Sebastian Gregory - A Christmas Horror Story

On the night before Christmas, lock the doors to the house…

Forget the jolly old man in his red, big-buttoned suit. Because another creature is up on the roof, preparing for his annual visit to little children everywhere.

With a belt of knives round his waist, a writhing bag on his back and a Santa-sized appetite, he’s a little…different to the St Nick you might be expecting.

And you can leave out all the carrots and mince pies you like…but it’s you he’s after.

A horrid Christmas to all, and a terrible night.

Praise for Sebastian Gregory

‘It reminded me of Tim Burton’s ‘The Corpse Bride’ and ‘The Nightmare before Christmas’ which I really loved - Candy’s Bookcaseon The Boy in the Cemetery

‘Within the pages of The Boy in the Cemetery, I found that incredible part of my imagination that I realise I’d lost somewhere in the process of growing up. I was enthralled, entranced, and completely enchanted.I would happily, happily, happily read anything by Sebastian all day long.’ -5 cupcakes from Becca’s Booksto The Boy in the Cemetery

‘Every now and then you come across a book that blows you away, this is one of those books.’ - 5 stars from Nicky Peacockto The Asylum for Fairy Tale Creatures

‘This novella is magnificent. It is hauntingly magical.’ - The Modest Vergeon The Gruesome Adventures of Alice in Undeadland

Also by Sebastian Gregory

The Gruesome Adventures of Alice in Undeadland

The Asylum for Fairy Tale Creatures

The Boy in the Cemetery

A Christmas Horror Story

Sebastian Gregory

www.CarinaUK.com

SEBASTIAN GREGORY

(pronounced Gre-gory) writes from a cabin in the middle of a haunted wood. His inspiration comes from the strange and sorrowful whispers amongst the ghastly looking trees. Sebastian is only permitted to leave the shadowy candlelight of the cabin once a story is complete, when it is unleashed upon the world of the living. Sebastian writes for the younger readers as they are easier to terrify than adults whose imaginations died long ago.

When not writing in a cabin in the middle of a haunted wood, Sebastian lives in Manchester with his family and various animals.

You can email Sebastian on writtenbyseb@hotmail.co.uk—he would love your feedback.

You can follow him on Twitter @wordsbyseb

You can stalk him on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/writtenbyseb

For naughty children everywhere.

Contents

Cover

Blurb On the night before Christmas, lock the doors to the house… Forget the jolly old man in his red, big-buttoned suit. Because another creature is up on the roof, preparing for his annual visit to little children everywhere. With a belt of knives round his waist, a writhing bag on his back and a Santa-sized appetite, he’s a little…different to the St Nick you might be expecting. And you can leave out all the carrots and mince pies you like…but it’s you he’s after. A horrid Christmas to all, and a terrible night.

Book List Also by Sebastian Gregory The Gruesome Adventures of Alice in Undeadland The Asylum for Fairy Tale Creatures The Boy in the Cemetery

Title Page A Christmas Horror Story Sebastian Gregory www.CarinaUK.com

Author Bio SEBASTIAN GREGORY (pronounced Gre-gory) writes from a cabin in the middle of a haunted wood. His inspiration comes from the strange and sorrowful whispers amongst the ghastly looking trees. Sebastian is only permitted to leave the shadowy candlelight of the cabin once a story is complete, when it is unleashed upon the world of the living. Sebastian writes for the younger readers as they are easier to terrify than adults whose imaginations died long ago. When not writing in a cabin in the middle of a haunted wood, Sebastian lives in Manchester with his family and various animals. You can email Sebastian on writtenbyseb@hotmail.co.uk —he would love your feedback. You can follow him on Twitter @wordsbyseb You can stalk him on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/writtenbyseb

Dedication For naughty children everywhere.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Epilogue

Endpages

Copyright

Prologue

The forest of Bern, Saint Nicholas’s Eve, 1514

It was Saint Nicholas’s Eve and, like all the children in her village who had been tucked into their beds, Greta could not or would not sleep. Her tummy was full of butterflies and her head brimmed with fairy dust. Her six-year-old little girl’s imagination was teasing her with things that Saint Nicholas would bring. A new wooden doll, called Anna or Freda. No, definitely Anna, she decided. No, Freda. And perhaps Saint Nicholas would be even more generous than usual, and bring new gloves or boots or a scarf to protect her from the cold. Greta had made efforts to be especially good this year, always helping Mama with her chores, fetching water from the well when asked, feeding Henry the cat, bringing wood from the outskirts of the forest to fuel the fire.

Of course, presents were only the beginning, Greta thought, and warm excitement bubbled through her as she imagined tomorrow’s feast. Mama would cover the table with hazel, berries and sweet yellow forest potatoes. Papa would prepare a freshly hunted pheasant, the succulent meat dripping, and he would make dark gravy from the bird’s fat. For pudding there would be a dark dumpling of fruit and goats’ cream. Her mouth watered at the thought. Throughout the day, Mama and Greta had worked hard to decorate the wooden lodge. Mama hung evergreen holly leaves on the wooden tree trunks that were the lodge’s walls. She’d fetched a stool and stood higher to wrap fir tree branches and mistletoe around the wood beams that crossed the ceiling. Greta had filled a bowl with mint leaves and pumpkin bread for a hungry Saint Nicholas as a thank you for what he would bring. Papa had watched and smiled through his dark beard as he sharpened his cleaver on a stone, smoking his bone pipe and sitting in his quilted armchair. With each stroke of the small stone against the blade, tiny orange sparks had escaped, hissing at times when they landed on the wooden floor.

Greta had been put to bed hours ago, as the sun went down and the wolves of the forest howled their evening chorus. Papa had lifted her up in his huge arms and placed her on his shoulders, cantering and neighing while jumping around and, finally, hoisting Greta up the stairs made from oak branches to the mezzanine where her handmade, wooden bed overlooked the lodge. Greta had giggled so hard, she thought her sides would split with joy.

‘ Schlaf gut meine tochter, ein traum von liebe und abenteuer ,’ said Mama, telling her daughter to dream nice dreams while at the same time plaiting the tiny girl’s long, blonde hair into pigtails. With her nightgown on, Greta lay on her goose-feather mattress and snuggled under the patchwork blankets. Mama and Papa kissed her forehead and told her they loved her and to sleep well, just as they had done every night for the last six years. Papa lit the river-stone fireplace and started burning the logs before barring the oak doors and window shutters, just as he did every night. And so the bitter cold of winter and the singing wolves were kept at bay, and the family who lived in the woods were safe. Greta really should have been asleep by this time. But tonight was not a typical night. This was the night that Saint Nicholas visited.