Every year Loren Eaton hosts something he calls 'Advent Ghosts' where he continues the Victorian tradition of swapping spooky creepy stories around the holidays. I've been participating for... uh, a while? I think since 2013.
Loren asks the participants to write a drabble, which is a story that is exactly 100 words long. I always go over. Way, way over. Always.
Except this year.
This year, because it's the ten year anniversary of Advent Ghosts I decided to buckle down and actually follow the rules for once. Merry Giftmas, Loren! :)
This story will be publicly posted on December 21st to be included in the official Advent Ghosts event, but my patrons get it a few days early.
(or, "Give me coal, will ye?")
The needle-sharp blade, honed all year long, slid into the old man’s belly easy as jelly. A twist of her wrist, an upward thrust, and it was done.
The crimson spray of his blood steamed against the snow, becoming a pale red slush which spread toward the feet of the only witness—a grinning snowman. The pink tinge climbed the snowman’s torso as the man’s murderer admired her work, oblivious to how, once the colour stained its face, the snowman’s smile twisted into a snarl.
Awareness came with a scream, abruptly choked off by stick-like fingers wrapped around her throat.