“The Night Movers” by Lana Casiello, a FREE Christmas horror short story
Just in time for Christmas, here is the fourth and final short story of 2024! It’s a Christmas horror story written by Lana Casiello. Something a little festive but spooky for your holiday season. I hope you enjoy this one as much as I did editing and reading it.
Per usual, these short stories are provided free to the reader. You can read below, via your email if you subscribed, or use the “Add to Cart” option to download an ebook copy to take with you.
Merry Christmas and happy holidays, and to all a spooky night!
Meet Lana Casiello
Lana is an up and coming author who writes supernatural horror. She loves true life ghost tales and has degrees in fine arts and psychology. In her writing she likes to blend folklore with psychology. I first met Lana on the interwebs this year and find her to be a pleasant and good person, who is very thoughtful. I’m more than happy to have her original short story for the newsletter and I wish her nothing but the best in her novel and short story writing going forward.
You can find Lana across the web in these places:
It’s the most wonderful time of the year and Tobi is looking for a means to start over. All he wants for Christmas is to disappear, and if he is unlucky enough, he may just get that gift. So cozy up to the fireplace and stockings, but beware because the Night Movers are busy.
Rated PG-13: Violence, creepy stuff.
What you get: An epub file that is DRM free and should work on most PCs, eReaders, and mobile devices.
After you've finished reading, please come back and leave a review or comment below.
-
Copyright © 2024 by Lana Casiello.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted by Artificial Intelligence (AI) or used in the training of AI, for either commercial or non-commercial purposes. For permission requests, write to the author, with subject “The Night Movers” at the following email address: Lcboylebooks@gmail.com.
“The Night Movers”
A Short Story by Lana Casiello
“I want to disappear. I heard you could make that happen,” Tobi said to the white cat. Eyes blinked twice behind her mask. Tobi tried again, slower and louder: “You make people disappear?”
Distracted by the parade of bizarre masks, vegetable people arm-in-arm with household flotsam jostled for space on the sidewalk. Tobi moved out of the way only to knock into a group of identical jolly old men with white beards. Holiday revelers sang in the streets, making conversation all but impossible, while the sizzle of meat and fish clawed at Tobi’s stomach. He adjusted his black cat mask, but the girl disappeared into the crowd. Steam rose in thick cords from the hot springs flowing through the center of the village, obscuring his vision.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” a fox-faced lady called out, sly and sharp. Tobi pushed his way through the throng. She was leaning against one of the medicine shops that lined the street. Its banner swayed like a drunk in the heated updraft.
“Are you Ren?” He asked the fox. She nodded. He was about to ask if she spoke English but remembered it was she who called to him.
“You’re the boy who wants to evaporate,” she said.
“Hanna sent me,” he replied. “The Night Mover? She helps people—”
“Abscond into oblivion?” Ren said. “What did she tell you?”
“What it would cost and how to find you.”
“You get rid of your phone? Write anything down?”
“Yes, and no,” Tobi answered.
She crossed her arms, eyes hidden but watchful. Damp air made the fur around her collared hood sag, and the image of roadkill flashed across his mind.
Tobi fished in the pockets of his coat and pulled out a crumpled pile of bills; he was still unaccustomed to the value. He held out payment to Ren, yet her arms remained pretzeled across her torso.
“You’re too early,” she said.
“Hanna said to come on the 21st. I’m right on time.”
“You should be celebrating with your family, hanging lights, buying gifts, proposing to some girlfriend.” Shifting her weight to one hip, she looked him over. “What are you doing here?”
“Listen,” he started, “I can’t even afford this. But I need to start over, and I need to do it now. I don’t have time—”
“Nobody has time,” Ren said, cutting him off. “But that doesn’t stop them from pretending. Meet me at the train station in an hour. You can put away your money, we don’t take that kind of payment.” She pointed down the street to the platform. When he turned back, she had blended into the crowd and mist.
Snow fell as whispered flakes, dusting Tobi’s hair and shoulders. He pulled his coat tighter around his body as he walked, head down, toward the station to wait. Paranoia clung to him like a sour dog. He wanted to leave the frenzied masses, each person a liability that could endanger his future.
The clock tolled eleven, and the festival came to an abrupt stop. Villagers, still in their masks, converged upon the simple train station and packed the train with little urgency. Tobi scanned the crowd for the fox woman. He assumed they’d take another mode of transportation. The minutes wore on, and those still on the platform squeezed into the remaining cars. Painted, frozen faces leered at him through the dirty glass.
As the train whistled and pulled away, he found himself surrounded by a dozen stragglers. Once the gray and white horizon swallowed the train lights, the others removed their masks. Lost souls, each one, just like Tobi. Tobi tossed his mask on the platform and merged with the crowd.
The festive silk lanterns flickered out and hung like dark ornaments, while snowfall erased footprints and snuffed out the echoes of life.
Ren strutted out from the shadows. With a flick of her hand, the group followed her past the abandoned village. A path wound into the hills, lined with stone lanterns that stood sentinel for centuries. Their wax candles burned with flames that neither wavered nor died as the cold deepened. Tobi followed her as doubt settled in his bones like an ache.
He halted with the others as they came to the end of the trail. They stood at the source of the village’s hot springs, high above the walkways and bridges below.
A man waited for them in the center of the steaming pool, holding a light with trembling hands. Shadows crawled beneath his vacant eyes and down his face.
“What’s he doing?” Tobi asked.
“Shhh!” Ren spat. Tobi stepped closer, breath fogged, hoping to comprehend this journey. The man turned his head as if locking eyes with someone. His dead eyes brimmed with fear. The flame in the lantern bent sideways and grew long and rope-like before going out. The man’s body collapsed into the water and dissolved as though made of paper.
The others took up tin lanterns placed around the water’s edge while Tobi stepped back. Ren disappeared in the shuffle. One by one, the flames grew long and bent, feeding the mist above the water, giving it shape and form. Tobi snatched a lantern and rushed back in the direction from whence they came. Each light winked out as he passed. What had he signed up for?
He tumbled over the lip of a step and fell hard. Icy slush seeped through his clothes and made his joints slow and dumb. Behind him, the sound of wet cloth being dragged across the snow goosed his nerves, and he scrambled back to his feet.
“Hey, you!” A voice called from off the path. He grabbed his light and held it aloft. The darkness and the snowfall made him night-blind.
“Put out the light!” The stranger hissed. Tobi stalked the sound, refusing to snuff out the candle.
Behind one of the weathered stone posts cowered a figure donning a skeleton mask.
“Are you crazy, put it out!” He said, knocking the light from Tobi’s hand.
“You’re American?” Tobi asked.
“Close. I’m a journalist from Toronto. Craig Matthews.” He said the name as if Tobi should recognize it. “I came here following a lead on a missing person. What are you doing here?”
“We don’t have time to get into that. What the hell is going on?”
“Where’s your mask?” Craig asked.
“What?”
“Cover your face. It hides your light.”
Tobi searched his pockets and pulled out a bandana, then tied it over his face.
“We have got to make our way back to the train tracks and get the hell out of here,” Craig said.
“What did I just witness?” Tobi asked.
“Ancient spirits? Light eaters? Sacrifices are my best guess.”
“I’m a sacrifice?”
“You had to have volunteered to be here. Nobody is going to miss you, are they?”
“No,” Tobi admitted. People missed their money, but they sure as hell were not going to miss him.
“You want to disappear?”
Tobi didn’t reply.
“You’re going to get your wish. These things, that come through on the shortest day of the year, eat light. People make light all over the world — Christmas, Kwanza, Hanukkah…”
“Yeah, lights,” Tobi said, looking over his shoulder.
“So, in order to keep everybody from getting eaten, this little village in the middle of nowhere feeds them the brightest lights — auras, souls, you know, people.”
“Bullshit.”
“You saw it, man. With your own eyes. So did I. Stay if you want,” Craig said, and started to move down the hill back toward town.
Tobi took up the trail. “Where did Ren go?”
“Who?”
“The fox woman,” Tobi said.
Craig shook his head.
Fog rolled in over the path. The crackle of crushed snow followed. They were coming. Tobi yanked the back of Craig’s coat.
A flank of smooth-headed men and women floated their way, eyes huge, red mouths gaping and hungry.
“Let’s move,” Craig whispered. Like sharks smelling blood, each ghoul’s head turned in their direction. The two men made their way through pitfalls hidden in the snow, sliding and tripping as they raced toward the train tracks. With each crashing footfall and wheezing breath, the spirits homed in on their location. The air grew wetter and colder as they drew close. Tobi turned and yelped. Thick, gray tongues licked at his body heat, slurped the white puffs of breath that came off him like a steam engine. His legs burned as he pushed himself onward. Still, they caught pieces of him in their teeth, a bit of neck, more if he didn’t move like his ass was on fire.
“There’s a train!” Craig cried, abandoning all pretense of trying to stay hidden.
Hope sped them on. They clambered upon the station platform, tumbled into the closest train car, and pulled the doors closed behind them. Silence and night reflected through the windows. Tobi bled into his coat. The train jerked forward, no whistle this time. They were moving.
“Happy holidays, eh?” Craig panted.
Their breath slowed as the car bumped along the track. The light within the train stretched long, bent, and went out.
THE END
Please sound off in the comments to let Lana know what you thought of her story. And as always, keep it respectful.
