At the first stroke of midnight I awoke in my chair, feeling a frigid presence. I leaned toward the hearth to stir the remaining embers of the raging fire that warmed the darkened room much earlier.

    When I turned to glance at the still chiming Grandfather’s clock, its wan face stared at me from deep within a crimson hood.

    The tall figure stood silently beside the coffin window. The deep furrows of its long cowl shivered when brushed by the currents in the air . . . as did my flesh.

   “Who or what are you?” I asked.

   It slinked toward me, yet no voice came forth.

   Feeling my limbs freeze solid, I grimaced.

   As it approached, I saw mottled blood around the numerals on its face. The sable hands, shaped like upraised daggers, twitched apart.

  “Why have you come?” I cried.

   Bong!
   
   “I am . . .”
 
    Bong!
   
   “. . . the . . .”

    Bong!

    “. . . New Year.”

   The last chime echoed.

    I gawked at the ghastly face now inches away.

    “No!” I screamed. “Not another year like the last. More death? Violence and terror?”

     It nodded.
   
   Then came bone-chilling silence.