The Man Who Sang in the Snow

It was early December, and the air was crisp with the promise of snow. My parents had decided it was time for me to stay home alone for a few hours while they ran errands. I was almost nine, and they felt I was old enough to handle it. My mom needed to grab some last-minute groceries for our Christmas dinner, and my dad was working late, as usual.

As I settled onto the couch with a plate of cookies and a Christmas movie playing softly in the background, I admired the twinkling lights on our tree. Outside, the world was darkening, the glow from our decorations contrasting sharply against the night. It was peaceful—until the doorbell rang.

I glanced at the clock; it was late for visitors. My mom had always told me never to answer the door when I was alone. Curious, I tiptoed to the door and peered through the peephole. There stood a man dressed as Santa Claus, complete with a red suit and a fluffy white beard. But something about him felt off. He was too close to the door, almost as if he was waiting for me to unlock it.

“Who is it?” I whispered, my heart racing.

“Ho ho ho! It’s Santa! I have gifts for you!” His voice was cheerful, but it sent a chill down my spine. I could tell he was trying to sound friendly, but it felt forced, unnatural.

“I don’t need anything,” I replied, trying to sound brave, though my voice trembled.

The man’s expression changed. “Are you home alone?” he asked, his tone shifting. Panic surged through me. I stepped back, my instincts screaming at me to get away from the door.

I hurried back to the living room, clutching a pillow and trying to act normal, but fear gripped me. Suddenly, I heard the doorknob twist. He was testing if the door was locked. My heart raced as I grabbed the phone and dialed my mom’s number, my hands shaking.

“Mom! Someone’s trying to get in! He’s dressed like Santa!” I blurted out, my voice cracking.

“Stay calm, honey. I’m coming home right now. Don’t open the door, and stay away from the windows,” she instructed, her voice serious.

I sank to the floor behind the couch, peering out at the door, my breath shallow. The noises continued—footsteps, light taps, a soft rustling that made my skin crawl. I held the phone tightly, waiting for my mom to return.

Moments later, the sounds outside stopped. I strained to hear anything, my heart pounding in my ears. Just then, I heard my mom’s car pull into the driveway. Relief flooded through me. I waited, listening for the sound of her unlocking the door.

When she finally came in, she looked frazzled, groceries in hand. “Are you okay?” she asked, locking the door behind her.

“I saw him, Mom! The man dressed as Santa!” I exclaimed, feeling the weight of fear lift slightly.

She frowned, glancing toward the window. “I saw a man dressed as Santa walking down the street. He looked suspicious,” she said, her voice low. “I yelled at him, and he walked away quickly.”

My mom called the police to report the incident. They assured her they would send someone to check the area, but I could tell she was still uneasy.

That night, as I tried to sleep, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me. I pulled the covers over my head, hoping to block out the thoughts that raced through my mind.

Days passed, and Christmas approached. I tried to forget about the Santa incident, but every time I saw decorations, I felt a shiver run down my spine.

On Christmas Eve, we gathered as a family, exchanging gifts and enjoying the holiday spirit. But I couldn’t shake the unease that had settled in my gut. As we sat by the fire, I glanced out the window, half-expecting to see that man lurking outside.

The next morning, Christmas Day, I woke up to the smell of cinnamon and pine. I rushed downstairs to open presents, but the nagging feeling of dread still lingered.

Later that day, as the sun set and darkness enveloped the neighborhood, I heard a knock on the door. My heart dropped. I exchanged a worried glance with my parents.

“Don’t answer it,” my dad said firmly, moving toward the window to peek outside.

I watched as he looked through the curtains. “It’s just a neighbor,” he said, relaxing slightly. But my instincts screamed otherwise.

As night fell, I settled into bed, trying to forget the events of the past weeks. But sleep eluded me. I tossed and turned, finally drifting off into a restless sleep.

In the middle of the night, I was jolted awake by a loud crash. My heart raced as I sat up, straining to hear. The sound came again, a thud against the back door.

I crept out of bed, my heart pounding in my chest. I tiptoed to my bedroom window and peered outside. My breath caught in my throat.

There, illuminated by the moonlight, was the same man dressed as Santa, standing at the back door, shining a flashlight into my window. His eyes glinted in the light, and a sickening grin spread across his face.

I stumbled back, fear gripping me. I dashed to my parents’ room, shaking them awake. “Someone’s outside! It’s him!”

They sprang into action, grabbing their phones and rushing to the window. My dad quickly called the police, while my mom looked for something to defend us.

The man outside began to bang on the door, shouting incoherently. It sounded like a deranged chant. My heart raced as I realized he was trying to get in.

“Stay back!” my dad yelled, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. “We’re calling the police!”

The banging intensified, the door rattling under the force of his strikes. I felt paralyzed, unable to move as I watched the scene unfold.

Then, suddenly, the banging stopped. Silence enveloped the house, broken only by our heavy breathing. My dad peeked through the curtains, but the man was gone.

The police arrived minutes later, their flashing lights illuminating the night. They searched the perimeter of our house, but the man had vanished.

“We didn’t find anyone,” one officer said, his tone dismissive. “Just keep your doors locked. You’ll be fine.”

But I wasn’t fine. The fear lingered, a shadow over our holiday.

As Christmas passed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still out there, watching, waiting. I became hyper-aware of every noise, every shadow that flickered in the corners of my vision.

Years later, I still think about that Christmas. The man in the Santa suit haunted my dreams, a reminder of how close I came to something terrible. I never answered the door without looking first again, and I always made sure to keep the curtains closed tight.

Every year, as the holiday season approached, I felt a chill run down my spine, a reminder of the night when a stranger dressed as Santa nearly shattered my childhood innocence.

And as I decorate the tree each year, I can’t help but glance out the window, half-expecting to see that familiar figure lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike again.