Christmas Tales of Terror

By Chris Priestley

From malevolent snowmen to Father Christmas - with a difference... Chris Priestley is on absolute top form in these atmospheric, clever, and thoroughly chilling stories. Add a new kind of thrill to the fluffiest of seasons with seven brilliantly conceived examples of why you'd better be good at Christmas time. For stories which can be enjoyed by the whole family, unwrap these perfectly formed festive tales of terror, each with a gripping yarn and genius twist.

Singing carols may never seem quite the same again... especially after dark.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Nov 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781619631397

Chris Priestley

Chris Priestley is the author of the critically acclaimed Tales of Terror series, the award-winning novel Mister Creecher, and in 2018, Chris won the Portsmouth Shorter Novel Award for Flesh and Blood. He is most prominently inspired by the tradition of horror stories by authors such as Edgar Allan Poe and Mary Shelley. He lives in Cambridge, where he continues to think up marvellously macabre stories, but he is also a talented artist and illustrator. He illustrates his own material and his cartoons have been published in the Independent as well as other national newspapers.

Book preview

Ian

1

The Green Man

Stephen Levenson stood for some time looking at the house at the end of the long, tree-lined drive. It was the view he always pictured when he was at school, thinking of the Christmas holidays. But since his father’s death three years before, it was tinged with sadness.

Woodehouse End was as lovely as ever, with its high gables and ornate brick chimneys, from which tall columns of smoke rose into the cold, grey sky. It had always been more his father’s house than his mother’s, and it even seemed to have something of his father’s combination of quietude and confidence.

Stephen took a moment to remember how life used to be before his father died – and before his mother had remarried. He thought of these times fondly and without bitterness. He had adjusted to the new state of things with the good grace he knew his father would have expected of him. Besides, he was away at school most of the time.

Stephen took a deep breath of chill air and set off up the gravel drive.

‘Why, Master Stephen!’ cried Elspeth, the parlourmaid, when she opened the front door. ‘We wasn’t expecting you till three.’

‘I caught an earlier train,’ said Stephen.

‘You should have called. Mr James would have fetched you from the station.’

‘It’s all right. I like the walk.’

‘Madam will be pleased,’ Elspeth went on. ‘’T ain’t Christmas till you come, sir.’

Stephen smiled. It was good to be home.

‘Well, are you going to let me in, Elspeth?’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Is Mother about?’

Elspeth took his coat and bag.

‘She’s in the hall, Master Stephen, decorating the tree. You should see it, sir. It’s a giant!’

‘You say that every year, Elspeth,’ said Stephen.

‘Well, this year it’s truer than ever,’ she replied, as she walked away with his bag.

Stephen had to admit that the tree was indeed enormous. His mother was looking up at Hills, the butler, who was teetering precariously atop a tall stepladder.

‘No, no,’ Stephen’s mother was saying. ‘A little to the left.’

‘If he goes any further to the left, Mother,’ said Stephen, ‘poor Hills will fall and break his neck.’

‘Stephen!’ said his mother loudly, making Hills wobble even more and drop the bauble he had been trying to hang. It shattered into a thousand glittering fragments.

‘Sorry, madam,’ said Hills.

‘Never mind,’ she replied, shaking her head. ‘Come down, come down. I think that will probably do in any case.’

‘Very good, ma’am,’ said Hills, the relief evident in his voice. ‘I’ll get Elspeth to clear this up.’

Mrs Levenson turned to her son and put her hands to either side of his face.

‘It’s so lovely to have you home,’ she said. ‘You’re freezing, Stephen. Get yourself by the fire.’

‘I’m fine, Mother,’ he said. ‘Please don’t fuss.’

‘Your father will be so pleased to see you.’

Stephen did not respond. He was not willing to join in with his mother’s new conceit of calling his stepfather his father, but neither did he want to argue with her or upset her unnecessarily. It was Christmas.

‘You’ve gone rather overboard with the greenery,’ he said, changing the subject.

‘Isn’t it wonderful!’ his mother replied, clasping her hands together. ‘Lady Fairlove’s house was full of green leaves last Christmas and it looked marvellous. I can’t think why we’ve never done it before.’

Stephen shook his head in amazement. Swathes of ivy coiled up the banisters of the stairs and round the frames of the paintings on the walls. It wound round lamps and chairs and table legs and was pinned to architraves.

Wreaths of holly hung from every door and bunches of it had been strewn on shelves and ledges and gathered together with yew branches in vases and jugs. Every windowsill was decked with great clumps of leaves and berries.

‘Your father gathered it all,’ his mother added. ‘It took him an age, but you know how persistent he is.’

Stephen smiled. His stepfather was not such a bad sort, but persistence could not be counted among his most obvious characteristics. His main goal in life seemed to be to avoid any kind of confrontation with his wife, so Stephen was convinced that most of this alleged ‘persistence’ came from her. He was positive that, left to his own devices, his stepfather would have happily made do with a few sprigs here and there.

‘But where did it all come from?’ asked Stephen. ‘I can’t think there is a corner of our land that’s untidy enough to supply such a crop.’

Stephen noticed that his mother suddenly seemed a little nervous.

‘From Freya’s Hill,’ she said airily.

Stephen stared at her and she looked away, adjusting one of the vases of holly.

‘Freya’s Hill?’ said Stephen. ‘But you know that Father forbade anyone from –’

‘You have a new father now, Stephen,’ said his mother. ‘And he isn’t quite so superstitious.’

‘Father respected the –’

‘Respect?’ his mother said crossly. ‘Do not use that word in relation to such heathen practices.’

Stephen’s mother had taken solace in the Church after his father had died and Stephen had the distinct impression that she had begun to believe that her late husband’s interest in folklore and magic might have contributed to his early death. She would never have voiced this opinion to Stephen, but he felt it was there in the background, always. Stephen’s goodwill began to ebb.

‘If you think them heathen, Mother,’ he said, ‘why bring green leaves into the house at all? Surely that is heathen. It has nothing to do with Christianity, after all.’

‘Nonsense,’ she said.

‘How is it nonsense?’ said Stephen.

‘Well, the wreaths of holly represent the crown of thorns and the berries the drops of blood.’

‘Mother,’ Stephen said, shaking his head. ‘You know full well that –’

‘I won’t debate with you, Stephen,’ she said, waving him away as though he were a wasp. ‘You and your father were always too clever for me.’

Yes, thought Stephen. Father was always too clever for you. That’s why you chose such an amiable fool for your new husband.

And just as he thought that, Stephen’s stepfather walked into the hall.

‘Stephen!’ he cried with a grin. ‘Good to have you home, my boy.’

‘Hello, sir,’ said Stephen. ‘Mother was just telling me how you collected all this holly and ivy.’

‘No sir, boy,’ said his stepfather. ‘No need for all that. Yes – the greenery. Scratched myself to ribbons on brambles, don’t you know, but wouldn’t let that stop me. Once I get started on something . . .’

Stephen bit his lip. It’s Christmas, he told himself again. He smiled and said that he really ought to go up to his room and unpack. As he reached the top of the stairs, he looked back down, past the tree and the swathes of ivy, at his mother and stepfather standing talking below. It was almost like looking down into a forest glade.

Stephen wondered what his father would have made

Reviews for Christmas Tales of Terror

[reallifereading · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Uncle Montague’s Tales of Terror is such a delight. It would be the ideal RIP read, but reading it in the chilly wintry nights did just fine. Enchanting and endearing in that creepy sort of way. If you like Tim Burton movies, this book’s for you.

[passion4reading_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

At home from boarding school, Edgar is a lonely child who likes to escape his indifferent parents to visit his relation of unknown degree, called Uncle Montague, to listen to stories. And what stories they are! This latest visit incorporates items from around the study into each tale, and then Uncle Montague tops it all off by narrating a final story where he himself is the subject.This is a collection of self-contained short stories framed by a larger narrative involving Uncle Montague and Edgar. Even though the tales aren't quite up to the standard of his other work Tales of Terror from the Black Ship in my opinion, they are nevertheless sinister and frightening, just occasionally bordering on the unpleasant. Edgar's narration on the other hand is a marvellous study in creepiness, the author managing to increase the tension and suspense in small degrees, creating a wonderful sense of foreboding and unease until all is revealed at the end. I especially liked the idea of the sugar bowl on the tea tray having to be refilled at regular intervals and Edgar blaming this on his uncle's sweet tooth, even though he never actually sees him take one.As always I admire Chris Priestley's twisted imagination that can conjure up stories like these, and even though the narratives' subjects are children, don't be fooled into thinking that this is a children's book, some of the stories are far too disturbing for a younger readership. Worth re-reading again and again.

[beyre_3 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book was an enjoyable read even for this adult, though the audience is intended for youth. Filled with wonderful descriptions and charming illustrations, the book flowed nicely with short stories that were tied together. Though the stories are short, the characters within are given adequate introduction and brought to life. Some stories were a little bit gruesome, but most were pretty mild.

[cflorap · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Poor Edward. He has dull parents, won't play with the local kids when he's home from boarding school, and is dull and unimaginative himself. But visits with his old Uncle Montague (no one is sure how many "great"s should go before his name, so Edward just calls him Uncle) start to awaken some fear in the boy. Uncle Montague lives alone in the woods in a cold, dark house full of mysterious items that each seem to have a ghastly history that unfolds in a chilling tale. Edward wants to believe these are just stories, because how could Uncle know stories in which most of the protagonists mysteriously died or disappeared? What's more, how could he possibly own the accursed items that were responsible?These ghost stories within a ghost story are wonderfully creepy and disturbing, reminiscent of Edgar Allen Poe, with Roberts' illustrations reminding one of Edward Gorey. Easily frightened readers may want to avoid Priestly's Tales of Terror books, or at least refrain from reading them before bed, but they would be perfect for reading aloud at a Halloween or slumber party.The Tales of Terror books are recommended for middle school audiences, although younger readers who enjoy ghost stories will like them as well. The short chapters, suspense, and fast pace also make these great for reluctant readers.

[bookwormygirl · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Young Edgar loves visiting his eccentric, Great-Great Uncle Montague even if it means going though the spooky woods to get there. For Uncle Montague is a very talented storyteller and has a story to tell about all the creepy odds and ends he has lying around his study.I loved the goosebumpy feeling I had the whole time I read this book. The fact that each tale’s main character was a child made it even more spooky for me. I loved the gothicy feel each tale had and although the stories were short they were definitely potent and got their message across. As always, my main complaint with short stories... that they are just too short and right when I'm finally getting into the story they end.Needless to say, I thought Mr. Priestley delivered with this group of stories. The underlying story of Uncle Montague and Edgar was, I think, the creepiest by far... but I won't give anything away. I loved the wordplay used, I think Mr. Priestley has a talent for using simple words and descriptions that definitely enhance his stories and make them far more sinister. Although I felt some of the stories ended quite abruptly, in retrospect, I think, this was what made me think of them well after I was done reading them.I recommend that younger readers take the warning on the back cover seriously, as this isn't a book to be read alone or late at night... especially those who are faint of heart. If they are brave enough, then I definitely recommend a quick glance in the closet and definitely take a peek under the bed.As the not-so-young adult I am, I found these to be deliciously creepy, spine-tingling and definitely worth the read.

[phoebesmum · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

imagine a cross between M R James and Edward Gorey, in particular 'The Gashlycrumb Tinies', and you pretty much have this book spread out in a nutshell. Solitary Edgar is in the habit, during the school holidays, of visiting his Uncle Montague, an equally solitary soul whose house (or at any rate the study, the only room Edgar has ever been in, save the lavatory) is filled with curios, each of which has a story behind it. A ghastly, creepy story which inevitably ends in the grisly death of its juvenile protagonist. And, behind it all, there is Uncle Montague's own strange and sinister history, and the mystery of the children who haunt the woods that Edgar must pass through …The stories themselves vary; some are genuinely scary, others fall flat, while still others are just plain weird, but they're short enough to read several in one sitting, and the entire book isn't likely to take more than an evening or two. David Robert's black and white illos add to the Goreyesque quality and contribute considerably to the overall atmosphere.

[hagelrat · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is a wonderful book for readers of all ages, but should be read under the duvet by torchlight. I expected a fairly creepy offering, but in the best tradition of fairy tales this is a book of short stories in which horrible things happen to children, for no particular reason other than life can be like that. The stories are interwoven with the wider tale of Edgar’s visits to his Uncle, the story teller and an increasing sense of trepidation as we head back to the fireplace each time. Something more is going on here, are these really just made up stories to frighten a small boy or is something considerably more sinister occurring?

[gothydevil_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A great collection of spine-tingling short stories all wrapped in a larger story that has a great twist at the very end.....