The Grockers were a family that lived at the end of Halloway Road. Everyone knew the family. Mr Grocker was a loyal customer of every church fate and donated a lot of money to local causes. Mrs Grocker cooked a feast every Christmas, every Easter, every time anyone had a good thought. The food came straight from the oven and stayed at the exact right temperature throughout the meal.

​

Their one son, just called Grocker Jr., was much like his father. He gave what money he had to charities, he worked with the unfortunate youths and even was learning to cook as well as his mother. The only difference I could decern was that he was sometimes caught shirtless walking in their front garden. Now, to the unobservant eye, that wouldn’t seem too odd. But it was what was on his bare chest that stood out to people.

 

Large, red marks covered the man’s chest, back and arms. It was brought up once and Grocker Jr. had just stared at them before raising a hand. The person in question walked away in confusion and a little fear, but the following day, their dismembered body was discovered in the water fountain, their head replacing one of the statue’s. After that, the town refrained from asking. But it didn’t stop curiosity.

 

It wasn’t the first time there had been a horrific murder that had gone unnoticed and that was most likely committed by the Grockers. At one point, before I was born, a woman had knocked on their door. The door opened and she stepped in. The next day, blood was found coming from under her bedroom door in her apartment. Police broke the door down to find her corpse suspended from the ceiling, open wounds in her arms, legs and torso. She had been drained of blood. There was no way no one heard or something. And when the police tried to launch an investigation, they conveniently couldn’t find enough evidence and no one came forward. But I'm pretty sure everyone knew what happened. It didn’t need to be said.

 

But, as I said, no one seemed to notice or care. Other than the kids.

 

Across the playground, rumours spread about The Grockers. About what they did, about who they took. But, the older you got, the less you cared. You grew used to the disappearances, the missing bodies, the dug-up graves. Until they're not even a topic around the dinner table. No one dared whisper a thought, just in case one of them was listening.

 

But by far the most terrifying of the Grocker family was the elderly grandmother, Grandma Grocker. She was old, at least in her late 90s, but still walked like she was 30. Grey hair covered her head and flowed down her back and her face was too wrinkled to tell any expression. She was often seen staring out of a window on the top floor, eyes following the people below her. Then, she’ll lock on one for longer and she’ll turn away. That person was gone the next morning.

 

The air around the town had grown colder, and it wasn’t the December breeze. Christmas Day was drawing closer and the Grockers always cooked a feast. Collectively, everyone decided to not go outside in the days leading up. People bought food and hoarded it in their homes. It was a yearly tradition. Now Grandma Grocker couldn’t pick her victims, but it didn’t stop them. On Boxing Day, reports of one home being broken into would sweep across the town and you preyed it wasn’t someone you knew. Unluckily for my family, I was chosen this year.

 

I was woken by the sound of my door crashing against the floor. There was no need for subtly. My heart was racing. This was it and nothing could be done. Slowly, I sat up, throwing my covers to the other side of the bed. A figure stepped into my room, a grin on his face and hands rubbing together. It was Grocker Jr., alone. I looked up at him and smiled. I don’t know why I did. He was here to take me to my death. He cleared his throat, obvious to him that I was ready to go, and stepped to the side, allowing me to pass through my bedroom door first. I obliged. We walked out of my house and down the street, towards the Grocker’s house. The streets were silent, barely a murmur from someone who had tried to sneak out. The lights in the houses were off ad the curtains were drawn. Nobody was watching us walk. They could probably hear our footsteps. I know I could hear them in previous years and I didn’t look.

 

We’re all of one mind here.

 

The Grocker house soon loomed into view. Strangely, it was such a terrifying sight as I thought it would be. I guess the white walls and teal roof are less intimidating than they think. The door is already open and Mrs Grocker stood there, smile wide. Her features were angular and her eyes bulging. Her gaze darted to me and her tongue flashed across her lips. I shivered. She had a bright yellow apron wrapped around her waist and an egg timer attached to the strap. She looked like a regular housewife.

 

“Ah, my dear,” she said, addressing Grocker Jr., turning her eyes back to him. “Your father has just returned and the oven is almost ready.” We walked past her. Grocker Jr.’s hand appeared on my back, pushing and guiding me through the house. My eyes glanced around, snapping into rooms for a moment before I passed them. Most of them were too black to see anything. One contained shelves along every wall, many jars placed on each. The jars were filled with multiple different things, from pickles to jam to pasta. It seemed like a regular pantry. It wasn’t long until we reached the room they were guiding me to. The last room I would see. It was a kitchen, and it looked normal. It even looked a little worse than the one I had in my house.

 

The walls of the kitchen were white tiles that looked freshly cleaned. The countertops were a deep purple with specks of what looked like glitter and the cupboards were black. The look blended together well while also sticking out irregularly. At the far end sat the oven Mrs Grocker had mentioned. It, too, was black, but at the back sat a red-hot flame, despite the fact it looked like an electric oven.

 

“My love!” Mrs Grocker shouted. “We have everything ready!” Shivers ran down my spine as footsteps gradually came down the stairs. I turned to see Mr Grocker stepping off the last step of the staircase and walking towards me. He was dressed in a black shirt and trousers but didn’t wear a smile similar to that of his wife’s. His mouth was pressed thinly and his eyes were sunken and unblinking.

 

“Good,” he said slowly, lengthening the word. “We’ll have leftovers.” Mrs Grocker giggled and spun, rushing into the other room, muffled words then appearing. Moments later, after a little shuffling, Mrs Grocker returned and a woman followed, head down, blonde hair stretching to the floor and tears running down her face. She didn’t see me.

 

“Ooh, yay,” Mrs Grocker said, clapping her hands. “It’s almost time to start!” Still standing in front of me and glaring, Mr Grocker nodded slowly and turned, aiming his face towards the stairs.

 

“Mother!” he called. “We are ready for you!” A thud echoed across the floor. The blonde-haired woman’s head shot up, another round of tears brewing in her eyes. She whimpered. Another thud. A turned my head to the staircase, every muscle in my body tensed and my hands balled. The thuds continued, gradually getting louder and louder until they reached the stairs. Then, they began their descent.

 

The slipper-covered foot of Grandma Grocker appeared. The woman whimpered again.

 

“Start without me,” the elderly woman croaked, obviously hearing all the eyes attached to her. “I’ll be there in a moment.” Mrs Grocker clapped again and Mr Grocker turned back to me before looking away and towards the oven. I turned with him, just in time to see Mrs Grocker turn the woman around and bring a knife to her throat. Before I could turn away, she sliced her throat and the woman dropped dead against the kitchen countertop, Grocker Jr. managing to catch her before she hit the floor. I yelled and stumble back. The Grockers ignored me. I fell to the ground, a splinter from the wooden floors stabbing my palm. I yelled again.

 

Without any effort, Grocker Jr. lifted the woman and placed her on the countertop as Mr Grocker pulled out a saw. Mrs Grocker began to undress the body, ripping the fabric from her. Blood stained each item of clothing, still dripping onto the floor. By now, Grandma Grocker had appeared. She shuffled across the floor with a speed I hadn’t expected. Her hand latched around the dead woman’s hand and she bent down, mouth covering a finger. A crunch and snap shot through the air. I felt my stomach churn. Quickly, Mr Grocker rushed over.

 

“Mother!” he shouted. “No snacking before dinner, you know that!” Grandma Grocker snarled at him and rolled her eyes, stepping away as she tore flesh from the finger. Then, her eyes landed on me and a smile spread across her face. It wasn’t sinister, nor one you would see in a horror film, but one that you would expect from an old lady. It felt warm and comforting, but that was gone once she sunk her teeth into the finger again, revealing bone. I gagged and pulled my eyes away and she shuffled to the back of the kitchen, lovingly snacking on her catch. I looked back over to the Grockers.

 

The body was stripped now and Mr Grocker had begun sawing the body. It didn’t take him long to saw through her legs. Mrs and Mr Grocker were talking in low voices, as if hiding something from someone. But a glance over to me revealed their discussion. After a minute or two, Mr Grocker stopped sawing and looked at his wife, his posture somehow sterner.

 

“My love,” he said. “Last time we did that, it didn’t have that same crunch as it usually does.”

 

“I know,” Mrs Grocker said. “But your mother is getting hungry and Grocker Jr. wants to see soon anyway. Want to tear him away from playing with the rats soon.” Mr Grocker sighed, then looked at me.

 

“Fine,” he said. “But you can't complain when it doesn’t have that same crunch.”

 

“You're sweet, my love,” she replied. They smiled at each other before turning back to their work. Mr Grocker returned to sawing, Mrs Grocker turned her eyes on me, a gleeful grin stretching across her face. In her hand, she held the knife, the same she used on the woman. Fear spread through me. My vision blurred. I was going to die. And by a Grocker’s hand.

I started to shuffle across the floor, the splinter in my hand send waves of pain through me. I cried out again. But I wasn’t fast enough. Mrs Grocker leapt at him, stabbing the knife into my thigh, holding me in place. I screamed, head snapping to her as she stood, looming over me.

 

“Please,” I whispered. She pulled the knife from my leg. I screamed again. Behind her, Mr Grocker was beginning to throw the limbs of the woman into the oven, placing her head at the edge of the counter. Her face was still crying. Grandma Grocker, having finished her finger, moved herself, watching with glee as the flames licked the skin. Dinner was being cooked. My eyes lifted themselves back to Mrs Grocker. “Please,” I repeated. Next to her, Mr Grocker joined. I started pulling myself back again but I soon reached a wall. I leaned against it, breathless, blood oozing from my leg.

 

“What’s with this one?” Mr Grocker asked.

 

“He’s speaking,” Mrs Grocker replied. He nodded in response.

 

“Speaking?” the elderly croak of Grandma Grocker called. As quickly as she could, she shuffled to them, pushing through the middle and taking the knife from Mrs Grocker’s hand. Then, she knelt down in front of me, carefully avoiding my leg. “Oh, oh my poor boy,” she said. That same, sweet smile returning. “You’re going to be delicious.”

 

“Please,” I uttered. She pressed the knife against my throat. There was no response. With no remorse in her eyes, she sliced the knife across my throat. Blood poured out. I tried gasping for air but it was hopeless. I fell to the side, watching as a river of crimson slowly stretch away.

 

“And Merry Christmas,” Grandma Grocker whispered as the world around me became fuzzy, then blurry, before finally becoming black.