There is a story on the radio… some ghostly tale or other. I never really understood why we tell ghost stories at Christmas. I know it is traditional, but I was never sure how far back it went. I’d done a bit of research once, but that took it only a few hundred years. I had often wondered if it went back even further, to the dark, wild nights when firelight cast a safe circle against the dancing shadows. It is easy to imagine strange creatures when the shades claw their way up the walls, especially when the bonds of conscious thought are loosed by the ember glow.
The story ends and is replaced by Christmas carols. Looking around the room, everything is ready. Presents wait, all wrapped under the tree, mince pies dusted with sugar… a carrot for Rudolph and a glass of sherry for Santa, to keep out…
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