The night of three shadows

 The Night of Three Shadows

Our town, Winter Hollow, had always prided itself on being the most festive place in the country. Christmas lights adorned every building, carolers filled the streets, and the annual Christmas Eve parade was legendary. But last year, Christmas wasn’t merry. Last year, it became a nightmare.

It started with a strange visitor—a drifter who called himself Klaus. He arrived weeks before the holiday, selling peculiar trinkets from a sleigh-like cart pulled by a single black goat. Klaus was pale, his eyes sharp as broken glass, and he spoke in a voice that sent chills down your spine, even when he smiled.

One day, Klaus stopped at the town square and began handing out free “gifts” to the children. Small carved figurines, each one uniquely grotesque—a horned devil, a monstrous gingerbread man, a twisted Santa with a skeletal grin. Parents protested, but Klaus laughed, saying, “Oh, don’t worry. They’ll all come to life on Christmas Eve.”

Everyone thought it was a sick joke.

Until Christmas Eve.

The parade had just ended, the streets filled with laughter and music, when the first scream cut through the air.

I was with my younger sister, Lily, watching the fireworks, when the ground beneath us trembled. A thunderous roar echoed from the square, followed by the sound of splintering wood. We turned to see the massive Christmas tree collapsing, its lights flickering and dying.

And standing where the tree had been was the Gingerbread Golem.

It was twice the size of the one Old Man Griggs had made years ago, its jagged body covered in dark, dripping frosting. Its candy-cane teeth glistened red as it opened its maw and let out a guttural roar. People scattered as it began smashing everything in sight, its massive, cookie-frosted fists turning carts and lampposts into splinters.

As if that wasn’t terrifying enough, a second figure emerged from the shadows. This one was tall and hulking, with fur-covered legs, curling black horns, and claws like daggers. Krampus. His chains rattled as he stalked through the panicked crowd, his long, forked tongue flicking out as he snatched children off the ground, stuffing them into a burlap sack slung over his shoulder.

Lily screamed and clung to me, but I couldn’t move. My legs felt like jelly as a third figure stepped into view.

Santa Claus.

But this wasn’t the jolly old man from storybooks. This Santa was a skeletal figure draped in tattered red robes, his beard matted and streaked with soot. His eyes burned like embers, and when he grinned, his teeth were yellowed fangs.

“Ho ho ho,” he boomed, his voice hollow and echoing. “Have you all been good this year?”

No one answered. No one dared.

Santa’s grin widened. “No? Well then, let’s make this Christmas one to remember.” He raised a gloved hand, and a fiery red light shot into the sky, exploding like a blood-stained star. The Gingerbread Golem and Krampus let out deafening howls, and chaos erupted.

I grabbed Lily’s hand and ran, weaving through the screaming crowd. The Gingerbread Golem smashed through a row of shops like they were made of paper, and Krampus’s sack squirmed with the cries of terrified children. Santa floated above the carnage, his skeletal sleigh pulled by eight black, decaying reindeer, their glowing eyes scanning for stragglers.

We made it to the church, one of the few stone buildings in town, and barricaded ourselves inside with a handful of others. For hours, we listened to the sounds of destruction outside—roars, screams, and Santa’s hollow laughter echoing through the night.

By dawn, the town was unrecognizable. The square was a wasteland of broken decorations and ash. The Gingerbread Golem was gone, leaving only massive, crumbling footprints behind. Krampus’s sack lay discarded, empty and stained with something dark. And Santa? He had vanished, leaving a single, charred sleigh bell in the center of the square.

We thought it was over.

Until we saw the gifts.

Every doorstep in Winter Hollow had a single present waiting for the family inside. Inside each box was one of Klaus’s grotesque figurines, identical to the ones he had handed out weeks before. But now, they looked… alive. Their tiny eyes moved, their limbs twitched, and their mouths curled into sinister smiles.

No one dared touch them. No one dared throw them away.

This year, Klaus hasn’t returned. But the figurines? They’re still here, sitting on shelves, staring at us with their beady eyes. And as Christmas approaches, their grins seem to grow wider.

We know they’re waiting.

For him.