Horror Stories from Horrified - Volume One (2)

They w er e falling in and out of the fashionable bar s that had taken over fr om the
shops of his youth. He walked slow ly and car efully, like a dr unk tr ying to give the
appear ance of being able to walk in a str aight line. His concentr ation on his gait
had no effect. He battled w ith his ow n r ationality, telling himself over and over that
it wasn?t r eal, but he couldn?t convince himself, stumbling for war d unable to collect
himself. He knew it w ould be ther e again befor e he saw it. It had been the same for
most of his childhood, but he thought he had dispelled it for ever.
As a child and in the lead up to Chr istmas, the figur e w ould appear to him at night
as he huddled in bed, dancing, taunting, getting ever closer each day so by
Chr istmas Eve so he could feel its br eath on his neck. The memor y was star ting to
for m clear ly now , something he had suppr essed, something he had hidden fr om
himself. He could hear the ar guing, he could hear his dad pleading, his mother
yelling, the sound of door s slamming above the sound of the r ecor d player , of Slade
star ting the Chr istmas season; Mer r y Chr istmas ever ybody. He could feel the r ough
blanket scr ape his ear as he pulled it up against the sound of the ar gument below.
He hear d his father pleading for quiet, that their son w ould hear. Then the needle
being put on the r ecor d again, and again, and again. Lying under the cover s,
scr ew ing his eyes tight as the cr y of "It?s Chr istmas" echoed ar ound the house. He
saw himself watching the band on Top of the Pops, focussing on the other w or ldly
figur e of Dave Hill pr ancing ar ound the studio, the audience dancing under the
br ight lights, batting away balloons, smiling. Happy.
He stopped dead at the sound of the gentle gr ating of br oken glass and
r emember ed his r ecent pur chase. In his hur r y to get away his must have caught it
against the wall. It lay ther e br oken. His pause had cost him dear ly and he looked
up again to see the image of Dave Hill in fr ont of him gr inning, his head swaying as
he star ted to dance once again, stomping r ound, clad in silver lur ex, the Super yob
guitar clutched in his fists. He hear d the sound of ?Mer r y Chr istmas, Ever ybody?
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