Timothy had always loved Christmas. It was his favorite time of year. He loved the lights, the music, the presents, the movies, the laughter… he loved it all. Each Christmas Eve, Timothy’s parents would tuck him gently into bed. They told him he’d better get to sleep, because Santa doesn’t visit the houses of children who are still awake. As he lay in bed, his heart would race in excitement, and he would wear himself out as he imagined opening up all of his wonderful Christmas gifts the next morning. Soon he’d be fast asleep, with a smile on his face. That was the usual routine. But this Christmas Eve was different. Timothy just couldn’t fall asleep. He’d tried everything.…

“Sit, Terry. We have a long summer ahead of us.” His voice seems almost to reach out and touch me as he speaks. But this is not a pleasant touch. It is a touch which turns the skin cold wherever felt, and it causes the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. His words seem hollow and faint, and float to my ears like a whisper. I have no proof they were ever spoken at all, save for the chill which they force down my spine. He crawls along the floor, obscured in darkness, scraping His nails across the tile as He does so. A chair stands in the center of the room. He finds His…