Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
When down through the chimney, a man soon did creep, his garb satin shadows, wrapped from his head to his feet.
Through the home he swept silently, as he moved room to room, each one found wrapped snug, as if in a womb.
It was not too long then, and he was back up the chimney, as the wind whistled a dark hymn, the silence of night starting to settle back in.
As he left, a soft whisper “Merry Christmas, goodnight..” And into the umbra, he vanished from sight.
And come Christmas Morn’, when all through the house, not a single one stirred, not a soul could be found.
For in the night they had left, along with the blood, still pooled in their beds; as each one of them slept, the rest of the dead.
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Credits to: crimsonire92
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