At some point on the evening of the 14th, someone – or something – paid a visit to the freehold.
The door to the Garden was heavily drifted with snow and nearly frosted shut with ice, and anyone daring a look outside may see the remnants of huge paw-prints, the mark of something vastly too large to enter the hold – though they are slowly being drifted over with snow.
The window (which has recently been replaced with a fine new Nocker-infused glass version following it’s recent demise) are frosted over with delicate patterns of hoary snowflakes, puffed out in the manner of some immense, chilly breath.
It is within the kitchen, however, that the result of this nocturnal visitor becomes clear.
The kitchen is entirely in disarray – cupboards hanging open, contents tossed on the floor, the fridge and freezer doors left to hang open. Nothing is damaged or and no goods seem to be stolen, however, but for any pies.
Whatever pie or pie-like-edibles in residence have been completely denuded of any crust. Top, bottom, delicately crimped sides – all gone, without even a crumb remaining. Pie tins sit forlornly with the filling scooped unceremoniously aside – and yes, even the Sluagh pies have not been ignored in this strange harvest. A boggan or two may spend the morning bemoaning the fact that their best tins and pie plates have been stolen away, possibly to finish licking up the crumbs in piece.
Reference: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yule_Lads