Some of our most lasting memories are associated with Christmastime. I can clearly remember receiving a red tricycle when I was four. I can still smell the roast goose my mother made for our Yuletide dinner when I was six. I recall fondly that when I was nine, my father let me climb up a ladder to place the star atop the tree. And when I was eleven, a dead man terrorized me on Christmas Eve. When I was twelve, he came back. This is the story of that man.