“Open your stocking!” said Mom with a secretive smile at Dad, and handed Edith the green-and-red-striped one she’d used since her toddler days.

Edith eagerly stuck her hand down the long tubular sock that nearly sucked her arm in with its elastic grip. She felt a few intriguing shapes at the bottom, but then touched something soft, slick, and slightly moist that really piqued her interest.

Wrapping her fingers around it, she struggled to grasp the object—it seemed to be growing larger, to her great astonishment—but then, without warning, something rigid and sharp closed its maw over her hand and started pulling Edith down into the sock, which was transforming into a gaping, whirling, gray abyss.

Edith screamed as loudly as her vocal cords would allow, but the last thing she saw before being fully dragged down into the swirling vortex was the oddly serene smiles on her parents’ faces.

(Check out Part 2: https://theprose.com/post/403786/stocking-stuffer-part-2-five-ish-more-sentences)

The carols rang loud and clear— for all to hear!

Little children smiled with glee- at the sight of the Christmas tree.

In the shadows deep, the shadow creatures did not sleep.

Somewhere in the woods a man named Dan ran.

His heart beat fast at the sight of the Shadow Man & that was the last thing he saw on that Joyeux Noël nuit.

18.12.2020

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=wYO03eszsg8

#JoeyuxNoël ©

From light taps on the roof, he awoke in his bed.

So excited he was, just pulled tight as a thread,

to sneak down to see the man in red live,

who had been no more than a symbol from the mere age of five.

The living room empty; no old fool at all,

yet a noise from the kitchen led him

straight down the hall.

Upon his arrival he turned on the lights,

and what did he find but the most tragic of sights;

he looked on with terror as he stared at his now former wife,

while Santa Claus stood, still holding a knife.

Her eyes held no life just a lost vacant stare, and a splatter of blood stained Santa’s chin’s silver hair.

Dressed in his finest red suit,

he never saw the blade coming,

he never felt the red heat escape

as it traveled down, mingled with his suit,

Santa died watching Mrs. Claus laugh.

One moment they were flickering cheerfully, as is the job of Christmas lights. The next moment, they were plucked off of the tree, and dragged on the floor as the maniac approached the kitchen.

His wife was shivering; delicately she picked up the plate to wash it, all her senses on edge. But, these senses failed her, as he reached and grabbed her by her neck. Her scream was smothered, and then the strand of lights was wound around her neck, cutting off her supply of fresh air.

Early December 25th, 2000 I awoke to hear a clatter.

I dove out of my racecar bed to see what was the matter.

After grabbing my Teddy I krept out to the living room carefully.

Only to see my beloved father stabbing Santa gleefully.

Before I could escape my shock and crawl back to bed, my father turned, giggling, to glare at me.

Edith had been a naughty girl all year, and she knew it. Her grandmother tried to warn her to be good or something bad would come, but she never believed it. So it was the night before Christmas when outside the window there arose such a clatter, to which Edith sprang from her bed to see what was the matter. She met not with glee but utter terror that it was not St. Nicholas but his darker half, Krampus, the Christmas devil, came to visit instead, carrying with him his rusty chains and an old burlap sack. With a twisted smile and a wicked cackle, "Merry Christmas, Edith, the naughtiest of all children, for you I did not bring presents yet I bring punishment."

#horror #Christmas #holiday #Krampus #flashfiction #HarryHorrors

Fettered in the trap spun by the beast’s own hands, Marie was unable to escape.

She squeezed her eyes shut as the creature lumbered nearer but the sickly stench of it invaded her nostrils, causing her to gag involuntarily. Its laboured breathing loomed closer, closer. Unable to stand the darkness any longer, Marie opened her eyes in time to see the dripping maw descending toward her face.

Even worse than having to wear Great Aunt Doris’s knitted Christmas jumper was the sloppy kiss that followed.