Free Christmas Tales of Terror by Chris Priestley

her father, coming and kissing her on the top of the head.
    The two girls hung their stockings from nails banged into the mantelpiece and then climbed into bed. Aunt Judith tucked her daughter in and kissed her on the forehead. She did the same to Elizabeth as she passed her bed.
    ‘Goodnight, Aunt,’ said Elizabeth.
    ‘Goodnight to you, dear child,’ she said. ‘Christmas Day tomorrow! Now straight off to sleep, you two. No chatting. Father Christmas won’t come to little girls who chat.’
    There was no danger of that. Theresa was asleep before Aunt Judith reached the bottom of the stairs – asleep and happily snoring.
    Elizabeth pulled the covers over her head and thought of her lovely new dress, and how jealous Isabel Fullerton would be when she saw it. And, with such pleasing thoughts in her head, she drifted off to sleep.
    In her dream, Isabel grabbed her arm and began to shake her quite hard. It was not the reaction Elizabeth had hoped for and she awoke to discover Theresa standing by her bed.
    ‘He’s coming,’ she whispered.
    ‘What?’ said Elizabeth, blinking and trying to adjust her eyes to the gloom.
    Then she heard it too. The same noise as the night before. In the chimney. A rustling.
    ‘Father Christmas isn’t coming yet, Theresa,’ said Elizabeth with a sigh. ‘It’s too early. Go back to bed. You don’t want him to catch you still awake, do you?’
    ‘But, Lizzie –’
    ‘Never call me that!’ hissed Elizabeth.
    Even in that poor light she could see Theresa’s lip was beginning to tremble. Elizabeth resisted the urge to slap her.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Elizabeth stiffly. ‘I shouldn’t have been cross with you. But I’m very tired. Please go back to sleep. Father Christmas won’t come while you’re awake.’
    Theresa did not move. Elizabeth closed her eyes and tried to ignore her.
    ‘Can I sleep with you? I’m scared of the noise.’
    ‘A minute ago you said it was Father Christmas,’ Elizabeth replied.
    ‘But you said it isn’t,’ said Theresa. ‘If it isn’t him, what is it?’
    There was another little outbreak of rustling in the chimney, louder this time.
    ‘Oh, very well,’ said Elizabeth, throwing back the bedclothes.
    Elizabeth wasn’t at all keen on those noises either, and, if she was being completely honest with herself, she was grateful to have the company. Rats! Elizabeth shuddered again.
    Theresa climbed into Elizabeth’s bed and, following a short negotiation over space and blanket, the two girls settled down to sleep.
    After what seemed like only a few minutes, Elizabeth awoke again with a start. She sat up and stared at the hearth as soot began to fall in little puffs, with small pieces of plaster pinging against the metalwork of the grate. Theresa snored contentedly, oblivious.
    ‘Rats,’ said Elizabeth to herself, with a little whimper. She tried to nudge Theresa awake, but to no effect.
    Suddenly there was a soft thud as something landed in the fire basket and then rolled out on to the hearth in a cloud of soot. As Elizabeth stared in wide-eyed incredulity, a figure rose up next to the stockings hanging on the mantelpiece.
    It was Father Christmas! Theresa was right. Elizabeth closed her eyes as he turned round. It couldn’t really count that she had seen him from the back. She snuggled under her covers, grinning to herself.
    She strained her ears to hear him moving, but she could hear nothing at all. She waited and waited . . . but eventually could not wait any longer. Rolling back the covers, she cautiously peeked out.
    Standing beside her bed, only inches away, was a boy, his face and hands glowing blue against the darkness. He was a skinny, sad-looking figure covered in soot, but impossibly pale beneath that grubby coating. He held out his arms towards her.
    ‘ S-s-s-so cold ,’ he said, with a voice that sounded like wind in a chimney.
    Elizabeth screamed and screamed and she opened her mouth to scream again, but this time no sound