Christmas

*

A late chapter, sorry about that. This is a Patreon exclusive chapter.

*

*

(Caring Mother)

Ashes of a Dream

It was so vivid I could almost feel the warmth of the fireplace against my skin.

I sat cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by scattered wrapping paper. Strings of golden lights twinkled on the Christmas tree, their glow reflecting in the shiny red and green ornaments. The air was filled with the aroma of roasted turkey, cinnamon, and pine. My family… my previous family smiled at me, their faces softer than I remembered.

“Open this one next, Sam!” my mother urged, handing me a box wrapped in silver paper. Her voice was gentle, not the sharp edge I had grown to fear.

“You’re going to love it,” my father added, his tone uncharacteristically warm.

I hesitated for a moment, staring at the box in my hands. This felt… off. But the glow of their smiles and the flickering candles on the mantle made me push the thought aside. I tore open the paper to reveal a small, hand-carved wooden horse.

“Your favorite,” my father said.

It was. Or at least it had been years ago, before everything fell apart.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, clutching the toy tightly. It felt solid, real.

My mother leaned down to kiss the top of my head. “We love you so much, Sam. Merry Christmas sweetie.”

Love. The word hit me like a foreign object. It wasn’t a word I associated with them. And yet, as I looked into their eyes, I saw nothing but sincerity. It filled me with warmth, a kind of safety I hadn’t felt in a long time.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself believe it. I let the comfort of the scene wrap around me like a blanket.

“Isn’t this nice?” my mother said, sitting beside me. “Just the three of us, together.”

“It’s perfect,” I whispered.

And that’s when I heard it.

A low, sultry laugh echoed from somewhere behind me. It wasn’t my mother. It wasn’t my father. It was her.

“Perfect?” Baloria’s voice cooed, dripping with mockery. “Oh, my sweet little Sam. How precious.”

I turned sharply, but no one was there. My parents continued smiling as if they hadn’t heard a thing.

“You really thought you could escape here?” the voice continued, now closer. “That you deserved this?”

The warmth of the room began to fade. The tree lights dimmed, and the ornaments lost their shimmer.

“No,” I muttered, clutching the wooden horse tighter. “This is real.”

Baloria laughed again, louder this time. “Oh, darling. It’s nothing but ash and lies.”

I looked back at my parents, desperate for them to say something, to reassure me. But their faces were wrong now too smooth, too hollow.

“No,” My voice rising.

The room began to crumble. The walls disintegrated like burnt paper, flakes of ash swirling around me. My mother’s hand reached for mine, but her fingers turned to dust before they could touch me. My father’s smile cracked and fell away, revealing a gaping void where his face had been.

I screamed, trying to hold onto what little remained, but it was no use.

“Stop fighting it,” Baloria hissed, her voice surrounding me. “You belong to me now. There’s no running from that.”

The last thing to vanish was the wooden horse in my hands, turning to ash that slipped through my fingers.

I jolted awake, the sound of my own scream tearing through my throat.

The cold stone surface pressed against my bare skin, and the metallic tang of blood filled my mouth. Chains rattled as I thrashed, but they held fast, biting into my wrists.

“Awake already?” one of the cultists sneered, tightening a spiked instrument against my arm.

Pain shot through me, sharp and relentless.

“Go on, scream some more,” another taunted.

But their voices faded into the background. All I could hear was Baloria’s laughter.

“Did you enjoy your little holiday, Sam?” she purred. “Did you really think you could hide in such a pitiful dream?”

Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the blood and sweat.

“That’s right,” she whispered, her voice both inside and outside my head. “Cry. Suffer. It only makes you more delicious.”

I clenched my teeth, trying to block her out, but it was useless. She was everywhere, her presence as inescapable as the chains that bound me.

“You’ll never have that life, it was just a thought, a dream.” she said, her tone softening into something almost tender. “But don’t worry, my sweet Sam. I’ll give you something far better.”

Her laughter echoed as the cultists resumed their work, their instruments tearing into my flesh. I closed my eyes, trying to hold onto the last flickers of the dream. But they were gone, swallowed by darkness and ash.

And in that darkness, Baloria’s voice was all that remained.