People spill onto the streets as the humans prepare for drunken celebrations and warm houses filled with love. But we do not show affection with spiced cakes or ale. My mother takes my hand, guiding me through the hallway. Opening the door to my room, she shows me the two human women that sit on my bed patiently.
Marcella kisses my cheek as she whispers, Merry Christmas, my son, and leaves me to my bidding. Their hearts beat like hummingbird wings cutting through the silence. The smell of their blood will soon stain my sheets.
A very delectable gift indeed.
They know what I am. Marcella has told them. But humans are so naïve. Easily intrigued, they want to see for themselves. They are not afraid of what a monster with black eyes will do to them. But they should be.