Telling ghost stories at Christmas is an old tradition. Long before anyone told them at Halloween, families sat by the fire on Christmas Eve and scared each other. These twenty short Christmas horror stories keep the tradition going. All original, all set during the holidays, most of them inside a house full of lights and wrapping paper. Turn off the tree first.
Short Christmas Horror Stories Under the Tree
1. One More Gift. Every Christmas morning since my father died, there’s been one extra present under the tree. Wrapped in the same brown paper he always used, tied with string. This year, the tag had my name on it, and under my name, in his handwriting, “Last one. Then it’s your turn to wrap.”
2. The Stocking. We hang six stockings on the mantel. There are five of us. My mom says the sixth was always there, from before we moved in, and it feels wrong to take it down. On Christmas morning it’s always full. Nobody ever empties it. By New Year’s, it’s empty again.
3. The Tree Cam. My kids begged me to set up one of those “catch Santa” cameras by the tree. On Christmas morning, we watched the footage together, laughing. At 2:40 a.m., a figure in red walks into frame. Tall. Very thin. It stands by the tree for a long time. Then it turns and looks straight into the camera, and it isn’t Santa, and it isn’t wearing red. That’s just the color it is.
4. Ornaments. My grandmother’s ornaments are all handmade. Little clay faces, one for every person in the family. We hang them every year. This year there was a new one in the box that nobody made. It’s my face. It has a date painted on the back, and it’s next December.
5. Wrapping. I wrapped all the presents on Christmas Eve and went to bed at 1 a.m. In the morning, every present under the tree had been unwrapped, very neatly, and wrapped again. The paper was the same. The tape was new. And every gift tag had been changed to say, “From me.”
Short Christmas Ghost Stories at the Door
6. Carolers. Carolers came to our door on Christmas Eve at 11 p.m. Four of them, in old-fashioned coats and scarves, singing “Silent Night” beautifully. My husband gave them twenty dollars. They didn’t take it. They just smiled and kept singing, and they were still singing at 3 a.m., in the yard, in the snow, looking up at our bedroom window.
7. The Neighbor’s Lights. The old man across the street hasn’t put up Christmas lights since his wife died. This year, on December 1st, his house lit up beautifully. Every window. Every bush. Every gutter. The whole block was happy for him. He passed away in October. His house has been empty since.
8. Snow Angels. We woke up Christmas morning to fresh snow and a perfect snow angel in our front yard. Then another. And another. All the way down the driveway. There were no footprints between them. Just the angels, one after the other, leading up to our front door.
9. Cookies. We always leave cookies and milk out on Christmas Eve, for the kids. My daughter is nineteen now and away at college, but I still do it. This year, in the morning, the plate was empty, and there was a note in a child’s handwriting. “Thank you. I missed these.” My daughter swears she didn’t come home.
10. The Knock. At midnight on Christmas Eve, someone knocked on our front door three times. My grandfather, who’s ninety-four, looked up from his chair and said, very quietly, “Don’t answer it. It’s my brother. He’s been knocking every Christmas since 1944.” Then he went back to sleep.
Victorian Christmas Ghost Stories, Made New
11. Advent. I bought an antique wooden Advent calendar at an estate sale. Twenty-four little doors. Each one had something old and strange inside. A button. A baby tooth. A lock of hair. A key. On December 24th, the last door was locked. On Christmas morning, it was open, and something had gone out of it.
12. The Portrait. There’s an old family portrait over the fireplace at my in-laws’ house. A Victorian family, nine of them, in black, posed in front of a Christmas tree. Every year, my mother-in-law swears the family is standing a little closer to the front of the frame. This year, the youngest girl’s hand is resting on the edge of the gold frame, outside the painting.
13. Candles. In my husband’s family, they put a single candle in the front window on Christmas Eve, to “light the way home” for anyone who’s lost. It’s an old Irish custom. This year we forgot. At 1 a.m., we heard someone outside our house walking around and around it in the snow, trying every window.
14. Mistletoe. We hung mistletoe in the doorway of our old farmhouse. On Christmas night, my wife stood under it and I kissed her. In the photo my sister took, there’s a woman standing behind my wife in a long white dress, also under the mistletoe, leaning in toward me.
15. The Last Guest. We set the table for twelve for Christmas dinner. Twelve people came. We all sat down. When my uncle stood up to make a toast, he said, “Thank you all for coming,” and counted. Thirteen. Everybody looked around the table. Everybody was family. Nobody could say which one of us shouldn’t be there.
A Christmas Ghost Story for Every Night After
16. Returns. I returned a sweater my aunt gave me to the store on December 26th. On December 27th, it was back under the tree, wrapped. Same tag. My aunt has been dead for two years. She always said it was rude to return a gift.
17. The Elf. My son’s elf on the shelf moves every night, the way it’s supposed to. My wife and I do it after he goes to bed. On December 23rd, we both forgot. In the morning, the elf had moved anyway. It was sitting on the end of our bed, facing us.
18. Midnight Mass. We go to midnight Mass every Christmas Eve. This year, the church was full of people I didn’t recognize, all dressed in old-fashioned clothes, all singing. The priest looked out at the pews and went very pale. After Mass, he told us he’d been the only one in the church for ten minutes before we walked in.
19. Thank You Notes. My mother makes us write thank you notes for every Christmas gift. This year, she gave me a stack of envelopes to mail. One was addressed to my grandmother, who died in 2015, at the cemetery. Three days later, a reply came. “You’re welcome, dear. I’ll bring more next year.”
20. Taking It Down. We take our tree down every year on January 6th. This year, when I pulled it out of the stand, something in the branches whispered, “Not yet.” We left it up. It’s March. It’s still green.
The Victorians had the right idea. A cold night, a warm fire, and a Christmas ghost story to make everyone sit a little closer together. If you grew up on victorian christmas ghost stories or just want short christmas ghost stories to read on Christmas Eve, these were written for you.
Does your family have a Christmas story nobody likes to tell?
Share your short christmas horror stories in the comments. The holidays are the perfect time for them.
For longer holiday reads, try christmas ghost stories and christmas horror stories.
