The morning creeps in slowly, the light barely brushing the frost-laced windows. I stir before the sun can fully rise. Neo lies beside me, tangled in blankets, one hand curled near her cheek. Her hair is spilled across the pillow in wild waves, her lips are parted just slightly, caught in some dream I wish I could see. She looks peaceful, unguarded and beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache. She is my home. I reach out, barely touching a strand of her hair, letting it slip through my fingers like silk. She stirs, just a little, and leans unconsciously towards me.
I whisper her name, not to wake her, but to remind myself she is real. Neo.
She’s my chaos, my calm, my ribbon-bound fate. And as I watch the morning light kiss her skin, I know: I would burn the world down before I would let anything or anyone take this moment from us.
My senses prickle with something, something off… alive in the quiet. There are voices… and they’re not human.
I slip from the bed like a shadow peeling off the wall, careful not to wake Neo. The voices are hushed but sound urgent; they’re muffled by old wood and holiday clutter. I move like smoke, silent and unseen, hugging the edges of the corridorwhere the light doesn’t reach. My boots make no sound on the creaky floorboards.
Around the corner, just past the crooked clock, I find them.
Three elves. The two from yesterday and another small, sharp-eyed and jittery one. They stand in a loose triangle near the fireplace, whispering in tones that seem to make the flames flicker nervously.
The third elf gasps so hard he drops his peppermint spoon. "You mean… he’s going to replace Santa?"
A pause. Then all three burst into frantic whisper-yelling.
"He’s a vampire! He drinks blood, not cocoa!"
"He doesn’t even like cookies!"
"He broods! Santa doesn’t brood!"
The first elf, Ice, paces in tight circles. "But the Council said we need someone with an edge. Someone who can handle the Christmas chaos. A Santa specially and only for the haunted town."
"And the witch? Her role… What is her role in all of this?"
Ice clasps his hands together. "She is important. She is the reason he will behave. She can incorporate the Christmas spirit into that town."
"Ah, I see..."
I raise an eyebrow. Replace Santa? Me? I barely survived not killing the damn elf. But the idea… it has a sour taste that I like.
The elves lean in, voices dropping to a conspiratorial hum.
"If he takes the job," one whispers, "will we have to redesign the suit?"
"And the sleigh," another adds. "The reindeer? Will they be replaced with… bats?"
I smile.
Maybe Creepmas is about to get a lot darker, and a lot more fun.
Suddenly, one stick arm twitches, creaking faintly of packed ice. Before I could even blink, a cold and knobby twigbrushes against my leg. My eyes narrow, and I move without a word, fast as a shadow and smooth as a spell. I grab his scarf with one hand, flicking the other one to slice through his neck cleanly. His head tumbles to the floor with a sort of thud, it lands face-up and smiles at me. When did he get behind me?
The snowman’s head lays silently on the floor, lopsided and grinning. One stick arm twitches from his body, waving at me.
Fuck. Neo is going to be pissed.
***
The door creaks open in the mirror’s silvered surface. I step inside, looking like a ghost with a pulse… without a pulse… I am dead. My expression is unreadable, my presence unmistakable, as I’m holding the snowman’s head in my hands. Trailing behind me like a parade of bad decisions, is the decapitated snowman. His head bounces gently in my arms, his coal eyes staring blankly, his carrot nose askew.
Neo blinks.
I meet her gaze in the mirror, one brow raised. She turns slowly, lips parted, caught between horror and laughter.
"You decapitated him?" She asks while standing up, her body covered in a red silky robe.
