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Christmas Morning

25 December 2008

It begins with a slow awakening, the full horror of what is to come only a rumour, a silent murmur on the chill morning. And then, like the first ripple of water on the glass in Jurassic Park, it comes. Your eyes open, you stare into the darkness. Possibly a dim, grey light etches the curtains...but only if you're very lucky. You hear a thud from somewhere deep in the bowels of the house. You sit up, still half-asleep, still not sure what's about to happen. And then, like the Fellowship of the Ring before you, standing in horror as the booming drums of the orcs sound from deep within bowels of Moria, you stare into the Stygian gloom. Fear crawls over your body, your breath stalls in your throat, the small hairs at the base of your neck creep upwards. 

And then, suddenly, and with extraordinary speed, the dogs of war are unleashed, and they are upon you, breathing fire, the hounds of Satan, drawn from the very pits of childhood. Horrifying screams of gut-wrenching terror fill the air, your spirit is at once pummelled and pounded, battered and attacked, as the swarm of creatures, the blood-curdling legion of orcs, the slime-encrusted monsters drawn from the very darkest, deepest wells of your nightmares, descend upon you with unabashed relish, abandon and a complete disregard for human safety or early morning etiquette. 

It has begun, and life will never be the same again...

^