Candle-Lit Nightmare

Intro

This piece grew out of a three-word writing challenge paired with a single, very specific rule: none of the prompt words could appear on the page.

The word prompts were:

• Icicles
• Merrily
• Beginnings

I liked the tension that created, how absence can become a kind of pressure, shaping tone and direction without ever announcing itself. It felt like writing around a shadow and letting the outline do the work.

The result is a dark, slightly playful story that leans into implication and restraint, where cheer and menace share the same warm glow and neither can be trusted for long.

Candle-Lit Nightmare

The house smiled the way a skull might if it learned manners.

Winter pressed its teeth against the eaves, long and glassy, dripping patience onto the porch boards. Each drop counted time better than any clock. Inside, the radio hummed an old tune that sounded cheerful only if you didn’t listen too closely, like a lullaby sung by someone who had forgotten the words on purpose.

They gathered at the table because that’s what one does when the air feels thin and expectant. Plates were set. Knives aligned themselves. No one remembered laying them out.

Laughter arrived early and stayed too long. It bounced off the walls, slipped under chairs, hid where shadows pooled. Someone joked about fresh starts. Someone else choked on the punchline. The sound was wet and final, but polite applause followed anyway.

Outside, the cold ornaments grew longer, sharper, eager. Inside, the floor creaked as if learning to walk for the first time. The lights flickered, practicing hope, then gave up.

When the song on the radio ended, no one reached to change it. They were busy realizing that some doors only open inward, and some moments arrive dressed like celebrations, carrying a knife wrapped in ribbon.

The house kept smiling.

After all, it had been waiting for this.