The little lock opened as if it had been oiled regularly.  A tiny click sounded, and Shelby braced herself.  What would G’ma have left in a box for her?  A Christmas box, nonetheless.  She lifted the box into her lap as Trouble sat next to her, purring, and cleaning a paw nonchalantly. 

The intricate carvings on the box felt strange in Shelby’s hands, and looking closer at them, she saw what looked like ancient Celtic designs worked into it, but couldn’t really make out anything else in the dim light coming through the window.  The storm had worsened, and again Shelby heard what seemed like whisperings and voices in the winds that howled outside the little cabin.  They seemed much louder in the attic here, and chills ran up her spine and goose bumps broke out on her arms, every hair standing on end.

She lifted the hasp on the box, freeing the lid, and opened it.  Inside, beautifully patterned red silk lined the box, and a smaller wooden box lay inside, along with a tiny, very old book with a black leather cover.

Carefully lifting the little nondescript box out, she opened it and was surprised to find a candle inside.  Grabbing the flashlight she’d brought up with her, she took the candle out and shined the flashlight on it.  It was deep red, with an almost translucent quality to it when she lit it up with the light.  Etched carvings that matched the carved box had been scratched into the wax around the outside of the candle, along with tiny words in a language that Shelby couldn’t read.

She placed the candle back in the box, noticing a delicate black iron candle holder underneath where the box had been inside the other.  She looked closer at the little book, again hearing voices in the winds.  It almost seemed as if there were words in the violent gusts, just beyond hearing or understanding.

The paper in the little book was so fine it almost crumbled in her hands.  Colored brown with age, parts of the pages looked as if they had been touched by water droplets, or possibly by tears that had long since dried. 

Something tickled Shelby’s hand, and she noticed her second hair ribbon, the one matching the ribbon tied to the box, was marking a place between the pages inside the little book.

Opening the book carefully, Shelby saw handwriting on the pages.  Written very long ago, in black ink that had faded almost beyond recognition, Shelby read of Christmas legends dating back before Christianity.  From pagan times, when Gods and Goddesses were prayed to and magic seemed common in the world, all the way up to Victorian England traditions.  These legends were marked carefully in the book, researched and written down to pass on to future generations.

The handwriting changed in several places through the book, apparently written in by several different people.  As the dating on the legends advanced, she assumed it had been passed down to newer generations, who continued the research into the traditions surrounding the Yule.

She opened the book to the page marked with her ribbon.  The tale on the page told of placing a candle in the window during Victorian times, to welcome passersby in need of shelter or food.  The researcher had noted finding this legend in many forms, back to early Christian beliefs that the child of God could come in many forms to unsuspecting homes, and of the families who welcomed him into their homes and the blessings they received.

Also noted were pieces of the legend found dating before Christian times, when the Gods and Goddesses were said to roam the land.  Those families with a candle in their window, who turned away what looked to be a beggar or even worse, a destitute family, would be cursed forever as the disguised God or Goddess was turned away.

She closed the book, determined to look into it more later on, and as she was placing the book back into the carved box, she saw a piece of paper tucked under the red silk lining.  It was a letter from her G’ma.