The Shortest of Night

"It was the tale of 'Spooky Christmas', or at least that is what I like to call it," Cindy Thomas whispered, her mind racing back through all the Christmases of her childhood. A wayward look of excitement hid beneath her luring smile.

"The year was Nineteen-Seventy-Four and I was just graduating high-school. My dad had purchased the cabins for me as a gift. It was our first year living here and no one ever warned us...or maybe they couldn't. Maybe we were the only survivors. Not many of my Christmas's were memorable...until this night...it was my favorite night...I wait for it every year..."

Cindy Thomas shook the snow-globe. Its cracked shell threatening to shatter at any moment, but still, her fingers gripped tight to something that seemed to haunt her just beneath the mangled surface. It was hard to see what was trapped inside the ancient confines of her gilded snow-globe.

"Was it the tangle of forgotten lights, the cackle of embittered flames simmering in the forgotten hearth, or the hush of tampered snow that sent Silent Night packing? I never did find out..."

The cabin was old and out of date. That's how Cindy Thomas liked it. Gusts of wind seeped in through the unpatched cracks, cutting right through the bone. It wasn't much refuge from the elements as the flurry of snow piled around them, burying the cabin for winter. It was perfect, more perfect than she could have ever imagined. She held the snow-globe close, peering into its abyss.

"There was a bit more than a chill that hung in the air that year. Sort of like tonight...when you feel eyes watching you, the watchful, judging eyes of he-who-can't-be-seen, then you will know the time is upon us..."

Cindy paused, shivering slightly as her own eyes bore out into the empty midnight sky; only the frosted treeline stood guard against whatever demons hid beyond.

"I told them not to go into the cabin all those years ago, not to come here...just as I warned you."

Her eyes glistened with fearful tears as her sharp fingernails scratched at the aging snow-globe, etching more frenzied lines into the glass.

"But no one listens...they never do...I can't keep them out... they will always find you..."