That small sour laugh again. I saw that his monstrous parents had finished cleaning Melanie, neglecting to get up the gallons of strange eggnog congealing on the floor. “No, no. Nothing like that. Just believe in the holiday of Christmas. We’re not after religious or spiritual belief, just the trappings.” He leaned closer as he continued in a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, reindeer, sleigh bells, mistletoe? We’ve been trying to give you Christmas spirit for days, but you haven’t been very receptive.”

He raised his hands as he continued in a lower voice. “I know, I know. They’re methods can be…off-putting. They put out the gingerbread house without my knowing about it.” He gave a chuckle. “I mean, I’ve been staying in the house a lot since you moved in, but I still have a job and other responsibilities.” Sighing, he looked back at them over his shoulder as they began to move closer. “To be honest, I think they’re going insane. But you need to understand it’s not their fault.”

“They’re going insane? What about you?” I was tired of this. If he was going to kill me, just do it and get it over with.

The man tapped my chin again, a bit harder this time. “Touché.”

“Tell her.” The man-thing’s voice was booming, but at the same time it was somehow hollow, like a storm’s wind pushing between dead winter trees. “Explain why she must believe.”

A look of irritation passed over the son’s face. “Getting to that.” He stood up and took a couple of steps back. When I was a teenager, my parents got a mysterious invitation to a hotel out west called The Imago. They had never heard of it, but when they asked around, they found out it was some big deal fancy place that only the super-rich and powerful ever visited. We’re talking ten stars out of five-star hotels.”

“But, the hotel apparently picked “lottery winners” once a year. How they selected them, or even knew my parents existed, we never found out. But my father was an accountant and my mother worked the front office for a pediatrician. They’d never have another chance like this, so they jumped at it.”

The man sat down on one of the other kitchen chairs, seemingly oblivious to the liquid soaking into his pants. His expression had grown darker, but also more sane, as he looked off at the far wall. “When they came back a week later, they were different. At first it was in positive ways. They both seemed younger and stronger. Smarter even.” He puffed out a breath. “And they could do things. Things that seemed like magic. When I would ask them about it, they would laugh it off, but I knew they were lying.”