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Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads. And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer. With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name! "Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!" As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack. His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly, That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly! He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself! A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk. And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose! He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night Stake- bantipuja

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The old Tata Sumo was barreling down NH 48 outside Jaipur just after midnight. You were driving, and your friend, Rohan, was asleep in the passenger seat. The road was a black ribbon through the desert. You hadn't seen another car in twenty minutes. Then, in your rearview mirror, a pair of headlights appeared, bright and close. They were right on your tail, blindingly high, like a truck was riding your bumper. Annoyed, you sped up. The headlights did too, matching your speed perfectly. You slowed down to let them pass. The vehicle slowed, too. It stayed precisely where it was: two feet from your rear bumper. You flashed your brake lights. No response. Finally, you pulled over to the shoulder and stopped the car completely. The headlights stopped right behind you. The engine of the other vehicle was silent. You angrily opened your door, ready to yell. As your feet hit the gravel, the other vehicle pulled around you. It wasn't a truck. It was a single, old-model motorcycle. There was no one driving it. The headlights, which were still on, illuminated the rider's seat. It was empty. The motorcycle glided past you at 10 mph, its engine perfectly silent, its wheels kicking up dust. You watched it pass. Just as the taillight was about to disappear, you saw a detail you wish you hadn't: The headlight beam itself was tilted sharply down, illuminating only the immediate road surface, as if the bike were carrying a heavy, invisible passenger that was weighing the front down. You scrambled back into the car, locked the doors, and drove away without looking in your mirror again. Rohan was still asleep, oblivious. The next morning, you realized what the ghostly bike was doing: it was giving a ride to something you desperately didn't want to see Stake- bantipuja

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