08/11/2025
🎄 “Silent Night, Hollow Eyes” 🎄
Snow fell thick over the small town of Ashvale, blanketing the streets in ghostly white. Christmas lights flickered dimly on old houses, and carols played softly from radios left on inside empty homes.
Every year, the people of Ashvale celebrated The Night of Silence a tradition where, from midnight to dawn on Christmas Eve, everyone stayed inside, kept their lights low, and made no sound at all. No laughter, no singing, not even a whisper.
No one really knew why the tradition began. They just said it was to “honor the peace of Christmas.” But the older folks...those who’d lived long enough to remember...knew better.
They remembered the night the carolers came.
It was decades ago, when the town was young and full of Christmas spirit. A group of children dressed in scarves and mittens had gone door to door, singing carols with their lanterns glowing like fireflies. But something strange happened that night. The children never came home.
The next morning, every doorstep they’d visited had the same mark burned into the snow...four small footprints leading away into the woods, and one long drag mark like something had been pulled behind.
Now, every Christmas Eve, if anyone breaks the silence… the carolers return.
They don’t knock. They don’t speak. They just sing.
---
This Christmas Eve, a newcomer named Claire moved into the old Miller house on the edge of town. She didn’t believe in silly traditions. When her neighbor warned her about keeping quiet, she laughed and said, “What’s the worst that could happen? A few angry carolers?”
At midnight, she poured herself some wine, turned on her record player, and put on Silent Night.
But as the song played, she noticed the faintest echo outside her window...another voice, singing along.
Then two.
Then four.
The record skipped. The voices didn’t.
Claire turned off the music, her heart pounding. The singing continued...soft at first, then louder. Children’s voices, sweet and trembling, harmonizing from somewhere in the snow.
She peeked through the curtains.
Four small figures stood at the edge of her yard, holding old fashioned lanterns that burned with a cold blue light. Their faces were pale, and their mouths… weren’t moving. The singing was coming from behind their eyes.
She stepped back, knocking over her glass. The sound shattered the silence. The singing stopped.
Then she heard it...slow, wet footsteps on her porch.
Claire grabbed her phone, but there was no signal. The doorknob began to turn, scraping like metal teeth. A whisper slid through the cracks of the wood:
🎵 “All is calm…” 🎵
She backed away, trembling, as the door creaked open. The lantern light spilled across the floor, revealing four small shapes in the doorway. Their faces were hollow now...eyes like deep, empty wells.
🎵 “All is bright…” 🎵
The next morning, the snow was undisturbed except for four sets of footprints leading away from the Miller house… and one long drag mark behind them.
When the townsfolk found the house, there was no sign of Claire. Only her phone on the floor, still recording. On the audio, you can hear her breath quicken, the door open..
.and then the voices begin to sing one last line:
🎵 “Sleep in heavenly peace…” 🎵
But if you listen carefully, beneath their melody, you can hear a fifth voice trying to join in… gasping, choking, learning the tune.
