4 TRUE Terrifying Christmas Horror Stories

So, we were having our Christmas Eve dinner—turkey, stuffing, and other dishes that you would expect to get on Thanksgiving night. We don't have a big family; it was my grandparents and uncles from my mom's side of the family. At the time, we lived in a duplex with some guy and his girlfriend on the other side.

We never really saw them much. Strangely, we had a door that connected our sides, and no, that's not something that most duplexes have. It had a very unique kind of lock, though; it had to be unlocked from both sides to be opened, and it could open in either direction.

I only saw it open once before the two moved in. Ever since, the door had been locked, at least on our side. While we were sitting at the dinner table eating, the doorknob to the door that separates the sides of our duplex twisted and turned before the lock would block it.

It was not accidental, as it was going on for at least ten seconds. My dad got up and walked over to the door, placed one hand on the lock and one hand on the doorknob. "You need something?

" There was no answer. He unlocked our side of the door and swung it open. Their side of the duplex was completely pitch black; it seemed as if nobody was home.

It was only about 6:00, and we were certain we saw them leaving earlier. My dad and I went to check out the window, and their car was gone too. Being good neighbors, we assumed the worst—that there may have been an intruder.

So, my dad, my uncle, and I went to the other side to investigate. We flipped on all the lights and checked every corner and every crevice of the small first floor. Then we heard a thud and a crack from upstairs.

There was pressure on the floorboards. I was freaked out, so I stayed behind while my dad and uncle ran upstairs. I felt my heart skip a beat when a huge commotion erupted from upstairs, followed by a scream from my uncle that echoed across the duplex, even to the other side.

As my whole family got up from the table, my dad came rushing down with my uncle beside him, his hand covering his lower shoulder or chest area—there was a stab wound. We all hurried back to our side of the apartment and locked the door. We dialed 911 and simultaneously heard rapid stomping coming from the other side, followed by head banging and ramming into the door, to the point where there were small chips and cracks forming.

We could hear the grunting and screaming of the man as he rammed into the door. My other uncle and my dad each grabbed kitchen knives. I armed myself as well.

They told all of us to stand back while they waited by the door. Thankfully, the man on the other side gave up before the door gave in, and we heard him exit out the front door. We watched through the window and saw his face as he ran through the snow and turned to see us through the glass.

He took off in his black Honda Civic down the slushy roads. It doesn’t end there. The following year, the same neighbors still lived there, and they seemed to be having a Christmas get-together with a few people.

By chance, I was looking out my bedroom window, being a sketchy snoop, when I recognized one of their guests to be the same man who had allegedly broken into their side of the duplex. When I told my dad, he agreed, and we approached them about it. He denied any knowledge of what we said, and even our neighbors defended him, saying he was from out of state.

There was nothing we could do for proof, but we knew one thing—those neighbors, for whatever reason, set that up. We moved out about a month later after our new-grown fear of those neighbors became too much. This happened when I was only five years old.

It was Christmas Eve night, meaning I guess it was technically Christmas, and I had awoken at probably 3:00 a. m. or something.

I walked downstairs to the living room out of my little boy curiosity to see if Santa had delivered any presents yet. The tree was full of presents underneath already. I was so happy Santa had come!

But what was this? There was someone in the kitchen going through the fridge. I remember stepping into the kitchen and seeing a really tall man going through the fridge, chugging a milk carton.

When he spotted me, he put the carton back in the fridge and shut the door. He then put his fingers on his lips to tell me to be quiet. "Are you Santa?

" I asked him. "Yes, I am," he told me quietly. He walked past me, patted me on the head, and stepped into the living room next to the tree.

I don't know what I was thinking, even at five years old, as he wasn't wearing anything even resembling Santa. He looked around at all the gifts. I thanked him for all the presents as he began picking up the bigger boxes.

I remember being confused, and I'm pretty sure I asked him why he was doing what he was doing, but I don't remember exactly what he said. I believe it was along the lines of just replacing the gifts with better ones in my sled. I believed whatever he said, though.

He walked out the back door with three boxes, came back momentarily to grab more, then left once again. He came back in and patted me on the back and told me not to tell my parents that I saw him. I smiled and agreed.

And he took off with the boxes. I waited for him to come back with the replacement gifts, but he never did. I eventually went up to tell my parents.

Despite what he said, when my parents realized I wasn't joking, they sat up in shock and fear and ran past me downstairs when they saw half the presents were gone and the back door was left wide open. My mom screamed like a deranged person. I remember my parents were practically scolding me, demanding that I describe the person who entered our house.

Of course, being 5 years old, the description I gave was anything but useful; all I probably told them was that he was tall. It's been almost 15 years now, though, and at this point, for me, being that I was only 5 years old, it's nothing but a story to tell rather than a bad memory at all. [Music] Did you ever used to have a fear of those guys who would dress up as Santa Claus in the mall or at Christmas parties?

Up until the age of about 8, I certainly did. I think I was 6 or 7 years old when my mom and I were walking through the mall with all the Christmas festivities and decorations up—festive bands playing "Jingle Bells," a giant tree in the center of the mall, and, of course, a mall Santa sitting in a chair covered by a green blanket. There was a small line of kids and parents waiting to sit on Santa's lap—maybe two or three kids.

My mom insisted I sat on his lap. Normally, it would be the other way around, the kid begging the parent to sit on the lap, but she knew how shy I was. There wasn't anyone by the mall Santa's side, like one of those people who calls the next child up; it was just him.

When I sat on the stranger's lap, he grabbed me by the chest and said softly in my ear, "What do you want for Christmas? " I think I said a Game Boy Advance, and he assured me I would receive one. Then, for whatever reason, my mom walked up to the Santa and said something quietly to him.

He chuckled in response to whatever she said and then said, "No problem. " My mom told me to wait there by the Santa for a few minutes until she came back. At this point, there were no more kids waiting to sit on his lap, so his attention was directed at me.

He told me to come over and sit on his lap again. I somehow obeyed despite my fear of Santa Claus. When I sat on his lap, he pulled me closer to him so that my back was leaning on him.

When I think back on this moment now, it's all the more painful and creepy. He then whispered in my ear that he had a Game Boy Advance outside by his sled and if I followed him, I would get it right now and wouldn't have to wait until Christmas. My fear suddenly turned to excitement as I believed him.

We both stepped off the chair and I followed him down one of the exit hallways, but halfway through, he stopped and told me we should take a bathroom break first. We stepped into the bathroom, and he quickly locked the door. I turned and looked at him as he looked at me, but before anything else could happen, there was a frantic banging at the door.

Somebody on the other side was yelling to open up. The Santa opened the door, and a man pulled him out and shoved him. The man then escorted me back to the center of the mall, asking me where my mom went.

I watched as a fake Santa casually walked out the exit door and out of my sight. When my mom came back, the man explained everything. I'm pretty sure he was watching the whole time, so he and my mom asked around to see if the mall hired any mall Santas for the day.

They did not. Whoever that was was just a pervert dressed as Santa to get kids to sit on his lap and possibly wait for a perfect opportunity to snatch one, just like he almost did to me. [Music] This story took place about 5 years ago on Christmas Eve night.

It was around 1:00 in the morning, and I had just finished placing presents under the tree. I went upstairs to brush up and everything, then came back downstairs to the kitchen to get a glass of water before bed. My son, Jake, who was four at the time, was standing by the stairs leading to the basement.

I asked him what he was doing up so late. He pointed down the stairs and said, "Santa. " I picked him up and carried him back to his room.

I took a glass of water and went to bed. I woke up around an hour later to my son running down the hall outside my room. I sighed and got out of bed.

As I was going down the stairs, I saw Jake by the tree looking at presents. Then he ran past me into the basement stairs again. He pointed down the stairs again.

This time I looked down the stairwell, and my heart dropped as I saw a black figure sitting on the bottom step. I almost screamed, but I somehow held it in. I pulled my son quietly away from the basement door and closer to the front door of the house.

I moved my hand away from my son's mouth to reach for the lock and the doorknob. I tried to pull the door open as quietly as possible, but it was pointless; the squeaky hinges let out the usual ear-piercing screeches, and I cringed. As I did, suddenly there were heavy stomps coming from up the basement stairs.

I screamed and pushed open the storm door, practically throwing Jake outside. I shut both doors behind us, and we ran to the neighbor's house. I rang the doorbell as fast as possible—probably 30 times—before they answered.

After that, we went inside, stayed there, and waited for the police. Whoever that person was, they were gone, though, as determined after the police conducted a thorough investigation of the house. I ended up lying to Jake, telling him that it was actually Santa Claus, but a few years later he remembered the incident and became a little more wise to what actually happened.