cried, but it was no use.

One by one, the teens were pulled into the ground, their screams silenced by the snow and the wind.

The last thing Sarah saw before she was consumed by the earth was Frau Perchta’s twisted smile, her eyes glowing in the night, and the cruel echo of her voice.

"You were naughty, and now you belong to me."

The next morning, the snow in Brackenwood lay still and untouched. The town buzzed with the usual Christmas excitement, unaware of the fate that had befallen the group of teenagers who had mocked an ancient legend.

But in the woods outside the town, a figure moved silently among the trees, her cloak rustling in the wind.

Frau Perchta had claimed her prize. And she would return, every Christmas Eve, to take those who dared to mock her again.