The week before Christmas, I was filled with excitement and anticipation as I thought about all of the holiday traditions my family and I would be participating in. Every year, we would decorate the tree with sparkling lights and ornaments, bake cookies together in the kitchen, and sing carols while sipping on hot cocoa. This year was no different, except for one small detail - a feeling of unease that seemed to linger in the air, no matter how hard I tried to shake it off.
I tried to tell myself that it was just my imagination, but as the days went by, the feeling only grew stronger. It was as if something was watching me, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. On Christmas Eve, we gathered around the tree to exchange gifts, with my little sister being the most excited of all. She eagerly tore into her presents, giggling with delight as each new toy was revealed.
But just as we were getting into the festive spirit, something strange happened. The lights on the tree began to flicker, and a cold draft swept through the room, causing us all to shiver. I tried to brush it off as a simple power outage, but deep down I knew that something wasn’t right. And then, I heard it - the sound of footsteps coming from the attic.
My heart raced as I turned to my family, seeing the fear in their eyes. We rushed to the attic, but it was empty. There was no sign of anyone, and yet the footsteps continued, echoing through the house. We searched every room, but there was no one there. It was as if the footsteps were coming from nowhere, haunting us with their presence.
As the night wore on, the feeling of unease only grew stronger. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching us, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And then, on Christmas morning, we found a present under the tree that wasn’t there before. It was wrapped in plain brown paper, with no name or indication of who it was from. My sister was the one who opened it, and what she found inside sent chills down my spine.
It was a wooden dolls house, complete with miniature wooden furniture and figures, painted and some covered in fabric. But the figures weren’t ordinary dolls - they were replicas of each of us, dressed in our exact clothes and with eerie, lifelike expressions. We were all frozen in horror, completely unable to comprehend what was happening.
We never figured out who left the dolls house, or how it got there. But one thing was certain - we never celebrated Christmas, let alone celebrated the same way again. The holiday that was once filled with joy and cheer was now forever tainted by the strange and unsettling events that took place that year. We tried to put the experience behind us, but the memory of those footsteps and the dolls house stayed with us, haunting us for years to come.