The days after our first "guest" blurred into a fragile routine. Mom handled the ads, her voice sweet and inviting over the phone like she was selling homemade jam at a market. Mia drew pictures of "sleeping angels" in her notebook, her crayons turning crimson skies above stick-figure families. And me? I did the work in the basement—quick, clean, the knife becoming an extension of the hum in my veins. Each kill quieted the Aether for a little longer, like feeding a fire just enough wood to keep it from spreading. We told ourselves it was necessary. Survival. But at night, when the apartment creaked under the weight of winter, I wondered if we were just delaying the blaze.
It was New Year's Eve when the news broke. I was scrubbing the last traces of blood from under my nails when Mom called me into the living room. The TV flickered with holiday fireworks, but the banner at the bottom screamed something darker: "Holiday Massacre Spree Grips Nation Dozens Dead in Coordinated Attacks."
My stomach dropped. The reporter's voice was steady, almost clinical. "Authorities are investigating a series of brutal killings across four cities, all occurring on Christmas Eve. No clear motive, but survivors describe assailants acting in a trance-like state. In Eldoria, a toy store wiped out fourteen dead. In the suburbs of Riverton, a family gathering turned slaughterhouse. Downtown Harlan, a bar full of revelers. And in quiet Lakeside, a home invasion that left an entire household gone."
I sank onto the couch, the remote slipping from my hand. Mia peeked from the hallway, eyes wide. "Eli? Is that… us?"
Mom shushed her gently, but her own face was ashen. "Not just us."
The phone rang then Luca's number flashing on the screen. I answered on the first ring, voice low. "You see it?"
His breath came ragged, like he'd been running. "Yeah. Stone it's all of us. The squad. We all… we all heard the song that night."
He told me everything, words tumbling out in a rush. Luca had been at a crowded bar in Harlan, nursing a beer alone when the jukebox switched to Silent Night. Blackout. Woke up surrounded by bodies—patrons throats slit, bartender impaled on a broken bottle, blood mixing with spilled eggnog on the floor. He'd slipped out before the cops arrived, but the guilt gnawed at him like teeth. "I don't remember the details," he whispered. "Just flashes. Laughter turning to screams. My hands… gods, my hands were everywhere."
Torin hit a family party in Riverton. The big man, always silent, had crashed a neighbor's gathering uninvited, trance pulling him like a magnet when the carol played over their speakers. He used his bare hands mostly: necks snapped, heads bashed against mantels decorated with stockings. A child had survived, hiding in a closet, describing a "giant with empty eyes" who hummed as he worked. Torin was holed up now, somewhere remote, talking about turning himself in. "He called me yesterday," Luca said. "Sounded broken. Said the Aether whispered 'thank you' after."
But Mara… Mara's story hit like a gut punch. Luca had pieced it together from news clips and a frantic call from her precinct contact before they hauled her in. She'd been home for Christmas first time in years, trying to rebuild with her boyfriend, Alex, and her estranged family. Her parents, a brother, his wife, their two kids. A picture-perfect reunion in Lakeside, snow outside, fire crackling, gifts under the tree.
The song started innocent enough. Alex had queued a playlist old favorites to bridge the awkward silences. Silent Night came on midway through dinner, the family laughing about childhood memories. Mara's fork paused mid-air. The blackout swallowed her whole.
She started with Alex. The man she'd loved—quiet, kind Alex, who rubbed her back during nightmares and promised forever. One moment they were toasting, the next her hands were around his throat. She squeezed, muscles honed from Veil training turning gentle touch to vise. His eyes bulged, pleading, hands clawing at her arms. "Mara… please…" he gasped, voice cracking like ice underfoot. She didn't hear. The Aether sang through her, turning love to ritual. His face purpled, veins popping, until his body went limp in her grip. She dropped him like discarded wrapping paper, his head thudding against the hardwood.
Her mother screamed first a raw, maternal wail that shattered the holiday haze. Mara turned, eyes hollow as mine, and lunged. The carving knife from the turkey was in her hand now, blade flashing under the string lights. She drove it into her mother's chest once, twice, three times—each thrust punctuating the song's lyrics. Blood bloomed across the white sweater, hot and arterial, spraying Mara's face like festive confetti. Her mother clutched at the wound, whispering "Baby… why?" before collapsing, tears mixing with the red pooling on the rug.
The father tried to fight, old but fierce, grabbing a poker from the fireplace. He swung wild, catching Mara's shoulder in a glancing blow that split skin but didn't slow her. She disarmed him with a twist, bone cracking, then rammed the poker through his eye—deep, grinding, until it punched out the back of his skull. He twitched, a final gasp escaping like a deflating balloon, body crumpling beside his wife.
Her brother and his wife bolted for the door, kids screaming behind them. Mara caught the wife first, tripped her with a sweep, then stomped down on her spine until it snapped with a wet crunch. The woman howled, paralyzed, begging for her children. Mara silenced her with the knife slashing across the throat, blood fountaining in rhythmic spurts that matched the carol's melody.
The brother fought harder, shielding his kids. He punched Mara square in the jaw, drawing blood, but she didn't flinch. She headbutted him, nose exploding in a spray of red, then gutted him like a holiday ham—knife up under the ribs, twisting until his insides spilled hot and steaming onto the snow-dusted welcome mat.
The kids… gods, the kids. Four and six, huddled in the corner, sobbing "Auntie Mara, stop!" She hesitated or the thing inside her did. But the song swelled, insistent. She snapped their necks quick—small mercies, one after the other. Their eyes stayed open, accusing, as she laid them beside the tree like forgotten presents.
When the blackout lifted, Mara sat in the carnage, covered in her family's blood, the song fading to whispers. She didn't scream. Didn't run. Just stared at her hands, trembling, as sirens wailed closer. The police found her there, rocking softly, humming the last verse.
Luca's voice broke as he finished. "They arrested her this morning. She's claiming amnesia—no memory of it. The cops think it's a ploy, but we know… it's the truth. The Aether wipes it clean after. Like a reset."
I hung up, heart aching for Mara the unbreakable squad leader reduced to a hollow shell. Tears stung my eyes, hot and unbidden. She'd been our rock. Now she was alone in a cell, fragments of horror seeping back in nightmares.
Mom wrapped her arms around me from behind.
Mia peeked in, holding one of her drawings, a family under a red sky, smiling amid stick-figure bodies. "We won't let it take you, Eli. We'll feed it first."
As fireworks exploded outside, welcoming the new year, I nodded. But deep down, the Aether whispered a different promise: one day, the lure wouldn't be strangers c.
It would be mom or Mia, I can't let that happen.