Day 2,300

Ward the halls with boughs of holly, barricade your kin against that which sleeps beneath the snow and pray for a swift end to the old year. Those were my grandmother's last words when she passed on November 24th. Hardly gave us time to bury her and arrange her home just as she told us to before the day arrived. It wasn't even due to snow this year but even in death she got her way.

Place protective sigils in every glistening bauble and thread them to the fir trees with a newborn's hair. Her instructions were as specific as they were obscure as they were downright bizarre but the will was clear - if her home wasn't set for Christmas just as she'd planned then her worldly possessions would go to charity and not her dear family.

Hidden beneath the fireplace are thirteen bells that must be rung every hour on the hour, must be loud enough to disturb the robin at the end of the garden and he must not nest that day. I don't know what she had against that particular robin and I didn't particularly care about following her mad ramblings to the letter either but aunts and uncles all came crawling out of the woodwork and bent over backwards to make sure they got what was rightfully theirs.

If there are children in the house they must be kept out of sight and they must all be sound asleep before the sun sets, winter's moon must not see them. Bearing in mind that winter sunset is around 4PM and bearing in mind just how fussy children can be, we planned to not have any in the house that day but luck turned against us and cousin Sara had to bring her newborn along. It helped with the baubles at least and then it all went wrong at the very last part.

Light my favourite candle and set it above the fireplace, should the lights flicker nine times quick succession you much make no sound throughout the house or they will wake from beneath the snow and it will all be for nothing. We thought this would be the easiest step, just sitting around with cups of coffee and watching the candle until sunrise. Then it began to flicker like an unseen someone was standing beside it, gently but quickly blowing on it til the flame jolted nine times.

Sara's daughter began to cry soon after and the ground all around the house was filled with the sounds of bare hands digging through snow and footsteps on the front porch. The baby stopped crying as soon as the door flung itself open which sent us all rushing upstairs with Sara sobbing loud enough to wake the dead.

The child was stone cold and solid as stone when we got there. It was like she'd been dead for hours instead of the few brief seconds it took for us to run up to her. The fire happened soon after - apparently grandmother's favourite candle got knocked over during the rush and her carpet was extremely flammable.

We barely made it out alive and in accordance with her will, we get nothing but another funeral for it.