Twas the night before Christmas and the table was empty and lights shined across the room. The smell of roasted turkey, hot chocolate and cake filled the whole house. It was a good meal.

Twas the night before Christmas but is also right now. There’s a book resting in a sofa, the kind of book kids love to read before their dreams embrace them. A TV displays some old Christmas movie (you know the ones, those which went direct to TV and never, ever, onto films). It’s muted.

It was Christmas night and you’ve finished with your preparations. You are not from around, and yet you know your time has come. You’ve seen the gifts and the tree and the cold plate of soup that awaits on the table. Your hands—can we even call them hands?—go through empty clothes, consoles, and video games. They could give joy to someone and yet, no one remains to play with them.

It is three minutes before Christmas now and the house is empty.

You have made sure of it.

You ears tingle and you listen through the sounds. There’s a party in the house next door. More people. More souls. They’ll serve their purpose and their joy will lit a beacon for your kind.

The Old Ones are coming to town and you feel like laughing now.

Ho. Ho. Ho.