I don't understand. This is supposed to be the greatest time of the year. I don't believe this. This is supposed to be love. And I don't want his to end. This is supposed to last forever. You promised me eternity.

We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas . . .

The lyrics of my favorite Christmas song filled my head. Normally this is my favorite time of the year. But this time something is different. I moved in with my boyfriend just a week ago. He said on Christmas he would have a surprise for me. One I knew had to be a proposal. What else?

Ian. He might not have been the handsomest guy I've known, but there was an almost enticing air surrounding him. His semi-long black hair fell around the piercing gaze of those dark eyes. He was tall, slightly muscled. A thin scar ran along his jawbone, although I never queried over its origin. Maybe I should have. . .

Because something sick and twisted haunts this house. I am not used to your house, even after the week I have been here. You welcomed me, and yet I feel strange. The single time I have spoken these thoughts aloud to you, you just smiled that crooked, seemingly false smile. I almost wonder if you are hiding something.

A mere three and a half hours until midnight brings Christmas here. Darkness seems to be creeping in, filling in every crack of light. The shadows seem to grow and spread. In the blink of an eye, everything has transformed. I run to the door, only to find it locked. How can a front door be locked from the outside? I check the windows, with an all to similar result. Where are you?

I run up the stairs, only to find the long hallway is not straight as it was, but twisted. Darkness truly has crept into all the corners in this house. I skidded down the hallway, nearly tripping and falling flat on my face on your ruined rug. I catch myself in time, only to hear something blood curdling. Your voice, filled with malice, an edge of sadism.

You cannot get out.

I freeze briefly. I can only think of your face, which I see at every door I attempt to open as I go down the hallway. Each endeavor fails, a ghostly image of you manifesting in front of every one, mocking me most cruelly. I realize your eyes really are piercing, causing little pricks on my skin, tainting me with poisons I have no chance of ever ridding my soul of.

Has something corrupted you? Some ongoing struggle you have never mentioned? It scares me. A lot. Suddenly my favorite Christmas song begins to play through my head again. I realize it is not the same. Nothing is.

We wish you a scary Christmas, we wish you a scary Christmas, we wish you a scary Christmas. . .

Why do you release your relentless wrath upon me? After I check every door and window upstairs, I race back downstairs. You taunt me at every turn, confusing my mind, melding my senses together until they are undistinguishable from one another. I can barely fathom any of this. I feel ensnared by fear.

Frantic, I recheck every single possible means of escape, hoping, praying for success. Is perpetual imprisonment and torture inevitable? I thought before we would be together, that it was love and anticipation that made my stomach churn when you came near, but maybe I was only being tricked. You really weer enticing me into believing every word you whispered. I had known something was off, but refused to believe it. Now I am forced to accept this distorted reality.

I am trapped. I run back upstairs, to the end of the hall and crawl into a corner. I rock back and forth, hands covering my ears. I don't want to hear you anymore. Leave me alone. I don't love you. Not after this. Whatever this is.

Footsteps, sure and slow, echo. It could only be you, after who knows how long I've knelt here, full of fear and desperation. My gaze is forced up, thought I am nearly blind in this dark house. I can only see a darker shadow moving closer amidst the others. I feel your gaze upon me, the pinpricks all over again. Only these are real. This is you, not some apparition, rendered before me as I tried so desperately to escape. No, this is you, come for me at last.

Seven minutes left.

Your voice causes me to cringe. I feel a sudden impulse to hurl. Pain. Agony. I don't want this to be my burden to bear. Why? I don't understand. There is a reason, there is always a reason. There must be; there is a reason for everything. At least, I used to believe it was so.

You approach. You stop so close to me that I can practically feel your breath. I stand, shakily, nearly falling, but standing nonetheless. I close my eyes, exhaling deeply. You lean in, as if for a kiss. I can feel you drawing too close. And everything fades away into oblivion.

A single, solitary house down, someone hears a faint sound. A scream of pure agony. A near silent scream. That someone would never guess that someone had just been killed in the neighboring house. Killed on the exact stroke of Christmas.