The Watchful Ornament

One ornament always faced the room. No matter how the tree was turned, its painted eyes

stared outward. Each night, the child noticed it had moved higher on the tree.

Closer to the top. Closer to the ceiling. On Christmas Eve, the ornament glowed softly.

Not bright—just enough to notice. The child whispered, “What are you looking at?”

The ornament shimmered and turned slightly… toward the hallway. Footsteps creaked outside the room.

The child froze. The ornament shook once, gently, like a warning bell.

The footsteps stopped. In the morning, the ornament lay beneath the tree, cracked in half.

Its painted eyes were closed. The rest of the ornaments glittered peacefully—