It was a long time ago. Back when I was about twelve years old, maybe even younger. My family and I were going through a rough time. My grandma passed away and my aunt was paralyzed from a stroke, and one of my cousins went through a miscarriage.

It was so bad that I started to have panic attacks every once in a while. But needless to say, I was still excited for Christmas. It meant that all my trouble will be going away, all the problems from last year will begin anew. I was happy for once.

However, my Christmas gift was not a sense of relief but rather a sense of trouble. I didn’t understand why this whole thing was happening to me. And it’s hard to believe that it all started because I got a…simple postcard that said “Merry Christmas”.

In fact, that’s all I got for Christmas that year. My parents said that there was more gifts but they couldn’t find them. My siblings they didn’t get anything either.

I checked the fireplace and there was some traces of footprints. I looked up at the chimney, and sure enough there was more footprints, heading away from the fireplace.