He Sees You When You're Sleeping

2nd December- Hanging The Mistletoe

Two nooses, two bodies. Both suspended by a layer of mistletoe wrapped around their necks. They were swinging gently, held in a kissing pose. Because that's what you do under mistletoe, is it not?

"More mistletoe? Seriously?" Jack asked, exasperated. Yet another stalk of the plant had crept up his and Anne's old, cracked bedroom wall.
"I think it's romantic." His wife replied, crossing her arms. Jack wasn't convinced, and made a feeble attempt to pull the mistletoe out of the crack in the wall. He stumbled backwards, unable to move it. This is some strong mistletoe, he thought, a frustrated growl escaping his lips.
"Honey, can you get the gardening tools?" He called.
"Alright." A minute later, Jack was back at work, cutting at the mistletoe with a pair of pruners. Finally, the plant yielded and fell in pieces at his feet. These growths were getting out of hand. It felt like every time he cut one of the stalks, two more replaced it. And not only that, but he felt that something was... off about them. The way the mistletoe twisted and grew was so unnatural. It always crept up the wall, and never in the same area as before. Every time he tried to cut it down, he needed to use a different tool to pierce it. It was like it was alive. Alive, but more importantly, learning.
Jack shook those thoughts off. It was just a stupid plant associated with a holiday. He stood up and stretched, before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.
In the room, between the floorboards, a little shoot of mistletoe had taken seed. And soon it began to grow.

Jack felt something wrapping around his ankle. The night was dark- too dark to see anything. He grabbed his phone and turned on the torch setting. There was nothing around his foot. But there was a trail of leaves and vines crawling along the floor. He cursed under his breath. How it grew so quickly, he had no idea. What he did know is that he needed to get rid of it- again. He swung himself out of bed with a sigh.
While walking down the corridor, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The mistletoe was out of control- it had completely covered the walls and floor. It was difficult to walk without stepping on some. The door to the living room was jammed shut. The mistletoe clearly didn't want him going in there. He got this feeling that it didn't want to be disturbed. Get a grip, Jack, he scolded himself. It's a plant. Nothing more, nothing less. He placed his hand on the doorknob. His knuckles were white and pasty with fear. He rattled the door. It swung open. Then he realised he couldn't move his hand.
A stab of pain brought Jack to his knees. A tendril of mistletoe sprouted from his hand. He leapt to his feet with a cry of pain and gripped the plant in his fist. Attempts to yank it out of his hand did nothing. A window shattered, allowing more of the plat to spill in. He felt more stalks crawling up his arm like tentacles, spinning him into a fatal web. The mistletoe latched on tight. No amount of pulling could release its grip. There was a ripping sound as the mistletoe tightened and a limp arm fell to the floor in a pool of blood. Without time to register the pain, he felt the Christmas plant snake around his waist and climb up his chest. It reached his neck and grasped it, forming a loop. Then it began to squeeze. Jack felt himself being lifted from the ground, kicking his legs uselessly. He fought for air against the plant, before he finally realised he couldn't fight.
Anne trudged up the stairs, hands on her hips. Jack had spent far too long on the stupid mistletoe. It was getting out of hand. She arrived at his door and called his name. There was no response. Gently, she knocked against the door. It creaked open an inch. Hairs rising on her neck, she took a timid step inside. Her husband hung from the ceiling, swaying gently in the breeze that came from a shattered window. Stalks of mistletoe ruptured his flesh, holding him suspended in the air. His chest was ripped open, and his heart was on the floor. It was still beating.
Anne covered her mouth, feeling bile rise in her throat. She took a step backwards and tripped, turning to run. A single tendril of mistletoe had caught on her foot. She looked in horror as the plant began to loop her ankles, totally immobilised. She seemed unable to scream or cry. A stalk of mistletoe made its way to her throat and made a cut, taking the throat clean out. Another body slumped to the ground and was slowly lifted off the ground.

Two nooses, two bodies. Both suspended by a layer of mistletoe wrapped around their necks. Two hearts next to each other, beating in unison. They were swinging gently, held in a kissing pose. That's what you do under mistletoe, after all.