The Midnight Carolers

The town of Black Hollow was known for its picturesque snowfalls and cozy, candlelit streets during the holiday season. Every December, families hung wreaths on their doors, children built snowmen in the park, and the air was filled with the sweet aroma of roasted chestnuts from street vendors. But Black Hollow had one peculiar tradition that no one dared to question: when the Midnight Carolers came to sing, you stayed inside.

It was an unspoken rule, passed down through generations. No one really remembered when the tradition started or why it existed. All they knew was that the carolers always appeared on the nights leading up to Christmas, their voices hauntingly beautiful, yet unsettling. Doors were locked, windows were shuttered, and lights were dimmed. Listening was unavoidable—the melody seeped through the walls, a chilling harmony that made your skin crawl.

This year, the Parker family had just moved into Black Hollow. Jack and Maria Parker, along with their teenage daughter Sophie, had come seeking a quieter life away from the bustling city. They bought the old Miller house at the edge of town, a charming Victorian home that had been vacant for years. The townsfolk were polite but distant, offering polite warnings about the carolers without much elaboration.

“It’s just tradition,” said Mrs. Hargrove, their elderly neighbor, when Maria pressed for details. “When they sing, you stay inside. That’s all you need to know.”

Maria chalked it up to small-town superstition, but Sophie was intrigued. A budding journalist, she couldn’t resist the mystery. Who were the carolers? Why did they only sing at midnight? And why did the townsfolk seem so afraid of them?

The first snowstorm of the season hit on December 21st. The Parkers were snug inside, decorating their Christmas tree. As the clock neared midnight, Maria noticed a strange tension in the air. The wind outside seemed to hush, and the house fell eerily silent.

“What’s wrong?” Sophie asked, noticing her mother’s unease.

“It’s nothing,” Maria said quickly. “Just tired, that’s all.”

But as the clock struck twelve, a sound unlike any other filled the air. It began softly, a low hum that resonated through the walls. Then came the voices—a choir of harmonies so perfect it was almost inhuman. The melody was hauntingly beautiful, yet laced with a sorrow that made Sophie’s chest ache.

Maria turned off the lights and pulled the curtains tight. “Go to your room,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Why?” Sophie asked, defiant.

“Just do as I say.”

Sophie reluctantly obeyed, but instead of going to bed, she cracked open her window just enough to hear the music. The voices were clearer now, singing an old, unfamiliar carol. Sophie’s curiosity burned brighter than her fear. She grabbed her phone and decided to record the eerie performance.

The next morning, Sophie replayed the recording over breakfast. The melody was haunting, but when she reached the end of the clip, her blood ran cold. A voice, low and distinct, whispered her name: “Sophie.”

“Turn that off!” Maria snapped, her face pale. “You shouldn’t have listened.”

“Why not?” Sophie demanded. “What’s the big deal? They’re just singers.”

Jack, who had been silent until now, sighed. “It’s not just a tradition, Sophie. There’s something… wrong about them. People who’ve ignored the warnings… they disappear.”

“Disappear?” Sophie scoffed. “That sounds like a stupid ghost story.”

Maria’s voice was firm. “I don’t care what you think. Promise me you won’t open that window again.”

Sophie reluctantly nodded, but the mystery gnawed at her. She spent the day researching Black Hollow’s history. She found little about the carolers, only vague mentions in old newspaper clippings. One article, dated December 23, 1910, caught her attention:

“Local Family Vanishes After Midnight Carolers’ Visit.”

The story detailed how the Whittaker family had vanished without a trace, their home left undisturbed except for a wreath of holly placed on their door. Sophie’s heart raced. The same pattern repeated in other years, always near Christmas, always after the carolers sang.

That night, Sophie couldn’t sleep. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the clock ticked closer to midnight. When the first notes of the carol drifted through the air, she couldn’t resist. She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her parents, and crept to the front door.

The singing was louder now, more vivid than before. Her hands trembled as she turned the doorknob. When she stepped outside, the icy air bit at her skin. The street was empty, blanketed in snow. But the carolers’ voices surrounded her, as if coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“Hello?” Sophie called out, her voice shaky.

The singing stopped abruptly. The silence was deafening. Then, out of the shadows, figures emerged. They were cloaked in tattered, dark robes, their faces obscured by hoods. There were six of them, each holding a flickering lantern. Their heads turned toward Sophie in unison.

“You heard us,” one of them said, their voice like a breath of wind. “You shouldn’t have listened.”

Sophie stumbled back, but her feet felt rooted to the ground. “Who are you?” she managed to whisper.

“We are the voices of the forgotten,” another replied. “The ones left behind.”

The carolers began to sing again, their voices weaving a spell around Sophie. Her vision blurred, and a strange warmth spread through her body. She felt herself being pulled toward them, her legs moving against her will.

“Sophie!” a voice shouted, breaking the trance. It was Jack, barreling out of the house with a flashlight. The beam cut through the darkness, and the carolers recoiled, their forms flickering like shadows in firelight. Jack grabbed Sophie’s arm and yanked her back toward the house.

The carolers’ song turned into a wail, a sound so piercing it made Sophie’s ears ring. Jack slammed the door shut, bolting it tightly. Maria was waiting in the living room, her face stricken with terror.

“What did you do?” she demanded.

Sophie couldn’t speak. She sank onto the couch, her body trembling.

“They saw her,” Jack said grimly. “They know her now.”

The next day, the Parkers decided to leave Black Hollow. They packed their belongings in a rush, ignoring the puzzled looks from neighbors. By evening, their car was loaded, and they drove away without looking back.

But as they reached the edge of town, Sophie glanced out the window and froze. Standing by the side of the road were the carolers, their lanterns glowing faintly in the dusk. They didn’t move, but Sophie could feel their gaze following her.

The Parkers moved to a new town, far from Black Hollow. They tried to forget, to convince themselves it was over. But on Christmas Eve, as the clock struck midnight, Sophie heard it again. The low hum, the perfect harmonies. The Midnight Carolers had found her.

This time, there was no escaping their song.