Snowmen of the Damned

We think these are supposed to be snowmen. The kind of snowmen Nathaniel Hawthorne would have made.

What I do know about them is that I find them unsettling. At initial glance, they seem to be merry enough, despite being Puritans. They’re smiling. What’s not to love?

But then you hang them on the tree and really start looking at them.

You start looking at their eyes. 

Their eyes.

Go into the kitchen. 

It’s ok. 

Everything is fine. 

Go. 

Go now.

That’s it. Get the knife. In the drawer. Get the knife.

No! No! I defy you! Get thee behind me, felt demons . . .

This May be What Happened to Baby Jane

When we moved from the Farm to our new home, we seem to have misplaced a stash of ornaments. Old Troll is missing, along with the Styrofoam Snowman Family, which is really sad because Wall-Eyed Styrofoam Snowman has served as our tree topper the past three Christmases.  This is our first Christmas in our first new house, and we had to have an Awesome topper for the charmingly wonky tree we bought.
What on earth would Mrs. Elfenstein and I do without Goodwill?

Wall-Eyed Styrofoam Snowman may be lost, but Unamused Angel now stands tall and proud and, apparently, unimpressed, atop our tree.

We aren’t super sure what it is that’s making her so uptight. Maybe it’s her Mrs. Havisham-style gown, or her receding hairline (and at such a young age!). Perhaps the fact that her arms do not bend but only move up and down as a unit. Maybe it’s the constant discomfort of a spiny tree trunk in the, er, Eisenhower Tunnel. . . (cough, cough).

Regardless of her actual botheration, this little lady’s fists are clenched so tight she could make diamonds if we gave her coal. Also assuming we can pry her fingers open. Which we can’t. Because they’re fused to her palms.

 Christmas'll make you want to shoot someone in the face.

Santa and the Dead Girl

This large placard of an ornament was lovingly crafted with sand beads pasted on a board and edged with red yarn. Kris Kringle leans in over the chair where a little girl who has recently perished lies, lifeless and limp. He waves a doll over her slumped form, perhaps enticing her to rise again like Lazarus. An alternate theory has been posed that the doll is actually a cursed effigy, an instrument of black magic with which Santa strikes down bad children. Either way, Christmas was not merry for poor Alice.