It was the 24th of December, a cold, crisp night. Snow piled high, not a footprint in sight. The sounds of emptiness echoed through the trees, a silence so heavy it pressed against the ears.

From an old wooden cabin, a thin puff of smoke drifted into the night sky like a bird set free.

An old but nimble hand slowly opened the door, revealing the dim glow cast by the fire burning inside. Then the figure leapt out into the snow and disappeared among the trees, leaving behind the stench of decay.

He moved swiftly, from branch to branch, the red of his coat flickering through the dark like a dying flame. Silence followed wherever he went—until he stopped, motionless, at the edge of the forest.

Below him, the lights of the town of Ellenwood flickered in his eyes like candles ready to burn out. This was no jolly bringer of gifts or coal. No. This was something older, darker, summoned by words soaked in hatred.

He was here to hunt.

No man, woman, or child could escape. Earlier that morning, a young girl named Cathy—no more than nine—had shouted, “I hate you! I wish you would just die!” after her parents sent her out into the cold to gather firewood.

Those words had been enough.

Now, as midnight crept in, the figure stepped from the trees. Before dawn, only smoldering embers would remain where homes once stood. And in the silence that followed, Ellenwood would never know peace again