The Brown Figure Behind the Christmas Decorations

Chapter 1: Dramatic Christmas

I still remember the sound of my grandfather’s voice more than anything else.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just a quiet murmur coming from the kitchen in the middle of the night.

Back then, my grandparents and I lived together in a small house where every room had its own familiar sounds. The living room was where my grandmother and I slept, while my grandfather slept in the kitchen. It wasn’t because he was uncomfortable with us or because there was some big reason behind it. That was simply his place. He liked having his own corner, surrounded by the things he used every day.

The kitchen was where he spent most of his time. It carried his smell—the scent of tea, old wooden cabinets, and the spices he always kept nearby. It was where he would sit quietly, read, and sometimes pray when everyone else was asleep.

That night started like any other.

The house was completely silent. The kind of silence that makes every small sound feel louder. I was lying in the living room, trying to fall asleep, when I heard something coming from the kitchen.

At first, I thought my grandfather was talking to himself.

“Grandpa?” I whispered.

No answer.

I listened carefully.