The blood & The night

December 12, 2027, It was a cold, foggy evening in Fujisawa Town, Japan. The streets were alive with the hum of winter preparations. Families strolled together, children holding tight to their parents' hands, while couples wandered through shops filled with the season's newest winter apparel. The silver light of a full moon bathed the town in a tranquil glow, reflecting off the frosty streets.

Everyone seemed eagerly anticipating the arrival of Winter December 25th.

But in the midst of this festive air, three shadows moved stealthily toward a quiet house on the edge of town.

The burglars approached a window of the down floor, carrying a lock pick. It wasn't an ordinary choice—they avoided the door deliberately, knowing it might draw attention from the streets.

"Careful," one of them whispered sharply as he worked on the window. "Don't rush. The couple won't be back until midnight. We have time."

Another smirked. "Once we're done here, I'm getting the hell out of this town. I'm not staying anywhere near this place."

With practiced hands, the window finally gave way, opening silently under their touch. One by one, they stepped inside. The house was massive, no sign of life , its silence pierced only by the faint creak of their footsteps.

Just as they stepped further in, suddenly a suspicious sound broke the quietness.

"Did you hear that?" whispered the third man, his voice tight with unease.

The second man dismissed it quickly. "Relax. I've got a knife. If someone's here, I'll slit their throat, grab what we need, and leave."

The first man chuckled darkly, breaking the tension. "If it's a woman, though…we can have some fun."

The third man rolled his eyes. "There's no one lives here but the guy and his wife here. and both of them aren't home ,So Focus. Let's get the goods and get the fuck out of here."

Their eyes scanned the room, quickly locking onto a glint of gold.

"Look at this," one whispered, picking up a golf club adorned with gold accents. "Fuckers must be loaded with money."

"No shit," another replied. "Their business must be huge."

They split up, their confidence growing.

"Check that door," one ordered. "You two keep an eye on things down here. I'm heading upstairs."

The intruder on the upper floor moved swiftly through the belongings, rummaging through drawers and cabinets. His flashlight's beam landed on stacks of cash and valuables, which he hastily stuffed into a bag. The room seemed like a treasure trove, with medals, trophies, and expensive artifacts neatly displayed on shelves. Grabbing few items for himself, he began pocketing them, his greed growing with each passing moment.

But then for a moment he froze.

A faint sound reached his ears from behind. His pulse quickened as he swung his flashlight in the direction of the noise. Nothing. The room stood still, silent. everything untouched. But the unease didn't leave him. Gripping his knife tightly, looking for sound trace, finding no sign of life.

"I'm not imagining things? Am I?

He tried to shake off the fear, resuming his task with shaky hands, Faster. but the oppressive silence bore down on him.

Suddenly, from behind, something stirred.

A long leather rain coat swayed gently, hanging from a long rack, its hem almost brushing the floor. But it wasn't just an ordinary coat. From beneath it, a figure, slowly lifting its head.

The figure, shrouded in darkness, stepped forward, lowering itself from a small table it had perched on. The leather-clad stranger now stood upright, towering over the intruder.

The burglar froze, his breath caught in his throat as the figure reached for an axe, its blade glinting menacingly in the dim light.

Before the intruder could react, the figure surged forward, swinging the axe with terrifying precision. The blade of the axe tore into his Face to Jaw cutting and crushing through skull, Dragging and cleaving through bone and sinew, tore the chest splitting his torso in a gruesome display.

Imagine the unbearable torment of a goat having its skin peeled off slowly while still alive—the sheer pain would force it to scream in agony. But what he feel… what he endure… is far worse than that. A suffering so intense that even the tortured cries of that poor creature would pale in comparison. And with it… comes an inevitable, instant death.

The scream that escaped his lips was short-lived as his body collapsed.

Downstairs, the other two burglars heard the commotion. Alarmed, they grabbed their weapons—a machete and a dagger—and bolted upstairs.

As they climbed, the axe-wielding figure appeared suddenly, hurtling down at them with frightening speed. The blade found its mark, embedding itself into the skull of one of the men. He crumpled instantly, his lifeless body collapsing on the staircase.

The remaining burglar screamed for help, his voice filled with terror, but the figure moved swiftly. Grabbing him by the throat, it squeezed with a monstrous strength, silencing him before he could utter another sound.

In the dead of night, beneath a moonlit sky, the town lay silent, shrouded in a heavy stillness. The only sounds were the soft rustle of the wind, which caused the windows to rattle faintly. The clock struck 2:29 AM as the young couple returned home, unlocking the door and stepping inside.

The husband, carrying a few bags, spoke gently to his wife as they entered.

"I couldn't buy anything for my mother this time. I'll make sure to get something next time," he said with a faint smile.

Before his wife could respond, she let out a sharp, piercing scream. Her body froze in place, her face pale with terror. Startled, the husband turned toward her.

"What happened?" he asked anxiously, his eyes following her gaze.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

The living room was in disarray, with drawers left open and belongings scattered across the floor. The window had been forced open, and the cold night air seeped into the room. But the most horrifying sight was the dark red trail of blood dripping from the second floor, seeping through the cracks of the ceiling and pooling onto the floor below.

The wife, trembling, grabbed her phone and called the police. Meanwhile, the husband, driven by a mix of fear and determination, reached for a baseball bat from a nearby storage bin.

"Stay here. I'll go check upstairs," he instructed, his voice trembling but firm.

As he ascended the staircase, his eyes followed the blood trail. It smeared across the floor, leading to their bedroom. With each step, his heart pounded louder in his chest.

Finally, he reached the door and pushed it open.

The sight inside made him scream in horror, his voice echoing through the house. His wife, hearing the agonized cry, ran upstairs despite her fear.

"Honey! What happened? Are you okay?" she called out as she rushed toward him.

She entered the room and froze in place, her hands flying to her mouth as she took in the grisly scene. The couple stood there, paralyzed, as their legs began to shake uncontrollably.

The wife's trembling voice barely managed to speak, "someone has been killed…"

The officer on the other end replied calmly, "Ma'am, please stay on the line. We are sending help."

The couple remained frozen in terror, the silence of the house now broken by their shallow, panicked breaths.

The police arrived swiftly, their sirens cutting through the quiet night as they approached the house. Upon entering and witnessing the horrifying scene, even the officers, hardened by years of experience, faltered for a moment. They quickly escorted the shaken couple outside for safety and sealed off the premises to preserve the crime scene.

Neighbors began to gather nearby, murmuring amongst themselves as fear and curiosity spread through the small town. The flashing lights of the police cars cast eerie shadows on the faces of the growing crowd.

Soon after, a forensic team and an investigative unit were summoned. Among them was the lead investigator, Mr. Kenzo, a man known for his sharp mind and unshakable composure. As he stepped into the house, he was greeted by the unsettling stillness of the crime scene.

Kenzo methodically climbed the stairs to the second floor, his shoes echoing softly against the blood-streaked floorboards. Reaching the bedroom, he paused before entering. His sharp gaze scanned the room as he took steps forward—bodies were dragged approximately 15-20 meters—until he reached a large window.

Outside, illuminated faintly by the moonlight, stood a tall, conical tree resembling a Christmas tree. What made the scene grotesquely macabre, however, were the three lifeless bodies hanging from the branches. Their forms swayed slightly in the cold night breeze, their skin marred by countless wounds and injuries. The sight was enough to make even the forensic team pause in horror.

Kenzo's eyes then shifted to the window beside him, where a chilling message had been scrawled in large, crimson letters:

"Merry Christmas."

His breath hitched as realization dawned on him. He turned to the team, his voice calm yet laced with urgency.

"Santa Claus," he murmured under his breath, piecing it together.

Addressing the team with authority, he instructed, "Get those bodies down immediately. This is no random crime. This is murder." He paused, his voice steady but grave. "By Santa Claus."

"The Bloody Christmas Killer"