For forty-one years, the halls of Martingdale echoed with unexplained footsteps and banging doors every Christmas Eve — until the night we stayed to watch, and the dead finally showed us what happened.
For forty-one years, the halls of Martingdale echoed with unexplained footsteps and banging doors every Christmas Eve — until the night we stayed to watch, and the dead finally showed us what happened.
Two centuries ago, a desperate young servant girl buried a piece of amber in the frozen Nova Scotia earth and summoned something with rows of gleaming teeth and an ungodly stench. Every Christmas Eve since, it returns to collect its payment — in flesh.