The Christmas Nightmare


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1. Prologue

This is not your usual Christmas story. It doesn't end with everyone having a big hug like they normally do. Those stories make me feel sick, all that sissy stuff about love and happiness. Life isn't like that, life is full of misery and hurt. No this is a much more realistic story, it ends with someone doing something which everyone does, dying. I may be a writer and I may make up stories for a living , but that doesn't mean I'm going to lie and say that life is always going to be perfect because spoiler alert, IT ISN'T!!!!!! Life is full of pain and hurt and death. I write stories that may not be true, but at least I don't lie and say that life is going to be perfect. My name is Ezebar Black. I know, what sort of parents call their only child EZEBAR? Well my ones that's who. This story is their story.

When I was born my mother began to drink, she couldn't go out because she was always feeling ill the next day a girl would always pass my window each day,she smiled at me her ginger curls half covering her face. Soon snow began to fall and the girl's cheeks turned a rosy pink, it was December. When mother felt better she would tell me about the snow and Christmas, those were the times I cherished. One morning, on my 12th birthday, Christmas Eve, I heard a shuffling downstairs, I quietly moved downstairs, down the wooden stairs dodging splinters. I got into the kitchen, it was plain, a big green fridge with dents in the middle, a tiny wooden dining table which if you put your hands on it you got terrible splinters, two battered chairs and a stove. There at the door was a small white envelope. The letter that changed my life forever. It was a letter about my Father. It said on it :

This is a letter about your father. I can not tell you all of his story here, I do not have enough time. I knew they would come for me, and I am sorry to say this, but you will never see me again. I know I haven't been a good parent to you, infact I would go as far as to say that I have been an awfull parent, but I hope you will understand why I did what I did after you know the whole story. On the computer, search for the website

www.thehauntedchristmas.com and search for Charles Dixon. That was your actual fathers name. I am so sorry that you had to hear about it this way, I wish I could have told you all of this in person, and I would have when you got to the the right age (which is 12) but they came for me before I could tell you. I have to go now, they are coming through the door,

I always have, and I always will love you with all my heart,

your Mother

 

Almost as soon as I had finished reading this, I turned around and saw my mother suspended in mid-air. It looked like she had been hung, but at the time I thought that was impossible as there was no rope. But then again, I did think that it was very suspicious though, as she had deep, deep purple bruising on her neck. I knew that she was dead immediately for some reason. I didn't cry, and I still haven't forgiven my mother for the way she behaved. Even all of these years later, I still think that she deserved to die. What happened next still haunts me though. I was getting something from the fridge, I can't remember what, and while I had my back turned, my dead mother started moving closer and closer to me until she was right behind me an d then let out the most blood-curdling scream that I have ever heard. When she had finished screaming she turned into a pile of glowing ashes that begged to be put on the flaming embers that stopped us from freezing to death in the dead of winter. After I had found the courage to sweep up the ashes and place them on the fire, the fire erupted, sending sparks and bits of soot everywhere. I had to jump back to stop myself from being burnt. I started shaking uncontrollably. After about half an hour I eventually found the strength to drag myself up our stairs with the letter in my hand and searched on our goodness knows how old computer the website that my mother had told me too. In these next chapters you shall read what I read all those years ago.  

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