The snow outside fell silently on the snowy ground; not a sound was heard in the streets. Christmas Eve had come around like it had done every other year; houses displayed decorations of rich reds and emerald greens that twinkled in the lights. Christmas trees smiled a smile of red tinsel and golden baulbauls sparkled in their eyes. The dusk lit streets lay peacefully under the starry night and welcomed the snow like a thick winter blanket. Not even a fox roamed the quiet streets and not a mouse stirred in the pantries of the sleeping houses. The beautiful array of flowers on people's front lawns had hidden themselves away under the snowy blanket and tucked themselves up for a long winters nap.

Not even a fox roamed the quiet streets – not a paw print was seen in the snow; instead they lay warmly curled up in the comfort of their muddy holes in the depths of the woods. Not a mouse scurried around the stuffy pantries in the sleeping houses – not a crumb was stolen from the floor. The beautiful array of flowers that lined the derelict festive streets had hidden themselves away under the snowy blanket and tucked themselves up for a long winter's nap - ready to be reborn again in the spring. The trees waved goodbye to the last of their brown leaves in the breeze and shivered under their remaining bark; towering grimly over the icy lake. Beneath the ice lay the murky depths of the winter water and became a thin trembling layer of ice and freshly settled snow.

Inside every house fires were burning slowly in the grate – growling and spitting sparks at the wooden logs, relishing in the spite of every splinter it burned. Presents lay beneath the tree – waiting to be torn open free by the eager fingers of children and adults alike. The tree sat sturdily in the corner, his golden smile relaxing by the warmth of the fire. An angel proudly looked down from her perch on the tree – a sense of peace and joy causing her thin fabric wings to sparkle in the lights of the tree; as the clock ticked closer to midnight she relaxed her halo and a calm countenance spread across her pale face. Small china snowmen stared out into the snowy wonderland from the windowsill and sighed as they spotted the happy dressed up snowmen out amongst the snow and ice. Family cats lay curled up on the rug by the fire grateful to be in the warmth – the glow from the grate sending an orange tint across their greying fur.

In the kitchen Christmas cakes lay readily made for the next day – the white icing carefully settled on top of the large fruitcake and the smell of the liqueur lifted from beneath the sweet marzipan and hung in the kitchen air. Untouched chestnuts, still warm from the oven earlier that evening, sat patiently in a wooden bowl by the stove. On the table a marble coloured plate sat and was covered in cookie crumbs, carrot tops and a large empty glass of milk – a messily scrawled note with the words 'For Mr Santa Claus xx'. Each house was the same that night and the next day the plate would be cleared away, the trees would smile more than ever and the family cat would disappear into a warm quiet corner to sleep off the food that he would most certainly be eating. The angel would take up her usual post for this time of the year and watch in jealous delight as the children she had watched grow up each year would laugh and play together. By the fireplace there would be a pair of ashy boot prints on the floor that would remain forever in the excited hearts of the young.

Upstairs the steady sound of snoring filled the silence and nothing, not even a scream, could wake anyone there. Adults had ascended the stairs to bed after their cheeks had turned rosy with the fine Christmas wine and slept the night away. In the other rooms children slept with visions of presents, cake and gingerbread that replayed in their heads, making them smile their childish smiles in their sleep. Older faces, still chubby from early childhood, peeked out from underneath their duvets – listening out for the heavy clatter from a sleigh on their roof and the crash of hooves being pulled to a stop on the crunchy snow. Naughty children lay wide awake – hoping that their Christmas hero would overlook their wrong doing and fill their stockings with chocolate and presents galore whilst good little children lay sound asleep knowing what awaited them come the morning. At the end of their creaky wooden beds, a stocking hung limply awaiting presents for the eager children, being rocked gently to sleep by the breeze from the ajar window.

Only one house, right at the end of the street, stood out among the rest. There was no joyful encounters like the other houses. No brightly lit tree, no guardian angel to watch over the house; no warm chestnuts waiting to be eaten. The only smell in the kitchen was that of alcohol and old unwashed dishes. Upstairs in the house was hidden away in darkness and things lurked in the shadows – things that people feared and shrunk away from. The living room was also plunged into darkness and nothing was done to prevent this. The room was always cold. Always so cold that the summer sun couldn't warm it. Always so cold that people never entered it. All that remained in the room was an empty, unused fireplace; a rug stained with almost every substance there was available to people and an old worn armchair ridden with holes and mice. In the chair sat an old man.

His hair was greying with age and wrinkles from stress and anger creased his forehead. Blue bags stood out boldly against his pale face and his eyes were sunken and hollow. Each raspy breath he took rattled against his ribcage – scaring both young children and their parents. He rarely left his house and avoided everybody he could and they avoided him. He didn't remember doing anything to these people but he was disliked and avoided all the same – so he stayed shut away.

He'd become the Boo Radley of Sleepy Hollow. He was a lot of things: A has been writer, a drunk – and old unwanted man. He had no family close by and even when they were told of his slow descent into depression – nobody came.

Not even on Christmas Eve.