‘‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the flat not a creature was stirring not even a rat. I lay up in waiting through the dark winter’s night staring into the outhouse with its bleeding candle lights.I thought of my sister alone in her bed,hallucinating of creatures that danced around her head.The frost blew past the windows in towers like smoke enough to make a healthy man stumble and choke.‘Twas then that I heard a peculiar sound,a creaking and crunching of bones on heavy ground.I stumbled up and splashed all through my bedroom door over puddles of liquid dank and impure.Round the bend,I did creak through the spiritless dim mesmerised by old socks that were stacked to the brim.Past the tree and it’s twinkle of dripping red I clambered up the staircase,straying further from my bed.I crunched through the locks which gave a squeal and louder and louder did the thumping appeal.I saw his mottled green skin that clung to his bones,his strangled white beard and his eyes empty as stone.He rode a chariot led by seven porcelain beasts,each chained to the ground as they ogled the feast.I nearly fell of the step in delight but in a gallop of bones he charged into the night.But the last thing I heard as the light burned my eye,

“Merry Christmas to all and one day you’ll all die!”