She got Kingsmouth. The others were all over the world - searching, hiding, crouching, waiting, yawning - all part of some bizarre global treasure hunt. So far, so nothing. She'd been in the forest for hours, her nose dripping as much as the rain-soaked trees, without so much as a sniff of her quarry. Perhaps there was a trick to this - perhaps she needed to get into the spirit of it.

She scrunched up her eyes and thought very hard: ‘I believe, I believe, I believe.’

The belief seemed to pay off.

A portal opened with a soft pop, and as something emerged the stench hit her like a truck. Wet animal, over-boiled brussels sprouts, sweaty socks, musty damp clothes and a faint undertone of urine. It was like being stuck in an overheated room with all the least-favourite relations at Christmas.

The creature giggled maniacally and took off deeper into the dark wood. She gave chase but slipped on a slimy fallen branch and watched as it opened another portal and vanished. Walking closer she discovered it had left her a parcel - poorly wrapped. Underneath the parcel was a lump of coal which she pocketed - it was her mission objective.

As she opened the hastily taped wrapping paper she was gifted memories of christmases past: toe-curling excitement; trying to stay awake to see Santa; putting out carrots for Rudolf; singing the wrong words to carols; hoping it would snow; the warm candles and coloured lights turning the front room into a magical grotto; the crushing feeling of trying to smile as she got another unwanted and unasked-for present.

The pre-owned tank top slipped out of its wrapping and fell onto the wet ground. It looked like it hadn’t been washed since the 70’s and had a stain down the front in the shape of Chile.

Obviously she had been a bad girl this year.