On Christmas Eve, the bells refused to ring. Voices froze in throats; the crunch of snow vanished underfoot. The village lay smothered in silence. Families huddled in fear, their candles flickering.  

At first, the whispers were faint, like the brush of wind through barren branches. They slithered from the shadows, weaving through keyholes and under doors.  

“Listen,” they beckoned, soft and sinister.  

Those who listened too closely found curiosity was a door with no return. Those who leaned too close to the dark were pulled in, their eyes wide with terror, mouths open in screams no one could hear.  

By dawn, the village stood empty.