Naughty or Nice

It was Christmas Eve and snow covered every inch of ground in this nameless town. Flakes piled upon flakes and balanced themselves on slender branches like circus performers.

Tonight the town was happy, tonight the town was asleep. Adults dreamed their perverted dreams and children dreamed their dreams of innocence and toys… but not everyone was sleeping, not tonight.

In a big house on the very edge of town there was one little boy who was still awake. His name was Timmy, and he and his stuffed friend Teddy were currently hiding beneath their bed. The mattress above them was still wet from Timmy’s little accident. That little accident was the reason that he wasn’t calling out for his parents right now, they didn’t like his little accidents at all. Timmy was a big boy and big boys didn’t do that sort of thing. Timmy couldn’t help himself though, not when he had seen that face at the window. That face that was not jolly at all. Not one little bit.

Timmy lay as still as he could and listened to the sounds coming from behind the walls of his room. The creaking and cracking of plasterboard and wood. The breathing and the whispers. Right now, Timmy was more frightened then he had ever been, even more so than that time he had glued Susan’s lips shut. When he’d been waiting at school for his parents to pick him up and take him home and punish him. He’d nearly wet himself then too. He’d been braver that time though, much braver.

Timmy looked deep into Teddy’s eyes.

“I wish that you were big enough to look after me.”

Teddy didn’t answer, Teddy was scared too.

There came a dull thump from the hall outside his bedroom door and Timmy jumped. He was here, that face was inside the house. Floorboards creaked, growing louder and louder. Closer and closer. Then, the creaking stopped and a whisper slipped through the gap below his bedroom door.

“Timmy. Timmy. You’ve been a very bad boy.”

Poor Timmy could only watch as his bedroom door slowly swung open, revealing a pair of big, black, dirty boots. It was all that Timmy could see of the figure but he wished that he could see less. Much less. With Teddy clutched to his chest he slid as far back away from the boots as he could.

He heard a deep laugh.

The boots approached Timmy’s wet bed. A red, bearded face, the eyes hidden behind shadows, came into view. Timmy could only stare and Timmy could only watch as a gloved hand reached out towards him.

Timmy felt his pyjamas grow wet again.

“Merry Christmas, Timmy…”

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