Perhaps I should start from the beginning.
I was a little disgruntled when I was given an assignment in the village that’s notorious for being Finland’s most desolate place.
Puolanka. Look it up. It is certainly not the location that comes to mind when people think of Christmas. Lapland is the popular tourist destination in Finland.
I was sent to Puolanka with a cameraman to interview residents for a fluff piece about remote villages. I was a journalist from the sunny city of Los Angeles. The two places are worlds apart. And we were supposed to be there for a month. An entire month.
Moreover, the month was December. I had to spend Christmas in the middle of nowhere. The year was 2005. I was a young woman. That’s a good thing in the media industry. At first, however, it’s a little rough. You have to do the stories that nobody wants to hear before you get to do the big ones.
Those first few weeks in Puolanka were tiresome. I was bored. My cameraman, Steven, was bored. The residents I interviewed were bored.
We were staying at a small B&B. The couple running the establishment were actually very friendly. That’s why my interview with them was so unexpectedly distressing. I’ve left out their names for legal reasons.
“It’s nearly Christmas Day,” I said. “Are there any festivities planned? The village is so quiet.”
“Oh,” The husband said. “Yes. Christmas Day is celebrated, but it’s also feared.”
“Feared? What do you mean?” I asked, smiling at what I assumed to either be a joke or the Finnish man’s broken English.
“I think I should warn you to treat that day differently in this village,” He said. “Please, Heather, make sure you and Steven are asleep before midnight on Christmas Day. Do not wake until 6am at the earliest.”
“Why is that?” I pressed, trembling.
At this point, it was only the husband’s new, sinister demeanour that gave me any cause for concern. As he spoke, his breath seemed to fill the air with an icy chill. His brown eyes, which had previously seemed so warm, were filled with a blackness that haunted me to my core.
“We do not stir between the hours of midnight and 6am on Christmas Day,” He repeated.
The wife sat there, quietly. Her smile had rapidly departed her face. I wrapped up the interview, and Steven teased me relentlessly over the next few days.
“What do we think? Evil Santa? Krampus?” Steven enquired, chortling.
“Stop it, Steven,” I scolded. “I’m not scared of anything supernatural. I’m scared of him. He seemed so friendly for the first few weeks. Did you see how cold and robotic he became?”
“Ah, they’re just superstitious people, Heather,” Steven said. “We’ll just have to party a little more quietly in our room when the clock strikes midnight, won’t we?”
“What?” I replied, gasping. “You’re not going to disobey his rule. I don’t want that creepy couple to come in here and hack us to pieces!”
Steven smiled, wrapping his arms around me. He gave me a soft peck on the forehead.
“You’ve not gone off me, have you?” He asked, affectionately booping my nose.
“Nope. For that to happen, I’d have to fancy you,” I replied, grinning.
He was an asshole, and there was no doubt about that, but Steven did have a way of putting me at ease. Our fling didn’t have any real depth, but I trusted the guy. I trusted that I was just being silly. There was nothing to fear. They were just a friendly, superstitious couple.
Still, that night, I saw the old man’s black, haunting eyes in my dreams. I wasn’t fully convinced by Steven’s words.
But I tried my best to move past the uncomfortable interview. The husband returned to his pleasant self over the coming days. Christmas Eve was actually surprisingly fun. The wife cooked a feast, as we were the only guests at the B&B, and the four of us danced to festive music. I decided the frightening interview had been a misunderstanding.
“Have you had enough to eat and drink?” The wife asked, later in the evening.
“Yeah, thanks,” I replied. “The meal was delicious!”
“Thank you, dear. But it is now 9pm,” She said. “We must all go to bed.”
Steven snorted with laughter. “Careful, lady. I don’t know you that well!”
I smacked him in the arm.
“This is later than we usually retire on Christmas Eve. We have taken a risk to give you a pleasant evening. Now, please, we must all go to sleep,” The husband said, curtly.
“I thought you said midnight,” Steven replied, swigging his drink.
“You must be asleep by midnight,” The husband explained. “I have no doubt that three hours is more than enough time to drift off, but it is better to err on the side of caution.”
I shot Steven a look. He knew my looks well.
“Okay,” Steven drunkenly slurred, raising his hands. “You’re the man, man!”
He giggled obnoxiously as we climbed the stairs to bed, and I apologised profusely to the couple, but they shrugged it off. They understood that Steven was simply a little too inebriated. I felt guilty for previously being so creeped out by the husband. He had returned to his friendly self.
In hindsight, I realise he was probably just relieved that we were going to bed early.
“Don’t be so sour,” Steven chuckled, hugging me from behind.
I pushed him off, clambering into bed.
“Wait… You’re not seriously going to sleep, are you?” Steven laughed, looking at his watch. “It’s 9:14pm, Heather!”
“I’m respecting their one rule,” I replied, tucking myself under the duvet.
“Suit yourself,” Steven shrugged. “I’ll just watch TV on the lowest volume and keep drinking.”
“Please get in bed,” I requested.
“I’m sure I’ll pass out before midnight,” He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I won’t get us into any trouble with the spooky owners.”
I don’t remember falling asleep. What I do remember is waking up. That, in fact, is something I cannot forget.
I opened my eyes. There was some sort of commotion outside the window.
I checked the alarm clock on my bedside table. 4:07am. I had woken up too early. I had a vision of the terrifying old man. I pictured him charging into our room and butchering us in bed for disobeying his rule.
“Steven?” I whispered into the darkness.
He wasn’t in bed. He wasn’t in the armchair in front of the small TV. He wasn’t anywhere in the room.
I heard footsteps outside. Snow was crunching beneath feet. There was a muffled voice. It sounded like screaming. I scrambled out of bed and ran to the window, tearing the curtains open, and saw something that still haunts my every waking and sleeping hour.
Wading through the snow, an eight-foot-tall abomination left a trail from the front door of the B&B. It was a hulking figure, unlike any earthly creature I’d ever seen. Its skin was black. I still don’t know whether I was more horrified by this monstrosity or the half-alive body of my cameraman that it was dragging through the snow.
Steven would’ve been able to see me standing in the window, but his eyelids appeared to be sown shut. I realised his mouth was also sown shut, which explained the muffled screams. He was missing all four of his limbs, but there was not a spot of blood on him. It seemed his limbless torso also had it wounds neatly stitched up. The only mess he left behind was a yellow trail of urine.
I clasped my hand to my mouth, futilely attempting to mute the sound of my tortured wail.
It was no use.
The creature stopped walking.
Unclenching its right claw, the Being dropped Steven’s near-lifeless body into the snow. The demonic creature slowly turned around to look at the window. Perhaps it had not even heard me. Perhaps it had just sensed that, like Steven, I was not in bed.
I had broken the rule.
The Being’s face was crimson-red and floated in the centre of its pitch-black head. The thing had no eyes, but I know it saw everything. It somehow sensed I was awake. The creature’s mouth was stretched into a wide, toothy grin that curved from one side of its face to the other.
I unleashed a primal scream into the sweaty palm of my hand. My eyes swilled with tears, as I stared into the featureless face of the thing I was sure would kill me.
The Being started to walk back towards the Bed & Breakfast. I leapt away from the curtains, tripping backwards over the bed. I needed to fall asleep, but I only had seconds to do so. Even if I hadn’t been in a state of sheer panic, it would’ve been near-impossible to achieve that.
Suddenly, I had an idea. It was a bad idea, but it was the only option. I knew how to make sure I wouldn’t be awake when the creature reached my room.
I had to knock myself out.
I could’ve held my breath, but that would’ve taken too long. I heard the front door of the building open and close. There were heavy footsteps on the creaky floorboards of the downstairs hallway.
I did a dangerous thing. Obviously, it’s not something I’d advise anyone else to do.
I could hear the stairs creaking. The creature was getting closer. My heart was pounding. I hoped I would pass out from fear.
I backed away from the window to get a running start. Then, I sprinted towards it. At the last second, I lunged for the windowsill, ensuring that my head made contact with its sharp corner.
When I woke, it was morning. It worked. My crazy plan worked. I was alive. I had an obscenely large lump on the side of my head, but I was alive. The bump didn’t kill me, and the creature didn’t kill me.
I thought, for a fleeting moment, that the whole thing might have been a dream. But when I clambered to my feet, I received a horrifying confirmation of what had transpired during the early hours of the morning.
There was a trail through the snow. It was the width of a human body. It led far from the village and vanished beyond the visible horizon. Steven was gone.
“Merry Christmas.”
The sombre voice came from behind me. I turned to face the old man, who was standing in my open doorway. It was so many years ago, but I don’t remember opening the door. Perhaps the creature entered my room. Perhaps it checked that I was not awake.
“I bought a bus ticket to Helsinki airport,” The old man said. “Just one.”
I didn’t say a word to the old couple. I left Steven’s things behind. I told our company that he went missing. There were search parties, police investigations, and so on. He was never found.
Seventeen years later, I don’t travel. I know I’m far away from Puolanka, but I still dream of that horrendous, red-faced creature. I fear Christmas, just as the old man did.
I live in Los Angeles, but I still don’t stay up past midnight on Christmas Day.