"Hollymind" by Olivia Yang: December 2025 1st Place

Maren Bennet knew Christmas season in Maplebridge could get weird, but nothing prepared her for synchronized squirrels.

They marched—actually marched—past her porch in matching peppermint-striped scarves, tails swishing left-right-left in perfect rhythm. Overhead, chickadees wearing sparkly earmuffs swooped in formation like feathery fighter pilots. Even Mr. Patel’s bulldog, Beefcake, waddled by in a sweater that pulsed like disco lights.

“Morning,” Beefcake said casually.

Maren dropped her coffee. “You TALK?”

“Only on important days,” he replied, still marching. “Keep up. The Plant awaits.”

“The… what?”

But the animals had already resumed their hypnotic parade, so Maren grabbed her boots and followed.

They led her deep into the forest, where she found the strangest thing she’d ever seen: an enormous glowing plant—half fern, half Christmas tree, half something that clearly didn’t care about proper proportions. Its tendrils swayed with a gentle jingling sound, and every time it moved, the animals shifted in the same pattern.

“I call it the Hollymind,” announced a squirrel with a tiny green cap. “Very festive. Very controlling.”

“Controlling?” Maren squeaked.

“Oh, yes,” a goose added. “Brain-hugging vines. Very efficient.”

The Hollymind sent out a shimmering pulse. Instantly, the entire animal crowd launched into coordinated holiday choreography—part tap-dance, part conga line. Beefcake moonwalked. A possum performed a surprisingly passionate tango with a raccoon. Maren tried not to stare at the chipmunk breakdancing.

“Why is it doing this?” she asked. The squirrel leaned close. “It demands offerings to fuel its Seasonal Agenda. You know, lights, cheer, mild telepathic domination—standard stuff. We usually give it nuts and shiny objects, but this year? It wants something special.”

The Hollymind’s center blossomed open, revealing a soft amber glow that pulsed faster as Maren approached.

Beefcake cleared his throat. “It says you’re the only one who can give it what it needs.”

Maren stepped back with hesitation. “Me? What could I possibly—”

A tendril uncoiled and touched her wrist.

Warmth surged up her arm, then her spine.

And as her eyes slowly glazed to the same shimmering green as every animal around her, she heard the Hollymind whisper:

“March.”

Maren obeyed.