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Caroling has been a tradition for years, so it’s really no surprise when you hear a soft chorus from outside. What is a surprise is the fact that it’s three in the morning, and the moment they start singing you feel a chill in the air. It’s a song you’ve heard a hundred times before, but something about this version makes you go cold. If you move to the window, you will find no carolers, but the song is loud enough that you know you should be able to see them. They sing one song, and then there is silence. An eerie chill lingers, and your dreams are haunted by strange voices. You’ll probably never be able to hear that song again without feeling a chill.
Of all the nights to have one of her nightmares, Nimue rather thought that Christmas Eve was a pretty poor choice, timing wise. Exhausted to her bones and unable to sleep, she padded silently out to the living room, thinking she’d watch the way the snow reflected the Christmas lights that illuminated the street. The silent beauty was a better calming agent than a sleeping pill would have been. And once she’d made herself a cut of hot mint tea, she could feel the residual terror slowly fading. As she relaxed, she could hear soft singing outside and smiled. She hadn’t known that people still went out caroling! She would have signed up to go along if she’d known.
Still smiling, Nimue took a sip of her tea and froze as her eyes fell on the clock hanging nearby. Three in the morning! Yet, she distinctly heard carollers! Even stranger, she could feel the tiny hairs along her arms and the back of her neck raise as the cozy room suddenly developed a chill. Setting her cup down, Nimue rubbed uneasily at her arms as she rose and went to the window to try and see the singers. Feeling further alarmed as the song… Here We Come a Wassalin’... increased in volume, Nimue found herself staring at an empty street. She could hear the singing so clearly, but where on earth were the people supplying the singing? Shivering, Nimue remained by the window, staring out as the song wrapped around her, travelling through her mental paths as idle visions of dark, cold nights and fire and icy starlight gamboled through her head.
Then, as suddenly as she’d noticed singing, it stopped. The song came to an end and no other tunes had come to replace it. Feeling chilled to the marrow, Nimue hurried back to the couch and her tea, clutching at the warm cup with trembling hands. Something of the pleasure in watching the cold, gently lit night had been spoiled by the song. Finishing off her tea hastily, the tall girl hurried back to her bed and burrowed deeply into her blankets. The chill created by the singing persisted in clinging to everything. Forcing her eyes closed, Nimue surprisingly found herself drifting off to sleep. Though her dreams were plagued by cold, ghostly voices singing at her. And though she knew the tunes to the songs, the words were not right. Everything spoke of cold, creeping horrors that haunted her already troubled dreams. Even as she dreamed, part of her mind knew she’d never be able to listen to that particular carol again with any degree of comfort. Which was a pity as she liked the song. Why couldn’t the strange singers have picked a song she disliked to start with? Christmas Shoes, for example. If you wanted to send out a bleak little message, Christmas Shoes was the way to go.
Tossing unhappily in her sleep, Nimue finally settled, ghostly refrains and choruses slipping in and out of her dreams.
