Thread by @TheThreadTweets

Black Magic - a Christmas Ghost Story

There was nothing scary about our house
Unless you find brown and orange geometric wallpaper scary, which nobody did then, for some reason
It was a perfectly normal semi on a perfectly normal street
Too young for memories
Too new for ghosts

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring . .
Apart from me.
No sugar plums in my head, instead visions of Action Men, Scalextric cars and Buck-a-Roos danced before my wide, restless eyes.
And so I was the only one to hear it . . .

When the phone rang in the middle of the night it meant one of two things - a wrong number or a dead relative
I froze when I heard the persistent plastic trill and waited for someone to answer
But no one did
Should I wake my parents or go downstairs and answer it?
You decide . .

My toes gripped each stair as I descended to the hallway, illuminated only by the faint orange-frost glow of the front door pane. But just before my trembling fingers reached the cold plastic receiver the chirping stopped.
I stood frozen in the near dark.
There was another sound.

It’s not just old houses that creak. New houses creak too, but in a different way. Old houses moan and groan but new houses sigh and squeak like a baby. Growing pains, Dad called it.
But this was different - a rasping, shuddering hiss slinking slowly down the stairs behind me.

I swivelled sharply to see a steel spring loop down and settle at my feet.
Silence.
Then . . a scratching sound.
Coming from the unlit Christmas tree. No . . from the dark figure beneath.
Scrabbling frantically, flinging paper across the room.
Then it stopped.
And stared . . .

Before either of us could move, a sudden SNAP! and a tiny bucket and shovel stung my face, a toy mule grinning up at me.
I stepped back onto a pool of marbles spewing from a tower and tumbled Ker-Plunk! to the floor.
Helpless, I gazed at the shadow-creature creeping towards me

As I lay flailing at the foot of the stairs, the cold dark face grew larger, its eyes brighter. Its mouth creaking slowly wider and wider until I could feel its yellow dagger teeth puncture my chin and forehead.
“Michael .. .” it hissed.
“Michael!”

“Michael!”
“It’s not like him to sleep late on Christmas morning!”
“No, I can’t seem to wake him.”
“Maybe he’s sickening for something?”
“Come on, Michael! Wake up! It’s Christmas Day! All your presents are waiting for you under the tree!”
I jolted awake.
And screamed . . .

Christmas Day was always the same - rabid ripping of wrapping, tearing of tape, scavenging for sideboard scissors and battery boxes, small Bailey’s for mum, large Cointreau for dad and chocolate oranges all round
Safe and sound
Orange and brown
Expect for the black magic . .

In the 70s, we made our own entertainment - fondue nights, wife-swapping and black magic.
Not real black magic, of course - that was left to more remote areas like Transylvania and Norfolk.
This black magic was a simple party trick, practised in our house every Christmas Day.

Once all the seasonal relatives were gathered in the living room, perched precariously on mismatched chairs with flimsy plates of limp white triangles perched even more precariously on their laps, Dad would send me out of the room and shut the door . . .

Moments later I would return and, after a brief hesitation for dramatic effect, point to whichever grandparent or cousin was secretly holding the mythical black talisman (actually a coat button). My success rate was 100% and everyone was suitably baffled.
Except for last year . .

“I know how it’s done,” announced Great Aunt Claire, a faint smile twitching across her tight grey face. Dad and I exchanged concerned glances. Even at that age I knew he was as terrified of her as I was.
“Black magic, my ear!” she sneered, before proudly explaining the trick . .

She was right, of course. After sending me out, Dad would give the talisman to whoever sat to the left of the person in the red party hat (simple Christmas cracker manipulation ensured there was only one).
Her pale grin was so unbearable he was determined to outwit her this year

Hope you’re having a horrifying Christmas! Our spooky story continues soon . . .

So sorry! Keep tweeting the next part of the story but it keeps disappearing! Not sure why but I’ll keep trying . . .