CHAPTER 2: The Ornaments that shouldn't exist

I stare at the wooden ornament so long my fingers go numb.

It’s cold in my hand,too cold. Like it’s been sitting there longer than snow should allow, yet somehow hasn’t melted beneath the falling flakes.

It’s carved with unsettling precision: little flames licking the roof of a tiny house.

My house.

No—my parents’ house.

My heartbeat stumbles.

Someone knows.

Someone remembers.

Someone wants me to remember too.

The snow keeps thickening, clinging to my hair, my eyelashes, the wooden ornament in my palm. I swallow hard and force my boots to move. I get inside my house, slam the door shut, and lock it twice.

The silence inside feels heavier than the storm.

I lean back against the door, breathing hard, the ornament still clutched in my shaking hand. My kitchen light flickers as if it’s scared too. If the house had a personality, I’m convinced it would start packing its bags to evacuate.

I toss the ornament on the table like it might explode.

“Twenty-four,” I whisper to myself. “What does that even mean?”

A countdown?A date?A threat?

Or maybe it’s just someone’s twisted sense of humor.

But no one in this town jokes about that fire.No one even talks about it.

The whole incident was shoved under a metaphorical rug so fast the town practically tripped over it for a decade.

My phone buzzes, making me jump like I’ve been shot.

AUNT RUBY:

You home?

I type:

ME:

Yes. Why?

Her reply comes instantly, because of course it does.

AUNT RUBY:

I had a vision.

I resist the urge to throw my phone at the wall.

Ruby’s “visions” range from You’re going to meet the love of your life today to I’m pretty sure the squirrel outside is possessed, so I’m not exactly reassured.

Before I can reply, she appears in my front window like a deranged snow goblin.

“Oh for—Ruby!” I yank the door open. “How did you get here so fast?!”

“I ran,” she says proudly, cheeks red from the cold. “I sensed danger.”

“You’re wearing slippers.”

“Danger,” she repeats dramatically. “Also the bakery is out of cinnamon and I need some.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You ran through a snowstorm for cinnamon?"

“Don’t judge me. What’s wrong with your face?”

“It’s my face.”

“No, no.” She narrows her eyes and steps in, pushing past me. “Your aura looks like it's about to punch someone.”

“My aura is fine.”

“It’s twitching.”

“My aura is fine, Ruby.”

She leans closer. “It’s aggressively twitching.”

I exhale sharply. “Someone left this on my doorstep.”

I hand her the ornament.

Her expression morphs instantly from dramatic to grave. Ruby never gets grave. She gets loud, ridiculous, chaotic—but not silent.

“That’s sick,” she whispers.

“I know.”

“No, I mean this carving is impressive.” She turns it in her hand. “Sharp lines, clean cuts—whoever made this is either very talented… or very deranged. Probably both.”

“Ruby.”

She sighs. “Fine. It’s creepy.”

My chest tightens. “It looks like their house.”

She hesitates. “It does.”

“Do you think—" I take a breath— “someone knows?”

"I don’t know who would, Elora.” Her tone softens. “But… this looks intentional.”

I sink into a chair, my legs giving up. “Lucien warned me.”

“Lucien? Who the hell is Lucien?”  Of course Ruby would catch that.

I wave my hand. “He’s just—he’s someone who showed up behind the church tonight.”

Ruby gasps. “Did he kill you?”

“I’m talking to you.” “People talk in ghost movies all the time.”

“He didn’t kill me, Ruby.”

"Handsome?”

My face heats. “No.”

Ruby lifts an eyebrow.

“Okay, yes,” I admit. “Annoyingly handsome. The kind of handsome that feels like a health hazard.”

“Oho.” Ruby sits across from me, grinning like she’s found a new hobby. “Tell Aunt Ruby more.”

“He said I shouldn’t be watching the pastor.”

“What was Pastor Gideon doing?”

I swallow.

“Burning something.”

Ruby goes still. “Like… burning trash?”

“No.”

“Burning what?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

“Did you smell it?”

“I was too far.”

"Did you see what it was?”

“No, Ruby.”

She frowns. “Well, that’s just great. You find someone burning things at midnight, a handsome man appears behind you like a Christmas demon, and you don’t investigate?”

“No normal person would investigate that.”

“You’re not normal.”

“Not the point.”

Ruby sighs and sets the ornament down.

“Elora… you need to be careful.”

That is the last thing I want to hear.

“Why?” I ask quietly. “What aren't you telling me?”

She freezes. Her eyes shift. She avoids my gaze.

“Ruby.”

“Elora, it’s late. You need sleep.”

“Ruby.”

She stands, avoiding the ornament completely. “Lock your doors. And don’t go out tonight.”

“What do you know?”

“Nothing,” she says too quickly. “Go to bed.”

Before I can protest, she grabs her cinnamon jar and bolts out the door like she’s escaping an exorcism.

I shut the door and lean my forehead against it.

This is fine. Everything is fine. My aunt is acting like she knows something. A stranger appears out of nowhere. The pastor is burning stuff. And someone is leaving wooden death threats on my doorstep like early Christmas gifts.

Totally normal. Totally healthy. No reason to panic at all.

My house creaks in the wind, as if disagreeing with me.

I give up trying to sleep around 2 a.m.

Instead, I sit by my window, knees pulled to my chest, watching snow swirl under the streetlights like tiny ghosts. The ornament lies on the table where I left it, silent and accusing.

What does the number 24 mean?

Twenty-four days until Christmas? Twenty-four days until… something else?

My thoughts spiral until I almost convince myself it’s a prank. A sick one, but a prank.

Then someone knocks on my door. Three sharp knocks.

My heart jumps into my throat.

No one visits at 2 a.m. in a snowstorm. Not unless they’re insane or dangerous. Given my life lately, probably both.

I grab the closest object—my rolling pin—and inch to the door.

"Who’s there?”

No answer.

My chest tightens. I swallow hard.

“Elora.”

The voice is deep, edged with cold… and unmistakably familiar.

Lucien.

Why is he here? Why does he know where I live?

I crack the door open an inch.

He stands there, snow clinging to his coat, breath fogging, eyes darker than the night behind him.

“You need to let me in,” he says quietly.

"Why?”

“Because,” he replies, stepping closer until his shadow spills across my floor,

“someone else is out here too.

And they were watching your house before I scared them off.”

My blood turns to ice.

I unhook the chain.I open the door.

Lucien steps inside like the storm follows him.

And suddenly, I realize one terrifying truth:

Tonight is only the beginning.