Capítulo 246: Chapter 246
The streets of the city had long been coated in ice. It wasn't the crisp, clean snow you'd expect in December, but a thick, dirty frost that clung to everything—light poles, windows, cars. The holiday season felt wrong this year. There was no cheer, no warmth, no escape. People shuffled along, heads down, eyes glued to the ground, their breath fogging up the air in front of them. The Christmas lights were up, but they only added to the gloom, blinking in a half-hearted attempt to fight the darkness of winter.
For Rachel, it had always been a time of comfort, a time to reconnect with her past. She liked the idea of being surrounded by the memories of happier days. But this year was different. The weight of the past felt unbearable, as if it had started to seep into the present.
She first heard the stories about The Ghost of Christmas Past a week ago. Some said it was just a rumor, a bit of folklore to add to the season's charm. But there was a chill to the tales. The ghost wasn't the friendly spirit who showed people their past, like in the old Christmas stories. No, this one controlled people. It wasn't content with just memories—it took their actions, twisted their wills, made them do terrible things.
Rachel had heard about the strange deaths in her neighborhood, the mysterious fires that had broken out in nearby homes. She had dismissed them at first, too caught up in her own life. But the strange, distant faces of the victims stayed with her, even after the news coverage stopped. She began to feel like she was being watched, that someone—or something—was waiting for her.
One night, Rachel found herself standing in front of a small, abandoned shop that had once been a family-owned bakery. The windows were boarded up, the place now hollow and forgotten. But there was something about it that pulled her in, something familiar and unsettling at the same time.
The door creaked open when she pushed it. She stepped inside, her boots crunching against the broken glass on the floor. The air was cold, colder than it should've been for a building that had been empty for so long. There was a faint scent of burnt sugar, and the walls were lined with old photos—pictures of the family who had once run the shop. They looked happy, in their time, smiling in front of the oven, or with their children at Christmas dinner. Now, it was just her, standing in the echo of something long gone.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp sound from the back of the room. A dragging, shuffling noise. Rachel froze, her pulse racing. She strained to listen, her heart thudding in her chest. The sound came closer, and then the figure emerged from the shadows. It was an old woman, her face drawn and pale, with eyes too wide for comfort. Her hands were gnarled, clutching something—no, someone. Rachel gasped as she recognized the figure at the woman's side.
It was her father, his face vacant, eyes glassy. He didn't move on his own. The old woman was controlling him, like a puppet on a string.
"You…" Rachel whispered, her voice weak, "What have you done to him?"
The old woman didn't speak. Instead, her lips curled into a twisted smile. She didn't need words. Rachel could feel the weight of her presence, suffocating and heavy, as if the very air was being drained out of the room. Her father's head turned toward Rachel, his body stiff. He tried to speak, but his lips didn't form the words. Only the old woman's command rang through his mind.
Rachel's father took a step forward, his movements jerky. He reached out toward her, his fingers curling, but there was no recognition in his eyes. Only coldness.
"Dad?" Rachel's voice cracked. "Dad, it's me. Please, wake up. Please."
The figure didn't stop. It was like looking at someone she used to know, but with a mask pulled over their face, a mask that hid everything she loved about him. Her father's hands grabbed her arm, cold as ice, his grip tight.
"No," Rachel gasped. "Please."
The old woman stood behind them, her smile widening as Rachel struggled to free herself. She felt something sharp, something cold press against the side of her neck. It was the old woman's hands, thin and twisted like branches of a dead tree. The world around Rachel seemed to fold in on itself, the walls closing in as she tried to pull away from her father.
The old woman leaned in, her voice soft but clear. "You should have never come here."
Rachel could barely breathe as the ghost's presence invaded her mind, pushing away everything else. Her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. She felt her father's hand tighten. It wasn't him anymore. He was a vessel, controlled by something far more sinister.
"Stop!" Rachel shouted, though it came out as a strangled cry. "Please, stop!"
But the woman didn't stop. Rachel's body went cold, her limbs numb, as the world started to warp around her. Her father's face grew distant, his body shaking. And then, with a sharp twist, he threw her against the wall.
Her head cracked against the stone, pain exploding in her skull. The room spun, and for a moment, she didn't know where she was. Her vision blurred, the faces of her family flashing before her—her father, her mother, her childhood home. They all seemed so far away now. But something in her mind told her to fight. She tried to push herself off the floor, but her limbs wouldn't obey.
Rachel's body was heavy, drained. Her fingers reached out, searching for something—anything to pull herself back to reality. But all she found was the cold floor beneath her.
The old woman didn't move. She didn't need to. Rachel's body started to rise on its own, like a puppet controlled by invisible strings. She couldn't stop it. She couldn't move.
Her father stepped forward again, and this time, Rachel felt his cold fingers slide around her neck. The pressure was suffocating. There was no escape. No matter how much she struggled, no matter how much she tried to scream, she couldn't stop the force that was taking over.
And then, in the haze of her fading thoughts, the memories came. Not the happy ones, not the Christmas mornings with presents under the tree. No. These were the memories of every mistake she'd ever made, every failure, every regret. The ghosts of her past flooded her mind, and with them came the crushing realization that she wasn't just fighting for her life. She was fighting for her soul.
But she wasn't strong enough. The old woman's grip tightened, her fingers digging into Rachel's skin. It was the end. The force, the control, everything—it overwhelmed her. The world she had once known was slipping away, replaced by something far darker.
There was no joy in the past anymore. No warmth. Only cold and darkness, stretching forever.
The last thing Rachel saw before she lost all sense of self was her father's vacant eyes. A final, broken echo of the man she had known.
Then, everything stopped.
But it didn't end. There was no end. Only the hollow, endless echo of what had once been.
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