It began as any other day in his miserable existence. Just another day of checking his traps in hopes that an animal had grown desperate enough to venture out into the cold and into one of his many snares. Not surprisingly he was disappointed yet again; none of his traps held any promise of dinner for the second day in a row. Faced with the prospect of no dinner yet again, there was no other choice than to head into town for some after dark scavenging.

Going to town was always a crapshoot for Jason. On one hand, it was remarkably easy to swipe the things that the woods could not provide him with, indeed over the years he had become quite the savvy sneak thief. However, with every trip into Crystal Lake proper, there was always the very real chance of discovery. Jason had always been very lucky in this regard, having never once been caught in the act of one of his nocturnal raids.

For this very reason though, he did try to keep his trips to town very infrequent at most. Even Jason could understand the concept of not tempting fate. No, town was always a last resort for him, something to only even consider if there were no other alternatives available. He preferred to stay in the woods, at best venturing out up to some of the houses near the lake to steal clothing from unattended clotheslines and raid the occasional pantry from an empty house. At least in the woods there was no one to gawk and stare at him, no one to mock his deformed features. Out here there was only the occasional hiker or camper to avoid, and the animals that were incapable of jeering and throwing stones.

Spurred on by hunger, Jason quickly threw on the warmest of his pilfered clothing, and pulled out the worn green duffle bag he used to carry home his hauls on occasions like this. He could fit a substantial amount of canned goods in the old canvas bag, even though he knew he would soon have to find a replacement as the years of use had caused the already well worn bag to become strained at the seams. Surely it would serve him one last trip, he reasoned, before he would have to come up with another way to transport stolen goods back to his hovel.

The shack was really not in much better condition than the bag he held. He'd done the best he could with whatever materials he could scrounge up to construct this dwelling, but the patch-worked tin and plywood structure was far from warm and cozy in the winter, and the roof was still leaking in several places that had resisted his every attempt to patch them. Well, he'd have to be on the look out for more sheet metal as well it seemed. For the moment however, he needed to get on to town before the weather turned worse.

As he stole along the familiar trails that would eventually lead him to the dark streets of Crystal Lake, the air seemed to turn colder, sharper. Tiny white flakes began to sprinkle down, at first mere specks, but quickly turning fat and fluffy. Snow. What a beautiful nuisance. Even as immaculate white began to blanket the ground and frost the trees around him, Jason found it somewhat difficult to appreciate what was quickly becoming a winter wonderland. For people blessed with warm houses and heavy coats it was one thing to wax poetic about the beauty and serenity of a crisp winter evening, but for Jason it meant nothing more than bitter cold chilling his bones as he struggled to stay warm in his poorly insulated shack.

This was not shaping up to be a pleasant evening. He seriously debated just turning around and going out another night, but the hunger gnawing at him was impossible to ignore for another night. Hopefully he could find something quickly and hurry back to his shack that at least provided some scant protection from the elements, even if he would likely spend the night huddled and shivering under what blankets he had.

As he came into town, he quickly realized that things had changed drastically since his last foray into Crystal Lake's dark streets. Tiny lights sparkled around windows and rooftops, twinkling brightly with every colour of the rainbow. He almost forgot how hungry and cold he was as his one good eye struggled to take in all of the interesting sights. The festively decorated shops beckoned him closer, all greenery and red tinsel. On the front of the sporting goods store a cheerful snowman painted across the plate glass proclaimed "ONE DAY TIL CHRISTMAS" in bold green letters.

Christmas.

Jason remembered Christmas dimly, the memory faint, almost as if trying to recall a long ago seen movie. It had been years, so many that he had lost track a long time ago, since he'd sat down for Christmas dinner at the big oak table in that huge old house where he and Mommy had lived. What had become nothing more than a distant, cloudy memory to him was the current reality to the citizens of this sleepy town. In fact, he could see a sight very much like what he was struggling to retrieve from his dusty memory banks through a well-lit window across the street from him now, the Christmas spirit fairly radiating from the brick home.

From his vantage point he could watch the holiday scene unfolding before him, living vicariously for just a moment through the young family settling down to their holiday meal. He didn't even notice the wind turning arcticly cruel, as he watched the family bow their heads in reverence for a long moment before commencing what looked to be an amazingly lavish holiday dinner. The sight of this happy family enjoying their Christmas Eve feast jogged his hazy memory, and filled him with both longing and bitterness.

He remembered those happy meals with mommy, how she'd always made the potatoes just like he liked them, how her gravy was never lumpy, and her turkey was always moist, but most of all he remembered her warm smile as she'd dished it all up for him. Afterwards they always had cocoa and whimsically frosted sugar cookies, cunningly made to look like reindeer, snowmen and even jolly old Saint Nick. His stomach rumbled distractingly at the memories of long past treats. No cookies and hot cocoa for him now, and probably never again.

The thought of no Mommy ever again was even worse, twisting in his gut like a knife. His fists clutched reflexively as viewing their happiness inadvertently served to rub salt into still fresh wounds. As much as it stung, he could not tear his good eye from the smiling mother, who was busily dishing up the results of what had to have been hours in the kitchen to her two young children.

The father sat at the head of the table skillfully carving a perfectly golden brown turkey into slices. Jason shifted his attention to the father for a moment, the concept rather foreign to him honestly. Elias had not been one to patiently carve a bird for Christmas dinner or any other occasion. No, he would have been berating Pamela for some imaginary culinary flaw while suggesting that life would have much better if they'd only dumped Jason off on someone's doorstep immediately after birth, preferably a doorstep three states over. Thankfully he'd been more an absent figure for most of Jason's childhood, but Jason couldn't help but wonder how things might have been if he'd been more like the man sitting at the table.

He couldn't stand to watch any more of the holiday festivities, of that cozy family with the caring father beaming with pride and the loving mother whose face shone like the sun that he so very seldom saw now that the days had turned dark and cold. He turned away, leaving behind memories that seemed to belong to another person. The little boy with the pretty young mother who baked cookies and sang carols was worlds away from the hulking creature living in solitude in a squalid shack deep in the heart of the woods.

Hunger once again drew him out of his reverie, sternly reminding him exactly why he had ventured into town in the first place. Jason knew the small grocery store was his best shot at a quick, easy meal without drawing undue attention to him. It certainly helped that the streets were utterly empty; apparently the whole town was busy celebrating indoors, out of the harsh weather.

He trudged through the growing pile of snow and made his way around to the back of the store, to the dumpster enclosure where he often found the discarded dented cans no one had wanted despite being marked down, bags of stale baked goods, and produce past its prime. Tonight was thankfully no exception, and he quickly filled his worn duffle bag with enough of the castoff goods to see him through another few days. With this task accomplished there was nothing else to do but hurry back home and settle in for what might be days if not weeks of bitter cold.

He quickly navigated his way out of town, clutching the bag tightly, eye constantly scanning the streets for some brave or warmly dressed soul to catch a glimpse of a walking nightmare scurrying back to it's abode. Breathing a deep sigh of relief once he was a safe distance from town he let his guard up considerably, although his pace did not slow. It was bitterly cold, so cold he would not even pause to have a quick bite to eat despite his stomach's protests. Enough time for that once he was back in the only true sanctuary he had, drafty walls, leaky roof and all. At least he'd be out of the howling wind.

Thoughts of Christmas crept back into his head, despite the harsh weather he was battling. The sight of the family at their dinner table had stirred up many emotions and memories long forgotten. He vaguely remembered Mommy telling him that Christmas time was a special time, a time for giving and receiving gifts, a time for miracles. The thought of a miracle was intriguing. If he could ask for anything, it would be to go back to those happy dinners, to her warm arms. But Mommys weren't something that could be wrapped in brightly colored paper and shiny bows to be delivered under a tree on Christmas morning. Even Jason could understand that as he trudged on.

Perhaps he should have slowed down, perhaps he shouldn't have jostled the old duffle bag so much, but a sharp ripping sound followed by the thumping of his precious cargo hitting the snow drew him to a halt. As he struggled to stuff the groceries back into the ripped bag it was soon apparent that there was no holding it together. Faced with the option of leaving what he'd worked so hard for out in the snow, he took off his coat and wrapped the torn bag in it. Now he could at least carry it all home, even he might suffer frostbite in the process.

He soldiered on despite the biting cold and whipping wind, the jacket wrapped bag held tightly to his chest as if the mere contact with the coat would somehow warm him. His teeth chattered violently as the cold seemed to slice him to the very bones, and just as he felt that he could not take another step the shack appeared on the horizon. Jason had never been so happy to see the falling down shack in his life, and it gave him the strength to take those last few steps.

The inside of his shack, while far from toasty warm was a vast improvement over the bone chilling cold just outside the door. Relieved to be home he set the burst bag down and immediately retrieved his jacket, buttoning it up with cold, numb fingers. Somewhat warmer now, he began to poke through the food, setting the cans aside for later, preferring to eat the perishables first.

Jason began ravenously working his way through a bag of rolls, not minding in the slightest that they were stale. He sifted through the rest as he ate; apparently baked goods had not been in demand today. There were several loaves of day old bread, more rolls, and even some pigs in a blanket that he immediately set into. He opened up a white paper bakery bag to reveal several chocolate iced éclairs to his delight.

The sweetness brought to mind the snowman shaped cookies his mother had baked for him all those years go, and if he closed his eye for a moment it was almost as if he were back there with her, sipping cocoa and listening to her describe the eight tiny reindeer pulling Santa's sleigh as she read to him from the colourful picture book. All too soon Jason was full of bakery discards and old memories, and the weariness began to set in.

He put away the remainder of the nights haul for tomorrow, and kicked off his boots. Settling under his pile of pilfered blankets he lay there quietly watching the snow fall softly outside the window and letting the memory of his mother's words wash over him, his eye slowly drifted closed as he dreamed of Christmas mornings long past.