Bad Christmas

‘I have heard of this place’ she whispered. ‘It is said that evil was done here. Satan’s disciples carried out their work in this very graveyard. One night, long ago, the men from the town vowed to put an end to the atrocities which were committed here and descended upon the village of Bad Christmas. The evil was destroyed and the houses and cottages burnt to the ground. This is the legend of Bad Christmas. This is the reason for its reputation. A well-deserved reputation. This is why I brought you here. Stranger, meet my kin……’

At once a noise, a terrible noise emanated from the churchyard. From inside the chapel came a howling, a dreadful bellowing, as if all the fiends of hell had returned to Bad Christmas that November night. I panicked and turned to Laura, rooted to the spot in horror. Except Laura was no longer by my side. The fog had engulfed her, swallowed her from my vision. She was gone.

I ran, feet pounding the cobbles of the churchyard, fleeing for my life as fast as I could, shouting, shouting all the time, ‘Laura, Laura, run Laura, go back to the road, don’t stay here, LAURA WHERE ARE YOU!’ but there was no reply. Why had I come to this evil place? All the memories of that Christmas long ago came flooding back, that moment when I learnt that Mum and Dad were NEVER coming home. I screamed, petrified as the noise grew louder, the fog grew thicker and I fled through the gates I had passed with Laura, whoever she was. Suddenly I slipped, stumbled on the cold, wet cobbles, my temple struck the ground, and I descended into darkness. I remembered no more.

Some time later I emerged from the mist once more to find myself surrounded by concerned faces. I was offered a drink and was told to stay quite still for fear of causing further damage to myself. An ambulance was on its way. ‘Why did you leave so soon’ my host asked. ‘We noticed that you had left the house. Your obsession with Bad Christmas came to mind and we all followed you as best we could, but lost you in the fog. Then we heard that ghastly noise and found you lying on the cobbles. Why the hell did you come here? How did you find your way? You’ve never been to the house before, so how on earth did you find your way across the fields to Bad Christmas?’

‘Laura brought me here’ I answered. Blank faces.

‘Laura. You know. Long black hair. Blue eyes. Laura brought me…’

At once I knew that no-one of that name had been at the party. No -one knew of her. No-one had seen her. No-one but me. A chill ran through my body as I realised how I had come to be in the churchyard that night, and who, or what, had guided me there.

I set off for home four days later. Nobody could explain what had happened. In fact, I never mentioned the name of Bad Christmas again. As I drove over the brow of the hill, I glanced over and saw that the faded sign had been removed, presumably to prevent other unwary visitors from being tempted , lured, entranced by the mysticism of that name. I was sure I saw a glimpse of long, flowing black hair as I sped away up the long, winding hill. Just my over-active imagination playing tricks again. Maybe…