‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

Candles and garlands hung high with care,

But something was stirring in the cold midnight air.

Moon through the window cast shadows so cold,

While whispers and creaks filled the silence untold.

Stocking where hung, yet something felt wrong,

A chill in the room, an eerie, low song.

A figure appeared by the dimming tree light,

With eyes that where empty, devoid of all sight.

Presents layed scattered, the tinsel all torn,

The scent of decay from Christmas joy, now forlorn.

…

Children where tucked in, but not in bed,

For visions of horror danced in their head.

The wind hallowed, the fire now dimmed,

as something approached with a low, eerie hymn.

With fingers like claws and a face so deformed

Out of the chimney a shadow did rise,

It snarled and hissed with red glowing eyes

“Santa?” A child did call,

But the answer was silence as something did fall.

The tree was unlit, stockings where ripped,

And nothing was left except the dred that did sit.

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all joy had died—

Something was coming, and no where to hide.