Manx- Sleigh House

  To his right was the house where Vic had nearly burned to death. Not that it was a house anymore, not by any conventional definition. All that remained was a sooty cement platform and a tangle of burned sticks. Amid the ruin was a blistered and blackened old-fashioned Frigidaire on its side, the smoked and warped frame of a bed, part of a staircase. A single wall of what had once been the garage appeared almost untouched. A door set in that wall stood open, implying an invitation to come on in, pull up some burned lumber, have a seat, and stay awhile. Broken glass silted the rubble.

  “I mean . . . this isn’t, like, Christmasland, right?”

  “No,” she said. “It’s the doorway. He probably doesn’t need to come here to cross over, but it’s easiest for him here.”

- Christmasland: The Sleigh House