Ornaments Watching Me

Christmas Eve felt wrong the moment I stepped into my grandmother's house. The decorations

were perfect, too perfect. Every ornament faced forward. Every light blinked

in unison. Grandma sat motionless by the tree, humming a carol I didn't recognize.

When I asked if she was okay, she turned her head completely around without moving her

body. Her smile was too wide. She whispered that Santa always watches

the naughty ones. Then I noticed it. Every single ornament on that tree was a tiny camera.

All pointed directly at me. I ran to my car but the doors wouldn't unlock.

Through the window I saw her standing on the porch, still smiling, still humming.