It’s The Most Horrible Time Of The Year

Snow fell like whispers from a sky burning red, each flake darker than coal and softer than ash. Ethan pulled his jacket tighter, though he knew the cold was only in his head. It wasn’t the freezing air that made his breath hitch but the uneasy sense that none of this was right. It was Christmas Eve, after all—his favorite time of the year. His mother’s living room was aglow with fairy lights, and the faint scent of pine mixed with baked goods should have been comforting. 

But the snow was black—as black as the vilest sin. The sky was stained with fire, and the light it cast upon the streets was nothing like starlight. Ethan could see figures stretched against the crimson sky, men and women crucified on burning crosses. He wanted to look away but couldn’t—not until someone brushed past him. 

“Ethan, close the door,” said a voice. It was his sister, Haley, standing beside the tree. Her warm smile didn’t reach her eyes. Ethan quickly stepped inside, shutting the door on the bizarre sight outside. 

The living room looked just like he remembered: plush couches with snowflake-patterned cushions, the crackling fireplace adorned with stockings, the scent of buttery popcorn mingling with cookies baking in the kitchen. But something was wrong here too. 

“Come on, bro. We’ve been waiting,” Haley said, motioning him toward the dining table. 

Ethan hesitated, eyes flickering to the others seated around the table. There were his parents, Uncle Ray, and his grandmother, but their postures were unnaturally stiff. Their heads turned in unison to smile at him. 

The smiles—oh God, those smiles. Too wide, too sharp, like someone unfamiliar with the act had practiced it over and over without ever getting it right. It was like watching Coraline all over again. I’m your other mother, silly!

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” Ethan said, forcing his legs to move. 

He sat between Haley and his dad, though everything inside him screamed to stay standing. The centerpiece of the table was an overflowing popcorn garland, its scent too heavy and wrong, like burnt meat masking something worse. 

“You’ve been quiet this year, son,” his dad said, his voice low and gravelly. But something about it—too deliberate, too weighted, like an actor trying too hard to fit into the wrong role—set Ethan’s teeth on edge. 

“Just tired,” Ethan replied, eyeing the plate of cookies his grandmother passed to him. The chocolate chips were darker than usual, almost glistening, and when he sniffed one, bile rose in his throat. 

“Eat,” Grandma urged, her lips curling into an exaggerated grin. Her dentures shone unnaturally white, like her teeth had been polished for a macabre pageant. 

“I’m good. Thanks,” Ethan muttered, placing the plate down. The others stared at him, their heads tilting in unison. His pulse raced. 

Uncanny valley. The phrase struck him like a gong. This wasn’t his family. They looked like his family, wore their clothes, spoke in their voices, but they weren’t right. 

“Where am I?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. 

For a moment, no one responded. Then Haley turned to him, her face freezing in a mask of exaggerated concern. 

“What do you mean? You’re home. With us. Don’t you like it here?” 

The others leaned in slightly, their smiles returning. 

Ethan pushed back his chair, standing abruptly. The room tilted as if he’d set off a tremor. His father’s fork clattered to the ground, but no one reached to pick it up. They just kept staring. 

“I—I need some air,” he stammered, moving toward the door. 

“Don’t go out there,” Haley said, her voice losing its warmth, replaced by something guttural, alien. “It’s not safe.” 

Ethan froze, his hand on the doorknob. 

“And in here is safe?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. The family no longer smiled. Their faces were expressionless now, masks that revealed nothing. 

“Yes,” they said in unison, their voices blending into an unnerving monotone. 

Ethan yanked open the door and bolted into the black snow. 

The air outside burned his lungs. Each step left a deep, dark imprint in the unnervingly cold snow. He didn’t know where he was going—only that he needed to leave. The burning crosses in the sky seemed to turn, as if following him. 

He stumbled into the street. Around him were homes cloaked in holiday cheer, their windows glowing with warm light, their decorations casting long, warped shadows. Yet no one came out. The neighborhood felt empty, a hollow shell of the place he knew. 

“Help me!” he shouted, his voice cracking. 

A faint, mechanical hum was his only reply. He turned in circles, heart thudding, until his eyes landed on something familiar: the elevator. 

The old building across the street, long abandoned, now pulsed with sickly yellow light. Its doors stood wide open, inviting. He didn’t remember the building having an elevator, but the sight triggered a memory, something half-formed and dreadful. 

The Elevator Game. 

It was a dare he’d attempted years ago with friends, back in high school. They hadn’t taken it seriously, but something must have gone wrong—terribly, terribly wrong. 

“This isn’t real,” Ethan whispered, gripping his arms against the chill. 

He stepped into the building. 

The elevator waited at the end of the hall, its metallic interior glowing dimly. Above it, a screen flickered, cycling through nonsensical numbers. Ethan hesitated before stepping inside. 

The second the doors closed, the air shifted. A low, droning sound filled the space. He reached for the buttons, all marked with symbols he didn’t recognize, yet instinctively knew the sequence. 

The floors blurred together as the elevator moved. Each stop opened to sights that weren’t possible: a floor filled with bodies writhing in darkness, another where everything was upside down, gravity be damned. On the fifth floor, a woman stood waiting, her face obscured by her hair. 

Ethan's heart seized. The memory of her was clear now—the Woman in the Elevator, the entity said to join travelers in the Otherworld. But as the doors began to close, the woman spoke. 

“Ethan,” she whispered, her voice low and dissonant, “you can’t run forever.” 

She didn’t step inside. The elevator continued upward. 

When the doors opened again, Ethan found himself back in his family’s home. The room was empty this time, devoid of the unsettling figures pretending to be his loved ones. Everything was quiet, except for the rhythmic creak of a rocking chair. 

Ethan turned to see Haley sitting near the tree, her movements mechanical, her head cocked too far to the left. 

“You came back,” she said, her voice brittle. 

“This isn’t real,” Ethan said, backing away. “None of this is real.” 

Haley stood slowly, her joints popping. Her face twisted into a parody of grief. 

“Don’t you miss us? Don’t you want to stay?” she asked, stepping closer. Her hands clawed at the air. “We’ve been waiting so long.” 

Ethan turned and ran, his mind spiraling as Haley’s voice rose behind him, joined by the others—his dad, grandma, Uncle Ray—all calling his name in eerie harmony. 

The burning crosses outside the window began to glow brighter, their flames licking the edges of the house. The scent of burnt popcorn thickened. 

Ethan reached the door and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge. Shadows closed in behind him, their voices merging into an incomprehensible wail. 

The last thing Ethan saw before the darkness swallowed him whole was the crucified figures turning their heads in unison, their hollow eyes fixed on him. 

Somewhere far away, the elevator dinged, its doors sliding open to a new player. 

And in the corner of the living room, the Woman in the Elevator smiled.