CHAPTER 3: The stranger in the snow

   I have always believed that silence carries its own kind of warning. That night, after everything that happened with the red-eyed child, the mysterious gift box, and my uncle’s strangely rehearsed reactions, the silence inside our wooden lodge felt like the pause before a nightmare opened its mouth.

The old Christmas clock above the fireplace ticked with a smug rhythm, as if it knew something I didn’t.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I wished it would shut up.

Uncle Rowan had gone to “check the generator,” which was interesting, considering the lights were working just fine. My cousins were already asleep upstairs—well, pretending to sleep, if the little giggles from Ivy’s room meant anything. And me?

I stood at the window again. That damn window. I couldn’t seem to stay away from it.

The snow outside was glowing under the moonlight, thick flakes swirling like powdered sugar shaken by a giant hand. Our cabin sat alone at the edge of the forest, and the woods were dark enough to look bottomless.

I didn’t want to admit it, but I was looking for the child again.

Her red eyes,her creepy grin.

The way she whispered my name like she had always known it, like I belonged to her in some twisted way.

I pressed my forehead against the cold glass.

“Not happening tonight,” I muttered.

But the universe hates confident people.

A shadow moved at the treeline.

Not running,not wandering,just standing and watching.

A tall figure this time,definitely not the child. My stomach twisted as the shape stepped slightly into the moonlight, revealing a man… or something trying to look like one. He wore a long dark coat, almost Victorian-style, with a fur collar dusted with snow. His hair was black, swept back, too neat for someone standing in a blizzard. The moonlight sharpened the lines of his face,high cheekbones, jaw carved like a warning. And his eyes…

God.

His eyes glowed gold.A slow, knowing smile crossed his lips. One corner only.Not friendly.Not human.

My breath fogged the glass.

He raised one gloved hand… and waved at me.

I stumbled back so fast I hit the Christmas tree behind me, sending one ornament rolling across the floor. My heart pounded like the wooden beams were trying to leave my chest.

“What the hell…”

I peeked again.

He was gone.

Of course he was.

That made it worse.

“Okay, okay,” I whispered, pressing my palms together like I was negotiating with my own anxiety. “Maybe I’m overtired… or hungry. Or hallucinating. Could be the peppermint schnapps from earlier.”

The floor creaked behind me.

I jumped, spun—and found Ivy, my eight-year-old cousin, staring at me with half her face buried in her stuffed reindeer.

“You’re scared,” she said softly.

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re shaking.”I looked at my hands. Damn traitors.

I tried to sound brave. “I’m… cold.”

“You’re lying.”

She always had that unnerving honesty, as if children were born with the ability to insult adults without meaning to. She walked up to the window, staring out.

“You saw Him, didn’t you?” she whispered.

My voice caught. “…Who?”

“The man. The one who waits.”

A chill slithered down my spine. “Ivy… how do you know that?”

She didn’t look at me. Her little fingers traced circles on the cold glass.

“Because he knocked on my window last year.”

My entire skeleton froze.

“What?”

She nodded, hugging her reindeer tighter. “He asked me if I wanted a Christmas surprise. He said all I had to do was let him in.”

“Tell me you didn’t.”

“I didn’t… but he said he’d come back.”

Oh, fantastic. Wonderful. Great. A cheerful holiday tradition of traumatizing children.

I knelt down. “Ivy… you should’ve told someone.”

She frowned. “I told Uncle Rowan.”

I blinked. “You did?”

She shrugged. “He told me not to repeat it.”

There it was again.The secrecy.The weird atmosphere.

My uncle’s “chill but not actually chill” behavior.

“Go back to bed,” I told her gently. “And lock your window. Promise?”

She nodded. “Are you staying downstairs?”

“Yeah. I’ll keep watch.”

“Because of the man?”

“…Yeah. Because of the man.”

She didn’t seem scared. Just sad. When she disappeared upstairs, her soft footsteps fading away, I sat on the couch and buried my face in my hands.

This was not regular holiday nonsense.

This was cursed-Santa-meets-forbidden-forest horror.

I stared at the fireplace. The flames crackled and danced like they were whispering secrets. The warmth should’ve comforted me—it didn’t.

The front door suddenly rattled.

I froze.

Not knocked.RATTLED.

Like something or someone was trying to open it.

I grabbed the nearest weapon: a candy cane. Not even the thick kind. Just a thin, pointlessly decorative sugar stick.

“Perfect,” I whispered. “I’ll die anyway.”

The door shook again.

Then a deep voice spoke through the wood. Smooth. Dark. Almost amused.

“Open the door, little star.”

My lungs refused to work.

Little star.

The nickname struck me in a place that made no sense. It felt like a memory I didn’t have… but should’ve had.

I stepped back. “Who—who are you?”

Silence.

Then: “You know me.”

I shook my head hard. “Wrong house!”

A low chuckle slid under the doorframe like smoke. “You saw me.”

My hands trembled. The candy cane fell to the floor with a clink.

The voice grew softer. “Let me in.”

“No!”

“You looked for me.”“I did NOT!”“You called.”

“Dude, I didn’t even think about you!”

“You thought of me the moment you were born.”

Okay. Nope. Absolutely not. Psychic stalker in a blizzard? No thanks.

I backed away slowly as the doorknob twitched.

Then—

Footsteps approached from outside.

Not one pair.Many.Crunching in the snow.

Voices. Whispers.Dozens of them.

I rushed to the window.Shapes in the storm.Figures.

Tall ones… small ones.

All staring at the house like hungry Christmas carolers from hell.

My throat closed up.

Something was very wrong with this forest.

With this night,with this entire family.

Suddenly—footsteps behind me.My real ones.

Inside the house.

I spun.

Uncle Rowan stood at the bottom of the stairs, face pale, eyes wide. He held a rusted iron lantern in one hand and a wooden stake in the other. Yes—a literal stake.

He looked at me like I had already disappointed him.

“You opened the window earlier, didn’t you?”

I swallowed hard. “I didn’t… I mean, I only looked—”

"You looked long enough.” His voice cracked with fear. “You saw Him. And once He’s seen, He can’t be unseen.”

The door rattled again.

Uncle Rowan’s knuckles whitened around the lantern.

"They’ve come early this year,” he whispered.

I stared, breath shaking. “Uncle… What the hell is happening?”

His eyes flashed with a grief I didn’t understand.

“It’s time,” he said softly, “you learned the truth about our family… and about Him.”

The voices outside grew louder.

A chorus of whispers.

Merry Christmas.Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmaaaaas…

My skin crawled.

Rowan lifted the lantern.

And the flames inside turned black.