Folklore

Folklore
By S. L. Edwards

He put out so many lights around the cabin. The lights were colorful, glittering, joyous and all that good holiday bullshit. He had a snowman that waved, a reindeer with a red glowing nose and a green wreath that flickered like a pond in the sun. But there was no sun, this was the darkest time of the year, when the world seemed to hurtle through space a little longer.

            It was no coincidence the old Christians moved their holiday to this time of year. Justin had seen the true face of winter, the evil that seeps out from between the cracks of blackness between the stars, the howling monstrosities that were contained in human memories only as “legends” and etchings in old books. Every step in human civilization had culminated in the invention of the lightbulb, and Justin had been curious (or foolish) enough to try and peak behind the false security curtain of civilization. Moving Christmas was about countering, not converting.

            It had been one whole year since he lost his family last Christmas. The only thing that kept him going now was his mutinous sense of self-preservation.

            His little ten acre plot was covered in lights, strung up in brilliant spider webs through the trees to make up for the absence of nighttime stars. Everything was terribly, awfully still as snow seemed to accumulate out of nowhere on the ground. Nothing fell, and nothing spoke save for the slow, nervous tapping of an awkward clock.

            The moment dawn came he would be safe. He could go back home, no one would get hurt.

            A little lamp next to him went out. He felt sweat underneath his hair, scratching across every part of him like stinging-rat claws. He heard himself sobbing pathetically, scared to death of the prospect of living this night every year for the rest of his life. Outside, the darkness was at bay, but no dark corner would do for Justin. He took a bulb from the pile of cartons on the living room table. His hands were shaking, and with muted curses he finally managed to screw the thing in. He turned the lamp on.

            There was a loud hiss.

            Each light went out at once.

The instant change was too much; he couldn’t see his hands in front of his face! He clawed at the floor and recited every prayer spell that he had memorized since the year before, each syllable streaming together into one pitiful, meaningless mad sound.

With nothing to hold it back, the growling came from across the sightless room. There was a heavy, husky-horse breathing that filled the air. There was the scraping of something long and sharp against the floor. He could smell the wet fur, the still bleeding wound that he had given IT last year.

There was an electric hum and whirr as the lights exploded to life. Justin laughed hysterically, seeing that he was alone in his cabin.

When they went out again, he wasn’t.