Silent Night, Mischievous Night

Snowhaven was alive with Christmas cheer. It was Christmas Eve, and the village sparkled with joy. Lanterns hung from every house, casting a warm glow over the snow-covered streets. Children ran from house to house, laughing and singing, their voices rising in cheerful carols. The air smelled of freshly baked pies and spiced cider. The night felt perfect, as if the magic of Christmas could last forever.

In the center of the village, the grand Christmas tree stood tall, covered in ornaments and a bright, shining star. Families gathered around it, exchanging small gifts and laughter. The adults chatted and warmed themselves by the bonfire while the children played.

Among the crowd, Marcy and her younger brother Ollie were bursting with excitement. They had stayed out later than usual, savoring the joy of the evening. "Do you think Santa is already on his way?" Ollie asked, his eyes wide with wonder.

"Probably," Marcy replied. "We should hurry home so he doesn't skip our house."

As they prepared to leave, the town elder, Mr. Winthrop, stood near the fire, his voice rising above the chatter. "Don't forget the old tales," he warned, his voice crackling in the cold night air. "The forest elves don't take kindly to being forgotten. They might pay a visit to remind you."

Most of the villagers laughed it off. The stories were just meant to scare children into behaving, they said. Marcy and Ollie didn't think much of it either. They bid their friends goodbye and started the short walk home.

The snow crunched beneath their boots as they walked. Their house wasn't far, but the streets felt quieter than before. The lanterns' light seemed dimmer, and the air grew colder.

Ollie tugged on Marcy's sleeve. "Did you hear that?"

Marcy stopped. "Hear what?"

"Laughing. But not like ours. It sounded... weird."

Marcy listened carefully. At first, there was nothing but the sound of the wind. Then she heard it—a faint giggle, high-pitched and strange. It was coming from the direction of the woods, where the trees loomed like dark sentinels.

"Probably the wind," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

They hurried along, but Marcy couldn't shake the feeling that they were being followed. The snow behind them had no footprints, yet every now and then, she'd hear a soft, rhythmic crunch as if something small and nimble was following at a distance. She glanced behind them and froze. Tiny footprints were trailing theirs, but they hadn't seen anyone else.

"Let's walk faster," Marcy whispered, gripping Ollie's hand.

When they reached their house, Marcy pushed the door open and stopped in her tracks. The cozy, festive living room they had left behind was a mess. The Christmas tree was knocked over, ornaments shattered on the floor. The stockings were ripped, their contents scattered. The plate of cookies they had left for Santa was empty, and the glass of milk lay spilled on the rug.

"Who did this?" Ollie asked, his voice trembling.

Marcy stepped inside cautiously, her heart pounding. "I don't know. Stay close to me."

Suddenly, a small figure darted past the fireplace. Marcy gasped as she saw it clearly—a tiny creature with a pointed hat and a wicked grin. Then another appeared, its eyes glistening in the firelight. They were no bigger than toddlers, with sharp teeth and glowing eyes that seemed to flicker like embers.

"Elves," she whispered.

Ollie backed away, his face pale. "What do they want?"

The elves laughed, their voices filling the room with an eerie echo. One of them leapt onto the couch, picking up Ollie's favorite toy and twisting its head off. The cracking noise was loud in the silence of the house.

"Hey! Stop that!" Ollie shouted, his voice shaking.

The elves ignored him, their tiny hands grabbing at anything they could reach. Marcy stepped forward, trying to steady her shaking hands. "Leave us alone!" she yelled, trying to sound brave.

One of the elves turned to her, its grin widening. "You've forgotten us," it hissed. "No offerings, no songs, no gifts. We take what's owed."

Marcy's heart raced. She remembered the stories her grandmother used to tell, about how villagers left gifts for the forest elves to keep them happy. But that tradition had been forgotten years ago.

"We didn't mean to forget," she said, her voice trembling. "We didn't know."

The elves cackled, the sound sharp and hollow. "Not knowing doesn't matter. We're here now."

Marcy thought quickly. "Wait! We'll give you something. Please, just stop!"

The elves paused, their glowing eyes narrowing. One stepped forward, its eyes locked on Marcy. "What will you give us?" it demanded.

Marcy grabbed a plate from the kitchen and piled it with cookies and candy. She placed it on the table, trying not to show her fear. "Take this," she said.

The elves swarmed the plate, devouring the treats in seconds. For a moment, Marcy thought they might leave, but then they turned back to her, grinning wide, their eyes bright with mischief.

"Not enough," one said, tilting its head like a bird.

"What else do you want?" she asked desperately.

"Sing," another demanded, its voice sharp as a blade. "A song for us. Like in the old days."

Marcy hesitated, her mind racing. The room was too quiet, almost suffocating, and the elves' eyes followed her every movement. Ollie stood behind her, holding his breath.

Marcy took a deep breath and began to sing a Christmas carol, her voice shaking at first, then growing stronger. Ollie joined in, his small voice barely audible. The elves watched, their grins fading into something almost mournful. But then, just as the final notes faded, their laughter returned, cold and hollow.

The air seemed to shift, as if something unseen was pressing down on the house. The fire sputtered, casting long, dancing shadows across the room. The elves' eyes burned brighter as they whispered in voices that seemed to come from everywhere at once. "Not enough."

Marcy and Ollie exchanged a terrified glance. The room seemed to tilt, the walls stretching and pulling as if the house itself were alive. The scent of burned cookies and cold, wet earth filled their noses, and then came the sound of tiny feet pattering, circling them. They couldn't see where they were running, only that their legs moved on their own, as if pulled by an unseen force.

The elves moved with them, cackling, until Marcy fell to her knees. The room, the house, and even the village outside fell silent, as if the world itself had stopped.

Then they were gone.

The next morning, the village was in chaos. Every house had been visited. Trees were knocked over, gifts destroyed, and food stolen. The villagers gathered at the town square, their faces pale.

Marcy stood at the edge, Ollie clinging to her side. "The elves," she said. "They're angry because we stopped honoring them. We have to bring back the old traditions."

From that day on, the people of Snowhaven left offerings for the forest elves every Christmas Eve—a plate of food, a small gift, and a song sung at the edge of the woods. The elves were never seen again, but their laughter echoed in the villagers' memories, a reminder of what happens when the old ways are forgotten.

And on quiet nights, when the wind picked up, children would hear the distant giggle of elves and remember the night when Christmas was both merry and frightening.