Ho ho ho

Smallish city. Kids have been disappearing for years without a trace, but only around December. One year, after weeks of what her parents know is pointless searching, given the town's recent history, a little girl is found by the side of the road, bleeding, with torn clothing.

She doesn't say a word. Shock trauma, the psychologist says. It will possibly take years of therapy before she's ready to relate what happened to her.

One night, after she's been released from the hospital and is back home with her parents, her father wakes up to a strange sound coming from his daughter's room. Curious, he slowly makes his way towards her room, straining to make sense of the sound.

He slowly pushes open the door and sees his daughter sitting up in bed, staring out the window at the Christmas decorations next door. She's mumbling something very quietly, and her father inches closer.

"Sweetheart," he asks, "are you okay? What's that you're saying?"

Her body stiffens at the sound of his voice, and she stops talking. Her head slowly turns away from the silent night, and the light from the streetlamp outside illuminates her face in an otherworldly, soft glow. Her eyes are moist, yet no tears fall. She doesn't blink, and as she sits there, staring at her father, she shivers.

"It's okay, honey. What is it? You can tell me," her father speaks slowly, softly, not wanting to upset his little girl. A fragile emotional state, something else the psychologist had told her parents.

Her lips move, but no sound escapes her mouth.

"I didn't hear you, honey. What was that?" her father sits on the edge of her bed, concern and worry etched into his face.

She takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself against something unpleasant. Her voice, barely more than a whisper, trembles a little, but this time her father hears her.

"Ho ho ho."