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The image was so splendidly mundane she almost turned away, a self-deprecating laugh caught in her throat, when she noticed what exactly he was unpacking.

Decorations. A dozen brown boxes sat in the middle of his otherwise barren living room, and he was unpacking Christmas decorations. A snowman cookie jar, an angel figurine, and several other knick-knacks in various arrangements of the same seasonal colours.

Devra shuddered.

This man was ridiculous. That was certain. But the only way his excessively festive interior design scheme would punish her was if she kept looking at it. Right? But then her gaze slid to the front of his house, and she caught a glimpse of a distressing flash of white.

No, it couldn’t be.

She crept to the front window and peered through for a better look at his vehicle parked out front.

An unmarked white van.

Seriously.

Devra stumbled away from the window. With a jittery hand, she poured herself another coffee and sat down at her desk. “I could use a distraction right now, Squally. Tell me a joke, would you?”

“Of course! Why was the robot tired when it returned home from the office?”

“Why?”

A beat. A single pause Devra had been playing around with in the code for several weeks—comedic timing was not a natural strength of the artificially intelligent.

“It was a hard drive.”

Devra’s body softened. “Absolutely perfect. The timing. The emphasis.”

Squally gave a semicircle smile, its round black eyes widening a touch at the compliment. Devra returned the smile. Her work was her great love, a low-risk version that suited her just fine.

She’d been wary of new relationships for years, having already been dumped three times in December. Not to mention the crushing loss of her childhood best friend after she announced her impending move across the world on December 25th, in a text message, no less, when they were supposed to be starting university together the following year. Her last real relationship had ended almost six years ago, and since then, Devra had resigned herself to the obvious conclusion that making new attachments—romantic or otherwise—was a terrible idea. All she wanted was to get through this dreadful month as unscathed as possible and make Squally the best companion/virtual assistant a person could ask for.

Tinkering further with Squally’s interpersonal subroutines, Devra managed to stay on task until a loud thump had her jumping in her seat. Hairs rose all over her body.

She tried to return to work. Tried to stay focused on a concrete task with a measurable, predictable outcome. Tried to ignore the buzz in her brain about the less predictable ways the Christmas season might torture her this year. But she couldn’t. “Out of sight, out of mind” only worked if whatever you weren’t looking at wasn’t quite possibly trying to kill you. She needed to look. Needed to try to stay one step ahead of the curse.

Devra ran back to the side window and pulled open the drapes.

A human-sized nutcracker stared directly out of her neighbour’s window, piercing her with its sinister black eyes. Its square mouth was aggressively red, its teeth bared. Then the thing moved. Devra jerked back as the creature-come-to-life raised its sceptre, its mouth opening and closing as if putting a hex on her. Another one.

She tugged the curtains shut, but they popped open again of their own accord to reveal the menacing face. Devra gave a shriek and yanked the curtains closed with more force.

Her heart was pounding now. She moved restlessly about the house, searching for something to settle her mind. But the image of the possessed nutcracker staring at her, reciting some spell, lifting its sceptre like a witch’s wand, was difficult to block out.

Almost compulsively, she found herself back at the window.

Devra looked over the head of the eerie nutcracker, careful not to make eye contact and risk falling under its unholy enchantment. She spotted the same two women from yesterday aiding and abetting the man’s holiday mania. They were so similar in appearance they had to be twins. Was he dating one of them? The three of them were putting finishing touches on a tree so tall it scraped the nine-foot ceiling, standing a little too close to each other, bumping hips, patting shoulders affectionately. Was he dating both of them?

This didn’t seem right. Not right at all.

Her state of mind continued its wayward trajectory, the afternoon whizzing by in a series of snapshots: her spying on them making cookies, spying on them watching Christmas movies, spying on them decorating. So. Much. Decorating. Until one of the women turned her way.

Devra tried to jerk away, letting the curtains fall closed, but she knew it was too late. She’d seen the glare in the woman’s eyes. In that instant, she deduced these two petite blondes were not members of some bizarre love triangle. They were family. Probably her neighbour’s sisters, because she recalled seeing a similarly protective expression on David’s face over the years when she’d get teased on the playground or dumped just in time for turkey dinner.

The next thing Devra knew, ear-splitting music was leaking into her home.

Fa-la-la-la-las followed by “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer” followed by “Jingle Bells” (in both traditional and rock formats). The tunes ricocheted through her like marbles encased in glass. When she gathered the nerve to peer next door again, she saw they had opened their window. In the middle of winter. With flurries of snow in the air. And they were blasting Christmas carols.

This time—oh, this time!—it was undeniable. There was no more doubt in Devra’s mind; this was an intentional attack.