The burnt offerings of mistletoe and wine lay forgotten on the table. The children had been tucked up in bed, their windows and doors bolted shut. Daniel and Miria huddled together by the hearth and kept the fire burning. It was long past midnight but there was still time enough for Him. They wouldn’t be truly safe until dawn.
Daniel checked the rounds in his shotgun for the hundredth time that night. The fire wasn’t always enough of a deterrent. They had learnt that lesson the hard way.
“He’s very late this year,” Miria whispered. “Maybe…”
But Daniel shook his head. “He’ll come. He always does.”
“We’re running low on wood,” Miria said.
“I’ll get some more.” Daniel left her with the shotgun and ventured outside to the woodpile. It had started to snow. A thin layer of white powder covered the wood. Daniel was about to brush it off when he heard it. Sleigh bells.
“Miria!” he screamed. He ran inside as the sound of the gunshot thundered through the house. By the time he reached her he was already too late.