Meadowsweet

Robert Dulany stared at the strange wreath as the forensic team member pulled it away from his front door. It had been hung there from an iron nail hammered right above the glass, nearly ruining the $7,000 door. The wreath itself didn’t look anything out of the ordinary. Robert recognized the green twigs and the tiny white flowers of the meadowsweet herb sometimes used in wreaths. Twelve houses on his upscale neighborhood received the same wreaths nailed into their doors and last night, the McCluskeys across the street were killed in their beds. The police didn’t go into the details of their murders, but from what Robert overheard, it sounded quite like a locked room affair. All doors and windows were locked, no evidence other than the condition of the bodies, none of which woke up at the time of the murder. The thought of sleeping through a home invasion so close sent icy tingles down Robert’s spine.

“Our investigation uncovered something that may be of immense importance here, Mr. Dulany.” Detective Sarah Lockley said, attempting to finish her questioning of the befuddled older man. “We have just learned that all twelve houses with the meadowsweet wreaths are involved with a funding effort and helped run the campaign for the recently elected Mayor Hargrove. Understanding this may help pinpoint the culprit and, honestly, this is starting to look like a possible ecoterrorist attack rather than just a straightforward murder. You all will be placed under surveillance, and we will be in touch with any further developments.”

Robert thanked Detective Lockley and closed the door after everyone packed up and left. Soon he found himself alone, save for a single patrol car sitting outside the residence. The snow had already begun to melt away in some spots, revealing a patchwork quilt of muddy snow and dead grass. They had said that there were no footprints leading up to the McCluskey’s house.

Robert’s thoughts drifted to that of the ecoterrorist theory. If someone was upset with Paul Hargrove, it would have to be over the patch of formerly protected forest he ordered to be torn down to make way for the new Pleasantree corporate office. If that were the case, why not go after Paul, or better yet, the company he hired to take down the forest? And why the meadowsweet wreathes? Why go through all this trouble? The site of the investment firm's new office was a boon for the city. Primarily because the twelve investors practically sat on the board of the company and knew that putting the office there would be less travel time for them. It would bring jobs, sure, but that wasn’t what it was about. At the end of the day, if it got the twelve of them more money, that was all that mattered. But now there were only eleven remaining—that was going to shake things up during their next board meeting.

Robert couldn’t wait until the police caught whoever killed the McCluskeys. He had no doubt that they would, they always did when it came to those who brought money into town. Robert went on with the rest of his day, even leaving his house to go get Christmas presents for his nieces and nephews. When he stepped outside his front door, he couldn’t help but turn and look at the neat little hole above the window where the meadowsweet wreath had been hung with a square nail. He found it strange, as most nails hadn’t been made with square heads for the last hundred years or so. And though he didn’t know why, Robert felt himself shiver, despite the expensive coat swaddling him from the winter chill.

Robert had always adored Christmas. Though he had never married and lived alone, he loved giving gifts to his nieces and nephews. He would still get a Christmas tree every year and put it up in the same exact place his parents kept it when they had lived in this house decades earlier. Later that night as he sat in an armchair by the roaring fire, he gazed up at the tree, now alight with twinkling white lights and crowded at the bottom with presents. He was spoiling his brother’s kids. He had to do something because he didn’t have any kids of his own to spoil.

As he sat there drinking a glass of Scotch, he swore he heard something coming from down the hallway near the bedrooms. He leaned forward, his peaceful fireside reverie replaced with a sudden sharp pang of alarm. Was it the murderer?

“Hello?” He called out into the darkness. He put down his Scotch on the small table by his chair and got up. He walked around the Christmas tree and switched the hallway light on.

“Hello?” He tried again but heard nothing in reply. A small click from behind startled him and he watched the needle lowering on his broken antique record player. With a crackle, the needle landed a record that he didn’t remember putting there and soon, the sound of Perry Como singing the Twelve Days of Christmas came from the gramophone in a tinny, far away murmur.

“What the hell?” He swore, walking across the room and pulling the needle off. He killed the power and listened intently. The only sound was the fire still crackling across the room. It had started to snow again, the large flakes hitting the window silently as they fell outside. 

The air had, despite his roaring fireplace, gone to a degree of cold that didn’t seem possible. He glanced over at his thermostat on the wall and saw that it had dropped to nearly forty-eight degrees and was steadily falling. The fire had begun to flicker and die down until the only thing remaining was the charred embers laying beneath. It was as though the fire itself was now hiding from something, something that Robert could almost feel in the room. The lights on the Christmas tree flickered and went out, leaving Robert in what felt like an icy tomb.

It was then that he saw it in the corner of his large living room: a tall, bushy figure. It was somehow taller than his eight-foot tree, head tilted down slightly to avoid hitting the ceiling. Dread filled his heart as it began to pulse loud and rabbit-fast in his ears.

“Wha—“

“ON THE SECOND DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME…” The figure boomed in a loud guttural roar as it darted towards Robert. It was at that time, in the icy cold darkness of his living room that a sudden sharp twang of pain erupted in his chest and left arm and he fell to the ground. As he died, the last thing he could hear was the booming laughter as the creature’s massive hands gripped his head and gave it a sudden, sickening yank. Robert was only dimly aware of the terrible pain of his head being wrenched from his spinal column.

The police found Robert the next day, his body mangled into a mass of broken bones and blood, his head perched sickeningly upon the top of the tree, replacing the angel, which had been thrown in the fireplace. It baffled the police. Who could possibly commit such an act? The strength required to wrench a skull from the spine like that was impossible by human standards. As the days went on, police continued to be called out to the houses in the neighborhood, and the more and more perplexed they became as the murders kept coming in strange and unimaginably horrid ways. On the eleventh day, the victim’s intestines were ripped out and hung with the Christmas lights outside, the bright and cheery white bulbs stained red with blood.

The creature, who remains nameless, at least to those denizens of the living world, began to enjoy watching the police from its hiding place behind the veil as they squabbled amongst one another. It particularly enjoyed the initial look of horror on every officer’s face as they witnessed its handiwork for the first time. At last the twelfth night came and the true enemy of the season was dealt with.

Mayor Paul Hargrove. His skin had been flayed and used to wrap the boxes beneath the tree, which were later discovered to be packed with his organs.

…

The creature left the town and, moving with the winds, found a new forest. But it realized what power it had over the living, it had tasted blood, and was looking forward to the next Christmas season.

Be weary of what forests one decides to cut down. Most hold innocent creatures and harmless sprites, but some hold long forgotten monsters, and the forests contain them beyond the veil. Once their home is disturbed, their ward is broken and they have free reign upon this unsuspecting world.