Cathy watched him enter her bedroom. Saw him place presents at the end of her bed. Noticed, through half closed eyes, that he wore a familiar blue dressing gown and not a red suit she'd expected.

Fretting, she stayed awake until her small brother's shouts reached her from the next bedroom. Getting up, switching on her bedside lamp, she sank down onto her knees. The music centre, she'd asked for, seemed dingy in gentle light. The stocking, bulging with secret gifts, hung limply on the bed post.

Taking it down, tipping out the contents, sweets, fruit, nuts fell out onto the carpet. One misshapened gift, wrapped in Christmas paper, felt odd in her hand. Unwrapping it, a turkey's head flopped onto her lap, its beak open as if in a silent cry of pain.

For a frozen moment, she stared down into dead eyes before sheer terror struck. Yelling, scrambling to her feet, she wrenched back the curtains. Yanking open the bedroom window, she hurled the turkey head outside. Then, with a soft thud, it landed on the outhouse roof before tumbling over and over, staining fresh snow with blood.