The morning rush had just slowed, and I finally found a moment of peace in the kitchen.

Tim and Jared were busy out front, handling the customers, leaving me to focus on kneading dough and not burn the next batch of gingerbread cookies.

We’d barely recovered from the window fiasco yesterday, and I was determined not to let anything else go wrong today.

However, just as I was feeling productive, Mrs. Claus came bustling through the back door without so much as a knock.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I really do like Mrs. Claus. She’s harmless enough. A sweet, Victorian-clad widow with a penchant for town gossip.

She runs the town’s Historical Society, and has a small Museum shop a few blocks up the street, from which she gives tours of the town from.

The one real problem she has, is a bad habit of showing up at the some of the most inconvenient of times. And today, her usual chatty visit was more inconvenient than ever.

However, the woman was practically vibrating with So much excitement, she seemed as though she had gulped down a hundred espresso shots.

“Nora, dear!” she began in that breathy tone that always meant something juicy was coming, “You’ll never believe what I saw last night!”

Her eyes darted back and forth as though she was expecting something to come flying off the shelves at her.

I paused, hands dusted in flour, trying to give her my best polite smile, though I was already feeling my patience thin. “Oh? What was it this time, Mrs. Claus? Please tell me you saw who broke my window and stole my cookies.”

Mrs. Claus looked perplexed for a moment as though I had blocked her roll, then waved my comment away saying, “Oh heavens no. Nothing quite like that dear.”

She leaned in close, eyes wide, as though the walls had ears. “A ghost, I swear it! Right outside the old lighthouse, just before dusk.”

I blinked, trying to keep my surprise in check.

Mrs. Claus was certainly no stranger to telling some good yarns, especially those of ghosts, but she rarely started with them.

“A ghost? Are you sure?” I asked, genuinely curious to see where this would go.

“As sure as I’m standing here, dear! White-haired woman, flowing gown, the whole bit. But that wasn’t the worst of it.” Her voice dropped even lower, and she shivered dramatically. “With her was the nastiest little man I’ve ever seen! Bushy, dirty beard, and the meanest little look in his eyes. He wasn’t like her though. Oh no, he was real, not a spirit.”

Tim poked his head into the kitchen with an impish grin. Probably curious about the hush that had fallen over our usual bustle.

“I swear, Nora,” she continued, “it must’ve been that wicked little Perchten.”

I paused for a moment, as I wiped my hands on my apron thoughtfully. The Perchten. Again. I was honestly unsure whether to let her continue or try to motivate her out of my shop at this point.

It was all anyone in town could talk about since the trouble started. Vandalism, stolen goods, smashed windows. Now Mrs. Claus was seeing him alongside some spectral woman?

I kept my voice light, not wanting to indulge the rumors. “You really think it was the Perchten?”

She nodded fervently, her eyes wide. “Yes, but the woman... the woman was something else. A ghost, I’m sure, but not just any ghost. I think it was her, Nora. Frau Perchta.”

I glanced at Tim, who rolled his eyes with a slight grin and went back to the front.

Jared, busy stocking a display case with a a fresh batch of cinnamon and sugar cookies, began muttering something about Mrs. Claus’s usual exaggerations under his breath.

Despite Jared's vocal annoyance, I knew better than to brush her off entirely.

She loved her stories, but they always had a kernel of truth somewhere.

Besides, now I was curious.

“Who’s Frau Perchta?” I asked, playing along as I went back to rolling out dough.

Mrs. Claus lowered her voice even more, forcing me to lean in to hear her.

“She’s a dark Christmas spirit, like Krampus, but far worse. The legends say she visits during the twelve days of Christmas.”

Mrs. Claus shivered again, visibly unnerved by her own words. “But she’s not just a punisher. She’s said to roam around with her Perchten, wild, elf-like creatures who cause all sorts of mischief.”

I kept kneading the dough, trying not to let her words get under my skin, but it wasn’t easy.

The townsfolk were already on edge, and tales of evil ghosts lurking around wouldn’t help.

“What does she do, this Frau Perchta?” I asked casually, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

Mrs. Claus pursed her lips. “Well, in the old stories, she rewards the good hard working folk and punishes the bad and lazy ones. But not in the way you might think. She’s not like the other dark spirits. She doesn’t go after children, she goes after the adults.” she said with an unusual amount of glee that actually sorta creeped me out a bit.

I stopped what I was doing and looked at her for a moment. To my surprise, She seemed absolutely serious. Unnervingly so.

“Okay. I’ll bite. What happens if a person is lazy?” I asked as I began sorting through my cookie cutters

“Well, in the old stories, they call her the ‘Belly Cutter.’” She said.

I froze in place. I should have known this was going to take a left turn at some point. I knew there was really grim stories out there about Christmas spirits, but I tended to stay away from them and Mrs. Claus knows that.

But she just kept prattling on seemingly oblivious to my discomfort, “They say, if she’s displeased, she cuts open your belly and stuffs it with straw.” She whispered the last part, her eyes wide and serious.

I forced a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, let’s hope I stay on her good side.” I said now determined to end the discussion.

“This is all really… interesting. But I have to get these done for tonight's contest.”

Mrs. Claus didn’t smile, fixing me instead with a very serious stare. “Just be careful, Nora dear. Strange things are happening, and I’ve never seen anything like it.”

I nodded, giving her a warm smile, and doing my best to brush off her words, but a chill in the room lingered after she’d left.

There was a heavy silence in the kitchen, broken only by the rhythmic sound of rolling pins and the clatter of cookie sheets, as I did my best to put Mrs Claus’s horrible story out of my head.

After they had seen the last of the customers out, and had locked up the shop early, Jared and Tim came in to the kitchen to help me decorate the cookies.

Tim glanced at me from the corner of his eye, that childlike mischievous grin tugging at his lips.

“So,” he began, trying to sound casual, “are we all doomed to get our bellies stuffed with straw now? Should I be worried?”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

I couldn’t help but laugh uncomfortably as I shook my head.

“I don’t think Frau Perchta is going to show up in Raven’s Bluff to punish us for over-baking cookies, Tim. ”

Jared, busy icing a fresh batch on the counter, raised an eyebrow and said, “If Mrs. Claus keeps spreading that story around, the whole town might go into hiding until New Year’s.”

Tim snorted, leaning against the counter.

“And here I thought the Perchten were our only problem this year. Now we’ve got a ghostly ‘Belly Cutter’ too?” he said jokingly.

I smiled as I piped little buttons onto the gingerbread men. “It’s just Mrs. Claus getting into the holiday spirit. You know how she loves her stories. She’ll have ten more by tomorrow.”

Jared chuckled, setting down the icing bag and wiping his hands on a towel. “She sure does. Though I’ll admit, her description of that man with the dirty beard gave me the creeps. Sounds too close to what people are saying about the Perchten.”

Tim shrugged, his grin widening. “I betting it was probably just some old fisherman. The sea air does strange things to people.”

I rolled my eyes and handed Jared another tray of cookies to cool. “You two are just as bad as she is. Listen to us, like a flock of old ladies at the salon.”

The guys laughed, but took the hint.

“Well, whether it’s Perchten, ghosts, or just the usual holiday madness, we’ve got more important things to focus on.” Jared said, cracking the proverbial whip.

“Yeah, like winning this cookie contest.” Tim replied.

I checked my watch, and saw we only had two hours to go.

“Speaking of which, we better get these over to the community center before Mrs. Claus decides to come back and inspect our work.” I said.

We spent the next half hour carefully packing up the cookies. Gingerbread, sugar, shortbread, you name it, we had made it, packing them into large tins for transport.

Between the three of us, we managed to stack them all into the back of Jared and I’s van without dropping a single one, which was a Christmas miracle in itself.

The drive over to the community center was short, just a few blocks away.

The building was already buzzing with activity, strings of lights twinkling from the windows and the sound of holiday music spilling out into the street.

As we pulled up, Tim hopped out of the van and stretched his arms over his head.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready to taste-test everything in this contest,” he said with a grin, popping open the back of the van.

Jared shook his head, smiling. “Let’s make sure our cookies actually make it inside before you start feeding you face.” he said playfully clapping Tim on the shoulder.

“Yes Dad.” Tim responded with an overly exaggerated impression of a child.

We were just unloading the first couple of tins when I spotted Julie, Tim’s girlfriend.

She waved, a bright smile on her face, and came over to help.

“Hey! Need a hand?” she asked cheerfully, her eyes flicking from Tim to the mountain of cookie tins.

“Absolutely,” I said, handing her a tin. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Julie smiled, poking a thumb over her shoulder, “Glad to hear it, I brought backup.”

Right behind her was the other Julee, the bubbly barista from George’s shop next door.

She’d offered to help with the contest setup, and now she was bouncing over with that infectious energy she always had.

“Cookies!” she exclaimed, handing me a steaming cup and grabbing tin from the stack and popping the lid momentarily to smell them.

“I’ll get these inside. Oh my God! These smell absolutely amazing, Nora!” she gushed.

“Thanks, Julee,” I said with a smile. “I’ll owe you the coffee next time.”

Tim turned around and let out a sharp bark of laughter at the growing crowd around the van.

“Looks like we’ve got an army of cookie carriers now. You might need to start forking out paychecks if we get anymore people.” he said as he gave a playful elbow to Jared, who looked like he turned a new shad of green at the thought.

Julie nudged him playfully. “Oh stop teasing him, I think this is plenty.”

With all of us working together, it didn’t take long to get the trays into the community center.

The old community center’s auditorium was already festooned with contestants and decorated with garlands, twinkling lights, and a massive Christmas tree dominating one corner.

Tables were being arranged for the contest, and the smell of baked goods filled the air. I was mildly surprised at how many contestants there were this year. It seemed like half the town was participating. I didn’t mind though and I couldn’t help but to smile happily.

It was shaping up to be a picture-perfect holiday event, and for a time, all the gossip of evil Perchten and ghosts was forgotten.

As we finished unloading the last of the cookies, I caught Jared’s eye, and we both shared a look, and he wrapped me in a warm hug.

I melted into him an watched the warmth and bustle of the community center around us.

It was one of those moments that made life feel like everything was as it should be in the world.

The community center bustled with life, warmth, and the delicious smell of baked goods.

Tables were arranged in neat rows, adorned with red and green tablecloths, each one covered in an array of cookies, cakes, and festive treats.

Townsfolk wandered from table to table, sampling sweets and chatting with friends, while a panel of judges, including Officer Harris, stood by the contest stage, ready to declare the winner.

I had to admit, in spite of the chaotic start to the day, things were going surprisingly well. Tim, Jared, and I had worked our way through the morning, which had been a blur of mixing, baking, and decorating.

Mrs. Claus’s unsettling ghost story about Frau Perchta lingered at the back of my mind, but the holiday spirit was in full swing, and for a while, it felt like everything was going to turn out alright.

“I think we nailed it,” Jared said, nudging me as we set up our table for the contest.

He was practically beaming with pride at me as he placed a tray of perfectly frosted gingerbread men front and center, each one with a smiling face and tiny, sugared buttons.

“In spite of everything, and the start we had, yeah, I think we knocked it out of the park.” I replied, still eyeing the trays nervously.

I hadn’t forgotten my earlier baking mishap, when my gingerbread charm backfired, causing the cookies to rise too quickly and harden into something more like masonry than treats. And having to deal with the police all morning.

Fortunately, for us, we’d managed to salvage both time and ingredients enough, to make a relatively respectable.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Tim said. “Your cookies are always the best in town.”

I smiled, appreciating the support. “We’ll see. There’s some stiff competition this year.”

But as the judges made their rounds, tasting from each table, I started to relax.

The event was running smoothly, and the residents of Raven’s Bluff seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Even Mrs. Claus was in good spirits, drifting from group to group, offering her Victorian-era commentary and light gossip, her earlier ominous warnings forgotten.

When the moment finally came for the judges to announce the winner, I felt my guts begin to twist into hard knots with the anticipation.

Officer Harris cleared his throat, and held up a small index card, “And the winner of this year’s Holiday Cookie Baking Contest is…” He pause for dramatic effect for a second. “Nora Vanhorn, of Vanhorn’s Cookies and Crumble!”

A wave of applause broke out, and I blinked back tears in pride and joy, feeling my cheeks flush as Tim whooped loudly beside me. Jared gave me a proud squeeze, and even Mrs. Claus clapped enthusiastically from near by table.

I stepped up to the stage to accept the small, festive trophy.

It wasn’t anything fancy, just a simple gingerbread man made of polished wood. But it gave me a felling of pride despite the rocky start.

The crowd congratulated me as I stepped down, and for a brief moment, all felt right in Raven’s Bluff.

The vandalized window, the creepy Perchten rumors, Mrs. Claus’s ghost story. It all felt distant, washed away by the warmth of the holiday cheer.

Looking back now I can’t help but to smile and wish that the moment could have lasted a lifetime. But sadly, that peace didn’t last long.

Just as I was thanking Harris and starting to give my victory speech, a loud, wrenching scream of someone ripped through the air. It was a man’s scream, and sounded completely horrifying.

It came from somewhere at the back of the community center.

The room fell silent, a cold chill sweeping through the festive warmth. My heart pounded as I looked toward the source of the sound. Tim was already on the move, his eyes narrowing as he exchanged a glance with Jared.

“What was that?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Harris and the rest of the Judges were busy trying to calm the crowed down and made no movement to investigate the horrid sound. I rolled my eyes in frustration.

“Let’s go check it out,” Jared said grimly to Tim, already heading toward the back hall, where the janitor’s office was located.

Mrs. Claus, who was always eager for drama, followed close behind, her face a mix of concern and curiosity.

The four of us moved quickly, weaving through the crowd that had now turned into a sea of murmurs and worried glances. As we reached the dimly lit hallway near the janitor’s office, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

It took us only a few moments to work our way into the back sections of the build. Mrs. Claus guiding us as deftly as though we were on one of her tours.

That’s when we saw him.

A short, filthy-looking man with a bushy, unkempt beard stood at the entrance to the janitor’s office, holding a bloody knife in his hand. His eyes were wide, almost feral, as he glanced back and forth, his breath coming in ragged gasps. On the floor near his feet, just barely visible beyond the doorway, were a pair of polished leather shoes—attached to legs clad in crisp gray dress slacks.

The rest of the body was hidden from view, but the blood pooling around the shoes told us all we needed to know.

“Oh Gods,” I breathed, my hand flying to my mouth.

Mrs. Claus let out a strangled gasp, her hand trembling as she pointed at the man with the knife. “It’s him! The Perchten!” she shrieked.

“That’s him! That’s the man I saw last night! Stop him! Help! Police! Police!”

The dirty little man’s eyes glared hatefully at us, his small fist tightening on the knife. But in the next instant, he dropped it with a metallic clatter, and bolted down the hallway.

“Hey! Stop!” Tim yelled, sprinting after him with Jared hot on his heels.

They raced down the hallway, disappearing around the corner in pursuit of the man.

I took a shaky step toward the open doorway, but Jared reappeared at the threshold, his face pale.

He didn’t need to say anything for me to know something was terribly wrong. His eyes were filled with a mix of horror and confusion as he raised a hand, stopping me and Mrs. Claus in our tracks.

“Get the police back here,” he said, his voice hollow as he glanced back to the shoes and the blood.

“It’s the mayor. He’s…,” He stopped for a moment looking very green and I knew he was about to be sick, “He’s been murdered.”