Dark December [A Holiday Filled Horror Anthology]

The 12 Curses Of Christmas By: Ysa_Arcangel

The 12 Curses Of Christmas By: Ysa_Arcangel

12 Curses of Christmas

by
Ysa_Arcangel


Ah, Christmas. Speaking of it, as if it hasn't done enough on me already, twelve days before the most celebrated day of the year.

Ever since I was a little kid, I hated it. 

For most people, this holiday is a season of happiness, but for me, twelve days before Christmas are the most horrible days of the year.

I didn't get the twinkling lights. I didn't get the Christmas presents, the candy canes, and the pretty tree or any of the other decorations. I didn't get the Christmas cards. I didn't get the damn smiles on the people's faces even as they had to fight through crowds of shoppers for that elusive gift or were forced to wait endlessly for a table in a restaurant only to be served with a food that cost them an arm and a leg.

People called this holiday, the season of good cheer. How am I going to cheer up when I've been in a constant sense of anxiety and fear?

It's supposed to be a time of happiness, a time of reminiscing and giving. A time of love. But
everyday ended with me wanting to either break down, cutting my wrist or throw myself off a building.

Happiness? I've given up on ever having that again. Every time I've been remotely happy, something happens to utterly destroy any shred of joy, or at least taint it so horribly.

My five-year-old Bullmastiff died in his sleep Wednesday night, December 14. I knew it was the start of the twelve curses of Christmas.

Voldy was in excellent health and was a very active dog. Best I could tell, he had been gone for a few hours. I am a very light sleeper and would have noticed even a small struggle. His vet suggested that he may have had a heart attack or stroke. He was just at the vet five days ago for his semi-annual visit. Everything was fine then.

Heading toward the train station, on my way home after I was fired from work, one of those people who makes up for being an ass for rest of the year by going around and being all nice on Christmas came up to me and wished me a Merry Christmas. I wanted to shove my fist down to his throat.

The car that was coming seemed like it was driving faster than the others because the head lights were coming up on me really fast. I tried to move over to the side of the road, but this section of the road has big bushes on it. There was nowhere for me to go but stay on the road. The lights were bright and close. I thought about running to the other side of the road but there wasn't enough time. I heard tires screeching and I put my hands up to cover my eyes from the bright headlights, as the car came to a stop right in front of me.

"Are you trying to kill yourself? Get out of the road!" He yelled and drove off.

I wanted to cry at that very moment, the pain welling up inside my soul.

Once on the train, I closed my tired eyes while grabbing the handrail over my head, swaying gently back and forth with the train. I felt like everyone was looking at me and thinking bad thoughts, and that people hate me in general. I hated these feelings.

I opened my eyes as my stop came up. Finally making it to the second block, I made my way to my apartment, up the stairs to the 12th floor. Slightly out of breath and grumbling about the lack of elevator, I opened the door.

I instantly broke down and curled up in a corner, drinking myself into oblivion.

"Mommy..." I muttered between each sob.

I grew up in an orphanage for almost half of my entire life. My family disowned me when my grandmother died when I was eight years old. My grandmother once told me a story about a girl who had an affair with a witch. Her unborn child was cursed by the witch's partner when she found out about the affair twelve days before Yule.

That unborn child was me.

Every adopted family I got sent me back after a year or even after a week if they've adopted me before Christmas. I was used to it.   

I was twelve when Mommy Carol, the Mother Superior adopted me. I knew she would return me. Like all the others. But she didn't. She kept me and made me feel loved.

Year after year, one by one, her adopted kids died.

So I decided to leave Mommy Carol and left her a note while she was asleep, explaining my situation and hoping she'll forgive me from leaving.

I never told anyone about my curse. No one would believe me even if I told them and no one in their sane mind would gladly accept it and take ownership to break it.

I was sixteen when I moved to the city. All the years I spent dreaming about having a normal life nearly enough to prepare me for what was ahead of me, but one thing I was sure of when I left was that a change of scenery was absolutely what I needed.

I was wrong. The curse follows me wherever I go.

So I made a random list. Usually from the unfortunate events that I've experienced yearly and it never missed. 

I posted it on my refrigerator door to always remind me that I have to prepare myself for the twelve curses I have to endure until Christmas day.