Hi, I'm C S Jones and the hardest part of writing is the part where you write about yourself. With that said, I'm 37, from Wrexham, North Wales and only just plucked up enough courage to put myself out there. Horror has been a love of mine for a long time, though I was terrified of everything as a child, even insisting my parents record over Ghostbusters 2! Anyway, I hope you enjoy what I wrote & Merry Christmas!
Connect with CS Jones right HERE.
YULETIDE OFFERINGS
by
CS Jones
My daughter has been missing five years now, snatched away in the dead of night by some... thing.
It was Christmas Eve and I’d been steadily drinking all night, perpetually throwing another empty can on the budding mountain while my wife partied with her friends.
It was Jackie's first night out in months, having nursed Hayley back to health after an accident that saw her best friend drown in the river. Hayley had been found downstream, near death and rambling about how the other girl had started it, that she, "Got what she deserved.” I’m positive she didn't know what she was saying. She was delirious. Hysterical.
When they recovered the other girl’s body, I swear I saw small bite marks. The damage done by the local wildlife hid it well, but still...
Nothing more came of it. We were just glad she was safe; to us, that was what mattered. My angel was safely tucked into bed, ready for Christmas.
Why Jackie's night out had to fall on Christmas Eve, I've no idea. She was five months pregnant and couldn't drink anyway. She’d been so selfish, leaving me to sort everything out.
I was getting the presents out the car when it happened. We hadn't gone crazy that year. Haley was six and we had another on the way. Why waste the money? She wouldn't remember half the things she got. A few dolls and whatever the it thing was, she'd be happy. She was good like that. As for Jackie, it would be maternity clothes and a new baby monitor, but that was it.
I closed the boot and was making my way in, heavy bags in hand when I spotted a shadow moving around Hayley’s room. Strange, I thought.
The figure was far bigger than Hayley. Hunched and clad in some kind of fur coat, it twisted and danced along, something trailing behind. A tail?
Before I let the panic set in, I dismissed it as Hayley's monkey plushie. She must have had her lamp on, wanting to catch a glimpse of the jolly old fat man and her toy had cast its shadow on the curtain. But those things on its head looked like horns.
I made my way in, determined to see for myself. I didn't run. I didn't want to panic myself, though looking back, I wish I had.
Taking the stairs, step by dreaded step, I grew worried. A terrible, anxious miasma consumed me and, suddenly, I didn't want to go up there.
The thought of my daughter and several worst-case scenarios flashed through my head. I knew I was being silly, but when you're drunk, even the silliest of thoughts can warp into something menacing.
My concern grew once I reached the landing. Outside my daughter’s room, scattered across the floor was a carpet of pine needles. But it was the accompanying scent that worried me. It wasn't fresh, not like it should have been. It was moldy. Spoilt. The air was laced with menace and all I wanted to do was run. I swayed on my feet a moment before taking a reluctant breath and opened the door.
A creature stood over my daughter’s bed, leering at me with a clutch of branches. Coated in fur, it was goat-like. Its feet, cloven, its legs, hocked. It did indeed have horns, their size equal parts horrifying and majestic. Its tail whipped the air violently at the sight of me. Its forked tongue tasted the air as it spoke, “I am not for your eyes. Look away, else suffer a similar fate.”
I was a statue, stricken and mortified. “Where... Where’s Hayley?” I managed.
The thing laughed. Throwing its head back, I got a full view of its rotten teeth, gnarled and razor sharp, with strips of meat mushed between them. The creature continued to laugh as it turned.
I hadn't noticed the strap on its shoulder. It was carrying a sack. Sticking out of it were a small hand and a tiny leg, bunched together at the opening. Blood smeared several of the digits, while some of the skin had been flayed away.
A gasp escaped me, then, blackness.
I awoke in a pool of my own vomit, dizzy and confused. Jackie had woken me and I had a very good idea I had some explaining to do.
Hayley's room was empty. No trace of what transpired.
Or Hayley.
Everyone thought I had gotten blackout drunk and someone abducted her. They were partly right. No one listened to my drunken wailings. Even Jackie refused to accept what I’d seen, driving a wedge between us.
Krampus. That was who took my girl. Though, I'm sure you already worked that out. Since then, I've read everything I could, anything which might give me a clue on how to get my little girl back.
He takes the naughty children, you see. The really naughty children. Police thought it was the father of Hayley's dead friend. But I knew better. Even when more children went missing, I knew better.
Now, here we are, five years later, and it’s almost Christmas. Jackie left me a long time ago. She said I was becoming obsessed, dangerous. She and little Nicholas live in another town now, well away from me, but not from Krampus.
I still have the monitor. Every year, I hook it up to Hayley's room. He'll bring her back. It wasn't her fault. Like she said, her friend started it.
I hear the child sobbing through the monitor. Good. I want Krampus to know they're here. Maybe if I keep offering them to him, he'll finally take one and bring my little girl back. I don't think I can get rid of yet another by myself.
I'm on the whiskey these days. I find it reaches places the beer won't; but it does make me tired.
I'm drifting off when the monitor crackles to life.
“Daddy...”