Free Hogfather by Terry Pratchett

room, leaping into bed from a distance as a precaution against claws.
    There was a metallic tzing as Susan withdrew the poker from the little brass stand it shared with the tongs and the coal shovel.
    She sighed. Normality was what you made it.
    She went into the children’s bedroom and leaned over as if to tuck Twyla up. Then her hand darted down and under the bed. She grabbed a handful of hair. She pulled.
    The bogeyman came out like a cork but before it could get its balance it found itself spread-eagled against the wall with one arm behind its back. But it did manage to turn its head, to see Susan’s face glaring at it from a few inches away.
    Gawain bounced up and down on his bed.
    “Do the Voice on it! Do the Voice on it!” he shouted.
    “Don’t do the Voice, don’t do the Voice!” pleaded the bogeyman urgently.
    “Hit it on the head with the poker!”
    “Not the poker! Not the poker!”
    “It’s you, isn’t it,” said Susan. “From this afternoon…”
    “Aren’t you going to poke it with the poker?” said Gawain.
    “Not the poker!” whined the bogeyman.
    “New in town?” whispered Susan.
    “Yes!” The bogeyman’s forehead wrinkled with puzzlement. “Here, how come you can see me?”
    “Then this is a friendly warning, understand? Because it’s Hogswatch.”
    The bogeyman tried to move. “You call this friendly?”
    “Ah, you want to try for unfriendly?” said Susan, adjusting her grip.
    “No, no, no, I like friendly!”
    “This house is out of bounds, right?”
    “You a witch or something?” moaned the bogeyman.
    “I’m just…something. Now…you won’t be around here again, will you? Otherwise it’ll be the blanket next time.”
    “No!”
    “I mean it. We’ll put your head under the blanket.”
    “No!”
    “It’s got fluffy bunnies on it…”
    “No!”
    “Off you go, then.”
    The bogeyman half fell, half ran toward the door.
    “’s not right,” it mumbled. “You’re not s’posed to see us if you ain’t dead or magic…’s not fair…”
    “Try number nineteen,” said Susan, relenting a little. “The governess there doesn’t believe in bogeymen.”
    “Right?” said the monster hopefully.
    “She believes in algebra, though.”
    “Ah. Nice.” The bogeyman grinned hugely. It was amazing the sort of mischief that could be caused in a house where no one in authority thought you existed.
    “I’ll be off, then,” it said. “Er. Happy Hogswatch.”
    “Possibly,” said Susan, as it slunk away.
    “That wasn’t as much fun as the one last month,” said Gawain, getting between the sheets again. “You know, when you kicked him in the trousers—”
    “Just you two get to sleep now,” said Susan.
    “Verity said the sooner we got to sleep the sooner the Hogfather would come,” said Twyla conversationally.
    “Yes,” said Susan. “Unfortunately, that might be the case.”
    The remark passed right over their heads. She wasn’t sure why it had gone through hers, but she knew enough to trust her senses.
    She hated that kind of sense. It ruined your life. But it was the sense she had been born with.
    The children were tucked in, and she closed the door quietly and went back to the schoolroom.
    Something had changed.
    She glared at the stockings, but they were unfulfilled. A paper chain rustled.
    She stared at the tree. Tinsel had been twined around it, badly pasted-together decorations had been hung on it. And on top was the fairy made of—
    She crossed her arms, looked up at the ceiling, and sighed theatrically.
    “It’s you, isn’t it?” she said.
    SQUEAK?
    “Yes, it is. You’re sticking out your arms like a scarecrow and you’ve stuck a little star on your scythe, haven’t you…?”
    The Death of Rats hung his head guiltily.
    SQUEAK.
    “You’re not fooling anyone.”
    SQUEAK.
    “Get down from there this minute!”
    SQUEAK.
    “And what did you do with the fairy?”
    “It’s shoved under a cushion on the chair,” said a voice from the